Читать книгу Heiress - Irene Brand - Страница 7

Chicago wasn’t at its best on a snowy January day, but Allison Sayre had lived in Illinois’s largest city all her life and she was accustomed to the capricious climate. The inclement weather hadn’t caused her mournful face and melancholy mood. Today, Allison had started delving into the past and she had reached a momentous decision. If she ever intended to bury Donald’s memory, today was the time to do it!

Allison glanced around the bedroom that she had occupied the first twenty-three years of her life until a year ago when she had moved into a nearby apartment. Scattered around the room were the mementos of her defunct romance, a lifetime relationship that had ended two years ago with a “Dear Jane” letter. She took the note out of her Bible and read it, although the words had been seared into her memory since the day the postman had delivered the message:

Allison,

I can’t go on with the marriage. I’m sorry.

Donald

Donald Brady had been the boy next-door, occupying a brick bungalow identical to the one owned by the Sayres along a row of modest single-family dwellings built in the 1930s. He and Allison had started kindergarten together and continued their education at the same schools. It had been easy to change from friends to sweethearts. Donald had entered the navy after his graduation from high school, while Allison had attended the University of Illinois at Chicago, an easy commute from her home, and they had set their wedding date for the week of her graduation. Donald had had a month’s leave for the wedding, and she had no idea anything was wrong until she received his note.

As Allison had looked at the wedding dress spread out on the bed, the pain of rejection and resentment was as sharp today as it had been on the day Donald had jilted her. Days went by now without a thought of Donald, and she would think she had forgotten him until something happened to stir her memory. A photo album had been her downfall today, and she was sitting on the floor with it spread out before her when the door opened.

“What are you doing?” her sixteen-year-old sister, Cleta, asked as she glanced at the littered floor. “You’ve about wrecked this room.”

“I started out to rearrange the chest of drawers and closet, but my cleaning turned into a journey down memory lane.” She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.

“Why, Allison—are you crying?”

“A little, I guess.”

“No wonder you’re crying. Your beautiful wedding dress!”

Cleta ran to the bed and carefully lifted the garment from its paper wrappings. Allison remembered how many hours her mother had slaved to make this gown of white slipper satin styled along colonial lines. The yoke of nylon marquisette was outlined with folds of lace-edged satin and caught at intervals by clusters of pearlized orange blossoms. Tiers of lace trimmed the hemline of the pickup skirt, which ended in a court train edged with matching lace.

Cleta carried the gown to the mirror on the closet door and held it in front of her. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Sell it, if Mother agrees. I have no intention of marrying now, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wear that dress.”

“Maybe I could wear it at my wedding.”

“I doubt it—not without a lot of alterations.”

Allison and her sister were alike in many ways, but lanky, large-framed Cleta had already grown several inches taller than Allison, who had a light, trim figure that moved without effort. The siblings had thick chestnut hair, but Cleta’s eyes were a dark brown, while Allison’s amber eyes beneath dark lashes turned warm as liquid gold when she smiled—a trait she had exhibited rarely since her romance had ended.

Cleta lounged on the floor beside Allison. “What put you in such a mood anyway? Pictures in the album?”

“Since I haven’t been busy chaperoning you and Tim while Mother and Dad have been gone, I decided to clear out this room, for I didn’t take time to do it when I moved into the apartment. I found too many things that reminded me of the past.” She turned several pages in the album. “You’ve seen most of these pictures.”

“I’ve not seen this one,” Cleta said, pointing to a photo. “Who’s this handsome guy standing between you and Donald? Looks like you’re in a football stadium.”

“When we were sophomores, Donald and I and several other teenagers from our church went to a Young Believers Crusade in Indianapolis, which was held in Market Square Arena—a combination sports and entertainment center. There were young people from all over the world witnessing to their faith. It was a wonderful experience and one that broadened my concept of how to live a life pleasing to God.”

“But who is this?” Cleta said, tapping the photo of the golden-haired Apollo who had excited her interest.

“That’s Benton Lockhart, a plenary presenter at the crusade. He was a college freshman, and one of the most vibrant, motivating speakers I’ve ever heard. All the girls were crazy about him.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” Allison acknowledged with a laugh. “But of course he didn’t know I existed. I was just a face in the crowd to him. I haven’t seen him since that time, or even heard of him, although judging from his charisma, I fully expected him to become a well-known evangelist.”

