A Hearth in Candlewood (8 page)

‘‘You reviewed the paper work,’’ Emma countered, as frustrated by him now as she had been on that occasion four years ago when she indeed purchased the property.

‘‘That’s true. Unfortunately, as you know, I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to get the deed properly recorded with the courts ever since.’’ His gaze hardened. ‘‘As you also might recall, I specifically cautioned you against buying Hill House and, more particularly, against selling the General Store, moving into the house, and starting any renovations until we had a deed in hand.’’

Her cheeks burned. ‘‘Go on. I suppose you’re going to tell me now that Mr. Spencer was some sort of an imposter.’’

He let out a sigh. ‘‘On the contrary. As far as I’ve been able to determine, Spencer was the lawful executor for the Hughes estate. Unfortunately, he absconded with your funds, along with the rest of the proceeds of the estate, before filing anything with the courts, and he’s disappeared, no doubt enjoying his ill-gotten gains at your expense, as well as several others.’’

Denial and disbelief overwhelmed Emma’s sense of outrage, and she blinked back tears of frustration. ‘‘But I acted in good faith! And it’s been four years. Four years! If . . . if what you’re saying is true, why did it take so long for anyone to . . . to discover what he had done?’’

He sighed again. ‘‘A combination of factors. From all I’ve been able to learn, the heir is a rather distant relative who was completely unaware of his relative’s death, as well as the inheritance. The only reason this has come to light is because one of the other of Spencer’s victims, if you will, hired a lawyer to investigate and try to track down the man, and here we are. The court has appointed a new lawyer to serve as executor, one Jonathan Meyer of Philadelphia, which is where the late Mr. Hughes had his primary residence. Here . . . let me find his letter for you.’’

While Mr. Breckenwith sorted through the papers, Emma struggled for control, but she was unable to keep her heart from pounding hard against the wall of her chest. Without Hill House, she had no home, no purpose in her life. She had sold her General Store to come here, certain that this was where God wanted her to be, certain that the answer to the loneliness that filled her heart lay in doing His will and serving others at Hill House.

She had lost her Jonas. One by one, each of her sons had married and moved away. First Warren. Then Benjamin. And finally Mark. When he had married four and a half years ago, she had felt so alone and so empty . . . and so anxious to find new meaning to her life. She had prayed for God to show her how to fill her life with new meaning.

When Mr. Spencer arrived in Candlewood and offered to sell Hill House to her, she was convinced this was the answer she had been praying to receive. Despite Mr. Breckenwith’s advice, she had pushed ahead, only to discover now that he had been right.

‘‘Here it is,’’ he said as he skimmed the letter again.

Emma struggled to find her voice. ‘‘Is it possible to simply buy Hill House again? I . . . I could manage to do that if I sold off some of my land.’’ She was all too aware that she might have to rescind the sale of that parcel of land to Mother Garrett and actually sell it to someone else, although her mouth soured at the prospect of letting Mr. Langhorne acquire it.

Her lawyer set the letter aside. ‘‘Apparently that’s not an option—at least not right now.’’

A band of terror tightened around her chest, making it difficult for her to draw a breath. For modesty’s sake, she resisted loosening the collar on her bodice and took slow, measured breaths instead. She had never before encountered a problem she could not fix with either her wits or her fortune. Never.

Losing Hill House affected more than just Emma. Mother Garrett would be forced to move out, and so would Reverend Glenn, not to mention Widow Leonard. To make matters worse— if that were possible—even if Emma did buy another home for all of them to share, everyone in town would know what had happened, destroying the reputation as a good businesswoman she had worked so hard to establish and maintain.

Imagining someone else moving into Hill House made her tremble. She laced her fingers together, laid her hands on her lap, and kept her gaze downcast to avoid seeing the smug look on her lawyer’s face now that he had been proven right.

‘‘Widow Garrett?’’

When she finally looked up at him, his gaze was gentle and understanding. ‘‘I know how much Hill House means to you. Let’s not give up hope. Not quite yet.’’

She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. ‘‘Why not? You just said buying Hill House again wasn’t an option.’’

‘‘I believe I said not right now,’’ he countered. ‘‘Mr. Meyer indicated in his letter that the heir would like to see Hill House first before he decides whether or not he wants to sell it.’’

Her heart skipped a beat and filled with hope. ‘‘He’s coming here? To Candlewood?’’

