A Surrendered Heart (5 page)

Blake shook loose of Quincy’s hold. “This is where I need to be right now. Amanda needs me. I’d never forgive myself if she awakened and I weren’t here to help her.”

“We must find some way to balance this or others are going to die. Amanda is my niece, and I am concerned for her welfare, also, but the other patients deserve your help, too.”

“Give me time alone to pray; then I’ll join you.” Blake waited until the older man exited the room and then buried his face in his hands. He believed in God, but he’d seen few miracles during his medical career. Prayer or not, most everyone with debilitating illnesses died. When medicine failed, he had seen little evidence of God’s intervention. But Blake now pushed those thoughts from the forefront of his mind and concentrated on Amanda. He needed a miracle, and he was going to trust that God would find Amanda worthy of healing. Medical science had no answers that would save her.

“Amanda is a fine young lady, Lord.” Blake stared at her still form. “You created her, and she’s developed into this lovely woman who has a heart to help others. Surely that’s reason enough for you to allow her to live awhile longer. You know she’s not a selfish person—maybe a little prideful from time to time, but underneath she’s a good woman.” He gently straightened the sheet and then turned his gaze heavenward. “You know my heart, God. I’m begging you to save this woman. I truly think I love her.”

“I do believe it’s dangerous when you think for yourself, Dr. Carstead.”

He blinked away the tears clouding his eyes, but before he could say a word, Amanda had slipped back into unconsciousness. Even in the throes of cholera, she possessed the determination to banter with him. No doubt remained: This was the woman he desired to wed. If only God would spare her life.

“You absolutely
must
get packed, Sophie. We’re departing for Broadmoor Island!”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Aunt Victoria,” Sophie said as she motioned her aunt inside.

“There’s no time for idle chatter.” She yanked off her gloves and tucked them into her reticule. “I do wish your uncle would agree to have one of those telephones in our house. It would save a great deal of time. Come, we must talk.”

Sophie didn’t mention the fact that a telephone wouldn’t help unless the people her aunt wished to call had telephones in their homes, too. And Paul and Sophie certainly couldn’t afford such a luxury.

“Did I hear someone at the door?” Paul appeared from the kitchen. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The older woman waved him forward. “Oh, good. I’m glad you’re here, Paul. I’ve come to advise Sophie she must hurry and pack. With the cholera spreading, Jonas has decided it’s best for the family to take refuge at Broadmoor Island.”

Sophie bounced Elizabeth in her arms and shook her head. “We’re fine right here. Paul and I aren’t fearful of contracting cholera, are we, Paul?” She narrowed her eyes and shot her husband a beseeching look. “There’s no need to escape the city.”

“Jonas insists it is best for all concerned. Besides, Beatrice is traumatized with worry.”

Sophie sat down opposite her aunt and rubbed Elizabeth’s back. “Good girl,” Sophie cooed when Elizabeth presented them with a loud burp. Sophie lifted the child to her shoulder and met her aunt’s steady gaze. “You know Beatrice isn’t happy unless she’s in the midst of turmoil. My sister enjoys nothing more than drawing others into the center of her turbulence. I can’t believe Uncle Jonas has succumbed to her antics.”

“This cholera epidemic is more than a silly charade. The disease presents danger to all of us.” Her aunt traced her fingers through Elizabeth’s fine curls. “I would think you’d be concerned for your daughter.”

Sophie’s stomach muscles tensed at her aunt’s recrimination. “And what of Amanda? Are you going to hurry off to the island and leave
your
daughter behind?”

“Sophie!” Paul chided.

Her aunt flashed Paul a tolerant look. “It’s all right, Paul. I’m accustomed to Sophie’s truculent behavior.”

“Why am I considered quarrelsome when I mention Amanda’s needs, yet it’s perfectly acceptable for you to intimate that I’m not properly caring for Elizabeth?” Sophie hugged the baby close.

“I am intensely concerned about Amanda’s condition, but with the quarantine in place, there is nothing any of us can do for her. I am most thankful Dr. Carstead and your father are present to aid in her recovery. If it were possible, I would tend to her every need, but . . .” Victoria’s words trailed into silence.

