A Daughter's Inheritance (34 page)

“Don’t borrow trouble, Fanny. He’s staying at the liveliest hotel on the islands. You’ll probably find him sitting on the veranda with a glass of port and a cigar, considering all that has occurred today.”

Mr. Atwell docked the boat a short time later and assisted them onto the pier. “Shall I wait for you ladies?”

Fanny blinked. “Yes, of course. We should return within an hour.” She waited until they were out of hearing distance. “Why did he ask if he should wait, Sophie? Do you sometimes spend the night over here?”

“On one or two occasions I stayed with the parents of friends from school who were staying at the hotel.” Sophie made no apology for her behavior. She seldom judged others and didn’t seem to care what others thought of her. There evidently was nothing that frightened Sophie.

They walked side by side toward the bright lights of the hotel. “What if this had happened to you, Sophie? How would you feel?”

“I don’t know. I would feel betrayed, naturally, but at least Uncle Jonas won’t be able to tell you what to do in the future.” She grinned. “Then again, Mr. Morrison may be even worse.”

Fanny shuddered. She hadn’t considered that Mr. Morrison might be a cruel or unkind man. He had seemed quite nice when they talked earlier in the day. But anyone could appear gentle and kind for short periods. Perhaps she could remain with the family until her birthday; then she’d have her inheritance and could move out on her own. Or could she? Nothing had been said about whether she would be entitled to the money her grandfather had bequeathed to her. But he wasn’t really her grandfather anymore, so what would that mean now?

No need asking Sophie, for she wouldn’t know, either. If her talk with Mr. Morrison went well, perhaps she would ask him. Uncle Jonas had mentioned Mr. Morrison was a businessman. Surely he would have some idea how such matters were settled.

“There he is!” Sophie elbowed Fanny and then pointed toward the open-air seating. “Over in the courtyard with the woman in the rose and beige gown.”

Mr. Morrison had spotted them. He briefly spoke to the woman and then rose from his chair. Sophie tapped her foot as music began to play in the other room. She edged toward the entertaining sounds. “I’ll be in there when you’re ready to go home.” Fanny wanted to grab her hand and beg her to remain, but Sophie no doubt sensed the conversation with Mr. Morrison should be private.

The woman didn’t turn around. Was she Mrs. Morrison? He hadn’t revealed if he had a wife or children.
Children
. She might have sisters and brothers she had never met. The thought was both exciting and disagreeable. What if they disliked her? And what of his wife? What did she think of all of this—if that was, indeed, his wife. She would inquire.

“Frances. This is a surprise. I had hoped for time alone in a neutral setting where we might speak freely, but I hadn’t expected you this evening.” He looked through the archway at the huge clock in the lobby. “I’m surprised you are out so late.”

His look was filled with concern, but he didn’t chastise her imprudent behavior.

“Shall we sit over here where it is a bit less noisy?”

She evaluated his every feature and nuance, searching for something recognizable, some connection to herself. But nothing about this man’s appearance was familiar—not the tilt of his head, the curve of his lips, or the slant of his eyes. And though his mannerisms were those of a sophisticated, well-educated gentleman, they were dissimilar to a Broadmoor’s. She hadn’t arrived with high expectations, but she had hoped to discover some connection to this man who claimed to be her father.

They sat side by side. Father and daughter. Perfect strangers. The thought overwhelmed her. She grasped the arm of the settee. This would seem no more than an illusion if she didn’t hold on to something tangible.

“The woman you were sitting with when I arrived—is she your wife?”

“Yes. I thought it would be better if the two of us became better acquainted before you meet her. She is a forgiving woman. Although I don’t deserve her kindness, she came along to offer me moral support.” He folded his hands in his lap. “You may be surprised to hear that this has been very difficult for me also.” His smile was gentle. “Nothing in comparison to your experience, of course.”

“Has she always known? Your wife, I mean. Did you tell her about my mother and you before the two of you married?”

“No. We’ve had this discussion only recently.” He stared at the floor. “She knew nothing of your existence.” He looked up at her. “I hope it doesn’t hurt you to hear me say that. I fear I’ve already caused you a great deal of pain.”

