Page 4 of Brian and Cora
I wish I could write you with better news, but, as you know, Grandpapa’s health continues to deteriorate, and the doctor frowns and mutters about only having a few more weeks. As Grandpapa informed you, Great-Aunt Rose has quit her job at the library and moved in to care for him. I visit often. Grandpa says my chatter lifts his spirits.
Now and again, my father dutifully pays a call. Indeed, I think my father allows me to stay here so often because my presence at Grandpapa’s bedside must relieve his guilt (if he feels any) about his neglect of his dying father. Even when he does visit, he barely stays a half hour, with the excuse that my wicked stepmother, who’s enceinte with yet another baby, claims she’s ill and needs all of his attention.
Perhaps I should not call the woman wicked. She’s not precisely evil. Just slothful and greedy and always demanding Papa dance to her tune. And he does! I don’t mind how he neglects me and even my half-siblings. But I am incensed with how he treats Grandpapa. I’ve told him so, and we had a dreadful quarrel.
Even though I hoped Papa would heed my admonitions, I didn’t really think he’d listen and change. I hate to admit this to anyone; however, you know our family’s situation and, thus,I think I can write what’s on my mind. My papa is a weak man. There. I’ve written and underlined the truth, as much as it pains me to do so. How my dear grandparents produced such a mewling coward is beyond me.
Am I the sinful one to think such unfilial thoughts about my father? Am I breaking the Fifth Commandment in my inability to honor him? Or do you think God takes into account when a parent isn’t behaving honorably to his own father? Since you now have a son-in-law who’s a minister, perhaps you could ask his opinion and let me know.
It’s not my intention to make you feel guilty, my dear Mr. Bellaire, when I say that you are greatly missed by your friends. Grandpapa and I have spoken about how we must console ourselves in your absence with knowing you are happy with your life in Sweetwater Springs, living in the bosom of your new family, and, to use Grandpapa’s words, meddling in all your town projects.
I’d dearly love to take you up on your kind invitation to stay with you and your family, but convincing Aunt Rose to come with me will take all of my ingenuity.
Please keep Grandpapa, Great-Aunt Rose, and me in your prayers. We are in need of them!
Sincerely,
Cora Collier
CHAPTER 3
Amonth later, at the entrance to her grandfather’s home, Cora paused and clutched the gold locket she always wore. With a pit of grief in her stomach, she glanced through the door’s window, bordered in stained glass, nerving herself to go inside.
Even after two weeks, Cora failed to become accustomed to the knowledge Grandpapa wouldn’t be inside. Away from the house, even though she knew better, she could pretend he was still alive. Now his house held emptiness, even though Rose still resided there—for a few more weeks, anyway—until Papa would callously sell the place where he’d grown up.
When he does, I’m leaving New York.
A deep breath had her unlocking the door with her key and stepping inside, her foot almost sliding on the letter that the postman had shoved through the mail slot. She stooped to pick up the envelope, glanced at the address, recognized Andre Bellaire’s handwriting, and had to hold in a whoop of excitement.
Time to call upon all my acting ability. Aunt Rose must not suspect I’m complicit in Mr. Bellaire’s scheme.
Cora moved into the entryway, her footsteps echoing on the patterned tile, no longer cushioned by a faded Turkish rug. “Aunt Rose,” she called. “Where are you?”
“In the library.”
Figures. After her father and stepmother had descended like locusts on her grandfather’s possessions, every room but the library was stripped of anything of value. But the books, aside from those willed to Mr. Bellaire, belonged to Rose. The process of sorting, cataloguing, and separating the books kept her great-aunt busy.
Cora bounded through the doorway to throw her arms around Rose, giving her an extra hard squeeze and, with concern, feeling the slenderness of her body. Her great-aunt had lost weight these past weeks, and only her seemingly indomitable spirit kept her from appearing frail.
In Cora’s opinion, Rose was the loveliest woman she knew. Her great-aunt was not conventionally pretty. But even in her forties, she possessed a reserved beauty and looked much younger than her age. When comfortable, most usually while discussing literary topics, she glowed with an inner light. Due to her shyness, most people, especially potential suitors, didn’t notice.
Tonight, though, her great-aunt looked pale and tired. Behind her spectacles, sad shadows lurked in her gray eyes. Still, the smile she gave Cora was the same warm one as always.
To hide her dismay, Cora flung her arms out wide. She took in a breath of the familiar, musty-book-smelling air. “It’s so dreary here without Grandpa. How can you stand it?”
“I know, darling, but I do because I must.” Rose’s lips seemed to tremble, and her smile appeared forced. “These books won’t sort and pack themselves.”
“I hate that Papa is selling this house.” Cora stepped around Rose and gazed at the partially empty shelves and the stacks onthe floor, her stomach squeezing. Sunlight beamed through the large windows, topped with lead glass panels, scattering prisms of light around the room.
She touched her locket. “You’ll be at this for days.” The longer, the better, as far as she was concerned, before her grandfather’s house was gone forever, and Rose moved to rooms in some dreary lodging house.
“Now that you’re here, can you make yourself useful and help me locate these two?” Rose extended a paper. “Or is there another reason you’ve dropped by, oh niece of mine?”
“Another reason.” Cora held up the letter, and, from long practice, did her best to appear innocent. “I saw the mail arrived, so I picked this up rather than allowing the envelope to stay on the floor and be stepped on. It’s for you. Why don’t you read it while I look for these books? Then we’ll talk.” She reached out, deftly swapping the envelope for the list, and, hiding a surge of sneaky glee, she moved toward the shelves.
After selecting a spot where she could keep an eye on her great-aunt, she grabbed a volume at random and pretended to peruse the pages.
“Absolutely not!” Rose dropped the letter into her lap, her lips pressing together.
