Roses (67 page)

Percy pushed off the tape recorder, its sharp click like the end at the conclusion of a long novel. Amos unkinked his legs.
“So that’s the story Mary meant to relate to Rachel?”

“That’s the story.” Percy glanced across at his grandson, who sat with closed eyes, templed fingers pressed to his lips, a
silver streak down each side of his face. “What’s going on in that head—rather, that heart of yours, Matt?” he asked huskily.

“Too much to express,” he said.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be all right, Granddad. I’m just… sad. My father was quite a man, wasn’t he.”

“Yes, he was. The best.”

“Are you going to divorce Gabby?”

“Of course not.”

“She still loves you, you know.”

“I know.”

Matt cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, and gave his grandfather a little salute—all he could manage for the moment, Amos
thought, and Percy turned to him. “And you, old friend, what are your thoughts?”

He roused himself. He removed his glasses, flapped a handkerchief from his suit pocket, and began to polish them assiduously.
“Oh, Lord, where to start?” He’d been thinking of Mary—sensuous, beautiful Mary—and her life after Percy. How had she endured
her celibacy? How had she borne her faithfulness to Ollie, exemplary man that he was? How had she lived with the knowledge
that Matthew died without ever knowing Percy was his father? “I suppose,” he said, restoring his glasses, “that I’m thinking
foremost of the curse Mary mentioned in my office the last day of her life. I thought she’d lost her mind because”—his brief
smile mocked himself—“as the
absolute
authority on the founding families, I had never heard of a Toliver curse. The answer to the mystery was there all along in
Roses
—revealed in the genealogy chart. I didn’t connect the paucity of offspring to the inability of the reigning Toliver to procreate.”

Percy maneuvered out of his chair and collected their glasses. Regardless of his future fate, he seemed reenergized to Amos,
like an old fire engine with its pipes cleaned. “Not only to procreate, but to keep the children alive,” Percy said. “Mary
pooh-poohed the curse until her own experience made a believer out of her.”

Amos rubbed a hand over his face at the wonder of it. “And Mary convinced herself that the only way to save Rachel from her
childless fate was to sell and give away everything remotely connected with the Toliver legacy.”

“I’m convinced of it.”

Matt reached inside his coat pocket. “Well, I’m afraid Mary’s plan may not have succeeded. I believe you know what these are,
Granddad.” He handed Rachel’s copies to Percy as he took his drink. “As you guessed, Rachel’s not interested in restitution
of her father’s property. She wants to trade it for Somerset. You have a week to give her your decision, then she plans to
file suit against you for fraud.”

“I’m sure Mary never dreamed your letter would come back to haunt you, Percy,” Amos said as kindly as his view of Mary’s foolishness
would permit.

Percy took the letters to his seat and perused them quickly. “I’m afraid she did. That’s why she wanted to destroy it along
with the others. How damaging are they, Amos?”

Amos pulled a sorrowful face. “I’ll have to study the situation more deeply, but for the moment, they appear very damaging.”

Percy directed his next question to Matt. “And you believe there’s no chance of Rachel sitting down with me and listening
to the story I’ve just told?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. She’s convinced of her version of the story and wants Somerset too badly to hear yours.”

“Even though she cares for you?”

“She cares more for Somerset.”

Percy’s “Ah…” carried a world of understanding. He turned his attention to Amos again. “Cannot the simple truth be the best
defense against these?” He tapped the letters. “Records will show that the sale of that land secured William’s financial future.”
As Amos made to reply, Percy held up a finger to say he had one more point. “Also… let’s not forget that William elected to
run away at an early age from his responsibilities to his family’s business and never returned. As a result of my purchase,
he inherited a fortune, as did Rachel. So I ask, Where are the damages? I’d think a court would be hard-pressed to award any
to Rachel based on Mary’s disregard of her brother’s wishes.”

Amos stirred uncomfortably in his seat, wondering if Percy had forgotten the damages done to the Kermit Tolivers resulting
from the belief that William’s father was left out of Vernon Toliver’s will. If Rachel’s lawyers brought that up—and they
would—that particular argument would be dead in the water. Percy had made some valid points, but they could be challenged.