‘‘Yes, but I’m not certain when that will be. Meyer didn’t offer any explanation or any specific time to expect the heir. Perhaps he’s traveling or abroad. In any event, Meyer assured me you could stay at Hill House and continue to operate it until the heir arrives.’’

She bolted forward in her seat and braced the palms of her hands on the top of her desk. Disbelief pounded through her veins. ‘‘Just sit and wait? That’s what he expects? I’m supposed to live here, literally in limbo, until the heir decides it’s convenient to schedule a visit? I can’t do that. I need an answer now. I deserve an answer.’’

Breckenwith’s gaze hardened. ‘‘I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter. He could have had you evicted from the property,’’ he warned. ‘‘Instead, he’s graciously allowing you to stay. Between now and whenever he chooses to visit—which I presume will be no longer than a matter of months—you should be considering all of your options.’’

She tilted up her chin. ‘‘The only option I find acceptable is to remain at Hill House.’’

‘‘As your lawyer, as well as your financial advisor, I’d strongly suggest that you carefully consider what you’ll do if you can’t stay at Hill House. Think about opening a business of some sort, if you like, or simply purchasing another home. You might want to think about building a home on one of the parcels of land you own. In other words, hope for the best but be prepared for the worst by having something in mind in the event you’re forced to leave Hill House.’’

She rejected his suggestions outright. ‘‘I’d rather be more direct. What if I fight this in court?’’ she asked, despite her reluctance to have her situation made public, which a court battle would do.

‘‘You’ll lose.’’

‘‘You’re that positive?’’ she snapped.

‘‘Absolutely.’’

She swallowed what was left of her pride and finally admitted defeat. ‘‘Fine. I’ll consider other options. Soon. But no one, I mean no one, can know about this . . . this problem. I won’t have Mother Garrett or Reverend Glenn upset on my account, and I won’t have gossipmongers gloating over the mistake I’ve made.’’

He flinched. ‘‘I know my ethical responsibilities.’’

‘‘You’re right; I’m sorry. I’m just a little bit undone by your news,’’ Emma said and handed him back the packet of papers as a show of good faith.

‘‘Understandably so, which is why I thought it best to discuss this matter privately in your office, instead of the parlor. Despite the fact you found my suggestion to do so a bit, shall we say, arrogant?’’ he said with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

She felt a blush steal up her neck to warm her cheeks. Unlike Jonas, who had never questioned Emma, Zachary Breckenwith challenged most everything she said or did, forcing her to reexamine her position or her decision, which made her strive all the more to be efficient as well as precise in her dealings with him. Unfortunately, he also seemed able to know what she was thinking, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. ‘‘There’s a fine distinction between arrogance and confidence, which perhaps I misjudged earlier,’’ she admitted.

He smiled. ‘‘Understandably so.’’

When he rose to leave, she urged him back into his seat. ‘‘I do have another matter I need to discuss with you.’’

He sat back in his seat and cocked a brow.

Briefly she explained the situation with Aunt Frances and her estrangement from her sons. By the time she finished, he was frowning. Deeply. Relieved that his concern for Aunt Frances obviously matched her own, she felt for once that he might be more ally than foe. ‘‘I was hoping you might be able to reassure me that her sons won’t be able to force her to leave, and I’m grateful you understand my position in offering her a place to stay.’’

‘‘On the contrary,’’ he insisted, instantly proving her perceptions of him to be wrong. ‘‘Given the circumstances that brought me to Hill House today, the worst thing you could do is embroil yourself in a family squabble, especially when you don’t know what James and Andrew Leonard are arguing about to such an extent that their mother felt compelled to run off to Hill House. Any sort of scandal or dissension that involves Hill House could undoubtedly affect the owner’s decision of whether or not to sell Hill House to you, assuming he decides to sell at all. As your lawyer, I’d advise against getting involved. In any way.’’

She narrowed her gaze. ‘‘Then what do you suggest I do? Put Widow Leonard out on the street to fend for herself? She’s desperate and heartbroken, not to mention the fact that she’s eighty-one years old! She needs someone to help her.’’

‘‘I’m your lawyer,’’ he countered. ‘‘It’s my duty to look out for your interests and your interests alone. Assuming you’re serious about holding on to Hill House, there’s no other way I can suggest you proceed, except to remove yourself from this family feud as quickly and as quietly as you can.’’