“Too bad you don’t know where he is—maybe you could still use that dress,” Cleta said as she stood up and ran her hand over the shiny fabric. “I hate to see you unhappy. Why did Donald have to marry someone else?”

Noting the distress in Cleta’s eyes, and to cover up her own unhappiness, Allison joked, “Oh, you bring Benton Lockhart around, and I’ll put on that wedding dress in a hurry.”

The telephone rang, and Tim called from the living room, “It’s for you, Cleta,”

Cleta scuttled across the hall into her bedroom, leaving Allison with her memories. She knew she should be happy that Donald had had the courage to tell her the truth rather than marry her when he loved another woman, but two years hadn’t made her pain any easier. Donald was her past, and she had to stop mourning for him. Remembering the words of the Greek philosopher Epictetus, Allison opened her Bible and wrote on the frontispiece: “He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.”

She had many reasons to rejoice. Charles and Beatrice Sayre had been good and understanding parents, and she got along well with her siblings. Since graduating from college Allison had worked for a religious book publisher in Chicago, and although there wasn’t much room for advancement at that firm, she had received good training, which would be helpful in finding another job.

“I’ll stop grieving and rejoice,” she said solemnly, and the words were a vow.

Bowing her head, Allison prayed, God, I claim a verse from Proverbs for direction. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” Lord, I do claim You for my guide. If You will direct my decisions, I can throw off the unhappiness that has gnawed at my heart for two years. Direct me into new paths.

With a lighter heart, Allison ran downstairs and found eighteen-year-old Tim lying on the couch watching television. A midterm high-school graduate, Tim would begin classes soon at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

“What do you say to eating out tonight at the Pizza Shop and taking in a movie? I’ll pay.”

Tim hesitated and glanced at the phone. “Aw, Sis, can’t we eat here at home?”

In mock concern, Allison went over and rubbed his forehead. “Are you sick? I’ve never known you to turn down free pizza before. Mother placed you in my care this weekend, I can’t have you getting sick.”

Tim pushed her hand away. “If you want pizza, have it delivered.”

Cleta entered the room. “Now, Allison, don’t annoy Mr. Millionaire, or when he comes into his riches he won’t share with you.”

Tim raked his long brown hair back from his face and revealed dark, serious eyes. “All right, poke fun at me if you want to, but I’ll bet you’re just as curious as I am. I wish Mother and Dad would call.”

Allison sat down in a chair opposite the couch. It had been four days now since their parents had gone to Columbus to attend the funeral of Beatrice’s only brother, Harrison Page. They hadn’t returned at the expected time, nor had they telephoned. Beatrice had called when they arrived in Ohio, but no word had come since then.

Allison knew very little about her uncle. His wife had been an invalid several years before she died and the couple had no children, so the disposition of his considerable wealth was often a matter of family speculation.

When Allison went into the kitchen to prepare their evening meal, Tim turned off the television and followed her.

“Surely he left us something. He must have had lots of money, and after all, I’m the only nephew Uncle Harrison has, and you and Cleta are his only nieces. What else would he do with his money if he didn’t pass it on to us?”

“I don’t know,” Allison said, “but I can’t believe that he would remember us in his will when he didn’t have anything to do with us when he was living. I’ve seen him only two times—when our grandparents died.”

“But Mother heard from him,” Tim argued.

“A card at Christmas with a hundred-dollar bill in it. The rest of the time she didn’t know if he was living or dead.”

“Surely I’ll get enough to buy a new car.”

“Only a car?” Cleta taunted him. “I thought you were expecting his whole publishing company.”

Tim went out to the backyard and slammed the door, but he rushed back in when the telephone rang and slumped into a chair when he found Cleta talking to one of her friends.

“I wish I’d paid more attention to Uncle Harrison when he was alive,” Tim moaned.

Allison was rummaging in the refrigerator to see what leftovers were available. “Have you considered that Aunt Sarah may have had relatives he knew better than he knew us? Maybe they’ll inherit.”

Tim groaned, dropped his head on the table and wrapped his arms around his head. Cleta hung up the phone in record time for her, shoved Tim away from the table and laid out the plates and silver.

“I’ll admit I’d be pleased if we did get some of his money,” she said. “It would ease Dad’s load. I know he dreads the expense of sending Tim and me to college.”

“Don’t spend the money until you get it,” Allison warned, although she knew that her sister’s observation was true.

