To Love and Honor (14 page)

Roger took three glasses from the cabinet, Violet filled them with a lemon-lime drink, and the three of them sat at the table.

“I will come to the reason for my visit right away.” He opened his briefcase and took out a folder, from which he extracted a newspaper clipping. When he handed it to her, Violet saw that it was the article about her mother that had appeared in the
Maitland News.

“If you've watched our telecast, you know that we are dedicated to righting the wrongs of juries, who in ignorance or by design, have brought judgments against innocent people. This article was forwarded to us by a reader, who had read your mother's book, suggesting that Linda Conley's conviction would be a good subject for one of our investigations. After I read the article, I was inclined to agree that the story would make a good feature for our program, and I've spent the past few days in Kansas City, delving into the records of your mother's trial and conviction. I don't believe the full story was ever told, but I received no cooperation from your mother's attorney, William
O'Brien. He said he wouldn't even talk to us about the trial without your permission.”

“Since I've been hesitant to learn the truth for myself, I'm not inclined to allow her story to be aired nationwide. My mother told me nothing about the incident—she obviously didn't want any publicity about it, so I doubt that I would ever agree to any broadcast.”

“I'm authorized to offer you $500,000 for first rights on this story,” he said, his confident tone indicating that the high figure would sway Violet's opinion.

“Money will have nothing to do with my decision.”

“Then you will consider it?”

Violet looked at Roger. “What do you think?”

He smiled and took her hand. “The same as I've told you before on other matters. Don't make a hasty decision. Mr. Pierce is eager to get your name on the dotted line before someone else approaches you, but you don't have to give him your answer today.”

“We'll top any offer you receive,” Pierce said. “The story intrigues me.”

“You think I'll be approached by others?” Violet said in amazement.

Pierce nodded his head emphatically. “Undoubtedly. Someone is going to publish this story, with or without your approval, and you will benefit from having it done by a reputable producer like ours, rather than to have Linda Conley's experience aired with half truths, innuendoes, and downright lies.”

Roger nodded in agreement.

“Under no circumstances will I agree to the broadcast until I know the truth. I may go to Kansas City
during the Easter Holidays, and if so, I will contact Mr. O'Brien. When I learn the story, I'll consider your offer.”

“Will you promise me that you won't negotiate with anyone else before then—that you will give me first refusal?”

Violet looked at Roger, and he shook his head. “I wouldn't tie myself to any commitment.” His eyes sparkled. “At least, not anything of this nature.”

She knew he was thinking of her commitment to marry him, and his bit of humor helped when she said, “I'll agree to contact you with my decision between Easter and the first of May—I can't promise you more than that.”

“Of course, there's a possibility that we might want to withdraw the offer before then.”

“That's all right,” Violet said. “Such an action would simply indicate that God didn't want me to grant permission. In the meantime, I'll be praying for guidance on whether I should deal with you at all.”

Graciously, but with a hint of frustration, Peter Pierce left.

“I'm glad you were here, Roger,” Violet said. “Since I believe God is guiding my decisions as always, it seems that I'm getting more and more reasons to go to Kansas City.”

Roger stood to leave, for his hour was almost over. “It does seem that way.” He pulled her into his arms, where she snuggled contentedly. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Yes, of course, but I won't let you. I'll probably be gone most of the week, and you should be with Misty when she has her vacation week.”

He sighed. “I know—now my first responsibility is
to Misty and Jason, but before too long, I'll have the right to make you my major priority.” He bent to kiss her and Violet's hands clasped around his neck. With a sigh he gently broke the embrace and went out to his truck.

Wondering if William O'Brien would still be in his office, Violet found his telephone number in the estate correspondence and dialed. A secretary answered, Violet gave her name, and she was soon talking to O'Brien. She explained about her visit from Peter Pierce.

“I was sure he would come to see you, and perhaps I should have warned you. What have you decided?”

“That I want to find out the truth before I agree to the documentary.”

“That is a wise move.”

“I may be in Kansas City the week after Easter, and if so, would you have time to talk with me? Mother left it to my discretion to learn about her conviction—she said you would tell me.”

“I will be pleased to serve you as I tried to serve your mother.”

“You might be interested in the other reason I have for coming to Kansas City. My grandfather contacted me by letter, practically demanding that I come to see him.”

“You mean old Josiah Conley wants to see you?”

“That's what his letter indicated.”

“I can't imagine what that old varmint wants. If I were you, I wouldn't go near him. I don't know what he wants, but I can assure you that it isn't anything for your benefit. But if you do come to Kansas City, let me know what days you will want to see me, for
it may take more than a day if you delve very deeply into your mother's past.”

