The Battered Heiress Blues (35 page)

“Julia Grace Walker,” he replied enunciating every syllable.

“Julia Grace Spencer,” I clarified.

“Julia Grace Spencer-Walker,” he retorted.

“Maybe?”

Over the course of a long hot shower we found conversations to laugh about again. We found solace in just being- not doing. As my head hit the pillow, my mind drifted to memories of my daddy. The blood clots that claimed his life were quick. Instead of suffering a long and debilitating battle with pancreatic cancer, God had, in His infinite mercy, called John back to Georgia Grace-if he could get past Sissy. Of course, I wished that I’d been given more time to rediscover who my dad was, but deep down, like he said to me, as we were both collapsed on the drawing room floor, I had always known. His harshness had served a greater good in forming my character. My childhood suffering had served a greater purpose. The lesson wasn’t just for me.

Henry had lingered downstairs after our shower, returning calls, and preparing documents for the reading of John’s will. We all knew what it contained since he had advised us of his wishes several weeks ago. I had left Henry’s Christmas envelope on the vanity in the bathroom, in hopes that he would read it before coming to bed. His declaration of love and a life together was an answered prayer, but I wanted to be sure that the prospect of running Spencer Industries would not bring him greater happiness. I fell asleep before being privy to his reaction.

Mattie rushed in and jumped on our bed in the morning with Dog. Henry was happy to see them both. The distraction kept us from talking about the documents, but I did notice that they were gone, when I went in to wash my face. We all hurried to get ready and then piled into the vehicle for our trip to Emma.

Gabe and Kate looked like they had spent the night in the broom closet. They were all messy- not the kind of sloppy you get from squeezing into a small chair or on a four foot couch. We made time for girl talk as I walked her to the elevator. They had made amends. She was eating steak. All was right with the world and I was thankful.

For I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from His love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels won’t, and all the powers of hell itself cannot keep God’s love away. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, or where we are- high above the sky, or in the deepest ocean- nothing will ever be able to separate us from the love of God demonstrated by our Lord Jesus Christ when he died for us. (Romans 8:38-39, TLB)

24

W
eeks passed and Emma Grace was making great strides at the hospital. Our daily visits allowed us to bottle feed her and conjure up ways of sneaking our princess out of the unit. We were all tired of leaving her behind. With her weight steadily increasing and her tests normal, we were finally given the green light to take our baby home.

Ms. Walker had remained in Savannah. She was no Georgia Grace Spencer or Ms. Martin, but she was a respectable third. I had enjoyed getting to know her better and finally understood the sickness that is Kate’s raunchy humor. Despite her fine apparel and lineage, she was very much a sailor at heart. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I was left wondering how Henry turned out so proper.

Emma’s homecoming enjoyed much fanfare. Mattie decorated blue welcome home signs with blue artwork and blue streamers. Dog had taken up residence by her crib as defender and protector. Kate, it turns out, had reluctantly taken a job in New York while she was mad at me last summer. Until she could sort out a better circumstance for herself, she was restricted to flying down every weekend. Gabe, Mattie and Ms. Martin had moved into the main house in anticipation of the cottage demolition to make way for their new construction. I had managed to salvage bits of the old place in order to share a piece of history with our daughter some day. I would just have to be judicious with the information I released. That cottage held some scandalous memories of her parents.

Henry never mentioned my Christmas gift and spent the better part of his weeks in New York finalizing my dad’s affairs. When he was home, his days were filled with endless phone conferences or drafting documents and memos on his computer. John had left me everything with the exception of a trust account to take care of Tommy in his retirement and a surprising loot of money for Ms. Martin. She had cared diligently for him in the end. I now owned controlling stock in Spencer Industries. I never wanted to be a part of his world, but I now understood that he was creating a legacy for his family- for his grandchild. I would do my best to respect his life’s work.

Bringing Emma through the front door of my mom’s house and past her picture made me proud that she was a third generation lady of good Southern stock and technically of Royal British line; which made her sound a lot like a horse instead of a little girl. Henry was beaming, and for now, he could wear the coveted good dad award. I continued to hold out hope that business wouldn’t skew his priorities. After cake, blue ice cream, and fried chicken, Henry left again to tie up some final loose ends and pack his apartment in Manhattan. His mom left on the same plane as him and Tommy. The house was back to its semi-quiet state; if you didn’t count the addition of a baby crying, Mattie upset about the crying, and Dog barking at them both in response.

Henry’s stay in New York was longer than expected. Visions of him sitting at John’s desk and soaking in the power scared me. I plowed ahead taking care of the daily tasks that an infant relies on like clean diapers and bottles. The events of the past year reminded me that other people’s destinies were out of my control.

After receiving a call from a law firm downtown, regarding Dad’s estate, and being the only lawyer in town to handle the questions, I dressed for the appointment while trying to come up with an excuse for getting out of it. I called back, suggesting that the meeting be put off until Henry could attend it for me, but the paralegal was insistent that the matter was time sensitive and be handled quickly. Leaving Emma Grace with Ms. Martin, I headed to the address she gave me.

The building with that particular number was in a ritzy part of town. I knew that I must be at the right place. The historic structure had John written all over it. There was brown paper covering the door logo, but the address numbers matched. Proceeding in, I hoped to expedite the issues quickly and be back to Emma within the hour.

A nice older woman greeted me at the front reception area and showed me to a conference room on the second floor. I waited and waited until becoming impatient and annoyed. Walking to the windows, I opened the shutters. The room overlooked a beautiful courtyard with a magnificent fountain below. Fumbling through my purse, I found my cell phone and called to check on Emma Grace. As I connected to Gabe’s mom, I heard the door close behind me.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Walker,” said the familiar British voice.

“That’s Julia Grace Spencer, Mr. Walker,” I replied turning to see the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on in his Hugo Boss suit, five o’clock shadow, hair messy, but with every strand still perfectly in place. “What are you doing here?” I asked, astounded. “You’re supposed to be in New York.”

“This was our dream, remember?”

“That seems like a lifetime ago.”

“Yet, here we are.”

He walked to me, holding out the white envelope I’d left for him.

“Rescue me,” he said, the words spoken boldly and with sincerity.

“Maybe I’ve moved on…” I replied coyly as he took a few steps forward before halting, playing cat and mouse.

“I can give you what you’re asking for, but you have to give me the opportunity to show you that. Don’t just shoot me down based on speculation. Give me a chance,” he added as he approached again slyly.

“A chance?”

“That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Okay…one chance. For the next week, and I mean seven whole days, you can not do any business. No phone calls. No emails. No quick trips. If you can make me a priority for one week, I’ll give you an answer.”

“No business for one week and you’ll be my wife?”

“No business for one week and I’ll give you my answer.”

“One condition. You have to wear the ring this week. You need a reminder.”

“Agreed. Do you need a reminder?”

“No Jewels. I promise.”

“Your phone, Tru. Give me your phone,” I demanded.

He reached into his pocket, flashed his devastating smile, and handed it over. The first window was painted shut, but the second opened with ease. The cell made a small splash after it left my hands and found its rest in the fountain below.

“You are one fine mess,” he offered before he kissed me. “Julia Grace Walker.”

“You mean Julia Grace Spencer-Walker.”

“Of course that’s what I mean.”