A Daughter's Inheritance (33 page)

Mr. Morrison straightened his shoulders and looked at her. There was a sorrowful look in his eyes. “You are my daughter, Frances. My name is Harold Morrison, and I am your father.”

Her legs felt weak and shaky, and she grasped the railing. She didn’t want to faint. Questions flooded her mind, yet the words stuck in her throat. Mouth agape, she stared at him as though he had two heads. Aunt Victoria held her around the waist, and Jefferson hurried forward with one of the wicker chairs from the far end of the veranda.

Fanny dropped into the cushioned seat and cleared her throat. “I believe I must have misunderstood you, Mr. Morrison.” She looked into his eyes. “I thought you said you are my father.” She watched him nod his head in agreement. “That’s impossible, sir. As you can see, I am surrounded by my true family. I am the daughter of Winifred and Langley Broadmoor.”

Mr. Morrison glanced over his shoulder. The entire family had drawn near, eager to hear every word that passed between the two of them. Even the children had returned to their parents’ sides and grown quiet.

Mr. Morrison turned back to face her. “Perhaps we should go indoors with your aunt and speak privately.” He touched his fingers to his jacket pocket. “I have a letter from your mother.”

Victoria glowered. “And I have a number of questions for you, Mr. Morrison.” She leaned forward and grasped Fanny’s hand. “Come along, dear, and we shall see this matter settled.”

“I can’t believe this stranger would declare such a thing, Aunt Victoria,” Fanny whispered. “Must we truly discuss this any further?”

“I think it best we hear him out and put the subject to rest.” She patted Fanny’s hand. “Mr. Morrison’s assertion is momentous. I believe it’s probably best that your uncles come inside with us.”

Her aunt was likely correct. Fanny’s thoughts were no more than an incoherent muddle. She would need clearheaded people to guide her through this maze. The five of them entered the parlor. Uncle Quincy and Uncle Jonas stood at either end of the fireplace, while Mr. Morrison sat down opposite Fanny and her aunt. Instead of heading off for the treasure hunt, the remainder of the family had gathered on the front porch, where the open windows provided access to the ongoing discussion.

Fanny inhaled a deep breath. “Well, Mr. Morrison. I believe you mentioned a letter?”

Mr. Morrison withdrew the missive from his pocket. “Please understand that I hold the memory of your deceased mother in deepest respect.”

Her uncle Jonas cleared his throat. “I imagine she’s more interested in seeing that letter than hearing of your respect for her mother.”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Morrison blushed, and the letter trembled in his fingers. “Years ago your mother and I were friends—more than friends. We had a short-lived but passionate romance. She was a fine woman, and I don’t wish to disparage her in any way, Miss Broadmoor.”

“Oh, do get on with it, man,” Jonas commanded.

“I loved your mother. I believe she loved me. It was through that love that you were conceived.”

A chorus of gasps fluttered through the open windows, and Fanny captured a fleeting glimpse of her cousins. Like her, they appeared stunned into silence. Fanny extended her hand and took the letter. She withdrew the missive from the envelope and slowly read the words.

“Anyone could have written this letter, Mr. Morrison. I have a birth certificate and baptismal record that list my parents—my real parents.”

“May I?” Her aunt nodded toward the missive. Fanny handed her the paper and watched her aunt scan the contents. “As well as I can recall, this does resemble your mother’s script, and the dates and personal information appear correct.”

Harold withdrew a photograph from his pocket. “This is a picture she gave to me.”

Fanny had seen a similar picture of her mother wearing the same dress—in a photo album at her grandparents’ house. She stared at this stranger who claimed to be her father. Her stomach churned, and she feared she might expel its contents. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“Why, after all these years, have you come forward? This makes no sense.”

He massaged his forehead. “I could no longer live this lie.

I’ve developed a weak heart over the past year, and I couldn’t bear the thought of going to my grave without speaking the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not, I knew I must make an effort to do the right thing.”

“Still, I don’t know what good purpose you think is served by bringing me this message. Did you never speak to my mother again? And what of my father? Did he know?”

