PROLOGUE
New York City
John Ashton poured three fingers of whiskey into two glasses and sat the decanter down on the side table. Sunlight streamed through a sliver of lace curtains that broke the deep red velvet drapes symmetrically, the only source of natural light that found its way into his study, illuminating a jagged river across the cherry floor and the side of a mahogany bookshelf as it found the face of his longtime friend, Henry Westmoreland, who reposed in a heavily cushioned chair that matched the curtains almost exactly.
“Thank you,” Henry nodded as he took the glass, giving it a sip before nestling it between his hands on top of a crossed knee.
John nodded and then found a seat across from his former Oxford roommate. “How was your trip?” he asked, taking a drink and then setting his glass on an end table. “Nothing exciting I hope?”
“Heavens, no,” Henry laughed. “I can’t imagine anything exciting happening on a trip across the Atlantic. Fairly uneventful.”
While John could think of several potentially exciting occurrences, he chose not to list them since his friend would be heading back soon. No need to plant thoughts of mechanical failures or floundering vessels. “Your meetings went well?”
“Oh, yes,” Henry nodded, smoothing out his trousers over his knee. “The factory has certainly taken off these past two years. It seems I’ve finally found a way to get my textiles to the markets successfully.”
John nodded. “That’s wonderful news. You always knew how to make a quality product. Perhaps this will be just what you need to make Westmoreland Textiles a household name on both sides of the Atlantic.”
“Indeed,” Henry agreed. At thirty-five, his sandy blond hair should not have been thinning. Yet, when he ran his hand through, John could see much of his scalp. He hadn’t seen Henry in almost a year, but he certainly looked different. Thin—gaunt almost. His skin was pale and though he wore a suit, it was apparent he had several lesions near the cuff of his jacket on each arm. “How are things for you?”
It took John a moment to realize he’d been asked a question; he was so distracted by his guest’s appearance. “Oh, we are doing well,” he finally managed. “Pamela and I are very happy with business. Steel is the future of this country.”
Henry coughed rather violently, drawing out a handkerchief as he did so. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and returning the handkerchief to his pocket, he said, “Good. That’s good to hear. I really thought you were getting in at the right time, what with the building boom and the expansion of the transportation system.”
John’s forehead was still puckered, but he overlooked the spell for a moment. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his own dark brown hair, absently weighing the thickness. “Yes, timing is everything, as you know. If you hadn’t made that loan to me a few years ago, I’m not sure….”
“Oh, no need to bring that up,” Henry interrupted. “That’s ancient history. I was happy to help a friend.” He was gazing at John poignantly, and the New Yorker froze in his friend’s stare, noticing the glassy look in his eyes. “You’ve always been a good friend, John.”
“Henry,” John began, leaning forward in his seat with his elbows pressed into his knees, “is something the matter? You don’t seem quite yourself.”
Henry took a sip of his whiskey before inhaling deeply, holding his breath for a second and then releasing it slowly. Finally, he said, “I’m dying.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He gaped at Henry in shock for a long moment before he stammered, “I’m so… sorry. What is it? What have the doctors said?”
Nervous laughter escaped Henry as he shrugged. “It’s all right. We are all dying. Like most things, I’m just more successful at it than others.” Clearly, John was not amused, so Henry cleared his throat again and continued. “I’ve visited quite a few doctors over the last year or so. No one is quite sure what it is, honestly. They haven’t found a growth or anything of the like. I have phases when I’m nearly myself, and then the symptoms come back. They are full of theories, but theories don’t keep air in the lungs.”
John leaned back in his seat, unsure what to say. He finished his drink, considered pouring another, and then decided to wait. “I am at a loss for words,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry. Do you think there’s any hope? Perhaps….”
“No, I don’t think so,” Henry interrupted again. He changed positions so that his ankle now rested on his knee and began to absently smooth his trouser cuff. “I have my own theory, though it’s nothing I can prove, and honestly nothing I even care to think about.”
