An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(52)

Reaching blindly into the box, she pulled out a pile of paper and put it on her lap. The top sheet was the beginning of a household inventory and she smiled as she read down the list of beds, linens, and dressers. The valuations were incredible, twenty dollars for a mahogany bureau and ten cents for a blanket. Going by the handwriting and the kind of paper, which was similar to others she’d seen, she figured it was probably from the late 1800s and was a record of Buona Fortuna. She hoped she found the rest of the document.

Five more pages of the inventory followed, one about kitchenware.

The next sheet of paper was a surprise. It was older and the script was difficult to read, the slanted words and faded ink almost impossible to decipher. She squinted and stared at the page.

Whilst I waited, seeing not your face coming to my window but only shadows, I pondered love and laid bare thoughts of great loss. To forge independence, I give myself to the war before us, but I cannot yield to the sacrifice without you. I waited in vain and now must go north, to Concord, with my men. Worry not. Our secret is safe. Your general will never know. Not from me.

N. W.



Callie read it again and looked over at the painting with surprise.

Could it be the first Nathaniel? Writing on the way to the Battle of Concord?

Or was she seeing hoofprints and thinking zebras again?

She put the letter aside and rushed through the rest of the papers on her legs, scanning the sheets without bothering to sort them. She put her hand into the bin again and again, but two hours later, she hit the bottom without finding the letter’s first page.

“Damn it.”

Her mind churned over the fragment’s content again. Her knowledge of American history was average. Of course she knew who Nathaniel Walker was and she remembered a little about the Battle of Concord. But who was the general he’d gone into battle with?

Grace, she thought. Grace would know.

Callie got to her feet and headed for the house, intent on getting her address book from her room.

As she came into the kitchen, Elsie was looking clearly distraught while talking to Thomas.

“What’s wrong?” Callie asked.

Elsie’s eyes went to Thomas, who was standing at the sink and rinsing spinach.

The man gave a resigned shrug. “Mr. Walker died five years ago today. The missus has a hard time with it every year.”

Callie was surprised. It was a little hard to imagine Jack’s mother mourning anything.

Thomas turned back to Elsie. “Try C?te Basque. Tell Billy I sent you. He owes me and he’ll fit her in. Then call Curt Thorndyke’s mother, Fiona. The two of them will reminisce and she’ll like that.”

Elsie took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“And don’t take what she said personally. You know how she is.”

“Yes. I do. But frankly, when she gets like this, I don’t really care.”

After the other woman left, Thomas said, “I was about to take a message up to you. Gray Bennett called. His number’s on that pad over there.”

“Oh, thanks. I did hear the phone ring up in the garage, but I don’t feel right about answering it.” She tore off the sheet, thinking tonight would be a perfect night to go out with him. Anything to take her mind off Jack.

She was on her way out when she remembered what Gray had said about Nathaniel Six. “I know this isn’t any of my business, but what was he like? Mr. Walker, I mean?”

Thomas turned off the water and braced himself against the counter with his hip.

“He did a lot of good for a lot of people. And he loved Mrs. Walker. Used to say she was his finest creation.” There was a pause and Callie couldn’t tell whether he was trying to recall the past or choose his words carefully. “He was a handsome guy. Great athlete. Died real quick. Woke up one morning, feeling fine. Twenty minutes later, they found him dead in the shower. Brain aneurysm. He was just gone.”

Although the tone was casual, the man was shaking his head as if he regretted the loss.

“He treated me real good. I met him when he was staying in Osterville for the summer. I’d just gotten out of the Navy and had a job as a caddy at the Wianno Club. One afternoon in July, I carried his bag for him. It sure was hot that day. A hundred degrees out and not a breath of wind, but he was bound and determined to finish eighteen holes. The rest of his foursome and their caddies wilted, but he and I made it all the way around. After that, he wouldn’t let anyone else carry his bag. It was he and I, all summer long. Got to the end of August and he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I liked to cook and he got me into the Culinary Institute of America on scholarship, one that I suspect he set up just for me. When I got out, I worked in some restaurants in New York City and I was damn good. Until I lost my arm.”

Thomas looked down at himself. “One unlucky move on a motorcycle and I went from being on top of the world to someone who couldn’t unscrew a bottle on his own.”

His smile was measured and she couldn’t guess at what he’d had to go through to overcome the injury.

“Anyway, after I recovered, I got a letter from him. We’d always kept in touch. I was honest about what had happened. Two days later he called and offered me a job as his personal chef. That was near about thirty years ago. Pay’s good. Got my own kitchen. I’m a happy man.”

The man offered a lopsided grin, as if embarrassed he’d said so much.