Courting Miss Adelaide Page 6

  Miss Crum smiled. “Yes, and we attend the same church. Mary’s father is my doctor.”

  “This is indeed a small town.” Mr. Evans grinned, motioning to the table. “Well, since we’re all here, let’s take seats and get down to business before we roast and find ourselves on the hotel bill of fare.” He chuckled, but no one else laughed.

  Miss Crum took a chair across from Mary. Charles strode to the other side of the table and sat beside his brother’s widow.

  After sitting at the head of the table, Mr. Evans unlocked his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. “I have here Adam Graves’s last will and testament.”

  Charles shifted in his seat.

  “‘I, Adam Graves, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath to my son, Charles Andrew Graves, and to Mary Lynn Graves, my son Samuel Eugene Graves’s widow, my house in Cincinnati and its contents.’”

  Apparently his father had kept his boyhood home. Nothing could ever make him step inside that place.

  Mr. Evans glanced at him and Mary. “If neither of you want to move in…”

  Both Mary and Charles shook their heads.

  “Then I suggest the house and belongings be sold at auction. My assistant can ship personal items you might want.”

  “Sell them all,” Charles said, his tone filled with bitterness.

  “If Mary agrees, I can do that, except for this.” He took a silky pouch from his briefcase and removed a gold pocket watch, the fob hanging from a thin chain. “When Adam made out his will, he asked me to give this watch to you personally.”

  Taking the watch, Charles felt the weight of it in his palm and took in the intricate engraving on the lid. His gaze dropped to the fob. He pictured Grandpa Graves, a large man with a hearty laugh, dangling the fob from callused hands, coaxing Charles and Sam onto his lap. His grandparents’ rare visits were peaceful times. He tucked the watch in his pocket.

  “‘I bequeath Charles Graves the sum of two thousand dollars,’” Mr. Evan continued, “‘and fifty percent ownership of The Noblesville Ledger.’”

  Charles’s jaw tightened. Leaving half ownership of the paper to him and half to Mary wasn’t good business, but at least Charles knew his sister-in-law wouldn’t interfere at the paper.

  Mr. Evans handed over the bank draft. “In a moment, I’ll go over the ownership papers.” Evans turned to the will. “I hereby bequeath to Mary Graves the sum of five thousand dollars.”

  Charles squeezed Mary’s hand, pleased his father had realized she needed money more than he. The money would come in handy in the years ahead, raising Sam’s boys. And would give Mary the security she lacked since his brother had died. Weeping silent tears, she took the bank draft with trembling fingers.

  Mr. Evans focused on the page in front of him. Charles’s pulse kicked up a notch.

  “‘I hereby bequeath to Adelaide Crum, daughter of Constance Gunder Crum, fifty-percent ownership of The Noblesville Ledger.’”

  Constance Gunder? Air whooshed out of Charles’s mouth and his gaze settled on the woman across from him.

  “Me? Why? I don’t understand any of this,” Miss Crum said. “Why mention my mother?”

  Constance Gunder, the name Charles’s mother had hurled in his father’s face after Adam had accused his wife of flirting in church. Charles had never forgotten the name—or his father’s reaction. Adam had backhanded his mother, knocking her to the floor, and then stood over her, shouting she wasn’t worthy to wipe Constance Gunder’s shoes and if she ever spoke that name again, he’d kill her. Charles had known then that somehow this woman had been at the root of Adam’s anger, anger he expelled through his fists.

  Constance Gunder, the woman Charles learned to despise—could she really be Miss Crum’s mother?

  How could his father do this? Was this one last ha-ha from the grave?

  “Furthermore—” Mr. Evans began.

  Charles jumped to his feet. Mary laid a hand on his wrist, but he jerked away from her touch. “What’s going on here?” His voice sounded gruff and he cleared his throat. If only he could clear this nightmare his father had concocted as easily.

  “It’s quite simple,” Mr. Evans said, nonplussed by Charles’s reaction. “You and Miss Crum are half owners of The Noblesville Ledger.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  Mr. Evans’s gaze returned to the will. “There’s more.”

