Boston, October 1891
Prologue
Jolene Crawford Crenshaw sat on one of two chairs just feet from the burial plot. Graveyard attendants held the ropes suspending the casket above a deep hole in the ground and began to let loose their ends, inches at a time. Jolene watched the casket disappear as it was slowly lowered into the ground. Her husband’s mother shuddered when the box was no longer visible above the grass, then lurched forward, and sobbed aloud.
Jolene sat back in her chair and stared straight ahead while her brother-in-law knelt on the ground to embrace and comfort his mother. Jolene listened to the drone of the minister’s final words. The netting on her hat whipped against her face as mourners moved away and the wind was free to chill her.
“Come, Jolene,” her sister Jennifer said. “Turner’s brother will attend Mrs. Crenshaw. Come away, dear.”
Jolene looked up at her younger sister, giving direction to her, and very nearly corrected Jennifer aloud. But that would not do. No one must think her as anything but a grieving widow. She nodded at Jennifer, stood, and allowed her father, William Crawford, to wrap one arm about her and hold her other arm, as if she were going to crumble at any moment. They were stopped, almost immediately, by Evelyn Prentiss. She clutched Jolene’s hand.
“My dear, I am so terribly sorry about this, especially considering . . . well, I’m just terribly sorry.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Prentiss,” Jolene said. “We are bearing up as best we can.”
“Of course you are,” she said and looked away for a brief moment. “Where is Jane? Where is your mother today?”
“Not feeling well, I’m afraid,” her father said. “We didn’t think this chilly weather would be good for her. She is, of course, devastated that she was unable to attend.”
Evelyn Prentiss nodded. “I will wait a few days and call on her then.”
“She will be happy for the diversion, Mrs. Prentiss,” Jennifer said.
Her father turned to the waiting carriage and handed her and her sister inside. Jolene leaned her head back against the tufted leather seat and closed her eyes. How long until she was in her own rooms and able to shed this façade?
“Will you be checking in on Mother before you go home to Landonmore?” Jennifer asked. “She has letters and telegrams that have arrived for you.”
“I won’t have time to visit with Mother,” she said. “I’ll be accepting visitors this afternoon and imagine there will be a significant number of them.”
“There will be, I’m sorry to say,” her father said. “Even with Turner’s sometimes curious behavior as of late, his Boston connections are sterling. There will be some from Washington, as well.”
“What time should I arrive, Jolene? I’m going to stop in to see Mother and then will make myself available to you. Are you coming, Father?” Jennifer asked.
“If Jolene wants me there, I will,” he said and faced her. “What would you prefer?”
She would prefer that she was far, far away from the questions. That she was somewhere no one knew her. She could not take the pity, she thought, with some anger. She could not! Jolene took deep breaths to calm her racing heart and looked at her sister.
“You’ve no need to trouble yourself, Jennifer. Certainly there is something you would prefer to be doing other than holding my hand, and making dreadfully repetitive small talk.”
Jennifer stared at her incredulously. “Jolene,” she said softly. “You are my sister, and your husband has just died. A young man, no less, a tragedy. I will stay with you while you make your greetings to Turner’s friends. Julia would as well if she were able to be here.”
Julia! Their sister Julia would as likely poison her wine as comfort her or share the burden of greeting guests. “Highly unlikely, Jennifer. Julia would pay me no kindnesses, as you well know.”
Jennifer shook her head. “That is not true.” She looked to their father for affirmation, but he was determinedly staring out the window of the carriage.
The coach was silent until Jolene heard Jennifer sniffle, and she watched her sister wipe her eyes. “Turner is with little William now, and of that, I am glad,” Jennifer said.
There was a buzz in Jolene’s ear so loud that she could not think for a moment. Did not remember that she was to be the grieving widow. She leaned forward, the muscles in her face tight and pinched, and she was uncertain if she would be able to speak. But she found her voice, albeit strident and cruel, even by her own standards.
“Do not mention my son’s name in the same sentence as my husband’s ever again. In fact, do not ever say my son’s name again, you silly, ugly girl. Such sentimental drivel is, no doubt, why you are still unmarried.”
Jennifer blinked furiously, and her lip trembled. She looked away, and Jolene settled back in her seat. She was surprised when Jennifer spoke again.
“You may push away anyone that loves you, Jolene, for as long as you want. I love you, you see, and so does Julia. And I loved little William with all my heart. I will mourn him, choose to think of him, and speak about him when I wish. I was not his mother and could not imagine the pain you were, and are in, but grief is not a thing to guard jealously, as if you are the only one to feel it.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Jolene barely waited for the servant to help her step down. Her hands shook and her stomach rolled over as she entered the marbled foyer of Landonmore. She yanked the black satin ribbons of her bonnet and dropped it as she climbed the stairs. She entered her sitting room, dismissed her maid, locked the door to her apartments, and tore at her black jacket till buttons flew and it was off. Jolene dropped to her knees and struggled for breath.
