Книга - Heiress

Heiress
Irene Brand


HER LIFE CHANGED OVERNIGHT….Unbelievable…but true! Allison Sayre woke one day to learn she was a millionaire. Yet Allison never dreamed that her legacy would include a shocking secret about her own identity. Or a reunion with Benton Lockhart, the man whose powerful spiritual convictions had inspired her faith.But Allison knew that all the money in the world could never soothe Benton's troubled soul–or heal his battered spirit. She prayed to understand the meaning of her new life–and to find a way to touch Benton's heart.









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u9eb6e14e-8303-5d17-ad3c-056147f23cdd)

Excerpt (#u31a3521b-819b-5982-b032-a0e19ef33658)

About the Author (#ub201aed2-346f-5742-af01-1edc186cef1c)

Title Page (#udfc9edc9-54de-5545-8211-690e0ca15b71)

Epigraph (#u61038205-b9ab-52b6-a17f-565ce31d13c8)

Chapter One (#u937d51fd-0d48-506b-8ef7-2fb8f2244214)

Chapter Two (#u819a5f7b-4502-508e-b874-05c964d6ce6e)

Chapter Three (#ud5c55400-7b48-5da9-bedc-e4e4219956ca)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Using the mysterious key she had found in her uncle’s old desk,

Allison opened the safety deposit box…


The box held one sealed envelope. No name was on the outside. She slit the seal and took out a single sheet of paper. She scanned the document, then read it carefully. With a trembling hand, she returned the box to its proper place in the vault and put the envelope in her purse. The document she’d found had solved the mystery of why Harrison Page had left her a fortune and now Allison wished she didn’t know, for her life was shattered.



She wanted to pray, but a wall of anger and hurt feelings separated her from God, and the only prayer she could muster was a plea for guidance.



“Dear God,” she prayed aloud, “I don’t know if I can bear this alone…”




IRENE BRAND


This prolific and popular author of both contemporary and historical inspirational fiction is a native of West Virginia, where she has lived all her life. She began writing professionally in 1977, after she completed a master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself full time to her writing.



After a long career of publishing articles and devotional materials, in 1984 her first novel was published by Thomas Nelson. Since that time, Irene has published fifteen contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles with publishers such as Zondervan, Fleming Revell and Barbour Books.



Her extensive travels with her husband, Rod, to forty-nine of the United States and twenty-four foreign countries, have inspired much of her writing. Through her writing, Irene believes she has been helpful to others and is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her truly inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters of strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives.




Heiress

Irene Brand







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Do to others as you would have them do to you.

—Luke 6:31




Chapter One (#ulink_f8828b24-1dbd-5565-bc94-c4fdbf414952)


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?




Chapter Two (#ulink_ed57357d-6779-53db-ae91-7c5b7b9eb041)


Still wavering between going to Columbus and rejecting the inheritance, Allison gave her employer two weeks’ notice and told her landlady that she would relinquish her furnished apartment in another month. More than once Allison picked up the receiver to telephone Thomas Curnutt to tell him that she wouldn’t accept the legacy and authorize him to transfer the assets to Mount Carmel Hospital, but something always held her back. Was it the unseen hand of God preventing her from making a mistake? At last, she telephoned Curnutt and told him that she would arrive in Columbus in late February, and he assured her that he would immediately set in motion the necessary steps to transfer Page’s assets to her.

Still plagued with misgivings, she began to pack her belongings. Allison wanted to move back home for the few weeks she had left, but when Beatrice still refused to discuss Allison’s plans for the future, she knew it wouldn’t be pleasant for any of them. Whether or not Charles intervened Allison didn’t know, but when Allison telephoned that she intended to move within a week, Beatrice did ask her to stay with them during her remaining days in Chicago.

Tim and Cleta came to help Allison pack the loaded boxes into her six-year-old sedan, and there wasn’t room for everything, but she gave a box of knickknacks to Cleta, enabling them to stow the remainder in the back seat and trunk.

As they shifted boxes to make more space, Tim said, “You won’t have to drive this old car much longer, Allison. What kind of new car will you buy?”

“I haven’t thought about a new car. I’ve been too busy burying the past to think about my future.”

“You’re afraid to think about it, aren’t you?” Cleta said.

Allison looked in amazement at her perceptive sister. “Maybe, but I have been busy.”

After Allison turned the key into her landlady, she said, “If we can all three wedge into the front seat, let’s drive around the city. Chicago has always been home; I rather hate to leave it.”

Along the lakefront, they enjoyed a view of the public parkland stretching along the shoreline, its broad beaches and lawns covered with a few inches of snow. They drove through downtown Chicago, with its spectacular skyscrapers, fashionable shops and many department stores. Entering the financial district, they noted at least six major banks, the Chicago Board of Trade, the City Hall-County Building and the blue-tinted Illinois Center. Only a few walkers braved the frigid weather to exercise in three-hundred-acre Grant Park. Allison had spent a lot of time with Donald in this downtown area, but she had also enjoyed days of pleasure with her family at the same places, so she focused on the family gatherings rather than her dates with Donald.

As the time approached for her departure, Allison felt her excitement intensify, yet she would have anticipated the adventure much more if her mother had not been displeased. Allison had deduced that Beatrice was not angry with her, for she prepared all the foods that her daughter preferred and insisted that Allison store anything in her bedroom that she didn’t want to move to Columbus, and she arranged a dinner party for the family and Allison’s best friends at a downtown restaurant and bought tickets to a performance of the Chicago Symphony. Allison winced at the cost of the evening, but she had to accept the outlay of money—for she knew it was Beatrice’s way of apologizing for her attitude. Allison decided that her mother was reconciled to the move, for she made no overt display of unhappiness, although Tim and Cleta shed tears for a couple of days before her departure, and Charles, his face solemn, would often hug Allison tightly without saying a word.

Although eager to be on her way, Allison dreaded their final parting, but she forced a cheerful attitude until, at the last minute, Beatrice embraced her eldest daughter and wept convulsively. Her grief spread until the whole family was sobbing, and when Allison finally drove away from the house, her eyes were swollen and red. Beatrice had gone into the house rather than watch Allison leave. She realized that her mother would miss her, but Allison still felt puzzled at her mother’s reaction. It wasn’t as if Columbus were a continent away—there was no reason they couldn’t visit often. Children couldn’t stay in the family home forever, and it wasn’t like Beatrice to act this way.



Allison planned two days for the trip to Columbus, but driving conditions were favorable and she arrived at the luxurious hotel along High Street where Thomas Curnutt had made reservations for her early Thursday afternoon. Over the past month, she had often wondered if this change in her circumstances was real or if she was dreaming, but if she needed proof that she was now classed among the wealthy, it came when she reached the hotel complex and a valet took her old car and parked it beside the Cadillacs, Lincolns and Mercedes belonging to the hotel’s other patrons.

As she followed another valet carrying her small bags into the reception room, Allison had never felt more out of place. Recalling a poem that Charles, from his childhood memory, had often quoted, she thought, “Lawk a mercy on me, this is none of I.”

