A Daughter's Inheritance (11 page)

His mother surveyed the rooms and then returned to the entry hall. “We’ll eat dinner, and then you can go over to Clayton. And don’t plan on spending the afternoon visiting with the locals or the fishermen. I need those supplies back here so I can begin preparations.”

Michael followed his mother out the front door of the castle. “If you would have sent me this morning, I’d already be back.”

She shook her head. “And I’d still have all that furniture to uncover and move into place when you returned.” She looped arms with her son and held his gaze with her hazel eyes. “I know you’re anxious for Fanny’s return, but you need to remember that she’s all but a grown woman now. The two of you can’t continue to go off by yourselves, fishing and reading books and the like. It’s not proper. You didn’t heed my counsel last summer, and I can already see the glimmer in your eyes every time her name is mentioned. She’s not yours for the having, Michael. Those people are in a different class from us. You’ll have no more than a broken heart when all is said and done.”

His mother’s words stung, and he turned away. “Fanny and I have been friends for years. She’s not like the rest of them. You know that.”

“She’s a sweet, kind girl. I’ll not disagree on that account, but she’s still not available to the likes of a caretaker’s son. I don’t want any trouble.”

Michael kicked a small rock. “There won’t be any trouble, but I’ll not agree to ignoring Fanny, either. She’s a friend, and I look forward to seeing her again.”

His mother sighed and waved him inside. He was thankful she didn’t argue further. He didn’t want a windy discussion to ensue, for it would delay his trip to Clayton.

Michael steered the steam launch into the bay and docked at the Fry Steam Launch Company pier. After securing the boat, he peeked inside, offered a quick hello to Bill Fry, and headed off toward Warnoll’s Meat Market. He’d leave his list and come back to pick up the cuts his mother had ordered once he’d completed the remainder of the shopping. He nodded and spoke to several acquaintances as he made his way to the market.

“Morning, Albert,” Michael said while he ambled toward the large counter. He shoved the list in Albert’s direction.

Albert took the paper and glanced at the order. “Guess this means the Broadmoors are coming after all. Right?”

Michael frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be coming?”

“With old Mr. Broadmoor dying, folks was speculating whether the family would return this summer. None of them seemed particularly fond of the island. We just thought maybe—”

“Wait! What did you say about Mr. Broadmoor?”

Mr. Warnoll arched his brows. “That he’s dead?” He studied Michael for a moment. “You mean you folks didn’t know?”

Michael shook his head. “When did this happen, and how come nobody let us know?” Word traveled quickly from island to island, and Michael didn’t understand how this important bit of news could have bypassed them.

“Everyone figured the family had advised the staff. When we didn’t see any of you in the village, we thought you might be observing your own period of mourning or some such thing. We didn’t want to intrude.”

Michael wasn’t certain why Albert thought they’d be in mourning out on the island, but the fact that everyone else knew Mr. Broadmoor was dead and the servants on his island hadn’t been advised was baffling. Why hadn’t the family sent word? Since they hadn’t contacted the island staff, did that mean they were coming as scheduled, or had they assumed word would somehow reach the island and the staff would realize they wouldn’t arrive? Michael was nonplussed by the odd behavior.

“Do you still want me to fill the order, Michael?”

“I suppose so. I’ll assume they’re still coming since we haven’t had any word advising us to the contrary. They’ll expect the larder to be stocked if they arrive.”

The man nodded. “And empty if they don’t. I’ll get busy on your order. Should have it ready for you in an hour.”

“I’ll be back then. I’ve got to fill an order at the general store and pick up some items at the drugstore.” Michael pulled his folded cap from his back pocket and headed out the door. “And cut those chops nice and thick the way my ma likes them,” he called over his shoulder.

Mr. Warnoll’s hearty chuckle filled the room. “I’ll see to it. I don’t want your mother coming in here and giving me a lecture on how to cut a proper lamb chop.”

