A Bramble House Christmas (Carrigans of the Circle C Book 6) (11 page)

Willa wasn’t convinced, but when Eliza insisted again, she sighed and slipped the ring back on her finger.

“I never thought of interviewing Mr. Pendleton when I was researching my book,” Eliza said. “But a lot of the things he told you I had also heard from other sources.”

“You’ve written a family history?” Finn asked.

“Yes. The print copies were delivered last week. I’m planning to give them out as Christmas gifts this year.”

“I’d like to see one. Would you mind?”

A curious request. Willa could tell Eliza thought the same thing.

“I’m afraid you won’t find any new information about the sapphires or jewelry in my book. Though I interviewed dozens of locals and read all the family journals, I didn’t learn more than you did from your conversation with Mr. Pendleton.”

Finn shrugged. “Given that we’re staying here, in the Bramble house, I’d still find it an interesting read.”

“Well, in that case, sure. I was planning to put a copy in this room eventually, anyway. I’ll go get one right now.”

Once Eliza left the room Willa intended to ask Finn what he hoped to learn from the book, but before she had the chance, there was a knock at the front door and she dashed to open it.

There stood Dawson, with Scout and Savannah trailing behind him.

“Hi! You’re back!” The nagging worry that had been stalking her the past few hours vanished at the sight of her son. As she helped Scout remove his boots, she noticed Finn putting away the Scrabble game.

“Sorry we didn’t get a chance to finish our game.”

Finn slotted the game back into the cupboard. “No big deal. The point was to distract you from worrying. Now that Scout’s home all is good.”

She paused, then smiled brightly. “Yes. All is good.”

She thanked Dawson and Savannah, and was pleased when Scout did the same without prompting.

“Thanks for everything. I had a fun time.”

It was only later, when she’d helped Scout strip out of his jacket and boots and they’d gone up to their room, that she realized all was not good.

Despite her best intentions, she was still riding a rollercoaster of worry and relief where her son was concerned. What would it take for her to become a ‘normal’ mother again?

Was such a thing even possible?

S
omething was off with Willa Fairchild and her son Scout.

Finn had lots of experience with the younger set and their parents from the years he’d spent as a teacher and the numerous library and school readings he did to support his book releases. Not only that, he’d hung out a fair deal with Molly and her crew, and several of his married friends had young families, too.

Finn had run into plenty of protective mothers and even a few overly cautious fathers.

None of them seemed as highly strung as Willa Fairchild.

The fact that she was divorced from Scout’s deadbeat father didn’t explain it all.

There had to be something else.

Could it be related to his dad? If so, Finn couldn’t think what it possibly might be.

He was on his way up to his room to check email, when Eliza returned with a copy of her book proudly in hand.

“If you’re still interested, you’re welcome to this copy.”

“Thanks, Eliza.” On the cover of the hardcover book was a photograph of the original Bramble House. Above the image was the title, “A Bramble Family History: The Marietta Years,” and in smaller font below, the author was listed as Elizabeth Bramble.

“Elizabeth is my legal name. No one calls me that, but I thought it would look more impressive than Eliza.”

“It’s a handsome book. You must be very pleased.” He flipped through the pages, noting a section of photographs at the center.

“I am. I just hope my family likes it, too. Especially my Carrigan cousins. They weren’t very happy when they heard I was writing a family history. Mostly because of their mother, Beverly.”

“Do I smell scandal?”

“A little,” she admitted. Then she lowered her voice. “Actually, quite a bit.”

B
ack in his room Finn sank into the upholstered armchair by the window and cracked open the book.
A Bramble Family History
proved to be a fascinating read, and he didn’t stop until he’d turned the last page.

Dusky shadows had fallen over the room. Out the window the sky was a deep, indigo blue. At some point he must have reached over to turn on the lamp, but he couldn’t remember actually doing it.

As Eliza had promised, there had been scandal in her book—also some tragedy. Unproven accusations of fraud had been behind Henry Bramble’s decision to leave Boston and seek a new future in Montana with his bride May Bell.

They’d had three children, a son and twin girls. The girls, Pearl and Dorothy, were rumored to be “not quite right in the head” and had died unmarried, and under suspicious circumstances, when they were thirty-five years old.

This left John Bramble to carry on the family name in Montana, which he did by having two sons, one of whom died serving his country in World War One. Leaving the other son, Warren, who had married a woman named Isobel.

Together they’d had three children. Their first daughter was the very Mable who still resided in this house.

One of their sons, Charles, had a childless marriage.

Leaving again, one son, to carry on the Bramble name. Steven Bramble had married Cordelia and they’d had three children. The girl died as an infant. The next son, John, married and had four children including Eliza. The youngest child was Beverly, mother to the four Carrigan girls, including Sage.