Mr. Morrison folded his hands and rested them on his knees. “Your mother and I did not see each other again. As you read in her letter, she requested that I never contact her, and I honored her wish. I thought it best for all of you. But now, with Winifred and Langley deceased and my poor health—I thought you deserved to hear the truth.”

“I believe you cared more about clearing your own conscience before you met the Almighty, Mr. Morrison.” Her aunt pointed at the man’s chest. “You gave little thought to the damage your careless actions would cause this young woman.”

“That’s not true, Mrs. Broadmoor. I want nothing but the very best for Frances. It was for that reason I never interfered in her life until now. I stand to gain nothing by divulging the truth, and surely one more person to love her is not a bad thing.”

Jonas stepped away from the fireplace. “We all need time to digest this information, Mr. Morrison. May I suggest the New Frontenac Hotel on Round Island if you wish accommodations for the remainder of the weekend?”

Mr. Morrison stood. “If you care to discuss the matter further— any of you, I will remain at the hotel until the first of the week.” He smiled at Fanny. “I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance. You are a lovely young lady.”

25

The remainder of the day was chaotic: a mixture of pitying stares, curious children, and unanswered questions.

When nightfall arrived, Fanny was pleased for the cover of darkness that could hide her tears. There had been little time to think on her situation, but now that the family had picnicked, searched for treasure, and watched the fireworks, there would be ample time. She watched as children were herded off toward the house and wondered if she’d ever again spend a summer on this island. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she brushed it away.

“
There
you are! Sophie and I have been looking everywhere. Why are you off by yourself?” Amanda asked as she settled on the grass beside her.

“I’m attempting to sift through what has happened to me. One minute I was surrounded by a huge family of people I love, and the next minute I was told that none of you are even related to me.” She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket. “Can you even begin to imagine how that must feel? I’ve been set adrift. To think that the two of you are not my cousins is impossible.”

Amanda enveloped her in a warm embrace. “That letter doesn’t change our love for you. We shall always be the dearest of cousins. Do you think that after all these years of love and friendship, Sophie and I could simply walk away from you?”

Sophie plopped down beside them. “Personally, I’m quite hurt that you would even consider such a thing, Fanny.” She giggled. “After all, it takes both of you to keep me on the right path.”

“And even then we fail,” Amanda remarked. “You know we’ll never allow anything to come between us and ruin our friendship, don’t you?”

“I know you’ll try your best. But our lives are bound to change. I just don’t know how much, and I’m frightened.”

“Then maybe you need to face your fears head on and find out.” Sophie pointed toward the boathouse. “The three of us could have Mr. Atwell take us over to the hotel and you could talk to Mr. Morrison. It’s not too late. Sitting here in the dark and worrying isn’t going to resolve anything. We need to take some positive action.”

“I’m not certain that’s the correct manner to handle this. I think you should wait until morning when you’ve had a night of rest and can think more clearly,” Amanda said.

“Don’t be silly, Amanda. She’s not going to sleep when her thoughts are stirring like a paddle churning cream.”

“That’s what I love about you two. You couldn’t be further apart in how you think.”

“And you’re our balance, Fanny. You always bring us back and center our thoughts.” Amanda squeezed her shoulder. “However, this time I’m correct. I don’t think we should do anything until morning.”

“I’m not sure I agree with you, Amanda. Come morning, the entire family will be offering their ideas of what I should do. Sophie’s correct: I need to gather more information from Mr. Morrison.” She stood and smiled down at them. “Either of you want to come along?”

Jonas puffed on his cigar. “The family seemed to enjoy the day of festivities, don’t you think?”

Quincy nodded. “Had it not been for Mr. Morrison’s unexpected news, the day would have been a grand event. His visit certainly put a damper on things.”

Jonas flicked the ash from his cigar. “True, but the family seemed to recover by afternoon’s end. They were in high spirits during the fireworks display. And I don’t believe the treasure hunt could have been any more fun for the youngsters.”

“I’m having difficulty digesting the truth of what Morrison revealed. It’s difficult to believe that Winifred would have gone to her grave with such a secret. She and Langley were such a devoted couple.”

“Who knows? She may have told him. If you’ll recall, our brother wasn’t prone to confiding in either one of us. He adored Fanny. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t have wanted to cause the girl embarrassment—losing her good name and social position.”