“What you’ve said makes for a good defense, Percy,” he said, his tone holding a large “however.” “What strengthens it is that
the court could look upon Rachel going after her father’s land as greedy, given the generous dispensation of her great-aunt’s
estate….”

“But?” queried Matt.

“But her lawyers will argue that at the time of the sale, Mary was acting solely on behalf of her husband, not William. She
was ensuring the present, not the future. That William later inherited the fruits your beneficence made possible will be argued
as irrelevant to the issue. It will have no bearing on the way they’ll present the sale. Mary knowingly sold property not
hers to sell, and you knowingly bought it… a simple case of fraud. They’ll explain away Mary’s generous remembrance of William
in her will as compensation for stealing his property. The fact that it came so late in his life—when he and his family were
living in extremely modest circumstances and did not live to enjoy it—will not help your case either. That’s the kind of fact
trial lawyers like to milk for every drop of emotional appeal.”

Matt coughed and looked pained. “Let me stick one more pin into your defense, Granddad. Your point that William ran away from
his obligations can be offset by the fact that his daughter did return and assume her responsibilities as Mary’s likely heir.”

Amos nodded his approval of this observation and further pricked Percy’s balloon. “And there would be the question of why
you simply didn’t
give
the money to Mary and Ollie rather than enter into an illicit transaction.”

“Well, that’s simple,” Percy said with a confident wave of his hand. “I’ll explain the rule the three families lived by. You
know it, Amos. Ollie would have let his creditor take the store before he’d take a cent from me.”

“Which the court will view as no less ignominious than taking money from the illegal sale of a seven-year-old boy’s property.”

“Ollie didn’t know it was an illegal transaction.”

“But you and Mary did.”

Percy’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Are you saying we’re cooked in the squat, Amos?”

“There is little leavening power in your arguments, I’m sorry to say.” Amos pushed a hand over his bald scalp in frustration.
“What are you hoping for, Percy? What do you want?”

Percy settled back, his fine old chiseled features warmed by the depth of his feeling. “I want to hold on to Somerset without
forfeiting the Sabine property. I want Rachel to give up her battle, come home, and marry Matt. I want her to grow trees instead
of cotton and be happy doing it. I want her to understand Mary’s intentions and forgive her. That’s what I want, and I believe
there’s a chance of getting it.”

“You’re dreaming, Granddad.”

“Maybe so,” Percy murmured, sipping his drink.

Amos peered at Percy over the rim of his spectacles. “Rachel has engaged Taylor Sutherland to represent her. You know him?”

“By reputation, mainly. A superb attorney.”

“Rachel will have the best in her corner.”

“But I’ll have the truth and you in mine, Amos.” When Percy saw his friend’s horror at the expectation of mounting his defense
alone, he added, “And whomever else you wish to bring in. That is, if we go to trial.”

“I hope you won’t even consider it, Percy,” Amos said. “We can present a worthy defense, but it’s not likely to influence
the outcome, and the publicity will be horrendous. The media will tear your honored name and all you’ve built to shreds, never
mind what they’ll do to Mary’s memory. Do you really think the fight is worth it? Mary wouldn’t want you to finish out your
days embroiled in a court battle against Rachel—to bear the brunt of what is admittedly Mary’s fault. She would beg you to
give Somerset back, to let the chips fall where they may in regard to Rachel’s future. And think of Matt, the cloud you’ll
be leaving him under.”

Percy glanced across at his grandson. “Is that how you feel, Matt?”

“I don’t want you hurt, Granddad. You’re my only concern. Forget about the fallout on me. You’ve always said that the only
true judge of a man’s integrity is himself. If he believes he’s done nothing wrong, it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks.
But I do care what people think about you, how you’ll be remembered, and I’m afraid of what a court trial would do to you.”

“Giving Somerset back might do worse to me, son.”

“How can it?” His tone vibrated with consternation. “Rachel wins the plant and we’re stuck with a plantation. There’s no win
for either of us. I agree with Amos. I say give the fucking place back to her and to hell with her. Let it eat her up like
all the Tolivers before her.”