“I believe the act of clearing one’s conscience can be a very selfish act. While it helps the offender, it often inflicts pain on others. I have a married friend back in Rochester. After a year of marriage her husband made admissions regarding his missteps outside their marriage vows. He felt cleansed and ready to begin anew, but his confession cut her to the depth of her soul. I doubt whether she’ll ever recover.”

“So you think it would have been better if he continued to live a lie and had never told her?”

Fanny shrugged. “Who am I to say? I do know that his confession didn’t help their marriage. My friend is most unhappy. If her husband had asked for God’s forgiveness, changed his ways, and lived with his secrets, I believe their marriage could have survived. Right now, I’m not certain what will happen. It’s most unfortunate that his struggle with conscience didn’t occur until after he had stepped outside of his marriage vows.”

“From what you’ve said, I can only assume you wish I hadn’t cleansed my conscience.”

“What purpose does all of this serve, Mr. Morrison? Your revelation has injured your wife, besmirched my mother’s name, and I’ve not yet counted all the consequences I will endure. Was revealing your secret so important at this late date?”

His eyes revealed the pain she’d inflicted with her words. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she wasn’t going to tell him she was pleased to have him waltz into her life and turn it upside down after seventeen years.

“My plan was ill-conceived. I truly regret having come forward— I shouldn’t have even considered such an idea. The damage I’ve caused you is irreparable, and I do apologize.”

She reached forward and touched his hand. “I didn’t mean to wound you, Mr. Morrison. Please . . . tell me about yourself. Do you have children? I mean other than . . .” She couldn’t complete the sentence. This man could not so easily supplant her father or his memory.

“No. Unfortunately my wife and I have no children. We had always hoped to have a child. My wife would have been an excellent mother. Why don’t you tell me about your life, Frances?”

“Fanny. No one uses my formal name—except in school, where the teachers always insist upon using my given name.”

“Then if you have no objection, I shall address you as Fanny, also. You had a happy childhood?”

“Oh yes.” Since Mr. Morrison had inquired, Fanny didn’t hesitate to tell him of the close bond she’d shared with her father—their love of fishing and nature and the many hours they’d spent together on Broadmoor Island and in the gardens at Rochester. She spoke of her beloved grandparents and the affection they’d showered upon her throughout the years. Mr. Morrison listened intently when she told him about her love for flower gardening and her special lilacs.

“My wife is an avid gardener, too,” he said. “I’m certain she would enjoy showing you her flowers someday.”

His offer was gentle, but Fanny didn’t want to see anyone else’s flowers. She wanted to return home and enjoy the Broadmoor gardens. “What can you tell me about my mother, Mr. Morrison? My father found it painful to speak about her, and my grandparents discouraged such questions. Consequently I know little of my mother.”

“Like you, she was very attractive, gentle spoken, and attempted to please others. She found it difficult to refuse my advances, for she disliked quarrels and arguments. I knew that and used it to my advantage. What occurred was totally my fault. I would never want you to think less of your mother. She was a truly wonderful woman.”

Like everyone else in her life, Mr. Morrison seemed reticent to reveal many details. Perhaps after all these years, he’d forgotten. “How long did you know my mother before she married?”

“Less than a year. She was wise to select your father over me. He loved her and provided well for both of you.”

“He was devastated by her death. It has always been difficult to think that my birth was the cause of her death. As a child, I wondered if my father would have preferred it the other way.”

“I’m sure you brought him much joy.”

She may have provided him with occasional joy, but Fanny wondered if her father might still be alive if she had died at birth. No need to dwell on the thought. She couldn’t have changed it then, and she couldn’t change it now. Life-and-death matters were beyond her control. At present the clock was ticking, and she needed to find out what Mr. Morrison expected from her and if he’d given thought to the future—specifically, to her future.

Throughout the remainder of their visit and almost against her will, Fanny discovered herself drawn to Mr. Morrison. His gentle character and honesty remained prevalent throughout their discussion. He didn’t shy away from her questions, though she wished he remembered more of the past. But after seventeen years of attempting to forget his past, she couldn’t expect him to recall the minute details.