Quincy frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that issue. Indeed, she will suffer if people no longer consider her a Broadmoor. Fanny’s name will be crossed off every dowager’s social directory, and her situation will become the latest item of gossip at their parties.”

“Sad but true. To be accepted, it takes both name and money.”

“Hmm. And what about the money?” Quincy asked. “What does all of this mean in regard to Father’s estate? It would seem that Fanny will be excluded from receiving Langley’s one-third portion, does it not?”

“I hadn’t even thought about the inheritance issue.” The lie crossed his lips with ease. “I’ll check into the matter with Mortimer or Vincent after we return to Rochester. I’m certain they can offer sagacious advice on how we must proceed. The girl is already suffering dearly.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Quincy agreed. “I wasn’t suggesting we immediately inform her of the dismal future that may await her. Sad that she may be solely reliant upon Mr. Morrison for her well-being.”

Jonas snuffed out his cigar and nodded. “Very sad, indeed.”

“Then again, the two of us could offer her aid. She has, after all, been reared as a member of this family her entire life. If you thought it best, I believe I could see my way clear to help her when I receive my inheritance.” Quincy leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs. “It would be the charitable thing to do. Of course I couldn’t let my children know. Other than Sophie, they would be livid—especially since I plan to invest most of the money in the Home for the Friendless.”

Jonas shook his head. “
That
is not an investment. You will never see any return on your money, so quit referring to it as such. As for continuing to financially support the girl, I’m not so sure. There might be legal ramifications involved with that idea. We had best rely upon Mortimer and Vincent. We wouldn’t want to act in haste and then be required to withdraw our offer. Such behavior would only cause the girl further distress. If they approve, then we will discuss the matter further.”

“Very thoughtful, Jonas. I wouldn’t want to cause her any additional anguish. I’m certain both Father and Mother would have wanted us to do something to help. They did, after all, consider her more a daughter than a grandchild.”

Quincy had taken the conversation into another realm, one that Jonas didn’t want to explore with his brother. He had merely wanted to draw Quincy’s attention to the fact that Fanny would no longer inherit. Now his brother wanted to support the girl. If he didn’t turn the conversation, Quincy would likely suggest they simply forget Harold Morrison’s arrival and give her one-third of the estate.

“You are most thoughtful, but let’s remember that Fanny has already received more direct monetary aid from Mother and Father than any of our children. And remember that Father was a strong believer in the Broadmoor bloodline.”

“True enough.” Quincy pressed his hands on his thighs and stood. “I believe I’ll retire to my room. I have some paper work that needs my attention before going to bed. I’ll rely upon you to speak with the lawyers and settle these troubling issues.”

“Rest assured that I will take care of everything.” Jonas smiled and bid his brother good-night.

Mortimer Fillmore would be surprised to hear how easily Jonas’s plan had come together. There might be a few legal issues to overcome, but that’s why Jonas retained a wily lawyer. Mortimer and Vincent should easily prevail in any possible legal battles. He walked to the edge of the veranda and inhaled the clear evening air. This had been an excellent day. He would sleep well tonight.

Michael’s father didn’t question the girls. It wasn’t proper for an employee to question family members regarding their decisions. But Fanny had seen the question in his eyes when she asked him to take her to Round Island. He’d appeared even more concerned when he saw Sophie was to be her companion. Amanda had declined, although before Sophie and Fanny departed, she agreed to conceal their whereabouts if someone should discover they weren’t in their rooms.

“Just say that Fanny convinced me to go night fishing with her,” Sophie had instructed.

Fanny didn’t know if anyone would believe that lie. Sophie wouldn’t even go fishing during the daylight hours. They could only hope no one would realize they’d left the island.

“What if he’s already gone to bed for the night?” Fanny whispered as the boat slid across the dark water. A knot the size of a grapefruit had taken up residence in her stomach. One part of her wanted to ask Mr. Morrison questions, but the other part wanted to hurry back to Broadmoor Island, rush upstairs to her room, and bury her head beneath the covers. Perhaps she would awaken and discover this had all been a nightmare.