Since Allison’s plans of taking the family out for dinner had been foiled, she settled on food that her mother had prepared before leaving. She sliced some roast beef, browned boiled potatoes and tossed a garden salad. They could eat the rest of the apple pie for dessert.

Allison had just gotten the dinner dishes rinsed and put in the dishwasher when they heard a car entering the garage. Tim rushed to the door between the kitchen and the garage, and the girls were right behind him.

Charles was opening the car door for Beatrice, and he said, “Your mother has had a rough time, so don’t pester her. You can help me unload, Tim.” He put his arms around Cleta and Allison and gave them a hug. “We’ve missed you. Has everything been all right here?”

“Yes,” Allison said in her low, melodious voice, “but we’re happy you’re home.” Charles Sayre was a brawny man, jovial and friendly, always ready to listen to his children’s problems. Allison had missed him.

Beatrice greeted her children with a slight, sad-faced smile. “Mother,” Allison said. “I’m sorry it’s been a sad experience for you.” She put an arm around her mother, who was standing as rigid as a statue.

“He was my only brother. What else would you expect?”

Allison gasped, for never before had her mother been so curt with her. It was almost as if Allison had done something to annoy Beatrice. How could that be? She hadn’t seen her for a week.

Beatrice turned abruptly and walked into the house, passed through the kitchen and into the living room. Again Allison was stunned. It wasn’t like her mother not to comment on the tidiness of the house. The three siblings had always worked hard to earn their mother’s praise, and the house looked as neat as it had when their parents had left. Beatrice Sayre was the dominant personality of the family, and although she could be tender and understanding in times of distress, she exerted a rigid discipline over her children. Charles made the money, but Beatrice managed their finances so that the family lived comfortably.

Charles was laughing when he followed Cleta and Tim into the living room. They struggled with the luggage, and he carried a large plastic bag, out of which he pulled three teddy bears. “Here, I brought you some presents from Columbus.”

Cleta squealed and grabbed the white bear with a red ribbon around its neck.

“Aw, Dad, I’m too big for a teddy bear,” Tim said, but he picked up the large brown bear.

Smiling, Allison said, “Looks like I’m left with the black one. Thanks a lot, Dad.” She didn’t want to dim her father’s joy by not being appreciative, but she was concerned about Beatrice’s attitude. What had happened in Columbus to distress her mother? How could she be mourning for a brother with whom she’d had so little contact for years?

Tucking the brown bear under his arm, Tim said, “The bear is nice, Dad, but I’m interested in other things. Give us the scoop. How much did we get?”

Charles dropped his head, refusing to look at his children. Beatrice stared at the floor, her face ashen, so it was easy to guess from their dismay that the Sayres hadn’t been mentioned in the will. Cleta and Tim certainly looked woebegone, but Allison wasn’t surprised. Was she the only one in the family who hadn’t expected a windfall? Crushed as she had been by Donald’s perfidy, Allison hadn’t given any thought to Uncle Harrison’s illness and his subsequent death.

With a sigh, Beatrice fastened her eyes on her son. “You didn’t get anything!” She pulled a large envelope from her purse. “According to Harrison’s lawyer, with the exception of a few bequests to some of his employees, my brother bequeathed his entire estate to Allison. He gave us a copy of the will.” She started to hand the document to Allison, but Tim grabbed it from his mother’s hand.

“But why Allison? Why her and not me?”

Charles took the will from Tim and gave it to Allison, whose hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t hold the envelope and it dropped to the floor.

“Harrison must have had his reasons, but he didn’t choose to tell us. Stop being selfish and congratulate your sister for her good fortune,” Charles said.

“Well, if I can’t have it, I’m glad that he chose Allison instead of Cleta. You’ll divide with me, won’t you, Allison? Cleta never would. How much is his estate worth?”

“We don’t know. Since neither Beatrice nor I was named in the will, we had no right to inquire. Harrison’s lawyer did give us that copy of the will, but Allison will have to go to Columbus to find out all the details.”

Allison felt as if she were observing the scene in their living room from another sphere. Beatrice looked as though she would burst into tears at any minute, and that troubled Allison. Had Beatrice herself expected the money? Charles watched his wife with anxious eyes. Tim wore a petulant expression. A broad smile brightened Cleta’s face.

