“He didn’t leave Uncle Raymond the house, but we’ll get into that after you finish your story,” Eunice said.
“The plot thickens,” Georgette said before she caught Eunice’s eye. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I sent a telegram instead of boarding a train for Montana, which is what I’m sure most mothers would have done. But I was afraid. Father was not a man to cross, and I knew that even before he sent me off to Europe. I’d crossed him in the past and it did not go well for me. I was convinced that if I showed up at Mason Manor, he would take steps to get me out of your life again, steps that could very well have had me sent somewhere not nearly as pleasant as Europe.” She sighed. “I’m sure you must think that was incredibly selfish of me.”
“Not at all,” Eunice argued. “It’s not as if I don’t know how difficult Grandfather could be, although learning he sent you away and lied to me about it does suggest he was more ruthless than I knew. But I don’t blame you for not returning to Montana, and besides, I wasn’t even in Montana then. If you’d made the trip, it would have been for naught and could have very well placed your life in jeopardy.”
Georgette set a hand on Eunice’s arm. “Do know that I have felt inordinately guilty about you over the years, although my guilt was assuaged when I thought you were taking an extended tour of Europe. Even being watched by guards, I had been able to enjoy parts of my European tour and hoped you were experiencing all the wonders Europe has to offer. Evidently, you didn’t get the opportunity to explore the continents.”
“Icouldhave traveled to Europe. Grandfather arranged a tour for me right before he died, but I decided to stay in New York. I knew it would be easy for me to blend in with the crowd here and assume the new identity of Eunice Holbrooke—an identity I adopted after I fled from Montana the day Grandfather died.”
Georgette considered Eunice for a moment before she leaned forward. “I hate to ask this, but did you flee from Montana because you were responsible for his death?”
Amusement was swift. “What a thing to ask me, but no, I didn’t murder him.”
“Your grandfather was a reprehensible man, so I had to ask.” Georgette’s lips curved. “I can guarantee you, if I’d been in Montana at the time of his death, the authorities would have considered me a prime suspect.”
“I doubt anyone would have believed you’d kill your own father.”
“And I doubt anyone, at least our relatives, would have believed anything otherwise. I didn’t disguise how much I loathed the man.”
“Because?” Eunice pressed.
“I have my reasons,” Georgette said vaguely. “But let us turn ourdiscussion to you. You mentioned you moved to New York, but what have you been doing there over the years we’ve been parted?”
Taking a moment to refill her coffee, Eunice resettled herself on the settee and then launched into the story of her life, setting aside her cup an hour later when she finally finished.
“So, if I’m understanding this correctly,” Georgette began, “one of the main reasons you’re here is because our relatives want to have us declared dead, which will then affect our inheritance.”
“That sums it up nicely.”
“But Father told me he was writing me out of his will.”
“Grandfather was notorious for telling people he was cutting them out of his will. He threatened to do that to me after I named that dreadful horse Wyatt.”
“He would have never taken you out of his will, no matter his threat, because you, unlike me, were never a disappointment to him,” Georgette said. “He never forgave my decision to never marry again after your father died. He longed for a male heir, you see, but when he realized I wasn’t going to change my mind, he knew you were going to be his only legacy.” She settled back against the settee. “May I assume he left me ten thousand dollars?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“It would be his way of having the last word, his way of showing his disdain for me.”
“Because...?”
“It’s of little consequence. But whatever he left me, even if it’s a pittance, I certainly won’t turn my nose up at it.” Georgette gestured around the room. “As you can see, I don’t live an extravagant life. I sold the rest of the jewelry to buy this farm, and I use whatever money I bring in from my paintings for the upkeep of the house and grounds as well as basic necessities.”
Judith raised her hand again. “I would think your paintings bring in a substantial amount.”
“And aren’t you just a dear girl?” Georgette said with a smile. “Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a large market for abstract portraits right now, so I haven’t made much money over the pastcouple of years. I’ve had to resort to painting some landscapes, something I don’t enjoy, to make ends meet at times. I charge my resident artists a minuscule fee to stay here—minuscule because these artists are the picture of the proverbial starving artist—but those fees go toward upkeep for the small cabins the artists live in as well as food for our community meals.”
“You feed the artists who stay here?” Judith asked slowly.
“I can’t actually let them starve, something that would happen if I didn’t provide three meals to them a day.” Georgette turned to Eunice. “I’m not telling you the realities of my life to make you feel sorry for me. While it’s true I’ve had to learn how to grow my own food and milk my own cow, which was a terrifying feat but one I eventually mastered, I’ve found a sense of peace here that I never thought I’d find after your father, well... left me. I can also attend church without being berated for my faith, something your grandfather always did, even though he always accompanied your grandmother to church before she died when I was a child. He stopped attending services after her death, claiming he had no use for what he saw as a vengeful God. He only allowed me to attend services during my youth because Aunt Hazel told him the townspeople would look harshly on him if it became known his daughter wasn’t permitted to attend church.”
Georgette nibbled on a bite of cake. “After I came back to raise you under Father’s roof, he often berated me for wanting to attend services, stating that God had certainly not been looking after me since I was a woman alone with a small child to raise. The battles I had with him on any given Sunday eventually wore on me, which is why I stopped attending church often, even though I felt I was doing you a disservice by not providing you with a strong foundation to begin building your own faith upon.”
“You don’t need to feel guilty about that,” Eunice said, taking her mother’s hand. “It would have been difficult to constantly battle with Grandfather about church. But there’s no need to fret I’ve not been able to find my own spiritual journey. I’ve become dear friends with Reverend Patrick Dunford of St. Luke’s Chapel.He’s been diligently providing me with guidance concerning all matters of faith.”
Georgette gave Eunice’s hand a pat. “That puts my mind at ease. If I’ve learned anything over the years I’ve been away, it’s to rely on my faith. Still, I’ve been striving this past year to learn to turn my troubles over to God and actuallybelieveHe’ll provide for me. Oddly enough, I asked Him only last night if He could show me how I was going to pay for the roof repairs on some of the cabins. The very next day, you arrive on my doorstep to tell me I have some type of unclaimed inheritance waiting for me.”
For the briefest of seconds, Eunice found it rather difficult to breathe.
