My dearest Esther,
My recent actions have not Demonstrated my sincerest affections. I seek to Remedy any confusion now, on this Eve of Battle. Remember me as Before. When my Deeds, if not my Words, proved my Heart.
I love you. ’Tis no other Truth.
Affectionately Yours,
Hamilton Lightfoot
She looked up. “Oh my word. Dad, Jesse needs to see this. This is from his ancestor. It’s the companion letter to the one he possesses. The one that inspired the movie.” She offered the letter back to Dad or Oliver, whichever, ignoring the churning between her ribs. “Why’d you bring it to me?”
“Hold on now, Chloe.” Dad did not reach for the letter. “I thought the same thing until Oliver and I continued talking, until I did some research.”
“My ancestors are from New York,” Oliver said, the expensive,green water bottle so small in his broad, work-hardened hands. “Workers. Maids. Butlers. Family legend is the letter came down from an ancestor who worked for a rich family in Manhattan. I had to call around to my relatives to get more of the details, but a distant relation took the letter from his mistress. Stole it. Said she shouldn’t be keeping a love letter from another man when her husband was so good and kind to her. Ever play the telephone game? Can’t get the story straight between three or four folks, let alone a half dozen generations, but that’s what we know.”
“Who was your ancestor’s employer?”
Oliver pointed to the letter. “We believe Esther Longfellow.”
“Hobart,” Dad added. “Esther Longfellow Hobart.”
Chloe lifted her gaze to the coat of arms hanging on the wall behind Dad’s desk. Hobart. “OurHobarts?”
“Yes, our Hobarts. I’m still researching, but this is what I have so far.” Dad retrieved a yellow folder from his desk and handed it to Chloe. “There was an Esther Longfellow who lived in South Carolina in the late 1780s.”
“The one from Jesse’s grandfather’s letter?” That much she knew.
“More than likely. She was the daughter of Sir Michael Longfellow. They lived outside of Ninety Six, South Carolina, at the time of the Revolutionary War.”
Chloe set her water aside and inspected the folder’s contents, scanning the pages of copied notes and records. “I wonder if Jesse’s aunt Pat has any of this?”
Dad tapped the edge of the folder with his finger. “Maybe, but does she know what became of Esther Longfellow?”
Chloe flipped the pages to a ship’s passenger record.Mr. Wallace Hobart, Viscount of Berksham, from Nottingham, with his wife, Mrs. Esther Longfellow Hobart, and their children, Michael, 2, and Catherine, 6 months.
“Are you saying Hamilton Lightfoot loved my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother?” This was too much. Too weird. Too... amazing.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying, Chloe. We, you, are descended from Esther Longfellow, the object and desire of Hamilton Lightfoot.”
She tossed the folder onto the coffee table. “Wait... no... impossible. This can’t be.” She turned to Oliver. “What are you trying to pull? This could be any sort of fabrication. You heard about the movie and made this up.” She flipped her hand toward Dad. “How could you let him suck you in? It’s been 240 years since Hamilton wrote his letter. We can’t accurately depict what happened last year between two people, let alone two centuries ago.”
“Hold on now, Chloe. I’ve done my homework.” Dad took the folder and shuffled through the pages, producing a lineage of their family. “Esther married an English aristocrat, Wallace Hobart, in 1784, and they sailed to New York in 1787. According to deed records, they bought a large plot of land on the Hudson.” Dad handed Chloe a stapled collection of papers with names and dates. “Wallace died young, in his early forties.”
She reviewed the pages, seeing the information compiled from an outside source. “Then Hamilton wrote to her, asking her to marry him.” She peered up at her father. “That’s the letter Jesse’s family found, because he never sent it.”
“Chloe.” Dad used his director’s voice. “Youand Jesse are the end of their love story.”
She sat back with a scoff. “I’m not the end of anyone’s love story. Not even in the movies!” She stretched for her water but did not take a drink. Just held the cold glass against her cheek. “No offense, Oliver, but where’d you get that letter? Old Documents R Us? What do you want really? To be in one of Dad’s films? Be on the crew? You’ve written a screenplay?” Her chest rumbled with a low, dubious rattle. “W-what’s your angle?”
The men regarded her with a calm, steady demeanor, unmoved by her bravado. A simple letter had rattled her to her very core. Challenged her sense of self and well-being. Her ancestor had been in love with Jesse’s? Impossible!
Oliver sat back, mouth shut, and let Dad do the talking.
“Chloe, it’s true.”
“This is a scenario worthy of the big screen. Just like something Hollywood might concoct. It’s not real life, Dad. At least not mine.” Couldn’t he see? Jesse didn’t want her. Just like Esther probably hadn’t wanted Hamilton. This wasn’t the culmination of the love story, this was retribution. Where does unrequited love go? On the rampage, looking for some unsuspecting descendant. Of course, just her luck, it landed on her. “Why... why bring this to me now?
“Because I thought you could let go and... well—”