After Allison’s first wave of surprise passed, an excitement started building within, and she picked up the envelope, opened it and began to read the will, noting immediately that the document had been validated three years ago on her twenty-first birthday.

“Isn’t that a coincidence!” she exclaimed. “Signed on my birthday. Uncle Harrison couldn’t have known that.”

No one answered, and she continued to read. After she passed the introductory legal jargon, the wording was very simple. Five people were listed for bequests based on a percentage of Harrison’s total estate, with the balance to be given to “my niece Allison Sayre.” This balance included the Page Publishing Company, a home in Victorian Village and whatever investments and securities Harrison owned at the time of his death.

“Oh, this is great,” Allison said. “Just this morning, I prayed for God to give new direction to my life, and here it is, offered to me on a silver platter.”

“I don’t want you to take it,” Beatrice said quietly.

Her family stared at her, speechless, and Charles was the first to find his voice.

“Not take it?” he shouted. “Why would you want Allison to turn down an estate that might be worth several million dollars?”

Beatrice regarded her husband in amazement. “Charles, think a minute. It’s the only sane solution.”

“Mother,” Allison said, “why can’t you be happy for me? Ever since Donald married and started bringing his wife next door, I’ve been miserable here in Chicago. This will give me something else to think about. Are you disappointed because he didn’t name you in the will?”

“I didn’t expect anything from Harrison, but I don’t like the idea that he favored you over the other children. That isn’t fair. Besides, you’re not mature enough to take over his estate.”

“I’m not a child anymore, and I’ve had some experience in the publishing business. Perhaps that’s the reason he chose me.”

Cleta spoke for the first time. “I think you should take it. If the money had been left to me, I’d rush out of here for Columbus so fast you couldn’t stop me. Not take a few million dollars! Mother, you must be joking.”

“We’ve tried to teach you children that money isn’t everything, but if you’re determined to accept it, Allison, then promise me that you’ll liquidate it the minute the estate comes into your possession. I don’t want you to go to Columbus.”

Trying to think of a way to answer her mother, Allison hesitated as she glanced through the document again. She read the names of the others that Harrison Page had listed: Celestine Handley, Adra and Minerva McRamey, Thomas Curnutt and Benton Lockhart.

Benton Lockhart! Surely not the Benton Lockhart she had once known and had never forgotten. A photo of that dynamic young man had brought him to mind today, and here was something else to evoke his memory. Seeing that name convinced Allison that she would definitely go to Columbus and at least find out what was involved in accepting Harrison’s property.

“That’s a promise I can’t make right now, Mother. I must go to Columbus and find out what is involved. Maybe I won’t want to live there, but I have to find out for myself. Will you go with me to investigate? I don’t want to go alone.”

Beatrice stood, and her visage was stony. “No, I won’t go with you. This move may very well ruin your life, and I won’t be a party to having you wreck the life-style we’ve worked for years to achieve.”

She stalked out of the room, and as Allison heard her steps, heavy and deliberate, on the stairway, she turned to Charles questioningly.

“I’ll go with you,” he said quietly. “After being gone this week, I can’t be away from work long, but I’ll arrange for a couple of days, as you will have to do, and we’ll take a plane for Columbus. I believe you’ve made the right decision.”

The following Sunday, Allison and Charles waited at O’Hare Airport for a plane to Columbus. Sleet pelted the large windows in the waiting area as Allison tried to be patient. The plane was already an hour late, which meant that their arrival in Columbus would be well after dark. It was a good thing they had allowed two days for the trip instead of only one. Their appointment with the lawyer, Thomas Curnutt, was scheduled for nine o’clock tomorrow morning, with a flight back to Chicago in midafternoon. Allison was eager for the meeting, but she knew she couldn’t hurry the plane, so she took a book from her purse and started to read. In a short time, passengers from the incoming jet came through the walkway, and soon the call was given for loading. It was obvious that the airport authorities were moving the planes as fast as safety rules permitted to avoid a big buildup if the airport had to be closed because of the weather.

Their plane arrived in Columbus two hours late, but since no one was meeting them, it didn’t matter. Heavy clouds had hidden the ground all the way across Indiana and Ohio, but as they approached Columbus, the plane reached a lower altitude and Allison saw the wide fertile fields of western Ohio give way to a metropolis spread around the banks of the Scioto and Olentangy Rivers, and as they neared the airport, she was amazed at the cluster of tall buildings in the downtown section. The city wasn’t as large as Chicago, but it displayed an interesting skyline, and Allison looked eagerly at this capital city that might soon become her home.

