Convicted (59 page)

Madeline’s smile beamed, reaffirming the joy that now filled the suite.

When Claire awoke, she was lying on a bed in her room. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t their bed, but nonetheless, next to her propped against the headboard was her husband. When she turned toward him, her eyes opened wide and her lungs forgot to inhale. In his arms, wrapped in a blanket was a sleeping baby. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Claire lifted her head. Her body ached, yet she could move without effort. “I did it?” she asked as his tired eyes met hers. The soft chocolate color drew her nearer.

“Yes, Mrs. Rawlings, you did.” He leaned down and their lips met. Looking lovingly into her eyes, he added, “
You
did a superb job.”

Claire righted herself to sit beside her family. In the bend of her right arm was the too familiar pinch of an IV. Choosing to ignore the painful sensation, Claire concentrated on her family. Despite Tony’s obvious exhaustion, she saw the pride behind his expression. Once again, Tony brushed his lips against hers before he placed their baby in her arms. “May I introduce our daughter?”

Claire’s heart melted. “A girl—M—Madeline was right.”

Shaking his head, Tony replied, “I don’t think she should ever be doubted again.”

“We didn’t decide on a girl’s name.” Claire’s words came as she gently unwrapped the blanket, exposing the present she’d been carrying for nine months.

“She has a name.”

Claire looked up. “Oh?”

“There’s some island wives’ tale that forbids the changing to the next day without a name. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to risk our daughter having any unnecessary ill fortune.”

Claire tried to grasp the reality of not only having a daughter, but that she was already named. “Is it Raquel?” It had been his go-to name in all their debates.

“No, I wanted a name that would unite our family; one that said the Rawls vendetta is over.”

Claire didn’t know what to say. Tony’s words were more emotion filled than she could remember hearing. “What is it? What name did you choose?”

“Nichol.” Tony’s eyes begged for understanding.

Claire’s lips parted and her eyes sparkled. The game was done—no more strategizing or manipulating; instead of declaring a winner, they’d called it even. Their daughter’s name was Claire’s ultimate prize. Claire’s heart filled with pride. Immediately, she knew it was Tony’s way of telling their daughter she was both a Nichols and a Rawlings. “Oh, Tony, I love it! We never even talked about that.”

Tony’s chest moved as he exhaled with relief. “Nichol Courtney Rawlings.”

It was the most beautiful name she’d ever heard. As Nichol’s eyes opened and Claire saw the chocolate brown she loved, she whispered, “I wanted your eyes. You wanted a girl. We’ve been blessed with both of our wishes.” Nichol’s mouth rooted toward Claire’s breast.

Tony’s eyes drifted closed as his head fell back to the wall. It had been a long forty-eight hours. Before he fell asleep, Claire heard him say, “A wish, a dream, a miracle—Whatever it is, it’s real.”

It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.

—Rose Kennedy

Sophia eased her car onto the circular brick drive in front of Marie’s massive house. On her cell phone, she heard Derek’s voice, “Have a nice lunch, babe. Is the house as nice as you anticipated?”

Her mouth gaped open as she looked up at the Romanesque-style mansion with facades of river stone, limestone, and brick. It was like something out of a 1940’s movie. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe she really lives here. Do people actually live like this?”

Derek laughed. “Well, she worked for Rawlings. That’s his house—or it was. No one knows if he’s alive or dead, but it’s probably not great table-talk for your lunch.”

“I’ll try to remember that—keep conversation topics away from missing employers. What did you say; she’s named the executor of his estate?”

“Yeah, the information I found just named her as a long-time trusted employee—”

Sophia interrupted, “Hey, honey, the front door’s opening. I should get out of the car. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”

She heard him say he loved her as she turned off the car and the Bluetooth disconnected. “I love you, too,” she said to the warm air within the confines of her car. It was a stark contrast to the cold February chill between her and the mansion she was about to enter. Sophia secured her coat and gloves and bowed her face to the snowflakes as she hurried toward the grand doors.

The gentleman within nodded as her shoes hit the marble floor. Looking down, she saw the traces of snow that had fallen from her shoes and created puddles within the beautiful foyer. “Ms. Sophia?”

“Yes,” she said sheepishly. “Hello.” Sophia offered her hand.

The gentleman nodded again and said, “Ms. London is expecting you. May I take your coat?”

Sophia tried desperately not to gawk at her surroundings as she removed her coat and gloves and handed them to the butler—um—servant? She didn’t know who he was—only, that apparently, he didn’t shake hands. “Yes, thank you. Where is Mar—Ms. London? Is she here?”

“Yes, miss. She’s waiting for you in the sitting room. Please follow me.”

Each step reminded Sophia of a fantasy. Growing up in New Jersey and being a fan of the arts, Sophia loved watching old movies, especially those in black and white. If there was singing and dancing, it made it all the better. When she’d go to bed at night she’d think about the movies and the places the characters lived. She dreamt about mansions, servants, and opulence. As she grew up, Sophia learned that a life like she saw in the movies was mostly a world of fantasy. She could glean inspiration from it, but it didn’t truly exist. Stepping down into a warm sitting room, Sophia hypothesized—
maybe this world did exist
. She glanced toward a fireplace that was nearly the size of her living room in Provincetown. Within its limestone walls a warm fire roared, filling the room with warmth.

“Welcome, Sophia!” Marie said as she stood, placing the tablet she’d been reading on the nearby table.