Sophie noted the tears that had gathered in her aunt’s eyes and regret assailed her, yet it didn’t change her mind. She didn’t want to leave Rochester. “Our homes aren’t nearly so close to the area affected. We’ll be fine.” She glanced at Paul. “Won’t we?”

He frowned. “There’s no assurance of safety. Perhaps it would be best if you took Elizabeth and went to the island.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Paul was going to take her aunt’s side. Worse, it sounded as though he intended to send her while he remained in Rochester. That would never do!

Sophie met her husband’s intense look with a forced smile. “The minute you’ve arranged to depart with us, I’ll be prepared.”

“That’s impossible. You know I’ve promised to deliver food and medical supplies to the Home.”

She shrugged. “If you truly think I should leave, then you can arrange for someone else to see to those matters and come with us.”

“I have three families who have requested funeral services this week. No doubt there will be others in need during the coming days.”

“There are other preachers in Rochester who can bury the dead.” Sophie tapped her foot and returned his icy stare.

Paul pushed up from the sofa with a look of determination on his face. “When will the family depart for Broadmoor Island, Aunt Victoria?”

“The servants will call for Sophie’s trunks late this afternoon. We’ll depart tomorrow morning. Jonas has gone to purchase the tickets.” Her aunt retrieved her gloves from her reticule and stood. “I’m relieved you and Elizabeth will be with us, Sophie. We’ll have a delightful time.” She leaned over and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. “I look forward to helping you with her.”

Sophie’s anger bubbled near the surface, but she maintained a calm façade until her aunt departed. The moment the door closed, she turned on her heel and poked Paul in the chest. “How could you take her side against me?” She didn’t wait for his response before marching down the hallway. “I suppose having Elizabeth and me out of your way makes life much simpler for you, doesn’t it?” she called over her shoulder.

The sound of Paul’s heavy footsteps signaled his anger. “I am doing what a man is supposed to do. I’m seeking protection for my family.” His eyes shone with anger when she turned to face him. “How can you accuse me of sending you off in order to simplify my life? The only pleasure I gain from your absence is the knowledge that you and Elizabeth are safe. You know that’s true, yet you fault me.”

“Strange that you didn’t express concern for our welfare until Aunt Victoria presented you with this wondrous opportunity to be rid of us.”

“I haven’t spoken of my fear because I didn’t want to worry you. I have prayed for the safety of our family, and I believe this may be God’s answer to my prayer. I won’t have you remain in Rochester and run any further risk of becoming infected when there is a safe haven available.”

Sophie snorted. His argument didn’t hold water. “If you prayed for the safety of our family and believe this is an answer to prayer, then you should be coming with us. As the head of our house and a servant of God, surely God would expect you to avail yourself of this opportunity.” She tapped her foot and waited. Let her husband find some way to argue
that
point.

He clenched his jaw until the tendons in his neck protruded like taut ropes. “I am a patient man, and you know that since we wed I have given consideration to your wishes. However, I will not argue this matter any further. You and Elizabeth will go to Broadmoor Island tomorrow morning, and I will remain in Rochester.”

“When you’re unable to provide an argument for your case, you simply cease the debate and issue an order.” Sophie wheeled around and stomped toward the stairs. “I’ll go to Broadmoor Island, but you’ll be sorry, Paul.”

She ran up the stairs before he could see the hot tears that formed in her eyes. Her actions were angry and measured as she flung dresses, camisoles, and nightgowns across the bed. She expected Paul would follow and tell her he’d had a change of heart. But he didn’t.

5

Thursday, May 4, 1899

Fanny peeked into the mirror and adjusted the navy blue ribbons that streamed from her straw hat like thick kite strings. When she’d bought the hat in March, Aunt Victoria had declared the chapeau a perfect choice. Fanny hadn’t been nearly as convinced. She’d purchased it more to please her aunt than herself. Had there been sufficient time this morning, she would have run upstairs and exchanged it for the one she’d purchased last year. Instead, she collected her parasol and reticule.

