An Irresistible Bachelor(59)

"Mommy? Can we go home now?"

"Yes."

Her mother had started back down to the street, all the while staring through the big windows of the mansion. Before she had followed, Callie had stood on her tiptoes, trying to figure out what her mother was so fascinated by.

And then she'd seen her father.

"That's Daddy!" She'd jumped with excitement. "Let's go see Daddy."

Her mother had quickly hushed her. "Come on."

"I want to go to Daddy!"

Her mother had run up the stairs and urged her along. Callie's voice had risen to a whine. "But why can't we see Daddy—”

Suddenly, her mother was down on her level.

"I said no!" she'd hissed, grabbing onto Callie's shoulders and shaking her. "We are not going in there. Do you understand? He had his chance to see you tonight but he blew it!"

Callie had burst into tears.

"Then why did we come?" she'd sobbed.

Her mother had instantly stopped. With a sad moan, she'd crushed Callie to her chest.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so very sorry."

With a start, Callie came back to the present. Her father never had come to see her on her birthday. He'd had twenty-seven tries at it, but hadn't shown up once.

She let out her breath and pushed the hair from her face.

God, she hated remembering the past. It did awful things to her chest, making her feel like she was breathing through a rag stuffed down her throat.

Hopping off the window seat, she threw on some clothes and headed to the studio. When she got up to the garage, she decided to put on some music and work on the documents. She flipped through the CD collection by the stereo and decided that Norah Jones was not going to be a good call, not unless she wanted to cry all day long. When some big band swing was coming from the rafters, she went to the bin she'd pulled over to the couch and sat down.

She'd started to arrange the papers chronologically and it was a fascinating menagerie. Handwritten receipts for goods from the 1800s. A purchase contract for the tract of land on which Buona Fortuna now stood from 1871. A diploma from Harvard with the name Phillip Constantine Walker and the date 1811 on it. A scrap of paper with a scrawled Walker signature.

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.