  “More?” Unable to sit, Charles strode to the fireplace, putting him across from Miss Crum, the woman who’d made a crack in his frozen heart. What a joke on him.

  Miss Crum’s eyes were wide, probably seeing dollar signs. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew the accusation wasn’t true. Still, the idea clung to his mind like a burr under a saddle.

  Mr. Evans bent over the paperwork. “‘The equal shares of The Noblesville Ledger are not to be sold by either Charles Graves or Adelaide Crum for a period of two months. If either heir goes against my wishes, and sells his or her half of The Noblesville Ledger before the end of a two-month waiting period, the equipment and building are to be sold, all proceeds going to charity.’”

  Charles stalked back to the table. Mary met his gaze with a worried frown. “He promised the paper to me! Why did he leave a perfect stranger half of my paper? Then force us to keep this ludicrous arrangement for months?”

  Mr. Evans tipped his head between Charles and Miss Crum. “Perhaps she isn’t a stranger, at least not to your father.”

  Color climbed Miss Crum’s neck. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting—”

  “My father returned to Noblesville only once—four years ago, when he bought The Ledger.” Charles turned to Miss Crum. “Did you two arrange this then?”

  Miss Crum gasped. “I’ve never even met your father.”

  “Adam didn’t share his motives with me, but rest assured, knowing your father, he had his reasons. Where there’s a will, there’s always a reason.” Mr. Evans chuckled to himself.

  Charles scowled. “Have you considered joining a minstrel show, Mr. Evans?”

  The attorney sobered. “I apologize.” He handed Mary and Miss Crum a copy of the will, then laid the third copy where Charles had been sitting. “This lawyering can get dry as dust. I can see this is no laughing matter.”

  “Surely we can make this partnership work for two months,” Miss Crum said, as if her ownership was of no consequence. “I won’t be underfoot at The Ledger. I have my own business to run.”

  “Charles, sit down,” Mary said, tears brimming in her eyes.

  But he couldn’t sit. Just when Charles had found some measure of control over his life, his father yanked it out of his hands. Even from the grave, Adam managed to control—no, punish—him.

  His gaze sought the milliner’s. “If you’re expecting this business relationship to be pleasurable, Miss Crum, you’re mistaken. As soon as I can, I’ll buy you out. In the meantime, I promise, this will be the longest two months of your life.”

  Chapter Five

  Minutes later Adelaide stormed out of the hotel and strode up the street. How dare Charles Graves act as if she’d robbed him? She’d considered him a friend, but he’d treated her like an enemy. True, he’d been denied half ownership of the paper, a sizable financial loss, but that hadn’t been her doing.

  Adelaide dodged a woman holding a towheaded boy by one hand. The sight of the child put a catch in her throat. But she wouldn’t think about that now, not when her mind couldn’t grasp Charles’s hatred of her mother, a woman he’d never met.

  She’d get to the bottom of this. No more guessing about her mother and father, about her past. But where should she begin?

  Before taking sick, once or twice a year her mother had cleaned the attic. Now that Adelaide thought about it, she always gave an excuse why she didn’t need help. The last time Adelaide had been up there, she’d stored equipment used to care for an invalid. She’d seen a few pieces of furniture, a couple trunks. Could the trunks hold the answer?

  About to turn the
corner onto Ninth, she heard a shout.

  “Adelaide, wait!” With one hand clamped on her bright green hat and holding her billowing skirts with the other, Mary rushed toward her. Adelaide slowed her steps.

  “You’re—a fast—walker,” Mary said, her words uttered in hitches as she came alongside.

  “Only when I’m angry.”

  Mary sighed. “I’m sorry about Charles’s reaction to the will. He’ll get used to sharing the paper.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “He calls the paper his dream, but really it’s his refuge.”

  Two men strolled past, discussing the rising price of seed. Once out of earshot, Adelaide leaned closer to Mary. “Do you understand why Adam Graves left me half the paper?”

  “I have no idea. I never knew Sam’s father, only met him once—at Sam’s funeral. He came up to the casket, spoke to me and the boys, and then tried to have a word with Charles. That didn’t go well, and Adam left immediately, didn’t even attend Sam’s graveside service. He never contacted me after that, not even to check on his grandsons.”

