“How long have you known Donovan?”
“Long enough to know he’s a private man and it just doesn’t seem right that he would want to tell the world his secrets.”
“He has secrets?” I asked.
“Everyone has secrets. I suppose he wants this to be about Sherman and Madison Corporation. That would make sense.”
The more we spoke, the more curious I was to dive into the information Van had compiled for this memoir. “Did his business begin down in Madison?”
Paula shook her head. “Started right here.”
“Is Madison a family name, maybe his mother’s family name?”
“Sometimes there are questions that are better left unasked.”
I finished my coffee and lifted the mug and plate. Before I could go any farther, Paula shook her head. “Let me do that, Julia. Peggy and I will be out of here by three. If you need anything at all before then, don’t hesitate to ask. And” —she pointed at her list— “you think of anything else you’d like from the store or for me to prepare, be sure to tell me.”
“There is one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Well, yesterday, Donovan gave me a quick tour. He said for me to set up an office in his library.” I smiled at the ridiculousness of my question. “Could you point me toward the library?”
Julia
The library that Van had offered as my home base, office, work center or whatever I wanted to call it was as stunning as the rest of his house. It was also cozier. I realized that there was beauty to the open concept, but four walls, two lined from floor to ceiling with books on beautiful wood bookcases, another with large domed windows looking out onto tall trees in a forest, and a fourth with the French door entry—not unlike the one at the front of the house—and another fireplace made me feel less exposed. The furniture was rich and sturdy. The desk was tall and wide, reminding me of the antique library tables.
I had barely dived into the information Van had accumulated as I got myself settled. He had plastic totes filled with physical information, magazines, newspapers, and photographs. After a quick search, I found the photos were primarily of buildings rather than people. There was also a file filled with flash drives in dated compartments.
This was what Van wanted in his memoir. I couldn’t help but wonder what he didn’t want in it and why. If I were simply a person from the outside hired to write his story, I didn’t know if I’d have the same level of curiosity.
As it turned out, I wasn’t simply an outsider, not anymore. Van had offered to marry me, for us to join in name as well as physically. That gave me the right to dig beyond the benign surface.
That’s what I told myself.
More than once, Margaret came in to check on me. She also asked if she could clean my suite. I declined. While Van had warned me about coming downstairs dressed, he forgot to mention that someone may go into my suite, see my unmade bed, and draw the uncomfortable— albeit accurate—conclusion that I hadn’t slept alone.
I couldn’t get a good read on how I felt about Margaret and Paula or what they thought of me, but I did make a mental note to make my bed and pick up in my suite from today forward to any Fridays that followed.
I also replayed my conversation with Paula in my head, looking for answers to the myriad of questions forming, their number increasing by the minute. Van’s last name was Sherman. Where did the ‘Madison’ come from in Sherman and Madison Corporation?
Why did Mrs. Mayhand say that some questions are better unasked?
Is there significance in his company’s name that I don’t know?
As my computer booted up and ran yet another update, I gave up on the totes and walked around the room, taking in this personal side of Donovan Sherman. Saying the room had four walls shouldn’t imply that the library was small. It was a large square and also tall, the ceiling went up beyond the one in the hallway. If I had to guess, I’d say it went up two stories. The sliding ladder on the bookshelves was directly out of every little girl’s dreams, any little girl who watched Belle dance and sing on a similar ladder.
The more I looked around, the more I became aware of what Van was lacking. While I hadn’t been in every room in his home, not even close, I’d yet to see anything that resembled personal mementos. There were no framed pictures or special items.
Back at my family home, my mother’s fireplace mantel was filled with pictures of our family, my grandparents and great-grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins. There were pictures dating back to before I was born. In Dad and Mom’s home office was a large framed picture of William and Pricilla Wade. William was my mother’s grandfather and the man who founded Wade Pharmaceutical. I never knew him. I knew my grandfather, William’s son and my mother’s father, Herman Wade. He was the person who ultimately decided to offer investment in Wade Pharmaceutical, diluting my family’s influence in the operation of the privately held corporation. I knew from my study at Northwestern that the goal had been to raise capital.
According to my father, it was the wrong move. My grandfather had the ultimate power to make the decision. His plan was to limit investors to trusted friends who could bring an influx of funds and avoid debt in the difficult environment. My grandfather’s decision went against my father’s advice. The rift that ensued between my father and my mother’s father was why our family’s stock shares were headed to me upon my marriage. It was one of Grandfather Herman’s blows to my father before Herman’s death.
So far, I’d yet to see any pictures of Van’s family.
That thought reminded me of Margaret’s comment, asking if I was Van’s sister.
With my laptop connected to the internet, my plan was to do more of a search on Donovan Sherman. Before I did, I scanned my emails and shook my head. The executive-in-training position I’d had for the last year at Wade accounted for ninety percent of my unopened emails. There were a few from the wedding planner.