Tracie Peterson: Dawns Prelude

Evie's eyes widened and she barely suppressed a cry as her father hurriedly hound back into the attic and headed downstairs. Stunned, Evie sat for several moments, unable to move. Had she really just witnessed her father kill her mother?

But maybe Mama hadn't died from the fall. Maybe it was just done in jest. Evie hit her lower lip and summoned up her courage. Just then, she heard someone scream and knew her fears were realized. She raced from the attic and hack to her second-floor bedroom, where she hurriedly climbed into bed and burrowed deep within the sanctuary of the covers.

What if Father found out that she'd seen him? Would he throw her from the roof, as well?

"Evie? Evie are you all right?"

For a moment Evie didn't recognize the voice of her sister. She glanced up to find herself safe in her brother's parlor, with everyone watching her. Watching and waiting for some explanation of why she had failed to respond.

"I'm… sorry" she said, hesitating only a moment. "What was it you asked?"

Jeannette moved closer. "I asked if you were all right. You seem quite pale. You aren't with child, are you?"

Evie was shocked at the question. She would have laughed out loud at the lunacy of the idea had her husband not been fixing her with a most serious expression.

"I don't think so, Jeannette. I'm simply overly tired."

Her husband looked away with a thin smile edging his lips. She has been far too busy of late. I believe I will send her on a trip for a rest."

With that they all seemed to forget about her and went back to their discussion of what to do with Lydia. Evie breathed a sigh of relief and folded her hands. She would have to be more careful. She had never told anyone of what she had witnessed that day in the attic, and she never would, for fear of what might happen to her. People with secrets did not bode well in this family.

Lydia sorted through her jewelry, separating out what she knew to he Gray family heirlooms from the things her husband had bought particularly for her use. She had never cared for any of the pieces. All of them were ostentatious and tasteless, as far as she was concerned. Floyd Gray never did anything out of affection, but rather out of a need to impress those around him. The heavy necklaces of gold and sapphires, rubies and on, and diamonds and pearls had been designed in multiple tiers to capture the attention of others. Matching earrings, too, that dangled long and heavy. Lydia remembered getting headaches just wearing them.

Other pieces were ghastly for the combination of jewels used. They were Mr. Gray's attempt at creativity, but they were truly awful. One in particular was of amethyst, topaz, and emeralds. The jeweler had fashioned the stones in a series of bizarre flowers that encircled the neck on a thick vine of gold. Another piece was something Lydia could only describe as a spider's web of silver with large stones of varying colors sprinkled liberally throughout. When worn, it looked like a strange sort of jeweled chain mail for the neck.

"Well, I certainly have no need of these." She gathered the hideous pieces and secured them in their cases. She would let Evie and Jeannette have them, and if they didn't want them, she would give them to Mitchell and Marston-a sort of peace offering, along with the rest of the home's furnishings.

She had no desire to take anything that belonged to the family or had been given her by Floyd. Certainly not the outlandish clothes he had made her wear. No, she would have several new, more serviceable pieces made before departing Kansas City and leave all of the rest behind.

"I'm starting a new life," she reminded herself. In all honesty, it was more like she was finally being allowed a life. She thought about living in Alaska with her aunt and felt awash in giddiness.

A knock on the door startled Lydia for a moment. It was almost as if someone had sensed her happiness and had come to put an end to it. "Come in." She looked up to find a dour-faced woman nearly twice Lydia 's age at her door. "What is it, Mary?"

"The Gray sons are here to speak with you."

Lydia had been expecting them. After all, it was already half past eight in the morning. It was amazing they had waited this long.

"Very well. Tell them I'll he down directly."

Mary looked at her a moment, then gave a huff and closed the door as she left. Lydia knew none of the servants had much use for her. She had never had so much as a single confidante in the entire staff. They were too afraid. They knew who paid their wages, and they weren't about to alienate the master by cozying up to the wife he despised. No doubt they were all confused as to who held the purse strings now.

Lydia stood and once again surveyed the display of jewelry on her bed. Should she tell Mitchell and Marston her plans? Would they he pleased or just further angered that she should dare to even pretend she had the right to divvy up their father's property?

Making her way downstairs, Lydia knew it would not do to appear nervous or weak. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. It would be hard to stand up to Floyd Gray's sons, but she would manage it.

She found Marston and Mitchell huddled together in the same room where their father had been laid out for the funeral. Gone were all reminders of that hideous day, but Lydia could still envision the scene in her mind.

You took your sweet time in attending us," Mitchell said with a scowl. "I suppose you believe yourself to he somehow in charge, what with the absurdity of the will in question."

"Is it in question?" Lydia asked, her voice strong and clear.

"You know it is. It's just a matter of time before we have this resolved in our favor. Father never intended you to inherit anything that belonged to him. You know that as well as we do."

"I know that your father never thought it possible that he would die."

"Don't act so smug," Marston said, taking a step toward her. "We will see the wrong made right."

"Despite your attempts to set the circumstance in your favor," Lydia began, "I still have no need to concern myself. My father has left me sufficiently able to care for my own needs."

She crossed the room and took a seat in her rocking chair. She folded her hands together and looked up at the men who approached her. They towered over her for a moment, as if hoping to intimidate her. When she said nothing, Mitchell finally sat opposite her, while Marston continued to stand.

"The fact of the matter is you know full well you are not entitled to our properties and businesses, whether they were shared by your father or not. We expect you to accompany us to our lawyer to put an end to this farce."

Lydia could see that Mitchell looked rather nervous. He had a tick just under his left eye, and he shifted his weight continuously as if his seat were red hot. Marston, meanwhile, held his hands behind his back and watched her carefully. Lydia knew he was looking for some sign of weakness in her some chink in the armor she had carefully fitted around her. She felt like prey being watched by a wild animal.

Imagining a strain of a Beethoven pastorale through her head, Lydia calmed. They cannot hunt me anymore. They cannot take away my freedom. She drew a deep breath and met their gazes once again.

"Mr. Robinson is handling all of my legal affairs for me. You may take up this matter with him."

"No. You will come with us," Marston insisted, stepping toward her. "Today."

"Oh, do sit down, Marston." She tried her best to sound indifferent to his approach, but in her mind, she could very nearly feel the blows he so obviously longed to deliver. "I will not be bullied by anyone anymore." The words gave her strength.