She couldn’t sleep. She did her best not to think about her father and his will, but it was no good. It was the old “don’t think of elephants” dilemma.
At three in the morning, she got out of bed and began to search for her father’s will. She had purposely not read it, for she hadn’t wanted to know the details of his after-death rules, hadn’t wanted to know what he had planned for her to do.
She found the will among some other papers, then sat down to read it. Her father’s lawyer had told her everything that was in the will except for the single sentence that said she was to report all her findings to one Michael Taggert, and on Taggert’s approval of her research, she was to receive her money—money that should have been hers unencumbered.
Samantha’s first instinct was to tear the document into a thousand pieces, but controlling herself, she smoothed it and replaced it with the other papers. Her father was dead; she had never been angry with him when he was alive, and she was not going to get angry at him now that he was gone. That he wanted someone to take care
of her after he was dead was a sign that he loved her. It made no difference that Samantha didn’t know this man, because her father had and he had approved of Michael Taggert—just as he’d approved of Richard Sims as her husband.
Getting up, Samantha went to the bathroom where she took a long, hot shower and washed her hair. When she emerged, she felt better. She dressed in gray cotton slacks and a long, loose pink sweater, combed her hair, tied it back from her face, and even put on makeup. It was still dark outside, but there was the feeling of dawn approaching, so she opened the doors leading onto the balcony and breathed the fragrance of the roses in the garden below.
Hearing something that she couldn’t place, for a moment she stood still, listening. It was the sound of a typewriter being punched with heavy fingers. The sound made Samantha smile, for she hadn’t heard a typewriter in years.
She knew she should stay in her room, knew she should pack her suitcase, but she didn’t. Going to the door, she opened it and went down the stairs.
It was easy to follow the sound of the typewriter. Michael was in the library, the room dark except for a light over the desk, and he was punching away on an ancient typewriter that looked like something a war correspondent had used during World War II. He typed with his two index fingers, and he typed as though he were furious.
All at once feeling cowardly, Samantha started to leave the room.
“If you have something to say, say it,” he said without turning toward her.
She blurted her words. “My granddad Cal was my father’s father. He was a wonderful man and I don’t believe he wasn’t.”
As he turned to look at her, she was surprised to see that he looked tired. Just like her, he had obviously been up all night.
“Believe what you want,” he said, turning away to pull the paper out of the typewriter and insert another sheet.
“Why are you typing?” She took a step toward him.
Glancing at her over his shoulder with a look that said she’d been born without a brain, he said, “Because I want something typed.”
She motioned toward the manual typewriter. “Why not just use a stone tablet and a chisel? It would be the same difference.”
He didn’t say a word but just kept typing. She should go back to her room and pack, she thought, or maybe take a nap, but for once, she wasn’t sleepy. She wanted to ask him what he was typing, but she didn’t allow herself to do so.
“I guess I’ll go back to bed,” she said and started toward the door, but stopped. “Are you going to release the money if I don’t look for my grandmother?”
“No,” he said firmly.
Samantha started to protest but didn’t. After all, it was her choice as to what she did, and the money wasn’t all that important to her. She would do fine without the money because she knew very well that she could support herself. If she didn’t fulfill the requirements of her father’s will, she could leave New York today and she could go to…She could go to…
She was unable to finish her thought, because she knew she had nowhere to go, no one to go to. Slowly, she started walking toward the stairs.
“Your grandfather Cal was sterile,” Mike said loudly into the silence. “He had mumps while he was in the service—two years before he met your grandmother—and the mumps left him sterile. He couldn’t father children.”
Samantha sat down hard on a chair by the doorway. A full circle, she thought. She had traveled full circle. She had lost her grandmother, her mother, her father, her husband, and now she was being told that her grandfather had never been hers to begin with.
She didn’t hear Mike move, but he was suddenly standing in front of her. “You want to go get something to eat and talk about this?” His voice was full of concern.
“No,” she said softly. All she wanted was to go back to her rooms, rooms where she felt safe.
Grabbing her by the shoulders, Mike pulled her upright to stand in front of him, angry in his belief that her reluctance to go somewhere with him was her continuing conviction that he was half rapist, half murderer. “While you’re in this house I’m responsible for you. Whatever you think of me, I rarely attack women in public places so you can at least have a meal with me.”
Samantha looked surprised. “I didn’t mean—” She looked away from him, not wanting to be so close to him, for she had an urge to sink into his arms, knowing that it would be good to be held by another human being. The last person who had touched her, besides this man on the day she had met him, had been her father, and in those last months he had been so very fragile. It would be nice to feel strong, healthy arms about her. But Samantha wasn’t in the habit of asking for things from people. She’d never asked her husband to hold her, and she wasn’t going to ask this stranger for comfort, so she jerked her shoulders away from his hands.
Not understanding her look or her actions, Mike released her, his mouth twisted with disgust. “All right, I’ll keep my hands off of you, but you’re going to eat.”
Samantha started to repeat her no, but instead, she said she needed to get her purse.