“Marguerite, Beckett, and I.”
“Beckett? The chauffeur?” He barks a laugh. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“He’s my husband now,” I say. “Beckett and I got married. This week.”
The line goes deathly quiet.
“I know you’re upset with me. But this is my life to live, Felix. This is my home now, here with Marguerite and Beck.”
He sighs. “You’ve always been impulsive. But this ... this astounds me, Sadie. Marrying the help. What would Mother think? Grandmother?”
“Mama would like him. I know she would. And I don’t give a whit what Grandmother would think.”
“Very well. If you’re determined to make a wreck of your life, that’s your choice. Seeing as you’re a married woman now, you’ll no longer need an allowance. This month’s check will be the last.”
“You can’t do that. Da intended that money for me.”
“Until you married. That’s what his will said. That your monthly stipend will continue until the termination of your life or until you marry, whichever occurs first, at which point it reverts to me. Now.What does Marguerite’s will say? Specifically, please. And if you think to deceive me, know that I have ways of going above your head.”
Felix’s voice has grown cold. Clipped and mechanical.
“She wanted everything to go to Mama. The house. Her accounts. All of it. Down to the silverware.”
“I see. How unusual. Seeing as Mother’s dead, we’ll need to get the will redrafted with a proxy to speak on Marguerite’s behalf; otherwise Aunt Grace is next in the line of consanguinity and stands to inherit everything if Marguerite dies intestate.”
I won’t tell him the truth about our lineage unless I’m forced to, but I must tell him the rest. I press my lips together and say a silent prayer for strength. “Aunt Marg ... already had the will redrafted. She made her wishes very clear. She wants me to have the house. Me and Beckett, together.”
Felix laughs. He laughs so loudly and heartily that I nearly drop the phone. “She’s in no state of mind to declare her wishes. She’s incompetent. Did you coerce her? You must have. You do realize if a will is written under duress, it’s not legally binding.”
“There was no coercion. Her attorney reassured us it was all upstanding and legal, Felix.”
“Well. We’ll see about that, won’t we? What absolute and utter bull, Sadie.”
My anger flares then, boiling my guts. “When Mama died, you tookeverything. Both houses. Rosalie flaunts Mama’s jewelry. I only got one strand of pearls and a check for fifteen dollars a month. You are despicable, Felix. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I used to think you were a good person. What happened?”
The line goes silent, and I realize he’s hung up on me. I replace the receiver, my hands shaking. I think of the time Felix wanted the handsome Gladiator bicycle our cousin Beau had received from Marguerite at Christmastime. Felix claimed she’d intended it for him, since Beau favored riding horses, not cycles. He’d argued that the Hermès saddle he’d received was meant for Beau, and Aunt Marg had accidentallytagged them wrong in the shipment. His argument was so firm, so solid, that the adults caved to his charming manipulations. He’d won the bicycle and taken it out for a ride after Christmas dinner, leaving Beau in tears, the saddle in his lap. Beau had half a dozen saddles already, a point I’d argued to no avail, because Felix always got what he wanted. He was the golden child. And just like Beau’s bicycle, if he wanted Blackberry Grange badly enough, he’d find a way to take it from me.
In speaking my mind, in asserting myself, I’ve shaken our already fragile bond and made an enemy.
Chapter 35
October 27, 1925
I hear nothing further from my brother after our phone call, although I expect some sort of threatening legal letter to arrive any day now, demanding my cooperation in his attempt to seize Marguerite’s estate. Instead, things remain deceptively peaceful as autumn fades slowly toward winter. I’ve made three attempts to reenter Iris’s world since the night I discovered the truth of my mother’s birth, to no avail. It’s as if she’s withholding the rest of the story. But why? Almost everyone who might be affected by what happened back then has passed away. It makes no sense.
I take a drink of coffee and stand looking at the morning fog through the library windows as Marguerite paints, the blaze of maples in the distance bright against the gray.
Beckett emerges from the dim, hauling a wheelbarrow to collect the fallen hedge apples from the lawn. He’s had a surge of industriousness before winter. Since my return, he’s built a handsome split-rail fence along the edge of the bluff, which has greatly improved everyone’s peace of mind and done little to sully Marguerite’s view of the valley below. Our marriage isn’t at all what I expected when I was a girl, but I fall more in love with him every day. His quiet steadiness grounds me, keeps me tethered to reality.
“Mrs. Hill?” Harriet says after clearing her throat. “May I speak with you?”
“Certainly.” I follow her down the hall, concerned by the expression on her face. She leads me to the sofa in the parlor, and we sit side by side. “Is something the matter?”
She shakes her head. “No, ma’am.” Her hand flits lightly to her stomach. “It’s just that ... I need to let you know I’m in the family way.”
I’ve noticed the booties she’s been knitting, but I assumed they were for a friend’s or a relative’s baby. “Well, that’s wonderful news, Harriet!”
When Harriet doesn’t return my smile, I know. Dread rolls through me. “You’re not leaving us, are you?”