Intermittent rain was falling when the plane landed, and since they hadn’t checked any luggage, Charles motioned Allison toward the lower level of the terminal, where ground transportation was available. Her father arranged for a van to take them to a downtown hotel, and it was almost seven o’clock when they registered and took the elevator to adjoining rooms on the third floor.

“Will a half hour give you time to freshen up for dinner?” Charles asked, and when Allison nodded, he said, “Come into my room when you’re ready.”

Allison was ready in fifteen minutes, as was Charles, and as they waited for the elevator to take them to the restaurant, Allison said, “I’m not hungry.”

Charles gave her a hug. “I know that, but you’re going to eat anyway. Stop being nervous—this is going to work out fine.”

Tears welled in Allison’s eyes. “I hope so, but I’m scared.”

“I know that, too,” he said as he gently squeezed her shoulder.

Charles, who always had a healthy appetite, ordered a full meal, and when Allison asked for a salad only, Charles said to the waiter, “Add a bowl of vegetable soup and some crackers to her order. Also, we’ll have pie for dessert.”

He reached across the table and took Allison’s hand. “Listen to me, Allison. Harrison should not have loaded all this on you without telling you first, but that was his way. The man was self-centered, and while he seems to have had an excellent head for business, he didn’t know much about dealing with his family.”

“Why didn’t he ever come to see us?”

Charles shrugged and leaned back so the waitress could arrange their beverages and salads. He took Allison’s hand again as he said a prayer of thanks for their food.

“You know very well that I’ll miss you if you leave Chicago, but I honestly feel that your future lies here in Columbus.”

“I’ve been very unhappy for two years. I couldn’t live at the house anymore and see Donald bringing his wife home to visit. It helped to go into the apartment, but it will probably be better if I leave Chicago.”

Sternly, Charles said, “It’s time for you to stop this yearning for Donald. You would have had a miserable life married to a man who was in love with another woman.”

“I decided last week while you were gone that I was going to bury the past.”

“That’s good. When Donald refused to marry you, he was simply living by the Golden Rule, the way I’ve taught you children to live, and it’s time for you to forget him and go on with your life. Frankly, I question you ever had a deep love for Donald—he was just a habit in your life. You two were friends and little more, I think. He was your first boyfriend, Allison, but I don’t think you and Donald shared the strong feelings necessary for a good marriage.”

Allison stared at her father as if he didn’t know what he was talking about, but perhaps he was right. He hadn’t steered her wrong yet.

The next morning Charles ordered a taxi to take them to Curnutt’s office on South High Street.

“And they call Chicago the windy city,” Allison said to Charles as she noticed the effect of the strong wind sweeping across High Street where it intersected with Broad. People could hardly stand against its power. Stoplights and shop signs risked being blown from their moorings. Pigeons with ruffled feathers, strutting along the street looking for crumbs, staggered drunkenly from the force of the blasts, and passengers waiting at the bus stops were sprayed with liquid as foam coffee cups were torn from their hands.

“It’s a nice city, though,” Charles observed. “Smaller than Chicago, but enough like it that you wouldn’t notice a great deal of difference.”

Before they reached the stone statehouse in Capitol Square, they observed the sprawling Nationwide Insurance Plaza and passed under the connecting mall bridge between Lazarus and Jacobson’s, the city’s two large department stores. The stately city hall building was on their right as the taxi dodged in and out of traffic on busy High Street.

The attorney’s office was in a two-story brick building, which had been a dwelling at one time. Charles paid the taxi fare, took Allison’s arm, steered her along the sidewalk and up the two steps to the front door. She sighed deeply.

“You’re prettier when you smile,” Charles said jokingly, and Allison forced her features to relax. She couldn’t smile, but she did look pleasant as she inspected her image in the glass panel of the walnut door. A sign on the door said Open. Come in.

There was no turning back now. A blast of heat hit their faces, and it felt good after the chill morning air. They were in a narrow, heavily carpeted foyer with a circular stairway leading upward. The door to the left was marked Receptionist, and a woman well past her youth greeted them with a pleasant, “Good morning.” She was dressed in a black suit, and her elegance blended with the lavish office, which must have contained every modern office machine on the market. Thomas Curnutt obviously wasn’t a struggling young lawyer.