Percy raised his brows. “You’ve lost feeling for her?”

“I’ve lost hope for her.”

“What a tragedy.” He pushed down his footrest. “I hear your stomach growling, Amos, and you must be starving, Matt. I’m hungry,
too, and that’s a good sign. It’s late, but we’ll all be up most of the night anyway. Let’s go downstairs and warm up Savannah’s
chicken Florentine and wash it down with a couple of bottles of Pinot Grigio. I have until Monday to give my decision, right,
Matt?”

“Right,” Matt said, exchanging a disconcerted look with Amos that demanded,
Why a week
? Matt stood but remained at his chair as the others filed to the door.

“You coming, Matt?” Percy asked.

“Give me a few minutes.”

M
ATT GAZED UP AT THE
painting after the door closed. So much now was clear to him. He had the answers to questions he’d asked himself all his
life. Why did his grandmother remain in Atlanta when it was clear that she’d prefer to live here with him and his grandfather?
Why had they both been unable to move beyond the sadness of his father’s death and recall him in loving, easy terms like the
family next door, who had also lost a son in the war? Instead, his grandparents—and even his mother—had talked around his
memory as if they might disturb him in the ground. All he’d known of his Marine Corps dad had been learned from the scrapbook
of newspaper clippings describing his war exploits and the shadow box of medals and ribbons hanging in the library. Only once
had he felt close to him in memory. His grandfather had presented him with a leather photograph holder containing a picture
of him as an infant and one of his young and smiling mother. “Your dad was carrying that when he was killed,” he’d said. “He’d
want you to have it. And something else, too. His final words the last time your mother and I saw him were, ‘Tell my son I
love him.’ Now I want you never to forget those words and keep them here.” And he had touched his heart.

The lump in his throat mushroomed, cutting off his air, smarting his eyes. My God. All the wasted lives and years, the tragedies
and regrets, the unimaginable grief and guilt… all leading back to that stretch of Toliver land. And now Rachel was continuing
its legacy of destruction.

He picked up the recorder. It had been a good idea… his grandfather taping his story. Whatever might befall him now, God forbid,
there would be a record of the truth. He’d made mistakes—what man didn’t?—but they were forgivable, and God knew he’d paid
for them in full measure. Matt supposed he could send a copy to Rachel, but she’d refuse to play it, and even if she did,
he doubted that it would change her mind… give her pause, maybe, but not sway her. She might even use it against his grandfather
in court as an admission of his guilt.

He removed the cassette and pocketed it. But there was someone else who must hear it—someone for whom it might make all the
difference.

T
he next morning—bored, frustrated, and hungry—Rachel hung around in her motel room until nine o’clock before deciding that
Percy was not going to call. On the off chance he might, she took time for breakfast at the coffee shop, stopping by the registration
desk on her way back to ask if there had been a message for her. The fresh-eyed day clerk informed her there was not. Chagrined,
she returned to her room, threw her things into the car, and headed for Dallas.

The silence from Warwick Hall did not bode well. It sent the message that after reading the evidence against him last night,
Percy had not caved. But he would, she told herself. It had been foolish of her to have expected a response so soon. Percy
Warwick was not an easy man to make cave, even with the odds stacked against him. He’d need time for Amos and a team of the
best lawyers he could hire to convince him of the folly of refusing her demands.

Once clear of Marshall, she dialed Taylor’s office on the car phone. “On the face of it, you’ve got a viable case, Rachel,”
he told her when she’d reported her courthouse findings. “Did you speak with Percy?”

“No, his grandson. I stated my proposition and gave him copies of the letters. When his grandfather reads them, he won’t want
to go to trial.”

“You’re convinced of that?”

“I am.” Rachel decided not to mention that she’d expected to have Percy’s verbal capitulation before she left Marshall. “I
told Matt I’d give his grandfather a week to make his decision. If I haven’t heard from him by next Monday morning, I’m going
to file suit.”

“Did his grandson think he’d be amenable to making the trade?”

She considered her answer. “ ‘Amenable’ is not the word he’d choose. Matt’s afraid of the effect that giving Somerset back
will have on him.”