Sophia leaned toward her friend and accepted her welcoming hug. “Marie, your house is amazing.”

Marie shrugged. “I know it seems that way, but after so many years—it’s just home.”

Looking through the windows, Sophia saw a sun room. Beyond, there was a large yard where blades of grass showed their heads through the thin layer of snow while more flakes swirled in the frosty air. Trees lined the yard creating a private haven. Refocusing on the room, Sophia concentrated on the heat radiating from the fire. “That fireplace is huge! On a day like today, it feels fantastic.”

Marie smiled. “It does feel good. Can I get you some coffee?” Before Sophia could answer, Marie corrected, “No, it’s tea you like, isn’t it? Would you like some warm Earl Gray?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Within seconds, a woman was in the sitting room taking instructions from Marie. Sophia was sitting on the sofa talking with Marie when the woman returned with Sophia’s tea. Apparently, lunch would be ready momentarily. A few minutes later, a young girl rushed into the room with a piece of paper in her hand. Her voice cracked with each word, “Ms. London, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Cindy? Is there a problem?”

The young lady shook her head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I know you’re busy; however, perhaps later, I could speak with you...”

Marie turned her gaze toward Sophia.

Sophia didn’t know what to say. It was obvious there was an issue. “Marie, I’m in no hurry. If there’s something the two of you need to discuss, then I’ll gladly enjoy the fire.”

“Thank you, Sophia.” Marie turned toward Cindy. “Come with me to my office.”

As the two of them walked away, Sophia heard Cindy mention something about a letter, the FBI, and her parents. Before she could truly glean any meaning from the conversation, Marie and Cindy had disappeared down a long corridor. Sophia sighed. This was a strange and different world from anything she’d known. The owner of this house was missing, yet no one seemed concerned as they carried on their daily lives, and the young maid received letters from the FBI...Sophia leaned back against the plush sofa and looked into the flames. The crackle and snap of the wood added to the allure. In Provincetown, she and Derek’s home had a real fireplace. Everywhere they’ve lived since then had gas logs. Supposedly, the two were the same. Inhaling the distinct wood aroma, Sophia knew, they weren’t.

“Are you ready for lunch?” Marie asked, pulling Sophia from the hypnotism of the flames.

“Yes, is everything all right?” Sophia saw Marie brush her palms against her thighs. It was the same technique Sophia used when she tried to hide her uneasiness.

“Yes, let me show you to the dining room.”

As they walked, Marie mentioned that Cindy had worked for this estate for quite a few years. She was only eighteen when her parents died in a tragic accident. Now, it seemed the FBI was interested in their death and wanted to exhume their bodies.”

Sophia gasped. “Oh my! How terrible! I’d never let anyone do that to my parents.”

Marie’s hands again brushed her thighs as they sat. “Perhaps you’d be better to speak to Cindy than I? I knew her mother—we were friends. I recommended that she deny the FBI access. There’s no good to come from digging up the past.”

Sophia sat back against the high backed chair and gazed around the lovely dining room. The built-in cabinetry at one end of the table held exquisite china. When her gaze moved upward, Sophia saw the ornate ceiling with reflective gold flecks. “I agree. It’s better to move on.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent back in front of the fire, discussing art and upcoming events in the Quad Cities. Before Sophia was about to leave, she asked, “Marie, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Not at all. I can’t promise I’ll answer, but ask away.”

“I really don’t have many people to talk to—not here anyway. The thing is”—Sophia hesitated—“before we left California, I received a call from my birth mother.”

Marie stared and slowly asked, “You received a call from the woman who recently died?”

Sophia shook her head, the absurdity of Marie’s statement made her grin. “No, the people who raised me were wonderful. I loved them and will love them forever; however, I was adopted. My parents were honest about it. I never felt deprived or less loved because my mother didn’t give birth to me. Honestly, I never really gave a damn about the woman who gave birth to me, or my biological father, until I got that call.”

Marie’s hands were again experiencing the sensory input of her slacks. “What happened after you got the call?”

“I started wondering about her and about him.”

Marie’s head tilted as her brow rose. “Him? You started wondering about your father?”

Sophia’s breathe expelled. “Well, yes! I mean, the woman who gave birth to me called, but what about my biological father? Are they still together? Did they love one another or do they still? Do they regret giving me up?”

“Oh, I see. Did you ask any of those questions?”

“No, I have a telephone number, but sometimes I think not knowing is better. I mean, I can make up my own answers.”

Marie smiled. “So, what’s your question, dear?”

Sophia readjusted her legs, curling one under herself as she leaned back into the plushness of the large chair. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded far away. “I guess I just need to talk about it. Derek listens, but he’s protective. He doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

“Do you think you will?”

Sophia’s lips pressed together and she feigned a smile. “I’ve thought about the possibilities from all directions. If I learn I have this great set of biological parents who have a great life, then I’ll wonder why they didn’t want me to be a part of it. If I learn they didn’t stay together or they’re not good people, then I’ll wonder if dealing with me was part of the cause.”

Marie leaned forward and put her hand on Sophia’s knee. “That’s quite a decision. I’ve known many people who have done things they regret. Perhaps that’s why the woman called, or perhaps she regrets what she did thirty-three years ago; however, I don’t believe
you
should feel responsible for anything other than who you’ve become.” Marie’s gray eyes shimmered in the firelight. “Sophia, you’re an accomplished, lovely woman. The woman you spoke to should be proud.”