“I’m Charles Sayre, and this is my daughter Allison. We have an appointment with Mr. Curnutt.”

“Won’t you be seated for a few minutes? I’m Mary Curnutt, and my husband was delayed with a client at the hospital this morning, but he telephoned just a few moments ago that he would be here soon.”

Another delay, Allison thought with a sigh. If the Lord was trying to teach her patience, she was in the right classroom. Although it had been only eight days since she’d learned of her inheritance, the wait had seemed endless.

Alert to her moods, Charles muttered, “You’ve waited this long—five minutes more won’t make much difference.”

She flashed him a smile. How many times in her life had this best of all fathers jollied her out of the dismals?

The phone rang, and under cover of the secretary’s conversation, Charles said, “I can’t understand you. You’ve suddenly become a millionaire. That’s supposed to make you happy. You were excited at first. What’s happened?”

“I’m disturbed about Mother’s reaction. If she wanted me to have the money, I’d be dancing around light as a feather. I can’t be happy if I make others unhappy.”

Charles waved his arm in an impatient gesture. “Forget your mother. There comes a moment in all our lives when we can’t do what our parents want us to. Your mother will get over her peeve, but it will take time. Just be patient with her. And another thing, my only purpose here is to give you support. You’ll have to do the talking, so loosen up.”

When the secretary terminated her conversation, she said, “I believe I heard Mr. Curnutt come in.”

The door behind the secretary opened, and a well-built man of medium height entered the reception room. He had glossy dark hair, streaked with gray, and brown eyes, and Allison judged he was about sixty years old. He advanced and shook hands with Charles.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Sayre,” Curnutt said in a deep-toned powerful voice, and he turned to Allison. “And this is Allison, I presume.”

Allison took his outstretched hand. He sounded as if meeting her was his greatest pleasure, and Curnutt’s presence affected her like a gentle breeze on a soft, spring day. She felt safe in his hands, and much of her nervousness dissipated under the influence of his warm, radiant personality as he stood aside to let Allison precede him into his office. The office had the air of a cozy living room, with comfortable leather chairs grouped about two coffee tables. The focal point of the room was a window overlooking the backyard, where cardinals and chickadees fought for sunflower seeds in a well-filled bird feeder. Tall maple trees marked the property line, and a fountain, now wrapped in a protective cover, would provide a pleasant addition to the scene in summer.

The attorney seated Allison and Charles beside one of the low tables, and Mrs. Curnutt brought in a silver tray containing coffee and tea urns and a plate of homemade cookies. Charles poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Allison, but she declined. She wouldn’t have considered putting food or drink into her queasy stomach.

While Curnutt opened a locked file and took out a well-filled folder, Allison clenched her fingers and commanded them not to tremble. God, I need some help, she prayed, and instantaneously she remembered a verse that she’d heard over and over at funerals. She almost felt as if this were her funeral—at least it was the death of her old way of life, so the words were welcome. “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

She felt Charles’s eyes upon her, and she was smiling when Curnutt sat down and laid the folder on the table between them.

“Mr. Curnutt,” Allison began in a steady voice, “the inheritance from my uncle came as a complete surprise to all of us. I know nothing about his affairs.”

He nodded. “I was aware that Harrison had not made his intentions known to you, and I advised him that he was making a mistake, and especially after he became ill, I insisted that you should be told, but he refused.”

“Then he wasn’t sick when he first made this will,” Allison said, taking the document from her purse.

“That’s correct. Harrison and I have been friends for years, and he had never mentioned a family until he came in here three years ago and asked me to draw up his will.”

“He must have been a strange man. He didn’t keep in contact with us, either.”

“He was a lonely man, I think, because he was attentive to his ailing wife. He worked hard at his company, but he had no social life.” Curnutt spread open the file. “Since I knew you were coming, I’ve prepared a portfolio of his worth so we could start probating the will upon your arrival.”

“Since I know nothing about his assets, tell me what I need to know.”

He smiled at her. “You should know, Miss Sayre, that you’ve become a very wealthy young woman. Page Publishing alone is worth more than a million, his three-story Victorian home could be listed for close to a million, and I estimate that his stocks, bonds and other assets will round out your total inheritance at nearly three million dollars.”