  Mary fell in beside Adelaide and they began walking again, but at a slower pace. When they reached the Masonic Lodge with its impressive gables, Mary cleared her throat. “If you never met Adam, then the connection had to have been between your mother and Adam.”

  “My mother never mentioned him, but a friend said they were childhood sweethearts. I don’t understand any of it, but I’m going to search the attic to see what I can find.”

  Mary laid a hand on Adelaide’s arm. “Do you want company?”

  At the gesture, Adelaide blinked back sudden tears. “That’s a kind offer, but…why would you want to?”

  “I wouldn’t want to poke around in the past alone. Plus, I knew Sam, and I know Charles. Perhaps I can give you insight.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Adelaide admitted, then led the way to her shop.

  Inside, they found Laura helping a shopper try on a hat. “Back already?”

  Adelaide took Laura aside. “Thanks for tending the store. Would you mind staying while Mary and I have a visit?”

  Laura greeted Mary, and then smiled. “I’d love to stay. I’ve missed the shop.”

  Adelaide ushered Mary up to her quarters, then lit the lantern and opened the door to the attic. Adelaide climbed the stairs with Mary close behind. In the dim light, Adelaide didn’t see the cobweb until it plastered against her face, a sticky reminder of the attic’s neglect.

  At the top of the stairs, the scent of lavender permeated everything her mother had touched, now mingled with the musty smell of age. Regret she and her mother hadn’t been close laid heavy on her chest. Maybe here she’d find the clue to her mother’s aloofness.

  Mary looked around the stand-up attic. “This is huge,” she said, then sneezed.

  “I’m sorry, it needs cleaning.”

  Mary laughed. “With two boys, I’m used to a little dust.”

  Along one wall stood makeshift shelves filled with long forgotten fruit jars, crocks, a glass butter churn with a wooden paddle, a jar of buttons. Across the way sat a dressmaker dummy and an elaborate wicker carriage.

  Under the window, Adelaide spied the large camelback trunk.

  Dropping to her knees, Adelaide blew a layer of dust off the lid, and then raised it carefully. She removed an old rust-stained quilt then pushed aside a stack of linens. Underneath she found a celluloid-covered box. She tugged it out, and then lifted the tiny brass catch to reveal a stack of handkerchiefs. “Granny must have tatted these.”

  Mary fingered the lace. “They’re lovely.”

  A visit from her grandmother had been an oasis in the desert of her life. She put the box aside to take downstairs.

  Still, no hint here to what went before. Adelaide led Mary past a dresser. Tucked behind a hall tree, she found the small trunk. She rolled it out, its metal wheels squeaking, and then opened the latch. Inside she found another quilt, a half-finished pillow slip, a Bible—Granny’s.

  Had she been foolish to think she’d find anything that would reveal her mother’s past in this dirty, stuffy place?

  About to give up, her hand brushed against paper, paper that crackled with age. “Oh, it’s my parents’ marriage license.”

  The license promised “until death do us part,” yet her parents’ marriage had ended nearly as quickly as it began. Her gaze swept over the wedding date. She gasped. January 17, 1866, not the October date she’d been told.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Adelaide’s fingers flew to her mouth. “They married six months before my birth. I didn’t know.”

  A spark of insight ignited in Adelaide’s heart. Her mother’s warnings about men now made sense.

  Oh, Mama, did my conception end your hopes and dreams?

  The afternoon sun glinted in through the window, sparking off an old mirror in the corner. Adelaide rose and walked to the window facing the street, thinking about her mother’s loss of independence and the load of responsibility she’d carried alone.

  A woman and small child, their eyes downcast, came into view. Adelaide’s pulse tripped. Emma, the orphan girl, held Frances Drummond’s hand. Dressed in black from head to foot, a veil covered Frances’s face. They stopped in front of The Ledger, then disappeared inside. Perhaps Frances had a delivery problem with the paper. Yet, something about the two troubled her.

  Adelaide turned back to Mary. “Your boys will be home from school soon. Maybe we should continue the search later.”

  Mary looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. “Oh, I should be going, but we haven’t found what you wanted.”