Michael waved to Mr. Hungerford as he passed the plumbing and tinware store and offered greetings to several men visiting outside the Hub Café with Mr. Grapotte, the owner.

“My condolences to you folks. I’m sure things will be different now that Mr. Broadmoor’s passed on.” Mr. Grapotte stroked his whiskers and shook his head.

“I suppose they will,” Michael replied. He didn’t intend to tell others that today was the first he’d known of Mr. Broadmoor’s death. He still didn’t know exactly when his employer had died.

“Family still arriving?”

“Far as we know. Got to keep moving. I’ve got a list a mile long.” He waved the piece of paper and hurried onward.

By the time he’d filled the lists and the launch had been loaded, Michael was exhausted. Not from the work itself but from fielding the many questions and comments from the village residents. He knew they meant well. The death of someone such as Mr. Broadmoor was no small thing in this village. He had been, after all, one of the wealthiest men in all of New York State and an elite member of the Thousand Islands community. Before making his final visit to Mr. Warnoll’s, Michael stopped by the newspaper office and purchased a copy of
On the St.
Lawrence,
the edition that had announced Mr. Broadmoor’s death. Michael felt the need to have tangible proof before he carried such shocking news home to his parents.

He attempted to formulate some simple yet straightforward way to break the news to them as he crossed the water in the
Daisy-
Bee
, the name Mr. Broadmoor had christened the launch—in memory of his wife, he’d announced after purchasing the boat last summer. Several of the family members had been offended, but Mr. Broadmoor had insisted his wife would have enjoyed the tribute. With great fanfare, he’d had the name painted in large gold and black letters across both sides of the hull and then commanded the presence of the entire family and staff when he broke a bottle of champagne across the boat’s prow and formally christened his steamer the
DaisyBee
. Michael didn’t care what Mr. Broadmoor named the boat as long as he was the one who would have the pleasure of guiding her over the waters of the St. Lawrence River. Against his better judgment, Michael had been forced on occasion to hand over the helm to some of the younger male members of the Broadmoor family, who then insisted upon showing their prowess to young female passengers on the boat. Infrequent as those instances had been, Michael always dreaded having Jefferson and George Broadmoor aboard—especially when they were imbibing.

He guided the steamer past Calumet Island, where Charles Emery’s castlelike home, constructed of Potsdam sandstone, sat directly opposite the village of Clayton. Folks said Mr. Emery, one of the partners who had formed the American Tobacco Company, decided to build his new house on Calumet Island and provide a view for Clayton residents that would rival George Pullman’s Castle Rest on Pullman Island. Some thought Mr. Emery had succeeded, for his was the first large castle-type home that ships would see as they headed downriver from Lake Ontario. Michael wasn’t so sure a winner could be declared, for the castled structures hadn’t yet ceased to rise out of the water. Inspired by Pullman, other giants of industry had purchased islands and established magnificent homes for themselves in what they now dubbed their summer playground. George Boldt of Waldorf-Astoria fame, Frederick Bourne, president of the Singer Sewing Machine Company, Andrew Schuler, owner of Schuler’s Potato Chips, and many other wealthy capitalists now descended upon the Thousand Islands every summer. Life on these islands continued to change—a transformation in progress.

Once downriver, Michael turned toward Broadmoor Island, the island that had been his home since birth. He knew every inch of this two-mile-long island like the back of his hand. Since his early years, he’d explored the dog bone–shaped island with its sloping lawns that led to the docks and its craggy ten-foot-high seawall that protected Broadmoor Castle as it towered toward the heavens. Now he wondered if his days on this island were numbered. With Mr. Broadmoor’s death, the family would possibly sell the island. Few of them enjoyed this magnificent treasure, and Michael knew wealthy men would be willing to pay a generous sum for the palatial summer home of Hamilton Broadmoor.