She pictured her son William, at three, running and laughing, his chubby little legs churning. She could still feel when he climbed onto her lap, when they were alone and held her face still with his hands. He would say, “Mother! Look at me. Mother!” And Jolene would pretend to look elsewhere until they both dissolved into giggles.
Jolene crawled to a trunk near her reading chair and pulled a key on a ribbon from within the folds of her dress. With shaking hands, she unlocked the trunk and pulled a worn blanket from inside. She buried her face in William’s blanket and breathed deep. Jolene rocked back and forth on her haunches and held the tattered wool to her nose.
Boston, November 1891
Chapter One
“Thank you for coming to see me this morning, Jolene,” Calvin Billings said as he assisted her into the red leather chair across from his desk.
“The reading of the will, I understand, is not until Wednesday morning,” Jolene replied and straightened the folds of her black silk skirt. “I’m curious to hear what prompted this meeting.”
“I’m not sure I should have asked you here to tell you what I’m going to tell you,” Calvin said as he shook his head. “Turner’s will was very specific.”
Jolene shrugged. “Don’t put yourself out for me, Calvin.”
The attorney was silent a long moment and then leaned forward. “I wanted to talk to you about some of the details of Turner’s will before Wednesday’s meeting so that you can process it privately, rather than in a room full of people.”
“What details?”
Billings sorted through papers laid out before him on his massive gleaming desktop. He settled on one and looked at Jolene over the tops of his glasses. “The bulk of Turner’s estate will be settled on one, Jillian Crawford Shelling currently residing with your sister in South Dakota.”
“I don’t understand,” Jolene said.
“A little over fifty million dollars will be set aside in an estate for Miss Shelling, overseen by myself and her step-father, Jake Shelling, as executers. Various charities will receive an amount totaling nearly one million dollars. Family members, including Turner’s mother, brother, nephews, and your sister Jennifer, have been gifted annual annuities. In addition, his mother’s home expenses will be taken care of for as long as she lives. A few servants and his secretary have been given lump sums ranging from fifty to one hundred thousand dollars.”
Jolene stared at her gloved hands lying in her lap. She picked at a stray thread in the crocheting and thought she’d have to correct Alice for handing these particular gloves to her to wear. But perhaps she’d best let Alice alone on this error. Perhaps she’d best contemplate what Calvin had just said. She looked up at him.
“He has gifted our fortune, my fortune as well, to Jillian? Did he not understand that he would have still been a clerk in my father’s bank had he not married me? Did he forget what I did for him? He would have been nothing without me. I made him!”
The office was silent while Calvin stared at his papers. Jolene’s palms and hairline were sweating, and her hands shook. Calvin looked up at her then and continued.
“An annuity in your name has been established with an annual income of seventy-five thousand dollars. The summer home in New York is also yours.”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars? Turner makes his point even from his grave gifting me with an amount somewhere between his char woman and his secretary,” Jolene said and leaned back in her chair. “What is the value of my personal wealth?”
Calvin shook his head. “I’m not sure you understand, Jolene. You have no personal wealth of your own other than an account set up long ago by your grandmother. There is, perhaps, one-hundred-thousand dollars, or so, in that account.”
“What of the money that I brought to the marriage?”
“It was all combined and invested years ago. Turner had full-control of your family’s finances.”
The color drained from Jolene’s face, and her lips went dry. The depth and breadth of her situation were slowly descending on her. She would be poor. Jolene could not think of anything that could be worse, other than living through the days after her son’s death again. In fact, her own death would be welcome, rather than deal with what was coming in her life and all the unpleasantness and humiliation that would surround it.
“What of Landonmore? What will be said about me?” Jolene whispered and looked up at Calvin. “What will I do?”
Calvin Billings stood and came around his desk. He knelt beside her and held her hands. “You will be fine, Jolene. Things will change for you, but you’re a survivor. You will find a way to march through this with your head high. I hope that you are able to find some peace when your life has settled into a routine.”
Jolene was uncertain that she would make it through this. But Calvin Billings was nothing if not a very smart man. And while Calvin and his wife, Eugenia, would never be on her social level, she recognized that he was nonetheless an honest and honorable man, and he’d always been kind to her, even when she was unkind to him.
“Why did you do me the favor of telling me before Wednesday? You could have very easily left it till then, Calvin. You and Eugenia and I are certainly not bosom bows, although I do know you were a friend of Turner’s. Which by all accounts would make anyone more prone to let me flounder through this announcement publically,” Jolene said. “I’ve been a target of that sort of thing before because of jealousy.”
Calvin shook his head. “You are right. You and I will never be close, but that does not mean that I would want to see you put in such an awkward situation. And while I know that you and Turner weren’t in perfect harmony in the last few years, I can assure you that he never said one unflattering word about you to me or to anyone in my hearing.”
“But let us agree that Turner did, indeed, gain the last word,” she said.
Calvin nodded. “I will see you Wednesday then.”
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