Sweat popped out on Allison’s hands, and she suddenly felt faint. Curnutt’s smiling face faded before her, and Charles placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

“I’m all right, but it’s overwhelming. You see, Mr. Curnutt, my mother wants me to sell the house and the publishing company and take cash for everything, and that’s a lot of cash! She doesn’t want me to move to Columbus, for she says I’m not mature enough to take over Uncle Harrison’s business, and I suspect she’s right.”

Curnutt shook his head and handed her a sheet of paper. “This is a copy of the codicil to your uncle’s will, and I neglected to give it to your parents last week. Perhaps Harrison had second thoughts about saddling you with so much responsibility, but a year ago, he made these provisions—you must manage Page Publishing Company for at least three years before you can sell it. And you will notice the stipulation that if you do not choose to abide by these provisions, you will not inherit, the business will be shut down and his assets will be liquidated and given to Mount Carmel Hospital.”

“So I take everything he had or nothing?”

“That’s right.”

Allison left the chair and walked toward the window. The cardinals flashed brilliant in the morning’s sun as they flew gracefully from the tall maples down to the feeder, grabbed a seed and winged back to their perch. Unlike birds in the wild, they had become dependent upon these handouts, and she wondered if she could accept Harrison’s money without becoming a slave to it. Unlike Tim, who was far too interested in material possessions, money had never been that important to Allison. Even when she considered leaving her present job, it wasn’t to earn more money—she simply wanted an opportunity to learn more and be more productive.

She sat down on the cushioned window seat and looked at Curnutt “Tell me something about Page Publishing Company.”

“Harrison started the business about thirty years ago. They specialize in printing curriculums for colleges and secondary schools. When Harrison started out, he did some trade publishing, but the business is really a printing company now, for they don’t deal with the authors personally. Rather, they do contract printing for a number of publishers. They produce books in Spanish, French and German, and they’re shipped all over the world. It’s a stable business.”

“What do you think I should do, Daddy?”

“The decision is yours, honey, but if you want some advice, I’d say go for it. You’ve had some experience with the publishing world. You’ll never know what you can do until you try. I’ve always heard, and I believe it, that when God closes one door of opportunity, He opens another. The Donald door is closed—you know that—so if God has provided a new pathway for you, be cautious about closing it before you step through. But,” he repeated, “the decision is yours.”

Allison stared at the floor and, with the toe of her shoe, traced the outline of the hexagon shapes on the carpet. Curnutt and Charles didn’t rush her.

“May I take some time to deliberate?”

“Certainly,” Curnutt said, “but I wouldn’t hesitate long. Will it help you make up your mind if I take you to Page Publishing and the house Harrison owned?”

“I’m not ready for that yet. I want to go back home and make my decision there. I’ll telephone you within a week.”

The attorney closed the file before him. “Very well.” He gave her a look of admiration. “May I say that it’s a privilege to work with such an exceptional young woman.”

Allison’s look of surprise was genuine. “Exceptional? Me? I’ve always considered myself a very ordinary person.”

“You aren’t, Miss Sayre. I don’t know of anyone—young or old—who would hesitate a minute if given an opportunity to have several million dollars handed to them. Let me repeat, you’re exceptional. I would be interested to know why you are so cautious.”

“I haven’t really thought it out, but I suppose I’m hesitating for a number of reasons. I’m afraid I will make a failure and lose everything. Also, I told you my mother doesn’t want me to move to Columbus, and I don’t want to be at odds with her. And what will so much wealth do to my values? My parents have taught me to avoid selfishness and greed, and I’ve had everything I want on a moderate income. Will I be greedy to take so much wealth? No doubt the hospital needs it more than L”

Curnutt smiled at her and shook his head. “As I said before, exceptional.”

Allison was silent as they traveled from Curnutt’s office to the airport, and Charles didn’t press her to talk. As the plane lifted into the air and she looked down on Columbus, now illuminated by the noonday sun, she said, “Daddy, I don’t think I can handle it.”

“I don’t care what you do, but you’re worrying needlessly about some things,” Charles said sternly. “I’ve told you that Beatrice will come around. She loves you. She won’t want to be estranged from you. And about running that business—millionaires don’t make all their own decisions—that’s why they employ accountants and lawyers. Besides, the employees at Page Publishing will do the work. Your job will be to see that they’re doing it right.”

Those words, meant for comfort, did little to assuage Allison’s apprehension. How could she supervise employees when she didn’t know what they were supposed to do?