Emma tilted up her chin and stiffened her back. ‘‘Well, I’m not going to ask her to leave. I simply can’t. And I won’t. And if the owner of Hill House is any kind of man, he’ll understand that I can’t turn my back on an elderly widow when she’s come to me for help.’’

She locked her gaze with Breckenwith’s. ‘‘I would have expected you would understand and be more supportive.’’

His countenance softened. ‘‘Setting my role as your lawyer aside, I do understand. You’re a caring woman of deep conviction who is passionately concerned about helping others. Quite frankly, I’d be more than disappointed if you did anything less than what you’ve already done for the poor woman. Unfortunately, I don’t have the pleasure of letting my personal opinions or feelings sway my professional judgment as a lawyer or to compromise my responsibilities to you as my client. Just be careful. Be very careful not to get overly involved.’’

Stunned, Emma barely had time to register his most provocative words before Liesel charged into the office without knocking. Tears glistened on her pale cheeks, and her words tumbled out in a rush that left no moment for her to draw a breath. ‘‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Widow Garrett, but you need to come to the parlor— the west parlor. Right away. Mr. Breckenwith needs to come, too. Mother Garrett won’t be coming home. And Aunt Frances won’t be coming home. The sheriff is here. Sheriff North is here. Oh, hurry! Please! There’s trouble. Terrible trouble.’’

Emma bolted from her chair and ran to the girl’s side. ‘‘Calm down, child. Calm down.’’

‘‘I’m trying,’’ she cried, ‘‘but he’s . . . no, I mean they. They’ve been arrested—Mother Garrett and Aunt Frances have been arrested!’’

When Emma cast a frantic look in Mr. Breckenwith’s direction, he was already on his feet. ‘‘It appears I may be late for dinner with Aunt Elizabeth after all,’’ he said and followed her out of the room.

9

A
N HOUR LATER THE TWO ALLEGED
criminals were not exactly in a jail cell, huddling together and terrified by their ordeal, as Emma had first imagined. Instead, Emma found them in the kitchen of Sheriff North’s home, where he had kindly taken them out of respect for Emma, if not for the two elderly women themselves.

While Sheriff North and her lawyer waited in the parlor, Emma stood unobserved in the doorway to the kitchen. There Joy North tended to a pot on the cookstove emitting tantalizing aromas. Emma shook her head in disbelief. Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard were sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table, and each held one of the North girls. Widow Leonard held four-month-old Pamela, while Patricia, ten months older, was in Mother Garrett’s arms. For a moment, Emma almost envisioned herself sitting with them, with her two-year-old granddaughter, Grace, cradled on her lap. But Grace, as well as her big sister, Deborah, was far away, living in New York City, where Emma’s oldest son, Warren, operated a dry goods store with his wife, Anna.

Unlike the two alleged criminals, however, Emma had neither the time nor the inclination to relax within the womb of female domesticity that prevailed here or to dream about holding any of her grandchildren on her lap. ‘‘I see you’re both quite recovered from your ordeal,’’ she noted as she made her presence known and entered the kitchen.

Mother Garrett looked up from the baby in her arms for a brief moment to catch Emma’s gaze and frowned. ‘‘Shoplifting and disturbing the peace are crimes better suited for a pair of young rascals, not two elderly widows. Anyone with a lick of sense would recognize what happened for what it was—an oversight and a bit of a display of temper,’’ she crooned, so intent on rocking the sleeping baby in her arms she did not bother to look up at Emma again. ‘‘I told you my daughter-in-law would come and straighten out this misunderstanding, didn’t I, my precious little dumpling?’’

Joy caught Emma’s gaze, rolled her eyes, and held up one hand, obviously content to stay out of the conversation.

Mother Garrett’s compatriot, however, shifted the baby she was holding to rest upon her shoulder. While Widow Leonard patted Pamela’s back, she returned Emma’s gaze with a troubled one of her own. ‘‘You can’t know how terrible I feel about having to ask you to get up from your sickbed to help me.’’

‘‘Us. Help us,’’ Mother Garrett corrected.

Emma crossed the room and sat down at the table with her back to Joy North, but across from Mother Garrett and Widow Leonard.

‘‘There’s no sense pretending I’m not guilty of doing something wrong, but Frances is completely innocent. She did not deliberately take those two spools of thread and walk out of the General Store without paying for them,’’ Mother Garrett insisted.