 

A light mist was falling the day after Easter when Violet set out for Kansas City, but the heavy clouds soon turned into feathery wisps, and the sun broke through. She tried to enjoy the scenery, but her mind was too befuddled with what was facing her in the coming week.

Violet had written to Josiah B. Conley that she would be in Kansas City on Tuesday, and that she could call upon him if he so desired. His secretary telephoned that Mr. Conley would see her at ten o'clock, Tuesday, at his residence, and she gave the address. On Wednesday, she would see William O'Brien at his office. The rest of the week was unplanned.

It was late afternoon when she reached the hotel where she had reserved a room. She waited until after dinner before she telephoned Roger, as he had asked her to do. In answer to his question, she said, “The drive was uneventful, but I'm feeling lonely tonight. Kansas City is a big place, and I don't know anyone here.”

“I'm lonely, too. Knowing that you aren't in Maitland makes it an empty town.”

“Before too long, we can be together all the time. Does that prospect appeal to you?”

“Seventy-five more days!” Roger said with his slow laugh. “I'm checking them off on the calendar.”

If she hadn't been so apprehensive about what the next few days held, Violet could have gone to sleep content in the confidence of Roger's love and their future together. As it was, she felt alone, isolated from
everyone she knew, although she knew that Roger and Aunt Ruth were as close as the phone. But as she lay in bed wooing sleep, she was comforted by the knowledge that she was never separated from God, that He was present with her at all times, and it didn't even require a phone call to contact Him. Her loneliness was eased by the realization that when the Spirit of God lived within her, she need never feel lonely.

Violet tried to remember a Scripture passage that Pastor Tom had quoted in his sermon yesterday, but when she could not, she switched on the light and reached into the nightstand drawer for a New Testament. The Good News interpretation from the fourteenth chapter of John was particularly meaningful in her situation: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, the Spirit of truth, to stay with you for ever…. You know him, for he remains with you and lives in you. I will not leave you alone.”

In the sermon, Pastor Tom had stressed the loneliness that came upon Jesus's followers after He was crucified, but following His resurrection, they remembered the many times Jesus had assured them that He would never leave them. The disciples had endured persecution and imprisonment, and they probably felt forsaken in their prison cells, but as they stood before their accusers, those words of Jesus, that they might not have understood at the time, would have brought joy to their hearts and courage to their wills:
I will not leave you alone.

“Thank you, God, for giving me the assurance through Your son, Jesus, and the Spirit dwelling within, that whatever I face this week, Your Spirit will be with me.”

K
nowing nothing about Kansas City, Violet took a taxi to the Conleys. After a short drive from her hotel, the taxi passed through the gateway of a white iron fence that surrounded a huge house, and drove slowly along the circular driveway to stop in front of curved steps leading to a portico that sheltered double doors.

The graceful pink Georgian mansion had stood there for several years, for Kansas City had grown up around the property, which must have been at least three acres. The central part of the house encompassed three floors, with two one-story wings flanking the larger portion. The elegance of the house was emphasized by graceful, symmetrical lines. Violet was stunned at the magnificence of the place.

She paid the taxi driver and could hardly stand erect when she stepped out of the taxi. Concluding that she might be under observation by the house's occupants, she straightened her back and walked as briskly as possible up the three curved steps and stopped under the portico. Violet rang the doorbell and waited ner
vously until the door was opened by a black-eyed young woman in a dark dress.

“Miss Conley?” she said.

“I'm Violet Conley.”

With a smile the young woman indicated that Violet should enter. Stepping into the house, Violet entered a new world. A grand staircase dominated the entrance hall, and on one side of the spacious hall, Violet saw a large dining room, with a crystal chandelier hanging over a shining mahogany table. A formal living area was on the opposite side of the hall.

“The living quarters are on the second floor. Please follow me,” the maid said, and she walked smartly up a stairway lined with portraits, and stopped on the balcony affording a view of the lower hall.

“Please be seated in the library, and I'll tell Mr. Conley that you've arrived.” She ushered Violet into a room finished in cherry paneling, where two sides were lined with bookshelves, and another wall dominated by a marble fireplace. It was inconceivable that Violet Conley's father had lived in such opulence.

Violet wouldn't have been surprised if she had been left waiting a long time, because she was a few minutes early, but the maid returned quickly and motioned Violet to follow her down the hallway. She opened the door into a combination office and sitting room that overlooked a broad lawn, and Violet had the first glimpse of her grandfather sitting behind a walnut desk that seemed too big for him.
This is the man who sent my mother to prison.

Josiah Conley was not a tall man, and his flesh hung loosely on his sparse frame. He was seated when she entered, but he stared at her with incredulous eyes, and stood as though he were in a trance. The words he
uttered were the last ones she would have expected from this man who had caused her disastrous childhood.