Dressed in jeans, wearing a heavy parka and fur-lined boots, she certainly looked out of place, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the door of her room closed behind her. Even here she felt overwhelmed as she viewed the large room with king-sized bed, lavish draperies and bedspread, thick carpet and modish furniture. How she wished she were still in Chicago!

After she telephoned her mother that she had made the journey safely, Allison contacted the attorney’s office and made an appointment for the next morning. Still, she had several hours on her hands before bedtime. She wouldn’t consider going to a dining room in this building for dinner, especially when the few dress garments she owned were packed away in the car. She contemplated room service for her meal, but she couldn’t cower in the room for hours. So exhibiting a nonchalance she didn’t feel, Allison took the elevator to the lobby, happily noting that many people were dressed in casual attire, and went out to take a look around the shopping district.

Trying to envision what the city would be like in spring and summer, Allison snuggled into the warm parka, tucked gloved fingers into her pockets and merged with the natives. After she reached Capitol Square, she slowed down and looked in the shop windows, wondering if she should buy some new clothes. She wouldn’t spend an inheritance she hadn’t received, but she did have some Christmas gift money that she had been carrying in her billfold for weeks.

In a large department store, Allison tried on several dresses before choosing a two-piece brick matte jersey skirt and a matching tunic with vee-necked top. She also decided on a tailored navy suit with a long, fitted jacket and straight-cut skirt Though the style was a bit more severe than her usual taste, she thought it looked businesslike and made her appear older. Taking over Page Publishing, she’d need all the help she could get.

Leaving the clothing department, Allison stopped to look for a new nail color, for she wanted to work on her nails tonight. Packing and the rush of moving had been hard on her hands. She had spent all her gift money, so she didn’t buy anything new, deciding instead to use what she had in her cosmetic bag at the hotel.

The shopping had consumed Allison’s extra time and dusk was falling when she left the department store. She stopped for a meal at a nearby Chinese restaurant, and it was completely dark by the time she finished eating. The air was considerably colder, so Allison hailed a taxi to take her back to the hotel.



Dressed in her new blue suit, Allison didn’t hesitate about breakfasting in the luxurious hotel, and she asked the concierge to order a taxi for her at nine o’clock. She would leave her car parked at the hotel until she could make other living arrangements. After seeing the cost of the room for one night, Allison knew that her bank account wasn’t adequate to spend many nights here, and she figured it would be a long time before she had any access to funds from her inheritance.

The fast-driving taxi driver arrived at Curnutt’s office before she had her mind composed to talk to the attorney. One minute Allison was excited and optimistic about the adventure she was facing, and other times she was clammy with fear and indecision.

The latter emotion predominated when she cautiously entered the lawyer’s office. She thawed somewhat under Mary Curnutt’s welcome and the attorney’s outstretched hand, but when she sat facing him and Curnutt started discussing the legal ramifications of her inheritance, Allison swallowed hard and said, “You can’t imagine how inadequate I feel to be taking over this estate. You’re wasting your time explaining all those things to me. I don’t understand much of what you’re saying. Can’t you just take care of what has to be done?”

“I can do what I think is best if you’re willing to trust me that far.”

“I have no one else to trust, so please settle this estate as you would if it had been received by one of your children.”

“Very well. I promised Harrison that I would assist you in any way possible. Also, I will have his accountant refer any financial matters to me for the time being. Within a few months you will be more qualified to make decisions. For the present, you will have all you can do to take over the management of Page Publishing. I’ll take you there today.”

“Do I have to go so soon?”

“Yes, I believe so. The employees are quite edgy. Several of them have contacted me trying to find out what is going to happen to the business, but I had no right to divulge the contents of Harrison’s will without your permission. It isn’t fair to keep them in the dark any longer.”

Allison referred to the copy of Harrison’s will that she carried. “Who are the people named in his will?”

“Of course you know who I am, and I’m flattered that Harrison chose to remember me.” He read the names from the will. “Adra and Minerva McRamey are the caretakers at Harrison’s home. They’ve been in his employ for years. Minerva took care of Harrison’s wife, and of him before he chose to enter a nursing home. The McRameys are in their sixties.”

Curnutt adjusted the nosepiece of his glasses.

“Celestine Handley is an employee at the company. She has been Harrison’s secretary for years, and I question that he would have managed half as well if she hadn’t been there to support him. I’m sure she will be just as helpful to you. Benton Lockhart came to Page Publishing Company out of college and proved his worth right away. He is competent and steady, faithful and devoted to his work, and self-sacrificing for the company. When Harrison became ill two years ago, he made Benton his assistant, and after Harrison was no longer able to come to the office, Benton took charge and has been in charge since. He’s a calm and collected individual and the publishing company has expanded under his leadership.”

The lawyer tapped the document significantly. “All these people have been valuable employees to Harrison, and they deserved to be remembered in his will.”

“I wasn’t implying that they shouldn’t have been, but if I encounter them, I want to know why my uncle regarded them so highly.”

“You’ll probably see all of them today, so it’s well that you know something about them.”

As she folded the document and returned it to her purse, Allison said, “I knew a Benton Lockhart once. I’ve been wondering if it’s the same person.”

“I didn’t know Benton until he came to work at Page Publishing.”

“Then he isn’t a native of Columbus?”

“No. I believe he came from somewhere in Indiana.”

“Then it could be the same person, for I met the Benton Lockhart I’m talking about at a youth crusade in Indianapolis. He was the most fantastic spiritual speaker I’ve ever heard. I had expected him to go into the ministry, but I haven’t heard of him since that time.”

“To my knowledge, Benton isn’t a churchgoer, and although we meet socially from time to time, he’s never impressed me as a man with any spiritual side to his nature.”

Curnutt telephoned the publishing firm and made an appointment to see the entire staff at one o’clock, and while he talked, Allison was conscious of a deep disappointment. She had been hoping to renew the acquaintance with the Benton of her youth.

“That will give us time to have lunch,” Curnutt said when he finished the phone conversation. “There’s a nice café in German Village that provides a light lunch that you’ll enjoy. If you don’t mind, Mary can come with us.”

Allison replied that she didn’t mind in the least.

The Curnutts were delightful company, and as they traveled along the tree-lined brick streets, Mary commented on the unique atmosphere of the tiny Dutch-single and large Dutch-double houses of an earlier century.

“German Village consists of more than two hundred acres and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. A good way to see it is to take a walking tour because one can get a greater appreciation for the window flower boxes, patio gardens and ornate wrought-iron fences.”

“There are several special events here during the year to celebrate our unique German heritage,” Thomas added. “This is a part of Columbus that the casual tourist doesn’t see. You’ll enjoy visiting this area.”

The small restaurant was decorated with red-and-white gingham tablecloths and cafe curtains. They ate their lunch of bratwurst on a sesame bun, hot potato salad and a fluffy cherry chiffon pudding, while outside, on the sidewalk, a small gaily costumed Alpine band played toe-tapping music, and Allison was able to ignore the stressful afternoon she faced.

