Dawn's Prelude (2 page)

“Come, Marston, I’ll drop you to your house on my way home,” Mitchell said. “We can discuss how best to split up the business.”

Only Eve remained as the men’s voices echoed down the hallway until at last they exited the house. When Lydia finally looked up, Eve was watching her.

“I should be going, as well. Thomas sent the carriage for me some time ago. He’ll wonder why I haven’t returned.”

“I understand,” Lydia said. Only then did she still the chair’s movement.

Eve seemed reluctant to go. She started to leave, then turned back. “What will you do?”

Lydia shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’ve not had much chance to think about it. I’m still in a state of shock over the accident.”

“It’s hard to believe he’s really gone,” Eve admitted.

All of Floyd’s children had known his harsh demands and heavy hand. Eve was certainly no exception to that. Many had been the time Lydia had watched helplessly as Floyd had backhanded his youngest child for the slightest infraction of his rules.

Rising from the chair, Lydia drew a deep breath. “But he is. He’s gone, and he cannot hurt us anymore.”

Eve’s frown deepened as if she didn’t believe her stepmother, but she made no attempt to correct the comment. “Good-bye, Lydia. I suppose I shall see you on Monday.”

“I know it is rather soon to bother you with this,” Dwight Robinson announced in greeting on Saturday morning, “but it was necessary that you see this before the reading of the will.”

Lydia looked at her father’s lawyer and then to the letter he extended. “Very well. Please come in.”

Thunder rumbled outside and rain began to pour in earnest as the butler secured the door against the wind. Lydia led the way to a smaller, informal sitting room. She suppressed a yawn. All through the night she had tossed and turned, listening for Floyd’s footsteps in the hallway. Then she remembered he was dead and could no longer hurt her. She had fallen asleep sometime around four in the morning, only to be awakened some four hours later to start her day.

“Please be seated. Should I ring for refreshments?” Lydia asked. “It’s rather chilly in here; perhaps you’d like some coffee?”

“No. I’m fine.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I suppose this has been very hard on you.”

Lydia shrugged. “No more so than anything else.” She took a seat on the richly upholstered silk sofa while Mr. Robinson settled himself on an ornate Baroque-styled chair. The piece had been one of Mr. Gray’s favorites.

Again Robinson extended the letter. This time Lydia took it. “What is this?” she asked, turning over the folded pages in her hand.

“It’s from your father. He left it with me some months ago, with instructions that should anything happen to him, you were to be given this missive.”

Lydia frowned. Her father had barely spoken two words to her since forcing her into marriage. She tried to imagine what he could possibly have to say to her now.

“I think you will be . . . well, perhaps comforted by the words,” Robinson said, giving his thick mustache a stroke. The rather portly old man studied her for a moment, then added, “He had me read the letter.”

“And what does it say?”

“Why don’t you simply read it, and then we can discuss any questions you might have. It isn’t all that long.”

She had thought to read it later in the privacy of her bedchamber, but seeing that Mr. Robinson had no intention of leaving until they were able to converse about it, Lydia nodded. Unfolding the pages, she drew a deep breath at the sight of her father’s large script.

My dearest daughter,

For so long, my heart has been burdened with the mistakes I
have made. I caused you great misery in forcing your hand in marriage
to a man I knew to be ill-tempered and harsh, and all for the
sake of financial security.

I pray you find a way to forgive me. So many times I desired
only to come to you and plead my case, but deep in my heart, I knew
there was no excuse for what I had done. I was a greedy man, whose
only purpose was to build a vast fortune. That it came at the expense
of those I loved was not something I considered. I believed that in
time, my choices would not only be understood but applauded.
Now I see the truth of the matter and know that I have done you
a grave injustice.

If you are reading this letter, then I have passed from this life
into eternity. The purpose of leaving this missive behind is twofold.
First, the terms of my will are complicated and were never intended
to cause you grief, although they most certainly are destined to do so.
Second, I have left money in trust with Mr. Robinson that no one
else knows about. This money is for you. It is enough to help you get
a divorce or whatever other living arrangements you might desire.

The rest of the letter repeated the request for forgiveness, but Lydia was too stunned to read further. She looked up at the lawyer and shook her head.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your father wanted to give you a way out of your marriage. He spoke to me about it on more than one occasion. We knew it would be most difficult to help you obtain a divorce; however, that is no longer an issue.”

She silently refolded the pages. “I suppose I should be happy that he came to realize his mistake.” It seemed too little, too late, but Lydia didn’t wish to sound as lacking in feeling as her late husband.

The older man once again shifted his bulky frame. “Your father grieved his decision to see you married to Gray. He hoped that something—anything—could be done to change it. Of course, you know that your husband was a powerful man. Most were too intimidated by his ruthlessness to do anything but yield to his will. Your father found himself in that position.”

Lydia wasn’t ready to feel sorry for her father. She felt the boning of her corset dig into her waist and straightened. “He mentioned that the terms of his will were complicated. Might you enlighten me in this area?”

Just then, there was the unmistakable sound of someone in the foyer. No one had bothered to knock, so Lydia knew it must be one of the children.

“It would seem we have company,” Lydia said, loud enough to draw the attention of whomever had entered.

Marston Gray looked into the front room as he doffed his black hat. “Robinson? What brings you here?” he questioned, ignoring Lydia.

Lydia watched him cross the room to shake the older man’s hand. Robinson had gotten to his feet and was clearly uncomfortable with Marston’s appearance.

“I had business with Mrs. Gray.”

“Truly?” Marston looked at Lydia in disbelief. “And what caused my stepmother to summon you?”

Robinson cleared his throat rather nervously and focused on the floor. Lydia hated to see the man take this stance. Marston loved to see people intimidated. He fed upon it, just as he did now. His expression turned almost cruel as he sneered at the older man.

