Sons of Fortune

“Correct,” said Dr. Renwick, “the assumption that twins must look alike has always been a myth, mainly perpetrated by romantic novelists.”

“But, that doesn’t explain…” began Nat.

“Should you wish to know the answer to any other questions you might have,” said Dr. Renwick, “including who are your natural parents, and how you became separated, I am only too happy that you should study this file at your leisure.” Dr. Renwick tapped the open file in front of him once again.

Neither man responded immediately. It was some time before Fletcher said, “I don’t need to see the contents of the file.”

It was Dr. Renwick’s turn to register surprise.

“There’s nothing I don’t know about Nat Cartwright,” Fletcher explained, “including the details of the tragic death of his brother.”

Nat nodded. “My mother still keeps a picture of both of us by her bedside, and often talks of my brother Peter and what he might have grown up to be.” He paused and looked at Fletcher. “She would have been proud of the man who saved his brother’s life. But I do have one question,” he added, turning back to face Dr. Renwick, “I need to ask if Mrs. Davenport is aware that Fletcher isn’t her son?”

“Not that I know of,” replied Renwick.

“What makes you so sure?” asked Fletcher.

“Because among the many items I came across in this file was a letter from the doctor who delivered you both. He left instructions that it was only to be opened if a dispute should arise concerning your birth that might harm the hospital’s reputation. And that letter states that there was only one other person who knew the truth, other than Dr. Greenwood.”

“Who was that?” asked Nat and Fletcher simultaneously.

Dr. Renwick paused while he turned another page in his file. “A Miss Heather Nichol, but as she and Dr. Greenwood have since died, there’s no way of confirming it.”

“She was my nanny,” said Fletcher, “and from what I can remember of her, she would have done anything to please my mother.” He turned to look at Nat. “However, I would still prefer that my parents never find out the truth.”

“I have no problem with that,” said Nat. “What purpose can be served by putting our parents through such an unnecessary ordeal? If Mrs. Davenport became aware that Fletcher was not her son, and my mother were to discover that Peter had never died, and she had been deprived of the chance of bringing up both of her children, the distress and turmoil that would quite obviously follow doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“I agree,” said Fletcher. “My parents are now both nearly eighty, so why resurrect such ghosts of the past?” He paused for some time. “Though I confess I can only wonder how different our lives might have been, had I ended up in your crib, and you in mine,” he said, looking at Nat.

“We’ll never know,” Nat replied. “However, one thing remains certain.”

“What’s that?” asked Fletcher.

“I would still be the next governor of Connecticut.”

“What makes you so confident of that?” asked Fletcher.

“I had a head start on you and have remained in the lead ever since. After all, I’ve been on earth six minutes longer than you.”

“A tiny disadvantage from which I had fully recovered within the hour.”

“Children, children,” admonished Ben Renwick a second time. Both men laughed as the doctor closed the file in front of him. “Then we are in agreement that any evidence proving your relationship should be destroyed and never referred to again.”

“Agreed,” said Fletcher without hesitation.

“Never referred to again,” repeated Nat.

Both men watched as Dr. Renwick opened the file and first extracted a birth certificate which he placed firmly into the shredder. Neither spoke as they watched each piece of evidence disappear. The birth certificate was followed by a three-page letter dated May 11, 1949, signed by Dr. Greenwood. After that came several internal hospital documents and memos, all stamped 1949. Dr. Renwick continued to place them one by one through the shredder until all he was left with was an empty file. On top were printed the names Nathaniel and Peter Cartwright. He tore the file into four pieces before offering the final vestige of proof to the waiting teeth of the shredder.

Fletcher rose unsteadily from his place, and turned to shake hands with his brother. “See you in the governor’s mansion.”

“You sure will,” said Nat, taking him in his arms. “The first thing I’ll do is put in a wheelchair ramp so you can visit me regularly.”

“Well, I have to go,” said Fletcher, turning to shake hands with Ben Renwick. “I’ve got an election to win.” He hobbled toward the door, trying to reach it before Nat, but his brother jumped in front and held it open for him.

“I was brought up to open doors for women, senior citizens and invalids,” explained Nat.

“And you can now add future governors to that list,” said Fletcher, hobbling through.