“Where are you off to so early this morning?”

Fanny startled at her uncle’s booming question. “I thought . . . I’m going . . . it’s a lovely day, and I decided . . .”

He waved his hat and continued toward the door. “Oh, never mind. I don’t have time.”

A sense of relief washed over her once her uncle had descended the front steps. Holding the lace curtain aside, she peeked through the narrow window that framed the front door and watched until his carriage departed.

With a determined step she hurried to the kitchen. “I’ll need the spindle-back runabout,” she told the stableboy who was helping himself to a cup of coffee. She was thankful her uncle hadn’t sent the stablehands to the island. Both the cook and his personal butler had remained, as well. Uncle Jonas had said their services wouldn’t be needed at Broadmoor Island. Fanny wondered if Mrs. Atwell concurred and had adjusted to the unexpected arrival of the family. Thoughts of the kindly woman who was the head cook at Broadmoor Island and would eventually become her mother-in-law brought a fleeting sense of remorse that she’d remained in Rochester. She hadn’t seen Michael’s mother since the family departed the island last year at summer’s end. Though Fanny had posted several letters to Mr. and Mrs. Atwell, she’d received only one in return. The missive had been brief. Mrs. Atwell had warned she preferred her kitchen duties to writing letters. She’d certainly spoken the truth on that account.

Fanny inhaled deeply as the driver assisted her into the runabout. The rains had ceased over the last three days, and the air smelled of springtime. The lilac bushes at old Broadmoor Mansion would likely be heavy with blooms. The thought of lilacs served as a reminder of childhood days when she and her cousins had played among the lilac bushes and the grape arbors at their grandparents’ Rochester estate. She prayed Amanda would soon be well enough to enjoy the pleasures of the changing season. Dr. Carstead had attempted to assure her that Amanda was making progress, but Fanny remained unconvinced. She leaned back in the carriage. Once her business was completed in town, she’d deliver a bouquet of lilacs to the gate outside the Home for the Friendless. Perhaps the fragrance of lilacs would stimulate Amanda’s recovery.

“Where to, Miss Broadmoor?” the driver inquired.

Before leaving home, Fanny had decided against giving the driver her exact destination. If Uncle Jonas discovered she’d taken the carriage, he might question the young man. “The corner of West Main and South Fitzhugh streets.”

After climbing to his seat, the driver slapped the reins. The horse slowly clopped down the driveway and turned to head down East Avenue. A variety of colorful flowers dotted patches of green along the way. Rain or not, the gardeners of the wealthy had been hard at work keeping the vast gardens and lawns perfectly manicured.

Had the flowers begun to bloom on Broadmoor Island? She doubted the weather had warmed enough, though a wild flower or two could always force itself from beneath a bed of snow. Winter was slow to disappear in the islands, and dear Sophie would be livid if they remained snowbound and restricted to Broadmoor Castle. Her confinement at the island in the months leading up to Elizabeth’s birth had been difficult enough. Though she’d not had opportunity to speak with Paul, Fanny doubted Sophie had easily agreed to be isolated on the island. Epidemic or not, Sophie took pleasure in socializing. The lack of parties, coupled with ongoing interaction with Beatrice and the other family members, would cause Sophie no small measure of suffering. Perhaps a letter advising her to take refuge in the kitchen with Mrs. Atwell would be in order. She would pen her cousin a note this afternoon.

The driver pulled back on the reins, and the carriage came to a halt in front of the Rochester Savings Bank. “Shall I wait while you complete your business, Miss Broadmoor?”

She shook her head. “No. I have several matters that need my attention. You may return for me in two hours. I’ll meet you here.”

He tipped his hat, hoisted himself up, and slapped the reins. Fanny strolled down Main Street as though she had nothing of import to fill her days. The usually busy streets were nearly void of traffic, and few customers entered the shops along the street. She stopped in front of the narrow brick building on her right. Ebony letters had been outlined in gold leaf to boldly announce the names of the lawyers who occupied the space. She pushed open the door and was greeted by a stern-looking clerk who peered over the rim of his spectacles.