“Surely in her state of . . . mourning . . . it would be appropriate to have the guidance of a family member in any legal matter.”

“Mr. Robinson was just leaving,” Lydia interrupted. She came to the man’s side and motioned toward the foyer. “Allow me to show you out.”

Marston wasn’t going to stand for this. He blocked the doorway. “I’m only looking out for you, Lydia. Was there some question you had about your future?”

Lydia met his pale blue eyes. “If there were, I certainly wouldn’t be asking you.”

She saw the anger course through her stepson. If her father’s letter was true, and she had no reason to think it wasn’t, then she was free of this man and his siblings. She had no reason to fear him anymore.

Standing her ground, Lydia squared her shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Robinson has other important meetings, and I have a headache and intend to lie down.”

Marston said nothing more. He pulled back, much to Lydia’s surprise, and allowed them to pass. Lydia could feel the man tremble slightly beneath her touch. She felt sorry for him, knowing that he was embarrassed by the entire encounter.

“Oh, there is one other thing,” Robinson stated as they reached the front door. The butler arrived with his hat in hand, then turned to open the door.

Lydia glared at the man until he took his leave. The servants were always trying to overhear her conversations. Seeing that she no longer required his service, the butler bowed stiffly and left them. “You said there was something else, Mr. Robinson?”

“I wish to accompany you to the reading of the will on Monday. As your father’s lawyer, I have made arrangements with Mr. Gray’s lawyer. We will both need to be present for the reading, due to those complications of which your father spoke.”

“I see.” Lydia glanced over her shoulder to find Marston watching her. She lifted her chin and spoke loudly enough for him to hear her. “I would be very glad for you to accompany me. What time shall I expect you?”

“I will arrive for you at nine-thirty. The reading is set for ten.”

Lydia nodded. “Very well. I shall await your arrival.”

As soon as Robinson had departed, Lydia hurried upstairs before Marston could stop her. She nearly ran for the sanctuary of her bedroom and locked the door behind her before allowing herself another glance at her father’s letter.

If he had provided enough money, then Lydia knew exactly what she wanted to do. Her only living relative, Aunt Zerelda, lived in far-off Alaska in a tiny island town called Sitka. It had long been Lydia’s desire to join her there.

Perhaps now I can do exactly that.
After all, it would resolve all of her problems. Moving to such a remote place would put her well beyond the reach of her vindictive stepchildren. It would also allow her a fresh new start.

She went to her desk and took out pen and paper. It would take considerable time for a letter to reach her aunt. It would be best to get started and allow Zerelda knowledge of what had happened. She didn’t yet know of her brother’s death.

For the first time in years, Lydia felt a spark of hope. She glanced across the room to where her violin awaited her. Forgoing the letter momentarily, Lydia crossed to the instrument and lovingly took it in hand. She tested the strings and tuned it before drawing the bow.

Music filled the air and sent soothing waves across the stormy seas of Lydia’s heart. Throughout her life, she had known no comfort like that of her music. For a moment she lost herself in the haunting melody of Bach’s Mass in B Minor.

She had once thought of having this music played at her funeral. Now, however, her death seemed far away. A new future awaited her.

Chapter 2

L
ydia sat uncomfortably between her twin stepsons. They seemed unhappy that she had been asked to be in attendance by both her father’s lawyer, Mr. Robinson, and their family lawyer, Nash Sterling. Truth be told, Lydia wasn’t at all excited about the humiliation of hearing her dead husband’s will read.

At least Father considered my needs. For all the wrong he did me
in forcing me to marry, he at least considered my situation.
She held her gloved hands together so tightly that they immediately began to ache. Lydia wanted to relax her grip, but if she did, the entire family would see how hard she was shaking.

Mr. Sterling stood. “We have agreed to meet here today for the reading of two wills. That of Mr. Zachary Rockford, father of Lydia Rockford Gray, and of Mr. Floyd Gray, husband of the same Mrs. Lydia Rockford Gray, and father to Mr. Mitchell Gray, Mr. Marston Gray, Mrs. Jeannette Gray Stone, and Mrs. Genevieve Gray Gadston.” He looked up as if to take a silent roll call, then nodded at Mr. Robinson.

Lydia drew a deep breath as her father’s lawyer began to read the content of Zachary Rockford’s will. Marston and Mitchell were not going to like hearing that her father had left her a trust. They had taken such satisfaction in knowing she would be left without any provision whatsoever, and this would surely steal some of that joy.

“ ‘In agreement with the contract signed on March 10, 1859, at the marriage of my daughter Lydia Rockford to Floyd Gray, I do hereby leave all my worldly goods to Floyd Gray upon my death.’ ”

Mitchell and Marston both turned a smug face to Lydia, but she neither acknowledged their stare nor the words spoken by Mr. Robinson. She had known of the agreement. Her marriage had been a business arrangement. The wholesale purchase of a sixteen-year-old bride by an older man whose wife had committed the unspeakable act of suicide.

“However, there is also another point of reference written here,” Mr. Robinson continued. “ ‘Should Floyd Gray precede me in death, then all of my properties, including stocks, business interests, and monies, will pass to my only living child, my daughter, Lydia Rockford Gray.’ ”

Lydia couldn’t figure out why in the world this point was being brought to light. She was surprised by it, but her father and Floyd had died as a result of the same carriage accident.

Robinson picked up a sheaf of papers. “I have the signed and sworn statements by three doctors, given before myself and Mr. Sterling, as well Judge Brewster, which confirm, as you know, that Floyd Gray died immediately at the site of the accident on April 2, 1870.” He paused and lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose. “I believe both of the Gray sons were available to identify their father’s body on the second of April, as well. Is this true?”