After they returned Mary to the office, the attorney maneuvered his Mercedes through the busy noonday traffic and followed High Street north of the capitol, where he turned east on Broad until he reached a five-story buff brick building with Page Publishing Company etched in a stone slab across the front of the structure. Curnutt turned into a narrow driveway between two buildings and parked in the company’s private lot.

“Did Uncle Harrison own the building?”

Curnutt nodded. “And land is at a premium price here, too,” he said as he came around the car and opened the door for her. Allison was doing her best to remain calm, but she felt so weak that she actually welcomed Curnutt’s hand on her arm as he assisted her from the car. What awaited her at this meeting?

“There’s a conference room on the first floor, and that’s where the employees are to assemble. We’ll meet them first and take a tour of the facilities after they go back to their work.”

They walked down the hallway toward a buzz of excited voices that stopped immediately when Curnutt tapped on a half-closed door. He motioned Allison into the room filled with men and women gathered around oblong tables. Allison sat at a table near the door where two other women were already seated. She smiled timidly at them, and they acknowledged her by lifting their hands in silent greeting. She felt ill at ease, but she ran her hand over the fabric of her new suit, thankful that she was dressed appropriately in the latest fashion. Everyone’s attention focused on Thomas Curnutt when he stepped behind a podium in the front of the room.

“I know that many of you have been uneasy about the future of Page Publishing Company, and were even before the owner’s death, but I was not at liberty to divulge any details about his affairs. Now I can tell you that Harrison left the bulk of his estate to his niece Allison Sayre, who accompanies me today.” He paused as a murmur of surprise interrupted him. “That includes this company, so Miss Sayre has become the new owner. She has had two years of experience in the publishing world in her hometown of Chicago. Perhaps you would like to welcome her.”

The applause was perfunctory, hardly cordial, and Allison felt her face flushing. Her embarrassment was so great that she missed Curnutt’s next words and focused only when she heard him say, “Perhaps Miss Sayre has a few words for you.”

Even with her back to them, Allison felt every eye on her, but with a prayer for courage, she stood on trembling legs and, with as much grace as she could muster, turned to face her new employees. Everyone’s attention was riveted on her, and she didn’t see any sign of welcome, though some of the people looked amused. And no wonder—her youth and inexperience must be apparent Others seemed in a state of shock, as Allison was. She hurriedly judged there were about forty people present, and not one of them as young as she. A few of the men’s faces were belligerent and she figured they would refuse to work for her.

Surmising that the less said the better, and praying that her voice wouldn’t tremble, Allison began, “I arrived in town yesterday, so as yet I know nothing about the situation here. I have nothing to say to you now, but please plan for a staff meeting here on Monday morning. By that time, I will have made some plans.”

After she sat down, gloomy over her inadequate words, Curnutt stood again.

“I’m sure that Miss Sayre will appreciate the same faithfulness and cooperation that you gave Harrison Page. We’ll take a tour of the plant this afternoon, and the supervisors should provide any information that will facilitate Miss Sayre’s adjustment. You may return to work now, except I would like Benton and Celestine to remain for a few minutes.”

As the employees filed out, Allison turned eagerly to see which one was Benton Lockhart. A middle-aged woman remained seated, as did a strong, broad-shouldered young man with a close-clipped beard that matched his tawny hair. When the other employees were gone, Curnutt closed the door into the hallway.

“I asked you to remain to give you copies of Harrison’s will since both of you are named in it. He left each of you 5 percent of his total estate, and since I estimate his assets are nearly three million dollars, that should be an ample amount for both of you.” When he handed them the envelopes, he said, “I’m counting on both of you to assist Miss Sayre as she takes over the reins here.”

Celestine dabbed at tearful eyes with a tissue, but she smiled at Allison as she left the room. Benton hadn’t moved and Allison walked toward him. He observed her approach with cool, steady gray eyes sparkling with tiny golden flecks that matched the mellow tints in his hair.

“I’m wondering if you’re the same Benton Lockhart I met several years ago in Indianapolis.”

“I’ve been in Indianapolis several times, so that’s possible.”

“You wouldn’t remember me, but the man I met spoke at an evangelical youth crusade. If you were that person, I want you to know you made a tremendous impact on my life.”

Benton’s gray eyes didn’t change expression, but Allison sensed a chillness settle around him, and his lips twisted in a sardonic smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let me assure you, Miss Sayre, that I am not the same man you heard speak in that spiritual crusade.” He looked past her at the attorney. “If that’s all, Mr. Curnutt; I have a client calling in five minutes.”

Allison’s disappointment was intense. One of the things that had bolstered her during her goodbyes in Chicago and assuaged her fear of taking charge of her uncle’s affairs had been the thought that she might see Benton Lockhart, who could provide the encouragement and guidance she needed during this tumultuous period of her life. Now that her hopes had been dashed, she couldn’t take much interest in the tour of the building.

As Benton moved toward the exit, his glance caught and held Allison’s, and he held out his hand. She was hardly prepared for the jolt that shot up her arm when she met his outstretched fingers, or the warmth in his voice when he said, “I hope your ownership of Page Publishing will be as prosperous and rewarding as it was for your uncle.” With a nod in the lawyer’s direction, he left the room. Was he or was he not the Benton Lockhart she’d once known?

Behind the conference room was a well-equipped kitchen. “This is used by the employees for preparing their lunches,” Curnutt explained. “The conference room doubles as a dining room. On special occasions the management has food catered for the staff.”

The rest of the first floor was the shipping department, which was supervised by Calvin Smith. A man in his thirties, Smith’s careless good looks were accentuated by bold, baby-blue eyes and thick brown hair. He shook hands with Allison and welcomed her to the company.

“Miss Sayre’s advent has deflated Lockhart, hasn’t it, Mr. Curnutt? He has enjoyed being top dog around here.”

“He didn’t seem deflated to me,” Curnutt said quietly as they moved on, and Allison wondered if Benton would resent her ownership.

Taking the service elevator, Curnutt said, “Let’s go to the top and start down.”

The fifth floor was used for storage, so they spent little time there; the fourth floor housed the printing shop, and although she knew very little about it, Allison was impressed by the functional electronic equipment. “Obviously Page Publishing has the very latest in electronic ware,” she said.

“Thanks mostly to Benton Lockhart. Harrison was more conservative in his methods, and as most people of our generation, he understood very little about the computer world. To give him credit, he knew his limitations and followed Benton’s advice. Benton has an engineering degree, as well as a degree in computer science.”

The bookkeeping and billing departments were on the third floor, and numerous computer stations were grouped around the room. “Harrison placed key people as supervisors in each department,” Curnutt explained, “and he didn’t try to learn the whole business himself, nor should you expect to. As long as the company was making a decent profit, he assumed the employees were doing the job they were assigned to do. I know you’re worried about how to manage the business, but you shouldn’t encounter any problems. Meet regularly with the supervisors from each department, ask for weekly reports from them, and as you study them, you’ll learn all you need to know. Perhaps until you know what’s going on, the supervisors should be accountable to Benton and Benton will be accountable to you. Any firing or hiring in the lower ranks should be handled by the supervisors.”

