Tracie Peterson - Dawns Prelude

Shrugging, Mitchell fell hack against the leather upholstery as the carriage merged into traffic.

Marston considered something he and Mitchell had discussed once before. "If I could force her to marry me, then there would be little difficulty in regaining control of our money"

"But wouldn't society frown upon such an arrangement? She is our stepmother."

"It would have to he dealt with carefully. Perhaps we could enlist the help of the girls. They could put it out among their friends and social circles that Lydia is distraught and unable to go on with life. My marrying her would be done purely out of a desire to see her safe and assured of her position."

Mitchell chuckled. "But one word from Lydia would put all of that nonsense to rest."

Marston gave his brother a smug smile. "But she has to be able to talk and to be out in public in order to share such thoughts."

His brother raised a brow and nodded. "And then perhaps in time, Lydia could simply do herself in as our mother did."

"Why not?" Marston replied. "Weak women do it all the time." He glanced out the window feeling hope for the first time in a long while. "I believe this crisis may resolve itself quite easily after all."

Lydia could feel Dwight Robinson's gaze on her without needing to turn around. She stood at the window of his office, watching the Kansas City traffic bustle about.

"1 have had several meetings with your stepsons. They are not happy, as I'm sure you know They intend to see the inheritance returned to them, regardless of what they have to do." She could hear him shuffle papers. "They've petitioned to have the will set aside, but I can't see it causing you any difficulty. Once reviewed, a judge is going to see that the arrangement vVVas contracted legally"

Lydia turned and met his gaze. "I honestly don't want their inheritance. To tell you the truth, there is nothing of Floyd's that I desire to keep. I'd just as soon give it to them and be done with it."

"l3ut what of your future?"

Smoothing her dove-gray walking skirt, Lydia crossed the room and took a seat in the high-hacked red leather chair. "My future is fairly well set, what with the trust fund Father set up for me."

"And what of your father's furniture business?" Dwight asked, lowering his wire-rimmed glasses. "That is intricately tied to the casket business he created with Mr. Gray. Your father and husband owned equal shares of the latter."

She frowned. "I don't know that I even want to have my hand in the business at all."

"And the Gray family also had a freight business and two mortuaries…

She felt completely overwhelmed with it all.

"I suppose we could approach them to see if they would like to buy out your shares." Dwight reached for his pen and held it aloft a moment. "Is that what you would like me to do?"

"Is it feasible? Can it be done without my being here to handle the matter?"

Dwight nodded. "I can see to everything. Even the review of the will. You won't have to appear before the judge unless you want to."

"I most certainly do not." Lydia stiffened and folded her gloved hands. "I want nothing more to do with this whole affair than I absolutely must. I would be glad for you to handle everything.

Her lawyer jotted down several things before putting down his pen. He leaned forward and put his glasses aside. May I be frank?"

Lydia nodded. What else had he been? They had talked about all the intricate details of her marriage to Floyd and the reason behind her father's decision to marry her off at such a young age.

"I fear for you, Mrs. Gray.

She felt her brows knit together as she narrowed her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

Mr. Robinson got up and walked to the front of his desk. He leaned his stocky frame against the top. "I worry that your stepsons mean to cause you as much trouble as it takes in order to get hack everything. I have heard stories about their dealings in the past. Given that their father was such an abusive man, I find it completely reasonable to believe them capable of the same."

He cleared his throat as if hesitant to continue. "They are men used to having their own way."

Lydia shook her head. "Exactly what are you saying?"

"I don't want to falsely judge them or their motives," Robinson said. "And I certainly do not mean to speak indelicately, but I believe they will do you physical harm."

Lydia couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "You do?"

"There are rumors that Gray and his sons have eliminated problems in the past. When people got in their way, there were times those folks simply… disappeared."

Her eyes widened. "Are you saying that Mr. Gray had people killed?" She knew she shouldn't be shocked by that thought, but she was. The man had been cruel, there was no doubt about that-hut a murderer?

"Nothing has ever been proven, but the rumors are too numerous to be ignored. I have heard that Marston and Mitchell were involved in several situations where they intimidated witnesses against their father. Some men were beaten so severely they never recovered. One can't say if the actual job was done by the hands of one of the Grays or another's, but I'm willing to believe the order came from a Gray's mouth."

Lydia felt her breath catch. Her stomach churned and she shook her head. "I truly had no idea."

"I hope this won't seem too out of place. I realize you hardly know my family; however, I discussed your circumstances with my wife, Rhoda. We would like to encourage you to stay with us until you leave town for Alaska."

Lydia felt at a loss for words. The entire situation took her off guard. "I don't know what to say"

"At least consider our offer. You won't be leaving for a week or two. I'm still making the arrangements for your trip to Sitka."

"Perhaps we can find a way to start my trip sooner. However, I am having new clothes made for the journey. Nothing I currently have is sturdy or simple enough for life in Alaska."

"I'd hate to see you stay in that house. You have no friends there, and the children any one of them would have easy access to you. The servants could be bought off and even paid to do you harm."

Lydia had never considered such possibilities. So many times she had felt unsafe while Floyd was alive, but since his death, she'd known a new sense of peace. She supposed now that such feelings were foolish. She was never truly going to be free until she was long gone from Kansas City.

She was nearly ready to agree to Mr. Robinson's invitation when he added a further comment that changed her mind.

"We've prayed about this and truly believe that God would have us extend this invitation to you."

"I don't believe in prayer," Lydia said, stiffening. Why did people always have to say such things? As though stamping God's name on something made it more official or stressed the need to comply?

Robinson's expression changed to one of shock. "What are you saying?"

Lydia got to her feet. "I have endured far too much at the hands of a cruel and vicious husband to imagine God ever cared about me. My mother told me long ago that God loved me and watched over me to protect me from harm, but my marriage to Floyd proves that was not true. Now if you'll excuse me, I am late for my dressmaker's appointment."

Taking afternoon tea in her favorite teahouse, Evie listened to her sister drone on and on about how much the circumstances of the will had wreaked havoc with her health.

"I've suffered a headache every day since Father died," she told Evie. "I sometimes have to lie in a dark room for hours to find even a tiny bit of relief."