“Oh, all right. You’re always after me to eat.”
“Only because I care. I want to keep you around as long as I can. We’ve missed out on a lot over the years.” I offer her a danish, and she takes it.
After she’s finished eating, I guide her up the narrow steps to the sun-drenched tower, where the portrait of Hugh has taken center stage on the easel, her chair parked in front of it. I ease it off and replace it with Iris’s portrait. “There. All settled?”
“Yes, dear.”
“I know Iris will be happy to see you.” I pick up the porcelain bell from the side table next to her chair. It rings faintly. “Ring this when you’re ready to come down. I’ll just be in the library, reading.”
In the library I leave the door to the tower cracked, ever so slightly, and tuck into one of the club chairs by the fire. I open my grandmother’s dog-eared copy ofWuthering Heights, still unfinished, and resume reading. It’s little wonder where she got the inspiration for her fictional Baron de Havilland ... or that she fell for Weston. Heathcliff, with his dark good looks and passionate, fiery temperament, reminds me of Weston.
Lulled by the crackling fire and the stillness of the room, I soon find myself growing drowsy. As my eyes shut to half-mast, I sense Iris’s spirit nearby.She’s listening to me about Weston, but she won’t listen when it comes to Hugh. The baby. Her selfishness could destroy you, Sadie. You must find a way to stop her. You must.
I sit up, blinking, and she disappears, like smoke from an extinguished candle.
Chapter 38
December 10, 1925
The telephone rings, startling me. I rub at my sleep-starved eyes and go to answer it, my voice vacant.
“Hello, Sadie, it’s Rosalie.”
Rosalie ... Rosalie ... I don’t recall knowing anyone named Rosalie. “Pardon me?”
“Ros-a-lie,” the woman enunciates, her voice rising. “Your sister-in-law?”
“Oh! Oh yes.” Felix’s wife. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”
“Well, I’m calling because we’re planning on coming for a visit, at Christmastime. We’ll bring the boys. They’re very excited to see their aunt Sadie.”
“Oh. Oh, no. You can’t ... I mean, I’ll need to talk to Beck and Aunt Marg ...”
“The boys will be heartbroken if we don’t get to come. They miss you so.”
I think of Felix’s boys, both dark headed and blue eyed. Leslie and Grant. I think. Or is it George? “Won’t they want to be in their own beds on Christmas morning?”
“They’re still too young to care about such things.” Rosalie pauses, her breath soft over the phone. “Is it because of the argument you had with Felix over the will? Is that why you don’t want us to come?”
“It’s not about the will, or anything other than Beckett and I are overworked. We won’t be good hosts. We’re stretched thin, Rosalie. Well and truly. We can’t find hired help and Marguerite’s nurse went on leave. Aunt Marg isn’t doing well.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Perhaps I could stay with you for a few weeks, with the boys. Help you get things sorted. I’m used to hard work, you know.”
The last thing I need is Rosalie underfoot, prying into our business, peeking in cupboards, and cataloging everything she finds for her and Felix’s benefit. “Aunt Marg doesn’t do well with houseguests. It confuses her to have new people staying in the house.”
Rosalie sighs. “Look, Sadie. I know you don’t like me. I’ve known it from the start. But Iamon your side with all of this. Truly. You’ve really stepped up. I saw how you were with Aunt Marguerite this summer, and I ... I just want you to know, that when the time comes, I’ll do everything I can to help with the estate. And not for selfish reasons. I promise.”
I want to believe her, that I’ve misjudged her. But then I remember her hungry eyes, devouring Mama’s jewelry at every family gathering. Her flattering words. Her shallow compliments. If her intentions are truly altruistic, all will be revealed after Marguerite’s passing. We’ll see then.
“I’ll tell Felix we won’t come, then,” Rosalie says, her voice dripping with disappointment. “He won’t be happy about it.”
“He put you up to calling me, didn’t he?”
The line goes quiet again. “Yes. He did.”
“I knew it,” I scoff.
“Between us, he doesn’t trust your husband. He thinks he’s manipulated you into marriage and coerced Marguerite into leaving everything to you. I told him he was being unfair. But you know how he is.”