“But shouldn’t I have the final word in case of controversies between employees?”

“That’s debatable. You remember that Moses of biblical history was trying to handle all the controversies between the Hebrews, and his father-in-law convinced Moses that he should observe a chain of command. The company belongs to you, but I’d be mighty careful about meddling in situations between the supervisors and those who work for them.”

Three offices constituted the second floor, which was the main entrance into the building. The customers came first to Celestine’s office, a large room that contained several chairs for customers, her neat computer station and rows of filing cabinets. The room was carpeted and heavy draperies hung at the two windows and muffled the noisy traffic on Broad Street. Benton’s office was to the left, and since he was busy with a customer, Curnutt told Allison she could talk with him later.

Celestine Handley was dark haired with wide cheekbones, and although her skin exhibited some lines of middle age, she was still a beautiful woman. Her dark-green eyes were clear, steadfast, unfaltering, and Allison felt that with this woman’s support, she could take on the mantle that Harrison Page had cast upon her.

Celestine opened the door into the owner’s office, where a large portrait of Harrison Page hung behind the desk. Allison had forgotten what he looked like, for she hadn’t seen him for ten years, but she recognized him immediately, and his resemblance to her mother was startling. The office furniture in the room was worn, but still in good repair. Celestine went behind the desk and opened a drawer. She handed a key ring to Allison.

“Miss Sayre—” she began.

But Allison interrupted. “Please, call me ‘Allison’. Being addressed as ‘Miss Sayre’ makes me feel ancient.” Turning to the attorney, she said, “And you, too, please. That way, I won’t feel such a stranger.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

“Allison,” Celestine started again, a smile lighting her brilliant eyes, “these keys belonged to your uncle. There’s a key here to everything in this building. I don’t know that Mr. Page had any occasion to use them, but it was simply a symbol of his ownership. He could investigate anything he wanted to.” She dropped the large set of keys back into the drawer and handed Allison a ring with two keys on it. “These are the ones you should carry. They open the front and rear entrances and your office door.”

“This will be your office, Allison,” Curnutt said. “Don’t you want to try on the owner’s chair for size?” He smiled at her.

“No, not today,” Allison said, and her facial features felt frozen. Almost as if it were an animate object, the massive leather chair terrified her.

Perhaps sensing Allison’s stress, Celestine said, “Do you have time for a cup of coffee or tea?”

When the attorney assented, Celestine motioned them to a cozy corner of her office. They sat in easy chairs, and Curnutt took up the morning newspaper, placed conveniently for the company’s visitors. He offered Allison a section of the paper, but her mind was too muddled to concentrate on reading.

Celestine opened a nearby louvered door into a small kitchenette. “I have coffee ready, and hot water for tea,” she said, “but we have juice and soft drinks, too.”

Allison wasn’t normally a coffee drinker, but the stress of the day was wearing on her, and she needed a stimulant of some kind. After Celestine served Curnutt and Allison with coffee and placed a fruit tray on the table before them, she prepared a small tray, tapped on Benton’s door and served him and his customer. Allison munched on some grapes, sipped the hot coffee and contemplated the day’s activities. Perhaps the situation wasn’t as bad as she had suspected. She had detected no outright hostility among the employees, and in time, she might win their confidence. Celestine, who displayed all the charm of a hostess in her own home, had done much to put Allison at ease.

While Celestine was busy at her desk and Curnutt was absorbed in the newspaper, Allison reviewed her conversation with Benton Lockhart. She wished that she had brought the album containing the picture of the Benton she’d met in Indianapolis, for, in spite of his denial, she thought he was the same person she had met there. His neatly trimmed whiskers did cover most of his facial features, but one of the things she had most remembered about Benton had been his tawny hair and warm gray eyes.

Let me assure you, Miss Sayre, that I am not the same man you heard speak in that spiritual crusade. That could be interpreted in various ways—it could mean that he was the same person, but his attitude had changed, or it could mean that he had not been there. She couldn’t figure it out And what good would it do her if she did learn the truth? It wouldn’t be wise to delve into the man’s past. If she learned how to manage this firm, it would be with the help of Benton Lockhart; she couldn’t antagonize him.

After Celestine answered the phone a couple of times and searched out some files, which she delivered to Benton’s office, she joined them with a glass of juice in her hand. “I suppose Columbus seems like a small town to you after living in Chicago,” she said.

“I didn’t realize what a large area Chicago covered until I saw it from the airplane when we flew down here a few weeks ago to see Mr. Curnutt. We live in the suburbs and do most of our shopping in the area where we live. We go to downtown Chicago only for special events. But I think Columbus is a fine city, and I’m sure I’ll like living here. Could you advise me about finding a small furnished apartment? I want something fairly close to this business and not too expensive.”

Curnutt laid aside his paper. “Allison, I know it’s difficult for you to comprehend, but you’re a very rich woman now and you don’t have to be conservative in your choice of living quarters. It will be several months before you have complete control of Harrison’s property, but I’ll instruct the bookkeeper here to put you on the payroll, and you’ll receive a bimonthly salary as do the employees. Harrison drew a modest salary, just enough to take care of his expenses, and allowed the rest of the profit to build up the coffers of the company. I would suggest that you do the same for the time being. Do you have any way to anticipate your expenses?”

“I made twenty thousand dollars yearly at my previous job. On that I lived in my own apartment, had a car and saved a little money.”

“We’ll double that amount until you see how much you need.”

Allison pulled at the collar of her blouse, feeling as if her breathing had been hampered. Forty thousand dollars a year! Her father had supported a wife and three children on less than that. Why would a single woman need so much?

“But about your living quarters,” Curnutt continued, “I had assumed that you would live in Harrison’s home, which is yours now.”

“Oh, yes, Allison, you must consider living there,” Celestine insisted. “It’s a wonderful house.”

“Didn’t you say it was a three-story home? I don’t need that much room, and wouldn’t the upkeep be expensive?”

He smiled, and she knew he was amused by her conservatism, but her parents had had no choice but to be conservative; otherwise they couldn’t have supported a family on one salary so Beatrice could stay home and take care of the children. Even with riches at her disposal, it was a habit she wouldn’t lose easily.

“I’m sure your uncle would be pleased with your attitude toward wealth, for he wasn’t a big spender himself, and you’re right, the house is expensive to maintain. Although Harrison didn’t make any stipulation whether you should sell or keep the house, I suggest that you live there for a period of time before you make the decision. It is a largc house, but the caretakers occupy the third floor and take care of cleaning and maintenance, so it shouldn’t be a burden to you.”

“Even sight unseen, I’m willing to take your advice, but I would like to see the house when it’s convenient for you to take me.”