Beverly’s life had been one of heartbreak, scandal and tragedy and after reading the chapter that focused on her, Finn could understand why the Carrigan girls might have objected to the book.

There was another hint of scandal, though, of even greater interest to him, this one involving Beverly’s father, Steven Bramble. In a footnote Eliza mentioned that Steven’s best friend from his school years had told her that years before Steven married his wife, he’d had an affair with a young girl who was vacationing in Marietta with her family.

They’d met at the local diner and made arrangements for several private rendezvous. When she wrote Steven several months later to tell him she was pregnant, he denied being the father. This secret had never been shared with anyone else, and the friend only told Eliza the story now because Steven and his wife were both deceased.

Without the name of the young woman, or any other witnesses, Eliza had been unable to substantiate this story, so she’d left it as an open footnote, noting the possibility that the Bramble genes lived on in whatever progeny had been produced from this encounter.

Finn closed the book and wondered. It was a farfetched theory, the only tangible clue being the sapphire ring.

But was it possible his grandmother Judith was the unnamed woman who’d had the affair with Steven Bramble?

And his father, Greg Conrad, the unwanted child?

F
inn had another restless night, as his mind churned over his wild new theory. While it was certainly possible May Bell’s ring had been sold outside of the family, it seemed to him there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that his theory was correct. But how could he prove it?

Well before sunrise, he gave up on sleep and decided to burn off some of his restless energy with a walk by the river. As he left the B&B he noticed a woman descending the stairs from the carriage house at the back of the property. It was the first time he’d seen the person renting out the rooms above the garage.

He paused to wish her good morning. “You’re up early.” She was gorgeous, but the way she was dressed and groomed, she seemed more suited to Manhattan than small-town Marietta.

“Oh, hi.” She glanced up, obviously only noticing him at that moment. “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind. I’m Whitney Alder.”

“Finn C—Knightly.” He shook her hand. “I assume it’s work that has you so preoccupied?”

She sighed. “Sort of. It’s complicated.” A glance at her watch had her frowning. “Nice to meet you—Finn.”

“Likewise. And good luck,” he added, because he had a feeling she needed some.

For a few moments he speculated on what sort of business would bring a woman like Whitney Alder to Marietta. Then he shrugged and headed for the river path. Only after thirty minutes of brisk walking did he remember he hadn’t checked for messages since the previous evening.

As soon as he’d dug the phone out of his pocket and powered it up, a text pinged through from his sister Keelin.

For the most part Keelin was a self-sufficient, reserved person. Of all his sisters she was the last to call attention to herself, or make a mountain from a molehill. To have her reach out this way really freaked him out. He hit the call-back button right away.

She answered after the first ring, saying his name like she was grasping a life preserver. “Finn.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, God. No. One of my clients died yesterday afternoon. He—he took his own life.”

“That’s terrible.” Keelin worked as a genetics counselor, but he knew only the basics of her job.

“I’ve been up all night. Trying to figure out what I could have done differently.”

“This is a tragedy. But it isn’t your fault.” Finn turned his eyes to the river, while, on the other end of the line, his sister started to cry. Finn remained quiet, knowing she needed the release.

Finally she was able to talk again, and for thirty minutes he listened, trying to reassure her whenever possible that she should not take any responsibility for what had happened.

He was relieved when she started to sound like herself again.

“Sorry about the meltdown. You must think I’m a basket case.”

“Yup.”

“Finn!” she protested, then laughed.

“You’re a basket case who happens to care a great deal about her patients. That’s a good thing, Keelin. But not easy, I’m afraid.”

“There are lots of difficult things about this job. I’m always working with clients who are facing wrenching, painful decisions.”

“Maybe you should consider a career change.”

“Perhaps. But enough about me. How about you? Things going okay in Mariette?”

“Marietta,” he corrected. “And things are fine. Though I’m not sure I care so much about why Dad left his nurse all that money.”

“Me either. If she helped make his last weeks easier, then I’m just grateful to her for being there.”

“Are you up to hearing a long story?”

“I’d be glad for the distraction.”

So he told her about the ring, about the Brambles, the visit to the jeweler’s and the things he’d learned from reading about the Bramble family history, everything including his theory about his father.

Keelin interrupted many times with questions. And when he finished with the conclusion that he guessed there was no way they could ever find out the truth, she contradicted him.

“You could do a DNA test.”

“What?”

“If your theory is correct, you and Eliza would be first cousins. Cousin testing isn’t as conclusive as a parentage test but it’s better than nothing.”