  “I’ll look another time.” She smiled at Mary. “But thanks, I’m grateful for your company.”

  Closing the lid of the trunk, and gathering the box of hankies and the lantern, they returned below.

  Later, Adelaide waved goodbye to Mary and Laura, then stood at the window, waiting for Frances and Emma to leave The Ledger.

  Charles threw down his pen and shoved aside the copy he’d tried to edit for the past hour. Even with his insides twisted into a pretzel over losing control of the paper, he couldn’t put Miss Crum out of his mind. He’d not soon forget her anger-filled eyes tinged with hurt.

  The door opened and he lifted his gaze from the paperwork, half expecting, even half hoping to find Miss Crum standing there. It wasn’t. A twinge of disappointment settled in his gut.

  His visitor wore a black gauze veil attached to her hat, hiding her face, making it difficult to identify her—until Charles spotted a little girl he did recognize peeking around the woman’s skirts—one of the orphans. Charles rose and went around his desk.

  Carrying a satchel, the woman approached with cautious steps. “Mr. Graves, I’m bringing Emma to you.”

  He leaned closer. “Mrs. Drummond?”

  “Yes.” Her hand fluttered to the veil. “I’m feeling poorly…since Mama died. Not up to caring for Emma right now.”

  “I see.” But he didn’t see at all. “What about William?”

  “Ed needs William on the farm. But Emma…” She hesitated. “Emma needs someone to see she eats right and keeps up with her schoolwork, needs someone to braid her hair.” With a gentle touch, she ran work-worn fingers over Emma’s silken plaits. “I hope you might know a good place for her until I’m on my feet.”

  Charles saw Mrs. Drummond’s obvious reluctance to let Emma go and her responsibility for Emma shifted to his shoulders.

  “I’d be glad to help.” This poor woman carried a heavy load. “I’m sorry about your mother’s…death.”

  “I can’t believe she’d…” Her shaky voice trailed off.

  Neither spoke the horrifying truth lingering beneath the conversation—suicide. He could imagine Mrs. Drummond’s regrets; guilt for not having seen it coming, for not having done more to prevent such a loss. “Can I do anything else?”

  “No.” She bent close to Emma, emitting a soft moan, and then kissed the little girl’
s forehead.

  Charles took a step closer. “You seem to be in pain.”

  “I wrenched my back, but I’ll be fine.” Mrs. Drummond handed Emma the satchel. “Remember what I told you.” The little girl bobbed a promise, her face melancholy. Mrs. Drummond’s fingers skimmed over Emma’s cheeks. “I’ll be going, then.” With a hurried step, she walked out the door, leaving Emma behind.

  Emma stared after her until the door closed, then turned to him with sad eyes. Where was his assistant? “Teddy!”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Run to the bank and then on to the superintendent’s office and ask Mr. Sparks and Mr. Paul to come as soon as they can.”

  “Sure.” Unspoken questions packed Teddy’s gaze, but he headed out the door.

  Charles cleared his throat. “Emma, I’m Mr. Graves.”

  She looked back at him, her blue eyes swimming with tears, twisting his innards into a knot. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

  He had no idea how to keep his promise.

  Tears spilled over her pale lower lashes, becoming visible now that they were wet and spiky. If he didn’t do something, she’d start bawling. The prospect sent him behind his desk. He jerked open the top drawer and rummaged through it until he found what he sought—a bag of peppermints. “When I was a youngster,” he began, “on my way home from school, I’d pass Mrs. Wagner’s house. She’d be rocking on her porch, wearing a gray tattered sweater, no matter how hot the day…”

  Emma stopped crying, but looked far from cheerful.

  “She’d call me up on the porch, ask if I was studying and behaving. Then, she’d reach into the pocket of her sweater and pull out a peppermint.” Charles took a candy from the bag. Emma’s eyes widened. “She’d say, ‘You’re a smart boy, Charles. Work hard and one day you’ll make something of yourself.’ And, she’d drop the candy into my palm—like this.”

  He opened Emma’s small hand and let a peppermint fall into her palm. When the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, a peculiar feeling shot through him. As it had for him all those years ago, the candy once again worked wonders.