He checked his watch and took his appointment book from his pocket. “We can go right now. I have a dinner appointment at six o’clock, but we have time.” Turning to Celestine, he said, “Please telephone Minerva that we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”



The lawyer traveled on High Street until he turned left on Buttles, drove past Goodale Park to Neil Avenue, where he turned north again. The quiet atmosphere of the area and the Victorian homes on both sides of the street made Allison feel as if she had stepped back in time. Would the Brontë sisters wander out of one of the doors on their way to church? Perhaps Mary Todd Lincoln would be peering from a window, anxiously waiting for her tardy husband. Craning her neck to see each house they passed, Allison was impressed with the asymmetrical brick-and-stucco homes, many massed around a central tower or spire, marked by steeply pitched roofs and narrow arched windows accentuated by hood moldings.

Curnutt drove a couple of blocks before parking the car at street level. He pointed to a massive brick building.

“This surely isn’t it!”

“Harrison Page bought this house about twenty-five years ago. After his wife died, he devoted his time to decorating and furnishing the home as it would have been when it was first built. The house is yours now, and I hope you’ll be pleased with the results of his efforts. Shall we go in?”

“Allow me to sit here for a few minutes and take this all in. Yesterday I thought of a nursery rhyme about an old woman whose appearance was altered, and she kept saying, ‘Lawk a mercy on me, this is none of I!’ I don’t even feel like myself. Nor do I know my own mind. Am I grateful to Uncle Harrison for gifting me with all these material possessions, or should I resent his interference with a life-style that has been sufficient for twenty-four years? Ownership of this house is more daunting than ownership of the publishing company. I don’t know how I can cope with this change in my life.”

Curnutt gave Allison a fond look that she didn’t see, but he was pleased with her, and furthermore, he knew now that Page had made the right decision to convey his estate to this woman, although Curnutt had counseled against the move. In the few hours he had known Allison, he had observed the same qualities in her that had made Harrison Page a respected and wealthy man—determination, loyalty to duty, conservatism and intelligence. He silently thanked God that he had been given the privilege of introducing this young woman to a new world—one in which she would undoubtedly make mistakes, but also one in which he believed she would ultimately triumph.

Allison’s eager eyes took in every detail of the huge house. A brick pathway from the street traversed a small lawn, and two large marble urns stood beside the three stone steps that provided access to a wide porch with a crested roof supported by six round Ionic wooden columns. The porch was surrounded by a wooden railing sustained by elaborately turned balusters. Two slender junipers, their tops projecting above the porch roof, stood like sentries on each side of the steps, and groupings of low evergreens and shrubbery were arranged around their trunks.

The three-storied redbrick house was divided into three sections. On the left was a rounded turret crowned by a conical spire. The middle section was dominated at the second story by a curved leaded glass window in a floral design capped by a stone lintel, and to the right, uncovered by the porch, bay windows marked both the first- and second-floor levels. Several brick chimneys projected like sentinels from the steep gray slate roof. Such a home was worthy of a president or even a king; it couldn’t be hers.

Her eyes shining, she said, “It’s a beautiful building. I’m ready to go in now.”

With all the eagerness of a man playing Santa Claus, Curnutt opened the car door for Allison. Tingling with excitement, a broad smile lighting her face, Allison walked briskly up the steps and stopped before double walnut doors embellished by curvilinear floral designs in clear leaded glass. Above the doors was an oblong leaded window that matched the door panels. Curnutt reached around her and turned the old-fashioned doorbell.

As though she had been waiting, the right door was opened by a tall, angular woman with high cheekbones accentuated by steel gray hair pulled back and tightly wound into a small bun at her nape. Dressed as she was in a trim gray dress, she could easily have stepped out of the Victorian era.

“Welcome, come in,” she said in a pleasing voice that sounded as if she meant it. Behind her hovered a portly man dressed in a flannel shirt and denim overalls.

Allison and Curnutt stepped into the warm, high-ceilinged foyer, which Allison realized was larger than the living and dining room put together of her family’s house back in Chicago. Allison’s eyes were drawn immediately to the spiral stairway with graceful scrolled railings that terminated on a landing on the second floor. A brass chandelier with tiers of crystal pendants hung from a leaf-filigreed ceiling medallion. Burgundy carpeting covered the stair treads, and the foyer floor of darkly varnished hardwood was brightened with two Oriental rugs. The walls were a neutral tone of pale blue.

The foyer was long and narrow, with four steps at the rear of the hall leading to the kitchen area. To the left of the doorway was a massive walnut hall tree, with several hats suspended from the hangers. Facing them was a longcase clock that melodiously chimed the hour.

Sizing up every detail of the house, Allison hadn’t moved since she’d set foot in the hallway. She was brought out of her trance by a gentle tug on her arm.

“Allison, I want you to meet Adra and Minerva McRamey. They’re important fixtures in this house.”

Trying to shake the cobwebs from her head, Allison said, “I’m pleased to meet you. I apologize for being impolite. I’ve never been in this grand a house before.”

She shook hands with both of them, and Adra’s rosy face beamed at her.

“We’re glad to see you, Miss Sayre. Mr. Page was a quiet man, and he never talked about his family. We knew he had a sister somewhere, but we sure didn’t know he had any kin as pretty as you. How come none of you ever visited him? After his wife died, Harrison was lonely, and there was plenty of room in this big house.”

“As far as I know, we never had an invitation to visit him. It always puzzled me why he and Mother weren’t more friendly.”

“We’re glad you’re here now,” Minerva said. “What do you think of the house?”

“If the rest of the house is anything like this foyer, I want to keep it.” She gave Thomas Curnutt an anxious look. “That is, if you think I can afford it. The taxes and upkeep on a building of this size must be horrendous.”

“Nothing you can’t afford if you want to live here. Let’s continue our tour. The living room, originally called the parlor, and dining room are to the left. Harrison spent a great deal of time and money furnishing these rooms with genuine antique pieces of the period. Even the lamps and vases and such are antiques,” he added.

A fireplace fronted with gray marble, with a slab of matching marble as a mantel, over which hung a lighted picture of a woman in formal dress of the Victorian era, was the focal point when one entered the room. A brown leather sofa and two soft armchairs upholstered in flowery chintz were grouped around a large oval coffee table placed on an Oriental rug. A delicate brass chandelier with a few crystal prisms hung from a ceiling medallion over the coffee table. A nineteenth-century wooden bench covered with needlepoint was to their right, and a grand piano stood along the wall that looked out on the street.

“This room seems as if it has never been used.”

“Mr. Page didn’t entertain much, and he spent all his time in the office across the hall,” Minerva said. Motioning to the adjoining room, she added, “He did like his meals served in the dining room.”

She led them into the dining room, designed with a fireplace identical to the one in the parlor; a portrait of a wigged Victorian gentleman hung over it. A glittering crystal chandelier shed a soft glow over an oval oak table covered with an ecru crocheted tablecloth. Eight cane-back chairs stood around the table, a hutch displayed a set of English bone china and a corner cupboard contained a dazzling array of deeply cut crystal. A garish tree-of-life wallpaper accented the wall above the dark three-foot wainscoting.