He docked the boat and glanced toward the house. His mother had been watching for him, for she was already picking her way down the path to the boathouse. Moving with haste, he lifted the bundles of food and dry goods onto the dock, where he would transfer them into a cart for transport to the residence. It would take several trips, but the cart would be easier than attempting to carry all of the items in cumbersome baskets.

“I was beginning to worry,” his mother called out when she neared the boat.

He bit his tongue. No need to remind her how many items she’d requested or how long it took Mr. Warnoll to fill her massive order for roasts and chops.

“Did you pick up the mail?”

“I did, though that reminder wasn’t on your list.” He pecked her cheek with a fleeting kiss.

His mother extended her arm, and he handed her the bundle of mail. If she was looking for a letter from Broadmoor Mansion, she’d find nothing there. He’d already checked. She riffled through the mail while he loaded the cart, always careful to keep the newspaper hidden from view.

By the time he had unloaded the final cart of goods, his mother was already scurrying about the kitchen, arranging the new supplies in their proper locations and checking to make certain he’d purchased every item in the quantity requested.

“So far I haven’t found any mistakes.” She lifted her chin and gave him a smile.

Without fanfare he spread the paper across the table in front of his mother and pointed to the picture of Hamilton Broadmoor. She gasped and dropped into a nearby chair.

7

Tuesday, July 6, 1897

They didn’t need to worry long. Early the next morning, Mr. Simmons from the telegraph office arrived by boat with a message that servants from the Rochester mansion would begin arriving that afternoon. Michael was instructed to meet the train and transport the servants and the family’s trunks to the island. Unlike some of the summer residents, who transported their riding horses and milking cows to their homes each summer, the Broadmoors’ two riding horses as well as the farm stock were kept at the island year-round, expediting the process of moving their goods to the island. With the arrival of the servants several days in advance, the family’s clothing would be pressed and hung in their wardrobes, menus would be planned, and the individual needs and desires of each family member would be met prior to their coming.

Michael was waiting outside the Clayton station when the train from Rochester hissed and jolted to a stop. He would have no difficulty recognizing at least some of the Broadmoor staff. Each year several new servants arrived with those stalwart members of the staff who were expected to spend each summer at the island, regardless of their families back home. Michael’s mother always looked forward to reuniting with some of them. No doubt his mother’s favorite, Kate O’Malley, would be among those arriving. As head housekeeper at Broadmoor Mansion, Mrs. O’Malley’s presence was expected. Maggie Atwell and Kate had become good friends over the years. Yet not good enough friends that Kate had written to inform them of Mr. Broadmoor’s death, he thought while watching the housekeeper detrain.

He waved his cap and headed across the tracks. “Welcome, Mrs. O’Malley. The launch is in its usual place. I’ll see to the baggage if you want to direct your staff.”

“Good afternoon, Michael. It’s good to see you.” She waved the other members of the party together. “I trust your parents are well.”

“We would have sent word if anything were amiss.” He had hoped to gain a reaction, but Mrs. O’Malley merely offered a curt nod and led the group toward the launch. As expected, there were some new faces, but there were fewer servants this year. Was this decrease in staff an ominous sign? His mother had said they must maintain their faith, for their future was in God’s hands. Michael knew that much was true. However, he feared their future also lay in the hands of the Broadmoor family, a family that wasn’t fond of the Thousand Islands.

His mother stood on the dock awaiting their return. She waved and greeted the new arrivals with the same enthusiasm she offered to her own family.

The moment Kate stepped off the boat, the women hugged and exchanged pleasantries. Kate turned and beckoned a dark-haired, blue-eyed young woman forward. “This is my daughter Theresa—the youngest. I was pleased to be able to have her come with us this year. Miss Victoria wanted her along—says Theresa is the best at styling hair and choosing gowns and the like.” Kate tipped her head closer. “I didn’t argue. Theresa is getting to an age where I don’t like leaving her at the main house for the summer, if you know what I mean,” Kate said with an exaggerated wink.