Irene Brand - Heiress

“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.