Opposite the parlor and dining room was Harrison’s office, masculine and overwhelming with its dark wooden furniture, walnut paneling and parqueted floor.

“This could do with a bit of bright color,” Allison said.

“I agree with you, Miss,” Minerva said, “but Mr. Page was a rather somber man. You’ll like the library next door.”

“Oh, yes,” Allison said when she entered the library, as bright as the noonday sun. A glazed chintz lounge stood between two windows hung with balloon curtains. A needlepoint rug covered the floor. Two wicker chairs were upholstered with the same chintz as the lounge and a floral-patterned fabric was draped over the bay window, which looked out to a landscaped garden area. Several needlepoint cushions were displayed throughout the room, and the seats of many small chairs were upholstered with a variety of patterns, ranging from small-scaled flowers with muted backgrounds to a few that portrayed parrots and other tropical birds in bright floral settings.

“Who has done all this handwork?” Allison said, admiring a cushion that had a lifelike representation of a macaw. She appreciated the many hours of painstaking work that had gone into the crocheted doilies and other finely done handwork in the house because her mother always had a needlepoint project under way.

“I’ve done a lot of the crocheting, but Mrs. Page did the intricate work,” Minerva said. “Being an invalid, she devoted most of her time to creating with her needle.”

Noting that there was a desk and chair in one corner of the library, Allison decided this was where she would spend most of her time, rather than in the more formal rooms.

The kitchen had all the modern conveniences—waste disposal, microwave, dishwasher—and Allison clapped her hands in joy when she saw the rounded dinette adjacent to the kitchen. Located in the turret, the dining area was lighted by three curved windows accentuated by airy lace curtains. A round pedestal oak table placed on a ceramic tile floor had four matching chairs around it. A potted African violet bloomed profusely in the middle of the table, and other plants stood on the window ledge.

Allison drew back the curtains and looked out on a high laurel hedge that hid the house next door. Two white iron benches were grouped around an oval matching table, and a tall Greek statue overlooked the scene.

“Oh, what a lovely place! When we look out our kitchen window at home, we see the house next door.” Donald’s house, she thought quickly and pushed the memory aside. “I’ll love having my meals here.”

“Do you have time for a serving of banana cream pie?” Minerva asked.

“I am in a hurry,” Curnutt said, “but I’ll never turn down your pie.”

They sat in the dinette alcove, and while they waited to be served, Allison said, “This is the most fabulous home I’ve ever seen. I’ll try it for several months anyway. It may prove too much for me, and I may feel lost here. Our whole home in Chicago isn’t a quarter this large. It scares me in a way, but I do feel at home already.”

When Minerva brought the pie and a beverage, Curnutt pulled out the extra chairs and said, “Sit down, Minerva, and you, too, Adra. You should be involved in any plans we make for this house.”

Adra declined pie, but drank a cup of coffee.

“First of all, Allison, when do you want to move in?” the attorney said.

“Why not tomorrow? I don’t see any reason to pay for a hotel room when this house is standing empty.”

Minerva nodded approvingly.

The attorney turned to the McRameys. “I assume that you’re willing to stay with Allison under the same arrangements you had with Harrison.”

“More than willing,” Adra said. “We like it here.”

“What are the arrangements?” Allison asked.

“They are paid a salary of one thousand dollars a month, which is all they can earn and still draw their Social Security, but they have free room and board, so it’s a good deal for them. In return for this compensation, Adra takes care of the outdoor work and does general maintenance work. Minerva is the housekeeper, and she did Harrison’s cooking.”

“That sounds like more of a bargain for me than for you,” Allison said. “This house is too large for one woman to take care of. You should have additional help.”

“A cleaning service comes in twice each year to wash the windows and give everything a thorough cleaning,” Minerva said, “but I manage well enough the rest of the time, though you’re sweet to be concerned.”

Curnutt looked at his watch. “Let’s see the rest of the house. I don’t want to be late for my appointment.”

They climbed the wide stairway, Allison in the lead, with the three adults trailing her, each eager to point out interesting things about the house.

Mrs. Page had occupied the turret bedroom and Allison liked it best. A white delicately scrolled iron bed with paleblue dust ruffle was covered with a handmade quilt. The small desk, rocking chair, bookshelves, nightstand, dressing table and a storage chest at the foot of the bed were all white wicker. The rocking chair was cushioned with a delicate fabric, and richly ruffled curtains enlivened the windows that overlooked the back lawn.

“And my own private bathroom, too,” Allison exclaimed when she saw the room with modern pastel-blue fixtures. “This is a suite any woman would enjoy, and it looks like paradise to me.”

Two other bathrooms and four bedrooms were located on the second floor. The third floor, occupied by the McRameys, was reached by a narrow stairway that opened from the kitchen or through a small door from the second floor.

“Those steps are steep to climb several times a day, aren’t they?” Allison said as she scanned them.

“I don’t mind the walking,” Minerva said, “but there’s a service elevator that Mr. Page put in several years ago for his wife’s convenience, so we don’t have to walk if we don’t want to.”

“There’s a full-sized basement for utility purposes,” Adra offered.

“I’ve seen enough for one day. I’m so excited now that I probably won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Allison glanced around the upper hall one more time, and Curnutt looked at his watch as the hall clock struck five times.

“For the present, just plan on preparing my dinner,” Allison said to Minerva. “I’ll take care of my own breakfast and pack a lunch to take to work with me. I’m used to looking after myself. And if it’s all right, I’ll move in tomorrow morning. I will have lots of unpacking to do, and that will give me two days before I go to work on Monday.”

“Which room should I prepare for you, Miss Sayre?”

“I want the one previously occupied by Aunt Sarah. And will both of you call me ‘Allison’? I want to consider you friends rather than employees, for I have a feeling I’m going to need all the friends I can find before this first year is over.”

Curnutt and Allison rode in silence back to the hotel, and when he stopped his car in front of the entrance, he asked, “Do you want me to help you move?”

“No, that isn’t necessary. I didn’t unpack my car, and Adra can help me when I get to the house.”

“I’ll check with you tomorrow to see how you’re adjusting. I hope you can sleep tonight.”

“I doubt that I will. Right now, I’ve been elevated to the heights, but I’m levelheaded enough to know that only a little jolt can topple me to the other extreme.”

He patted her on the hand. “Allison, you’ll be fine. I predict that within a year you’ll know as much about Page Publishing as Harrison did.”

His encouragement was welcome, for while she didn’t feel as desolate and afraid as she had this morning, Allison knew she was heading into an uphill marathon.




Chapter Three (#ulink_3f7ecc95-01da-537b-bc48-84d9ee3cfd9b)


When she reached her room, Allison kicked off her shoes, dropped down in the lounge chair and pulled the lever to elevate her feet. She welcomed this evening alone to sort out her thoughts and impressions. Right now, her mind was a hodgepodge of crystal chandeliers, opulent furniture, cut crystal, chintz wall hangings and leaded-glass windows. How could she get past all that glitter and grapple with the real issues that confronted her?