“May I be of assistance?” The man’s tone spoke volumes: He thought her an annoying intrusion.

“Miss Frances Broadmoor to see Mr. Rosenblume.” She met the clerk’s unflinching stare. “He requested a ten o’clock meeting with me.”

“You may have a seat. I’ll ascertain whether Mr. Rosenblume will see you.”

The man’s manner was impolite, and she wondered why Mr. Rosenblume tolerated such disrespect from his employees. Then again, perhaps Mr. Rosenblume didn’t know. She withdrew the lawyer’s note from her reticule. The letter had been personally delivered by a messenger several days ago and asked that she keep the appointment a secret. If either Amanda or Sophie had been available, she would have ignored the request and brought one of them along. The fact that Grandfather Broadmoor’s lawyer wanted to meet with her secretly was both intriguing and odd. When Uncle Jonas had hired Mortimer Fillmore to handle her grandfather’s estate, Mr. Rosenblume had gracefully bowed out of the picture. Though Mr. Rosenblume would have been Fanny’s choice, she’d had no authority in the decision. The judge had approved Mortimer Fillmore.

Perhaps that was why Mr. Rosenblume had summoned her. Another lawyer would be needed now that Mr. Fillmore had died. She had simply assumed Mr. Fillmore’s son and law partner, Vincent, would take charge of the remaining legal details for Uncle Jonas.

Upon his return, the clerk was more congenial. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Rosenblume will see you in his office.” With a grand sweeping motion, he waved her forward and opened the door to the adjacent office.

She stopped in the doorway. Mr. Rosenblume sat behind a massive mahogany desk that overpowered his small frame. But it wasn’t the sight of Mr. Rosenblume that captured her interest as much as seeing Vincent Fillmore, who stood when she entered the room. Her surprise must have been obvious, for he stepped forward and held a chair for her. “It’s good to see you, Miss Broadmoor.”

She nodded and sat down. What would have brought these two men together? She glanced back and forth between them. “Have you and Mr. Rosenblume combined your law offices?”

Though his dark eyes appeared dulled by either pain or sadness, the younger lawyer smiled and shook his head. “No, but we have united in an effort to protect you, Miss Broadmoor.”

The ominous words were more than enough to capture her undivided attention. “Protect me? Whatever from?”

Mr. Rosenblume shifted in his chair. “We don’t want to alarm you, my dear. Your life is not in danger. However, I fear your financial future has been severely compromised.”

“By my deceased father and your uncle Jonas,” Mr. Fillmore added.

She clasped her hand to her chest. “You must be mistaken. When I spoke with my uncle in February, he assured me that my investments were sound. Had there been any change, I’m certain he would have advised me.” Having noted the pitying look the two men exchanged, she hastened to reinforce her position. She didn’t want them to think her a complete dolt. “I understand the country continues to suffer with financial woes, but those had begun even before my grandfather’s death. Perhaps it would be best if Uncle Jonas attended this meeting with us. He could better explain my—”

“No, it wouldn’t be better, my dear.” Mr. Rosenblume assumed a grandfatherly tone as he pushed away from his desk. “I know this conversation is going to prove extremely difficult, but I ask that you give us your full attention as we explain what has happened to your inheritance.” Mr. Rosenblume circled the desk and held out his hand. “Why don’t we move across the room?”

Fanny followed his gaze to the vast library table, where three chairs had been arranged. Neat stacks of paper lined the shiny tabletop. “How long do you anticipate our meeting will take? I have other matters that require my attention, and I told my carriage driver to return for me in two hours.” She’d set her mind upon delivering lilacs to Amanda. Thoughts that the spring blooms might aid in her cousin’s recovery took precedence over the heaping papers assembled on the table.

“Then we should begin immediately. If necessary, we can schedule a time to meet again tomorrow or next week.”