“What is it?” John asked, leaning forward again.
Henry shook his head, a serene expression crossing his face. He was a handsome man; the women had always thought so. Clean shaven except for a small moustache. John remembered how he’d had his choice of young debutantes to lead around the ballroom at every occasion. Not that John wasn’t considered a catch himself. It was just difficult to imagine that this man before him was the same spritely, happy-go-lucky chap he’d spent his formative years with not that long ago. After a lengthy pause, Henry managed to quietly reply, “I’d rather not say.”
It was a struggle not to press for information, so John rose and poured himself another drink, offering to top Henry’s off as well, but he waved him away. John took a sip and returned to his seat. “What does Mildred think?”
His expression didn’t change, nor did his distracted behavior. “She doesn’t seem to mind,” he finally shrugged out.
John shook his head slowly from side to side. He’d never known what it was Henry saw in the woman. Mildred Truesdale had been a beautiful strawberry blonde vixen, from his recollection. She was quick witted, never shy, and often condescending. But there had been something about her that had captivated his roommate from their third year on, and when he announced his engagement to Miss Truesdale, John hadn’t bothered to voice his disapproval. He knew that the marriage was not problem free, not that any of them are, but he couldn’t imagine living with someone who didn’t support him, someone who seemed to question his every decision, even in business, the way that Mildred did. He knew he was a lucky man to have found Pamela, and he had always wished that his friend could know what it was like to have a true partner in life. Now, to hear that his friend was losing his life and Mildred “didn’t seem to mind” was about enough to send him through the roof.
“What can I do?” John asked, biting back the coarse words of consternation that were fighting to break free.
A small smile played at Henry’s upper lip for a moment before it faded back to melancholy. “I think my business should be just fine, at least for a few years. I’m not worried about that. It’s… Meggy.”
PROLOGUE, CONTINUEDThoughts of his own children, Grace who was twelve and Charlie who had just turned nine, brought a tear to John’s eye. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “How old is she now? Six?”The smile broke free this time. “Yes, six—going on thirteen, I believe. She’s a little twig of a thing. Always running about. Feisty, full of life.” He didn’t bother to wipe the tears away that were trickling down his cheek. “After losing the other three before we ever even knew them, Meggy has been the breath of fresh air I needed. I can’t imagine….” He paused, his voice catching in his throat. “I can’t imagine my life without Meggy in it. And my heart breaks for her knowing that soon enough, she will have to carry on without her old Da. That’s what she calls me, Da. Must be those Irish nannies,” he chuckled, finally brushing the tears from his face.John realiz
SouthamptonMeggy Westmoreland loved the toy pram her father had brought her back from New York City. She had snuggled two of her favorite dolls inside, wrapped up tightly in a blanket which had been a gift from her late grandmother. It was a lovely spring day, and she pushed the pram back and forth along the stone path that trailed through the back garden. While she loved all of the beautiful flowers that grew here, the lilacs and oleanders were her favorite. She had even named one of her dolls Lilac, despite her mother’s insistence that it was a “ridiculous name.” The urge to pick the flowers was overwhelming, but she had learned her lesson the hard way when she was only three, and the sharp slap to her hand hadn’t been forgotten. Her mother and uncle sat under a shade tree in the distance now, and the possibility of getting away with even pulling one petal free was simply not worth the risk.As she walked back and forth, stopping occasionally
The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon as Meggy finished brushing her hair and placed the brush back on her dresser. “Now, say your prayers and off to bed,” her nanny, Patsy, directed, giving her a quick peck on the top of her head. Though she’d only worked for the family for about a year, Meggy liked her best of all, and she especially liked it when she was allowed to bring her daughter, Kelly, to play. Most of the time, however, Meggy’s mother forbade Kelly from visiting, and she spent most of her time with her grandmother while Patsy carefully tended to someone else’s child.As Patsy put out the lights, Meggy kneeled and said a proper prayer, asking God to look after all those she loved, and as Patsy neared the door, she rose, whispering, “Good night,” with a sweet smile.“Good night, my love,” Patsy smiled in return, watching the little girl climb into her bed before she went out, leaving the door open just