It would be easy to succumb to the worries and frustrations of coping with Page Publishing Company, working with an investment broker to keep from losing her uncle’s money and supervising numerous employees, as well as living in a fabulous home that plunged her mentally into the nineteenth century. To be so overwhelmed, in fact, that she could forget about the important things in life. At this point, she was more worried about losing her identity and her purpose in life by becoming Miss New Rich than she was about managing a million-dollar business.

God, she prayed aloud, I can’t cope with this alone. Show me how I can bring myself down to earth when I tend to lose sight of my eternal destiny.

Allison reached for the Bible on the table beside her and turned on the table lamp. For the next hour, she pored over the Scriptures, searching for the doctrines she must heed to stay on the right path, and she was amazed at the abundance of Bible passages that dealt with her immediate concern—how she could balance an abundance of worldly goods with the riches of God’s blessings.

“Remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you the ability to produce wealth.”

Had her uncle followed this precept? Did he recognize the power of God in his life? How she wished she knew more about her benefactor.

“Cast but a glance at riches, and they are gone, for they will surely sprout wings.”

A good proverb to remember. Though she desired to be heavenly minded, if she didn’t keep her feet solidly on the earth and tend to important matters of business, her riches would certainly take wing.

“The abundance of a rich man permits him no sleep.”

How true! She hadn’t enjoyed a restful night’s sleep since she had learned about her inheritance.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth.”

Ah! There was the principle that concerned her. The rich young ruler had been told to sell all he had and give the proceeds to the poor as a prerequisite for discipleship. Did that principle apply to Allison Sayre, too? She had wanted to sell everything, but legally she couldn’t. She tried to think of rich people who had also been faithful followers, and she considered many wealthy entrepreneurs such as the Carnegies and the Penneys who gave vast sums for benevolent purposes. Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea had both been rich, yet they weren’t told to give up their wealth. Apparently there was a need for rich people in God’s kingdom, but it wasn’t easy she surmised when she read, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

I’m getting discouraged, God—all I can find are warnings to those who are rich. I gained this wealth through noeffort of my own. I don’t even want the responsibility of so many riches, but since I do have it, can’t You give me some assurance that it was Your providence that brought me where I am now? Surely there are some Scriptures to encourage me.

Looking a little further, Allison came upon the passage “For if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what he does not have.” She suspected that Paul had written those words to people who were poor, but couldn’t it apply to her, as well? She was willing to use her riches to advance God’s kingdom and to benefit others. Shouldn’t that count for something? Her greatest comfort came when she read Paul’s admonition in his letter to the Ephesians: “work, doing something useful with his own hands that he may have something to share with those in need.” She had often fretted in the past when she lacked the funds to contribute abundantly to worthy causes—missionaries in foreign countries, those afflicted by natural disasters, the plight of the poor in the city of Chicago. Now she would have money to give to charitable causes. What would she do with the opportunity?

Deciding that she must stop anticipating the future and deal with individual problems as they arose, Allison read one more verse: “I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.” Did she need any more assurance than that? She closed the Bible and prepared to go for the evening meal. After the tasty lunch she had eaten and the pie Minerva had served a few hours ago, Allison didn’t want a large meal. Rather than eat in the dining room downstairs, she leafed through the visitor’s guide on the desk and decided to go to a pizza house a few blocks away.

She freshened her makeup, drew a comb through her shoulder-length hair and telephoned the concierge to order a taxi for her. The elevators were crowded and the taxi was waiting by the time she got downstairs, but within ten minutes she was entering the restaurant. While she was studying the menu on the wall behind the counter, she heard her name.

“How are you tonight, Miss Sayre?”

Benton Lockhart was standing in line behind her.

“I’m fine, but puzzling over what to order. I’ve eaten more today than I usually do, and I’m not very hungry.”

“You might want to try the buffet, which features a variety of pizza, several salads and a small selection of desserts. You can choose as much or as little as you want. That’s what I have when I eat here.”

Taking his advice, Allison ordered the buffet, and as she paid the cashier, wondering if she should be so bold, she said, “If you’re dining alone, Mr. Lockhart, would you mind if I join you? Perhaps we could talk a bit about Page Publishing after we’ve finished.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Benton said evenly, without hesitation.

But Allison wasn’t sure he wanted to join her.

He lifted both their trays and asked, “Where would you like to sit?”

“The section to our left doesn’t seem to be crowded.”

He motioned for Allison to precede him toward a booth near the buffet counter. With a minimum of conversation, they filled their plates, and as they started eating, Allison said, “Perhaps I should apologize for interrupting your meal, but I do need to talk with you, and this seemed like a good opportunity. It’s obvious that you have a busy schedule at the office.”

“Yes, busier than usual today. I didn’t get finished until an hour ago, and I wasn’t keen about going to the apartment and preparing dinner. I often stop here when I don’t want to cook.”

“Then you aren’t married?”

“No,” he said bluntly, definitely closing that subject.

Allison took a bite of double-cheese pizza, and talking was halted for the moment. As the meal progressed, Allison became more and more uncomfortable, for guiding the conversation was left to her. Benton would answer when she made a comment, but he initiated nothing. Although she wanted to know lots of things about him, especially if she had met him before, he seemingly had no interest whatever in her. Much of the time they ate in silence, a silence that Allison found intimidating.

For dessert Allison took a small wedge of fruit pizza topped with kiwifruit, strawberries and peaches, and asked the waitress for a cup of tea. Benton ordered a serving of apple cobbler topped with a double dip of ice cream, and he smiled slightly. “I don’t usually have such a large appetite, but I didn’t take time for lunch today.”

“Do you always work such long hours?”

“Since Mr. Page fell ill I average ten hours each day at the office.”

“Perhaps now that I’m here I can take some of the workload off you. Naturally, I don’t expect to learn everything I need to know at once, but surely I can be of help to you if you’ll tell me what I should do.”

“But you have the roles reversed, Miss Sayre. You’re the employer—you will be telling me what to do.” Did Allison note a bit of sarcasm in his comment? She couldn’t tell. The Benton Lockhart she had met years ago would have been easy to read, but it seemed impossible to get behind the facade dominating this man’s personality. So maybe this wasn’t the Benton she had once known.

She finished the dessert, pushed the bowl to one side and pulled the cup of tea in front of her. She smiled and said, “I’m not foolish enough to think I can assume the management of Page Publishing for a long time. After I came to Columbus and found out the extent of Uncle Harrison’s holdings, I was terrified and asked Mr. Curnutt if I could just sell everything and get out from under the burden, but there’s a codicil to the will that I can’t sell the business for three years.”

“I had no idea what provisions Mr. Page had made for his holdings. He was a very private person, as you may well know.”

Allison shook her head. “You knew him much better than I did. Our family rarely saw him. How long did you work for him?”

“Five years. I worked in all the departments before I became Mr. Page’s assistant.”

“So you know the business from top to bottom?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“May I depend upon you to teach me the things that I need to know?”