His voice was warm and friendly, as he tenderly whispered, “Oh, my dear, I had no idea… You are the image of your grandmother—my wife, Rachel—when she was your age.”

He motioned toward a large portrait over the fireplace, and Violet saw her own face staring down at her. Without an invitation, she sank weakly into the nearest chair.

Josiah Conley seemed even smaller when he stood, but with brown eyes gleaming below a thatch of snow-white hair, he came to Violet and took her hand. “There's no doubt that you are the offspring of my son, Ryan. I was fearful to contact you even when my investigators proved who you were, but you walk in, and it's almost like having my Rachel back with me. I've been worrying about the future of this family, and here you are.”

Violet looked at him in surprise and dismay. She had never met anyone who displayed such a dominant personality, or one who exuded absolute control. Josiah Conley went to his desk and spoke into the intercom. An adjoining door opened, and a middle-aged woman entered to stand beside the desk.

“Miss Whitaker, this is my granddaughter, Violet. Please arrange for her to eat lunch and spend the rest of the day with us. Order a room readied for her. We can have her luggage brought from the hotel later on, but she will need a place to change before the reception tonight.”

“Now just a minute,” Violet said. “I have other
plans for my week. Don't make any arrangements for me. I'm perfectly happy at the hotel.”

Josiah didn't heed her words. “And, Miss Whitaker, please go out and buy a suitable garment for her to wear to the reception this evening. She and I have business to discuss this afternoon, and she won't have time for shopping. Also, stop at the bank and bring my wife's jewelry from the vault.”

Miss Whitaker turned her attention to Violet. “And what size garment do you wear, Miss Conley?”

“I don't want you to buy any clothing for me!”

“I can judge her size well enough,” Miss Whitaker said to Josiah, as her eaglelike eyes scanned every part of Violet's person while she made notations on the pad she carried. “Those shoes won't do for a formal evening. What is your shoe size?”

Violet's face flushed. “Size seven, narrow,” she said grudgingly.

After Miss Whitaker left the room, Violet said, “What reception? Even if I do attend, I can afford to buy my own clothing.”

Josiah ignored her last comment. “You came on a very important day. This evening, I'm hosting a reception for the man who may very well be the next president of the United States. He's been my business associate for several years, and he's making his candidacy announcement tonight. I've been without a hostess since my Rachel died, and I want you to stand with me in the receiving line tonight. There will be nearly one hundred people here.”

“None of whom I will know,” she said. Josiah waved away her objection, and although she didn't like to be manipulated, she had nothing else to do until she went to see O'Brien tomorrow. It might be en
lightening to meet the next president. “If I can be of any help to you, I will stay until after the reception, but I have plans for the rest of the week.”

“Wait until you hear my proposition, and you may be willing to forgo any plans you have and turn your future over to me.” He returned to his desk and motioned her to a chair nearby. “Come, let me be frank with you.”

Violet perched on the chair he indicated, wanting nothing more than to bolt out of the room and rush back to Roger in Maitland. Josiah kept looking at her and then glancing at the portrait of his wife, and his smile broadened with each glance, making Violet extremely uncomfortable. She looked at the portrait once again and was alarmed by the many personal resemblances she recognized. If the artist's conception of Mrs. Conley was true, she had inherited her grandmother's facial expressions, coloring and hair color. It was heartening to note that Rachel did not have violet eyes. At least that was one facial characteristic she could call her own. Dressed in garments of a few decades before, her grandmother looked down on Violet with mysterious blue eyes, as if she had secrets that not even the artist could discern.

She turned her back on the portrait, but it was uncanny to feel that every move she made was observed by those inscrutable eyes. She shouldn't have come here—she felt like a cornered animal, waiting for the predator to attack.
I will not leave you alone.

“Violet, as you may know, I am a very wealthy man, but riches aren't everything. My beloved wife and my two sons are dead—their only issue one grandson and a granddaughter. You met my grandson, Mike, a few months ago. In spite of my urging, he has
lived a profligate life and has refused to marry. Now, he's dying, and I thought my hopes of establishing a Conley empire were dying with him, until he told me about you. I had no idea what had happened to you.”

“As I understand, the Conleys weren't interested in me or my mother, and she didn't want you to know where I was. That's the reason my aunt took me to another state to live.”

“Your mother was a vindictive person.”

“Not when I knew her—and that has been the past few months when she was dying.”

Josiah didn't pay any attention to her remark. “I was delighted to know that you had turned out well and lived a respectable life, and now knowing that you resemble Rachel, my plans are bound to succeed. A more wonderful woman never lived than my wife.”

The telephone jangled softly, Josiah peered at the caller ID machine and severed the connection without answering. Looking at the clock, he said, “It's time for lunch now. We'll continue this discussion after we've eaten.”

