When he remained standing, Joce also stood. “Thank you,” she said as she took the portfolio. “I’ll read it later.”
“I would suggest that you read it when you’re alone. In privacy. Edilean wrote some things that I think she meant only for you to see.”
“Everything to her?” Ash asked, at last understanding what had been said. “But what about us? We used to visit the old woman all the time.”
Mr. Johnson’s old face moved into a bit of a smile. “How could I have forgotten?” He took a key out of his pocket, and unlocked a drawer in his desk. “She left these for you.”
He held out two small, blue satin bags, and the contents looked to be bumpy, as though they contained jewels.
“Oooooh,” Bell and Ash said in unison. “For us? Why that darling. She shouldn’t have. We really didn’t expect anything.”
With their much-photographed faces alight, they opened the bags, then looked up at the lawyer in consternation. “What are these?”
Ash dumped the contents of her bag into the palm of her hand. There were about twenty small black objects, some of which had been emerald cut, some in the round diamond shape. “What are they? I’ve never seen stones like these before.”
“Are they black diamonds?” Bell asked.
“In a way, they are,” Mr. Johnson said, then, still smiling, he started for the door, but he paused with his hand on the knob. Turning just a bit, he gave Jocelyn a wink, then he left the room.
Joce had to work to keep a straight face. The “black diamonds” that Miss Edi had left for the stepsisters were actually pieces of coal.
She didn’t say a word as they left the offices. She sat in the back of the car on the drive home and listened as Bell and Ash, sitting beside her, held the pieces of coal up to the light and exclaimed over their beauty and discussed how they were going to have them set.
Joce looked out the window to hide her smile. The joke that Miss Edi had left her jealous, greedy stepsisters lumps of coal made her miss her friend with a painful longing. Miss Edi had been mother, grandmother, friend, and mentor all in one.
Joce glanced up and saw her father frowning at her in the rearview mirror. She could see that he knew what the “stones” were and he was dreading the coming fury when the Steps found out. But she didn’t mind. She planned to be gone long before the Steps discovered what the black stones were. Her bags were packed and in the back of her car, and as soon as they got home, she was going back to her job at the university.
Only when Jocelyn was back at school and in her tiny apartment did she open the packet that contained Miss Edi’s will. She’d tried to steel herself for what she’d find, but nothing prepared her to see an envelope with that beloved handwriting on it. TO MY JOCELYN it said on the envelope.
With trembling hands, she opened it, pulled out the letter, and began to read.
My dear, dear Jocelyn,
I promise I won’t be maudlin. I don’t know if it’s been days or months since my demise, but knowing your soft heart, you’re probably still grieving. I know all too well what it is to lose people you love. I’ve had to stand by and watch most of the people I loved die. I was very nearly the last one left.
Now, to business. The house in Boca is not mine, nor is most of the furniture. By now I’m sure the contents have been moved out and put up for auction. But don’t worry, my dear, the best of what I owned, meaning everything that I took from Edilean Manor, will go back to where it came from.
Jocelyn put the letter down. “Edilean Manor?” she said aloud. She’d never heard of the place. After her initial confusion, a feeling of betrayal ran through her. She’d spent a great deal of her life with Miss Edi, had traveled with her, met many people from her past, and had heard hundreds of stories about her time with Dr. Brenner. But Miss Edi had never mentioned Edilean Manor. It must have been important, as it was named for Miss Edi—or she was named for it.
Jocelyn looked back at the letter.
I know, dear, you’re angry and hurt. I can see that frown of yours. I told you so much about my life, but I never mentioned Edilean, Virginia. As you can guess from the unusual name, the town “belonged” to my family—or at least we thought it did. Centuries ago, my ancestor came from Scotland with an elegant wife and a wagonload of gold. He bought a thousand acres outside Williamsburg, Virginia, laid out a town square, then named the place after his young wife. The legend in my family is that his wife was of a much higher class than he was, but when her father refused to let his daughter marry the stable lad, he ran off with the girl and a great deal of her father’s money. No one ever knew if she was abducted or if she went willingly.
I’m sure the truth is much less romantic than that, but Angus Harcourt did build a big brick house in about 1770, and my family lived in it until I broke the tradition. My father left the house to me alone because my brother, Bertrand, couldn’t manage money. If he had a dime, he’d buy something that cost a quarter.
I grew up sure that I’d live in Edilean Manor with David Aldredge, the man I was engaged to, and raise a strong, healthy, handsome family. But, alas, fate has a way of changing our lives. In this case, it was a war that changed everything and everyone. When I left Edilean, I let my brother live in the house, but I kept strict watch over him. Bertrand died a long time ago, and for years now the house has been empty.
Dear Jocelyn, I’m leaving you a house you’ve never heard of in a town I carefully never mentioned.
Jocelyn put the letter down and stared into space for a moment. A house built in 1770? And outside beautiful Williamsburg? She looked around her drab little apartment. It had been the best she could afford on her tiny salary. But an entire house! An old one!
She looked back down at the letter.
There’s something else I want to tell you. Remember how good I was at knowing who at church would make a good couple and who wouldn’t last six months? If you’ll remember, I was always right. I’m sure you also remember that I learned from experience not to interfere in your personal life—after you were old enough to have one, that is. But now I can no longer see your wrath, so I’m going to tell you something. The perfect man for you lives in Edilean. He’s the grandson of two friends with whom I went to high school, Alex and Lissie McDowell. They’re gone now, but their grandson looks so much like Alex that I thought he’d never aged. On one of my trips to Edilean—yes, dear, I went in secret—I told Alex that, and he laughed hard. It was good to see him laugh again, as there were days in the past when he found nothing to amuse him. His wife, Lissie, was a saint for what she did. I look forward to seeing them both again in a Better Place.
Jocelyn looked up. A man for her? The thought made her want to smile and cry at the same time. Twice, Miss Edi had tried to match her up with young men from church, but both times she’d refused to so much as go out to dinner with them. They were boring young men, and she doubted if either of them had ever had a creative thought in his life. She hadn’t given her reasons for turning the men down, but Miss Edi had known what was going on. “Beer drinking does not qualify as an Olympic sport,” she’d said quietly, then walked away. Joce’s face had turned three shades of red. Two weeks before, Miss Edi had driven by Jocelyn’s house when she’d been standing outside with two young men on motorcycles and downing a can of beer. For all that Joce loved the ballet, she was sometimes drawn to the life her family led.
“Like my mother,” she said aloud, then looked back down at the letter.