“I’m yours to command, Miss Sayre. I’ll do what you tell me to do.”

Allison frowned. “I don’t like that type of relationship. I’ve never ‘bossed’ anyone, and I don’t know how it’s done. In fact, I don’t want to come across as a boss, especially to people who have worked a long time for my uncle.”

“You have no choice. Since you seem to want advice…” He paused and looked expectantly at Allison, and she nodded. “Whether you wanted it or not, you have become the administrator of a company with thirty-five employees. You cannot fraternize with your workers. If you do, you’re going to have people asking for favors, and you’ll create more ill will than the good relationships you’re hoping to foster. You will have to treat all your employees on an impersonal basis.”

“That sounds like a rather lonely life.”

“Make friends outside the company.”

“Even Celestine? I’ve already asked her to call me by my given name.”

His widening smile made his face relaxed and generous. “Celestine is in a different category—she mothers all of us. We can always count on her to smooth over the ill feelings.”

He dropped a tip on the table and stood up. “I have to be on my way, Miss Sayre. I’m expecting a telephone call at ten o’clock, and I must be home by then. May I drop you off at the hotel?”

“No, thank you. I’ll finish my tea before I call a taxi.”

“Very well. I’ll see you at the office on Monday.”

Allison stared down at the teacup and blinked her eyelids to hold back the tears. She thought Benton’s behavior was downright rude, but she had to admit she had brought it upon herself. She shouldn’t have asked to join him. After working ten hours, he had probably had enough of Page Publishing for one day, but that didn’t keep her from feeling lonely.

After returning to the hotel, Allison took a sheet of stationery from the drawer and wrote a short note to her sister, Cleta:

Don’t say anything about this to the others, but please look in that photo album I showed you, remove the picture of Donald and me with Benton Lockhart and mail it to me. You’ll know which one I mean.

This encounter tonight had almost convinced her that she had not found the Benton Lockhart she had admired, but she wanted to take another look at that photo.



Adra was watching for Allison the next morning, and moving quickly for a man with his age and girth, he hustled down the front steps when she pulled up to the curb in front of the house and opened the right-hand door.

“You can park in the driveway to the left of the house, Allison. That belongs to you, and it will be a lot safer than if we try to unload here on the street. Neil Avenue has a lot of traffic on Saturday mornings.”

He closed the door and she eased the automobile into the narrow driveway that led to a one-car garage separated from the house.

Minerva opened and closed the kitchen door as Adra and Allison emptied her car and carried her things upstairs. When they’d finished, Allison said, “Should I put my car in the garage?”

“Our truck is in there now, but we can move it out,” Adra offered.

“Oh, no, my car is used to sitting out in the weather.” She locked the car doors, and they went into the warm kitchen, where Minerva had some hot chocolate for them.

The sun shone through the windows while they sat at the round table in the alcove, and the friendliness of these two people softened the hard core that had been around her heart since last night’s episode with Benton. They chatted as if she were family—they didn’t seem to think an employer-employee relationship was so important.

The McRameys had no children, and they had sold their farm and moved to Columbus several years ago. “I miss being in the country,” Adra said, “but our property was right at the edge of the city and developments kept edging closer, making the property so valuable that we couldn’t afford to pay our taxes. So we sold out, and when we were looking for a place, we were directed to Mr. Page. He needed some help and we needed a home. It’s been a good life for us.”

“What was the nature of Uncle Harrison’s illness? No one has told me.”

Minerva tapped her chest. “Heart trouble. He had a series of heart attacks that damaged his heart. The last few months he had to have oxygen and constant monitoring, and he chose to go to the nursing home, although we would have taken care of him.”

“I believe Aunt Sarah’s trouble was multiple sclerosis?”

“Yes, she was very young when the doctors diagnosed her. She was an intelligent woman and talented, but she hardly left the house after we came here, and he stayed close by her in the evenings, waiting on her hand and foot,” Minerva said. “He acted guilty sometimes, as if he blamed himself for her sickness and couldn’t do enough to make up for it. She died seven years ago. His life wasn’t easy.”

“I wish I could have known them,” Allison said as she stood up. “I must get busy if I’m unpacked and ready to go to work on Monday. My time will be limited after that.”

“If there’s anything we can do, let us know. I cleared everything out of the closets and chests in your room and the other bedrooms have empty closets. For storage, there are rooms on the third floor we don’t use.”

“Perhaps we can store the boxes up there after I’ve unpacked.”

“Just let Adra know. I’m simmering a pot of soup in our apartment. Plan to eat lunch with us, and I’ll prepare your dinner down here. There’s a small door you can take from the second floor to access our stairway. Come on up when you’re ready to eat.”

Allison had organized her garments by seasonal wear and marked the boxes accordingly. She unpacked her winter clothes and hung them in the room she would occupy, and carried the boxes of spring and summer clothing into one of the spare bedrooms. She would leave them packed for the time being. She stopped at noon and took the stairs to the McRameys’ quarters.

The small stairway opened into their living room, a central squarish area that accessed the other major rooms. The kitchen was marked by a spire that served as a skylight over the McRameys’ table. Their two bedrooms featured dormer windows. After lunch Minerva took Allison into the storage area—odd-shaped rooms that provided plenty of space. The rooms were crowded with castoffs, and Minerva said, “When you have time, you may want to go through here and throw away a lot of stuff. Some of it is junk and should never have been stored.”

Rubbing her hand along a dusty dresser, Allison said with a laugh, “If it’s been here for years, I’ll not worry about it now. If I learn how to manage Page Publishing, I’ll have all I can do for a long time.” And she was determined to learn the business, whether or not Benton was willing to help her. “I’ll have my sister and brother come for a visit sometime and turn them loose up here. They’ll carry away everything my mother will let them have.” She had been thinking about her parents off and on all day, and she said slowly, “My mother didn’t want me to move to Columbus.”

A note of wistfulness must have crept into Allison’s voice, for Minerva’s arm circled her shoulders. “Mothers are like that,” she said. “We all have to cast off on our own eventually. You’ll be all right.”

“I want to spend some time looking around this house, getting to know what is here. Perhaps that way I can learn something about my aunt and uncle.”

“A good idea. You’ll find lots of reminders of them.”

“I’m going to telephone my parents and tell them where I am, and then I’ll get busy again.”

She went into the library to phone and was relieved when her father answered, for she felt better able to cope with him than her mother.

“I’ve moved into Uncle Harrison’s home, Daddy, and I want you to have my telephone number.”

“Are you living there alone?”

“No, a fine couple who have worked for Uncle Harrison for years will be staying with me. I like them, and we’ll get along well, I’m sure.”

“Do you like the house?”

“It’s unbelievable, and not as I would have expected a hundred-year-old dwelling to be. It’s in excellent repair. Uncle Harrison had it refurbished over the past several years. There are ten rooms besides the third floor where the McRameys live, and a full-sized basement—certainly more room and luxury than I need, but Mr. Curnutt thought I should live here for a few months before I make any decision about selling it.”





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