As he entered the parlor and saw Mildred sitting in her usual chair near the unlit fireplace, a lantern illuminating her embroidery, he wondered what that must be like, to love someone so much you couldn’t fathom going on without them. He had been in love with her at one time. She had been a clever, cunning young woman, with beautiful hair and sparkling eyes. He knew almost immediately she was after him for his money and the promise of a prominent life, but they had become involved more quickly than he had planned for, and he’d asked her to be his wife one evening when she’d come to him in tears, carrying the evidence of their indiscretions beneath her ample gown. A month later, after they’d made their vows, the first of their three tragedies occurred, and that evidence was buried in a tiny box in her father’s family plot. He had thought at the time their loss would bring them closer together, but that was the beginning of Mildred’s emotional rati
Southampton The swing was creaky. Her father had promised to look into it, to see if he could switch out the rope or tie it to a different branch, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to, and with every sway to and fro, Meggy was reminded that her father wasn’t coming home this time. She would never see him again.Her mother had said he’d had a heart attack, and when she’d questioned what that meant, she’d been sent out of the room. Later, Patsy had explained that his heart had stopped working, and now he was in heaven with Jesus. Meggy didn’t think it was fair that Jesus could just take her Da like that. Didn’t he have enough other people to keep him company? Her Da was the only person in the whole world she’d wanted to keep, and now he was gone. Forever.“Whatcha doin’?” Ezra asked sneaking around the back of the tree.“Nothing,” Meggy
Meggy’s prayers went unanswered, however, when her face made contact with the rough fabric of Patsy’s skirts. “Miss Meggy, darlin’ whatever are you doing?” she asked just above a whisper.Happy that it was Patsy who had found her out and no one else, Meggy let go a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Nothin’,” she replied looking up into the kind eyes of her caretaker.Patsy shook her head, frizzy red curls dancing around her mob cap. “Now, I know that isn’t true.”“I was just…. Mother and Uncle Bertram were talking, and I wanted to know what they were saying, that’s all. I thought maybe they might say something about Da.”Smiling, as if to say she understood, Patsy reached down and took her charge’s little hand. “How would you like a cookie?” she asked, leading her into the kitchen.“Mother says I shouldn&rsquo
New York CityCharlie Ashton always enjoyed walking the floor of his father’s factory with him, listening to the owner encourage the workers and comment on their effort. Everyone always seemed so happy and proud to be doing their job. Today was no different, as Mr. Ashton proceeded up and down the rows, patting workers on the back, calling almost every single one of them by name, despite the hundreds of individuals they passed. Charlie wondered how he knew everyone so well, and when he’d asked, his father simply said, “People are important.”The sounds of the machinery made parts of the factory very noisy, and whenever they would approach some of the more dangerous areas, John would always take Charlie by the hand, even though he was nearly eleven years old—practically a grown man—and his head reached his father’s shoulder. He said he wanted to make sure nothing happened to his right hand man, so Charlie shrugged and took his f
Southampton“Time for bed,” her mother repeated for at least the third time. Meggy continued to pretend that she could not hear her. She had been playing at reading for nearly half an hour now, not budging from her chair in the parlor, despite the fact that she knew her mother didn’t like her to be downstairs. Meggy didn’t like her room anymore.“Mary Margaret!” she shouted this time. “Get upstairs and change this instant or else I shall fetch Ms. Strickland from her chambers and have her put you to bed!”Meggy took a deep breath, realizing she would have to go now, despite the fact that she would have done almost anything to work her way around it. But without a word of back-talk (which would have gotten her a fat lip at the least) she gathered up her book, dragged herself out of the room, and began her slow ascent up the stairs.She took her time washing up as well. No longer would Patsy come in and help h