Mr. Rosenblume escorted her across the room and pulled out one of the chairs. She would be seated between the two lawyers. How she wished Michael were here at her side to offer support through what she feared would be an ordeal. She truly didn’t want to listen to the facts and figures these men would likely present. Though they’d been nothing but kind, she would feel more comfortable with a family member present—someone who understood finances. Someone like Uncle Jonas. That was why the judge had entrusted him to handle her inheritance.

“Let me begin by telling you that because my own father was involved in this arrangement, it pains me greatly to explain what I’ve discovered.” Mr. Fillmore tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Your uncle and my father share a common bond.”

Was Mr. Fillmore going to examine the history of her uncle’s friendship with the senior Mr. Fillmore? Fanny understood that the young lawyer was grieving his father’s death, but he was using precious time without explaining the details of why she’d been secretly summoned.

“I understand they were dear friends. That’s why Uncle Jonas insisted your father handle the estate when Grandfather Broadmoor died. I argued on behalf of Mr. Rosenblume, but because I was only seventeen and a woman, Uncle Jonas wouldn’t listen to me.”

“And because he wanted to control the money he believed should have been his,” Mr. Fillmore added. “He resented the fact that you’d inherited a full third of the estate.”

They were covering facts she already knew. Perhaps she should try to move the conversation forward. “But I thought that Uncle Jonas came to accept the terms of Grandfather’s will. My financial returns have been excellent. He’s told me so. That’s why I’m confused by all of this. Why don’t you explain.” She pointed at the files and papers spread across the table.

“I’m coming to that,” Vincent said. “Because both my father and your uncle are devious men who permitted money and power to rule their lives, they devised a plan that would eventually permit your uncle to convert all your assets.”

“Convert them into
what
?” This was all very confusing.

Mr. Rosenblume patted her hand. “Convert them to his name, my dear. It appears your uncle and Mortimer Fillmore created a method whereby any financial losses were credited to your portion of the estate and any gains were assigned to your uncle’s. It appears to be a complicated accounting scheme that should have been noticed by the court when your uncle filed his financial accounts.”

“If you and Mr. Fillmore’s son were able to discover what occurred, why didn’t the judge?”

Vincent pointed to the table. “These are records and correspondence that my father maintained in his office files, information that wouldn’t have been submitted to the judge. However, we have reason to believe my father may have
influenced
the judge to cooperate.”

“Influenced? What does that mean?” Fanny looked back and forth between the two men, uncertain which one she should look to for an answer.

“It means the judge may have been bribed to overlook discrepancies in the papers your uncle filed.” Mr. Rosenblume hunched his shoulders. “It saddens me to tell you this, but there are occasions when judges succumb to the lure of money, too. Of course, we can’t say this is absolute in your case. As Vincent mentioned, we’ve only completed a cursory review of Mortimer’s records.”

Fanny turned toward the younger lawyer. “So when you discovered what you thought were discrepancies, you contacted Mr. Rosenblume?”

“Yes.” Vincent scooted forward on his chair and rested his forearms across his thighs. He met her gaze with unflinching determination. “Because of my father’s involvement in what I believe to be a misrepresentation of your interests, I thought it would be best for you to employ a lawyer who will give you sound legal advice. I believe it would be completely improper for me or any lawyer in my office to represent you. Since Mr. Rosenblume had been your grandfather’s attorney, I thought he could lend you the most expertise.”

Fanny attempted to digest the scattered information. Was her lack of money the reason Uncle Jonas had argued against the purchase of a home for Sophie and Paul? Although it had taken a bit of prodding, he’d met her request. Had he withdrawn the funds from his own account in order to meet her demand? Would her uncle have stolen from her? Certainly her uncle was a trying and callous man, but she didn’t want to believe he’d steal from his own niece.

“So I have no money whatsoever?” she asked.

“Nothing as bleak as that, my dear.” Mr. Rosenblume offered her an encouraging smile. “There is some money available. It simply appears your uncle has commingled and transferred many of your financial assets into his own account. Unfortunately, he has made many ill-advised investments and lost a great deal. Once I’ve gone through all this paper work and discussed the situation with the banks and accountants for the investment companies, I’ll have a more substantial answer. That is, if you wish for me to take over as your legal representative.”