They ate in a small dining room in one of the wings, and even that table was large enough to accommodate ten or twelve people. With Violet sitting at one end of the long table, and Josiah at the other, their conversation was limited during the serving of a salad course, hot mushroom soup and poached salmon with dill sauce. Toasted bread accompanied the soup. A lemon sorbet was served for dessert.

In the background, Violet heard the hum of activity as caterers and florists prepared the mansion for the coming reception. After they had eaten, Josiah called the maid who had admitted her to the house earlier.

“Will you show Violet to the room you've prepared
for her, and in a half hour bring her down to my office? You will help her dress and provide what she needs before the reception this evening.”

She followed the maid up the central stairway and turned toward one of the wings, where the maid opened a door and bowed for Violet to enter. Violet perceived at once that she was in Rachel Conley's bedroom, and she inquired of the maid.

“It is her bedroom. I have been here only two years, so I do not remember Mrs. Conley, but I understand that the room is kept exactly as it was the day she died. Nothing has been removed from the room. You are to rest—I will return in a half hour.”

Violet wondered if Josiah decreed when one could, or could not, rest in his house. The maid went out and softly closed the door, and feeling like a trapped animal, Violet stood with her back against the wall and looked at the room's furnishings. Carpet, draperies, and bedspread were fashioned in soft pink fabrics. The bed, chest and dresser were painted in ivory. A chaise lounge stood near the double windows, and a pair of house slippers were beside it.

On the dresser were brushes, mirrors and a cosmetic case. Family pictures covered the top of the chest of drawers—most were of Josiah, Rachel and their two sons when they were boys. There were some individual pictures of the sons grown to manhood, and Violet walked over and picked up one which must be her father because he looked like Rachel's portrait. The other son had the features of Josiah. There was only one wedding portrait—that of Josiah and Rachel. It was understandable that Rachel would not want a wedding photo of Violet's parents, but one would have thought there would be a picture of Mike's mother. A
few baby pictures must have been of Mike, but she found none of herself.

Violet opened the closet to find it full of clothing. Josiah had made this room into a shrine, and Violet had an eerie feeling about it all. She opened the double windows and walked out on the small balcony, to observe the rear lawn that was spacious and landscaped with variously shaped flower beds that must have the flowers changed according to the season. Right now, daffodils, hyacinths and tulips bloomed in profusion. Small tables were being set up around the lawn in preparation for the evening.

Violet hadn't rested at all when the maid came to conduct her back to Josiah's office. Violet monitored her surroundings as she strolled along. The house was so large she could easily lose her way, and if she wanted to leave in a hurry, she wanted to know how to exit the place.

Josiah received her with a smile, seated her in a plush chair, and came quickly to his reason for summoning her to Kansas City. “I will have one of my lawyers present before we make final arrangements, but this is just a preliminary discussion. As I told you, I've acquired a vast fortune, and I have no desire for strangers to reap the benefits of my labor. I rebel at giving my fortune to charity. I want you to come here to live, marry and have children who will someday inherit my vast holdings. I will also make generous bequests to you personally.”

Her hand pulled at the collar of her blouse as she stared at him, and he dropped his eyelids under her intense violet gaze.

“I can easily arrange a suitable marriage for you, or do you have someone in mind?”

“I'm engaged—we plan to marry June 30.”

“He will probably do just as well as anyone to father your children. What's his name?”

“Roger Gibson,” she said shortly. “He lives in Maitland—he's an Illinois state policeman.”

Josiah scribbled Roger's name on a pad at his side. “I'll check on him. If he has any administrative ability, we can fit him easily into Midwest Enterprises. Of course, I would want him to take the Conley name, but if he still wants to retain his name, you could become Conley-Gibson.” He tried the name on his tongue again. “Conley-Gibson. That has a nice sound.”

He paused, and Violet said hurriedly, “Has it occurred to you that I might not be interested in coming to Kansas City? I have a good job, and when Roger and I marry, we intend to settle down in Maitland. I'm sure Roger would not do what you want. Your generosity is appreciated, but you must look someplace else for an heir.”

“If this Roger of yours is smart enough to warrant being your husband, I'm sure he will advise you to accept my offer. Not many men would be so foolish as to turn down a fortune and security for their own children.”

Violet couldn't believe that Roger was interested in wealth, but he might be willing to listen to Josiah's proposition. She knew he was concerned about providing for a new family when he had Misty and Jason to educate. The thought of living in this household made her feel creepy, but should Roger have the opportunity to speak for himself? With Roger beside her, Josiah Conley might seem less formidable.

But Violet wouldn't concede anything to this man
before her. “We are both actively involved in our church work in Maitland, and we wouldn't want to leave our spiritual family.”