They parted with an agreement that Mr. Morrison would return to Syracuse and give Fanny and the Broadmoors time to consider her future. Mr. Morrison didn’t want to dictate Fanny’s choices, but he did offer her a home in Syracuse with him and his wife. He explained that he owned a large lumberyard in Syracuse and his attempts to expand the business had caused him to fall upon hard times. Fanny would be required to adjust to a meager lifestyle if she moved to Syracuse. She thought that somewhat surprising, since the Morrisons had rented accommodations at the New Frontenac Hotel.

Not that she begrudged them the fine accommodations, but it seemed a man of limited means would choose a small hotel or a boardinghouse in Clayton or Alexandria Bay. Then again, perhaps he believed it was the least he could do for his wife, considering the pain he’d caused. Who could know what Mr. Morrison had been thinking. Fanny could barely manage to keep her own thoughts in order.

Mr. Atwell was patiently waiting when the two girls returned a short time later. As the boat cut through the water and headed toward Broadmoor Island, Fanny stared down into the water. Sophie had recognized her need for silent comfort and hadn’t assailed her with questions. If only Michael were here with her now. If only he’d waited just a brief time longer before departing for the Yukon. If only Mr. Morrison hadn’t made an appearance.
If, if, if
.

Hopeful the morning light would provide some clarity on decisions that must be made, Fanny thanked Mr. Atwell for delivering them safely home. He grasped her hand and assisted her onto the dock. “If you need to talk, we’re here, Fanny.” Had the Broadmoors already spread word among the staff? She had wanted to tell Michael’s parents herself. “I’d like that. I’ll come and talk with both of you tomorrow.”

She also wanted to be the one who would write and tell Michael of the changes in her life. But until she received word from him, she had no idea where to write. And he’d already warned her that mail could pose a problem once winter set in—and winter arrived early in the Yukon. Fanny hoped a letter would arrive before that time. She wondered how he was dealing with the changes in his life, for the thought of moving just to Syracuse was nearly more than she could bear. She could only pray the family would want her to return with them to Rochester.

26

Wednesday, September 1, 1897

Fanny hurried downstairs to the kitchen. This would be her last opportunity to have a few minutes alone with Michael’s mother before returning to Rochester. Her uncle had refused Fanny’s request to remain on the island with Mr. and Mrs. Atwell. Until everything was settled and a final determination made in regard to her future, he declared she would live with his family in Rochester. He didn’t say how long that might take, but Aunt Victoria had assured Fanny there was no need for concern. Fanny wasn’t so certain. Uncle Jonas had never offered such encouragement. Rather, he frowned whenever Aunt Victoria claimed nothing would change.

A frayed cotton apron covered Mrs. Atwell’s dress. She looked up from the mound of bread dough and greeted Fanny with a broad smile. “You’ll write to me the minute they’ve decided what’s to happen, won’t you? I don’t want to send my letters to the house in Rochester and discover you’ve moved to Syracuse.” She wiped her hands on the corner of her apron. “This is all going to work out according to God’s plan, my dear. You must keep your spirits high and not lose faith in the Almighty.”

“I’ll do my best, and I’ll write to you every week. Maybe more often. I do wish I knew what was going to happen. I’ve never before been so uncertain about where I belong.”

“You belong to God, child, and that’s what you must keep at the forefront of your mind. Mr. Broadmoor and Mr. Morrison may shift you around from pillar to post, but your Father in heaven has you in the palm of His hand.” She wrapped Fanny in a warm embrace. “Fretting will serve no purpose. When you feel insecure, talk to Him. And search your Bible for verses that will sustain you.”

For as long as Fanny had known Mrs. Atwell, the woman had been offering living proof of her faith in God. Trust in Him came so naturally to the older woman that it always found a place in their conversations. Now, however, it was more important than ever, and Fanny cherished the advice. “I’ll try, but I won’t deny that I’m frightened.”

Mrs. Atwell kissed Fanny’s cheek. “I know you are, but you’re going to be just fine. Before you know it, you and Michael will be married, and you’ll look back on this day and wonder why you ever worried.”

“I wish I would have discovered this before he left. If I’m not a Broadmoor, there is nothing to stand in the way of our marrying. Uncle Jonas would have no reason to protest.”