demise—”
“That’s Major Adams.” Absalom puffed out his chest, making himself look even more pompous. “I was the most highly regarded officer under General Bragg’s command.”
Grandmother huffed at the outright lie, but Joseph didn’t bother to look up from the paper in his hand. “Mister Adams was reported as killed in action. Therefore, I divided the Reverend Adams’s assets according to his wishes. However, since Mister Adams is obviously alive, we will now revisit the terms of the will.”
Clarissa folded her arms over the tremor in her middle. She glanced at Grandmother, whose flinty expression hid whatever emotions ran through her at the news.
But her fingers visibly tightened on her ivory-handled cane.
Grandmother Euphemia—nervous? Nothing could have frightened Clarissa more.
Joseph stood, proud and sturdy as a live oak, his gaze fastened on the page in his hand. “This is the will I was to read in the event that both his grandchildren were alive at the time of his demise. Euphemia, Clarissa, it’s quite different from the will I read when we thought Mister Adams was deceased.”
For the first few moments Clarissa struggled to focus on Joseph’s words, her mind drifting to Camellia Pointe and the happy days her family had enjoyed there—before the sickness. But when he spoke Grandmother’s name, Clarissa fixed her attention on the elderly man.
“‘To my wife, Euphemia Duncan Adams, I bequeath Waverly Hall in Yazoo County, its 2600 acres, cotton and crops.’”
A bit of tension left Clarissa’s abdomen at the little chortle of victory escaping Grandmother’s lips.
Joseph paused and turned a fatherly gaze on Clarissa. “This part has changed, dear. ‘To my granddaughter, Clarissa Euphemia Adams, I bequeath the contents of all structures and grounds at Camellia Pointe.’”
Only the contents? That unease hit her in the middle again.
“‘To my son, Barnabas Hezekiah Adams, I bequeath Sutton House Plantation in Yazoo County, its 1900 acres, cotton and crops. My other two properties, however, have deep personal meaning to me. Camellia Pointe is the home of my youth, the refuge my father built against the cares of this world. Good Shepherd Dining and Lodging is the safe haven I built to shelter and protect poor travelers landing in Natchez-under-the-Hill. One of my grandchildren will receive both these properties and continue their operation. However, the one to inherit must prove himself worthy.’”
What outlandish will was this?
All or nothing? If Grandfather wanted to mention Absalom in his will, which in itself was surprising, why would he not have simply given him some property outright?
But he hadn’t, and that set her on edge. Could her rogue cousin somehow prove himself worthy of Grandfather’s home and ministry?
Absalom sat straight in his chair and pointed his stubby finger at Clarissa. “She was his favorite, so she’ll be the one to inherit. It’s not fair. I’m going to contest this will.”
“No, you won’t,” Joseph said, “as you shall soon see.”
As Absalom muttered under his breath, the attorney began to read again. “‘To receive the inheritance, my grandchildren must meet three conditions. If one of them meets the first condition, he may progress to the second, and so forth. I have given Joseph Duncan four letters to explain the details.’”
“Grandfather always did drag things out. Get to the point, Duncan.” Absalom’s sonorous voice echoed off the walls of the high-ceilinged room, his expression turning annoyed.
“‘Counselor Duncan will give the first letter to the pastor of Christ Church. The pastor will deliver and read the letter privately to each heir. When the first stipulation has been met, the pastor will read the second letter to both parties at once, and likewise the third. If one of my grandchildren contests the will, he forfeits his chance to inherit.”
“I know how the old man worked.” Absalom’s face exploded with the rage Clarissa had come to expect from him. Rage he’d frequently aimed at her beloved grandfather. “He made her stipulations easier than mine. I know he did.”
“I’ve seen the letters, and that’s not true.” Joseph handed two envelopes to Reverend Montgomery. “Euphemia, let’s allow Clarissa and the reverend to meet here, and you, Adams and I will wait in the sanctuary.”
When the door had closed behind them, Clarissa sat across the desk from the preacher, her pulse beating out her dread. “Please read it quickly. I fear the worst, and I have no idea how bad the worst could be.”
The parson reached into his inner frock coat pocket and retrieved a pair of rectangle-lens eyeglasses. When he had slipped them on, he opened the envelope, pulled out the single sheet and scanned it. “A personal note appears as page one. ‘My dear Clarissa, my first instruction may well be your hardest to fulfill. Please try to understand and trust my reasoning. As always, I hold your best interests at heart. Grandfather Hezekiah.’
“Next, we have the legal document. ‘Both potential heirs must be married before my granddaughter’s next birthday.’”
Married—
She might as well give up right now.
Except she couldn’t, because then she would also give up Camellia Pointe and Good Shepherd—her ancestral home and her grandfather’s legacy.
Samuel whisked off his specs and regarded her for a moment. “Forgive me, Miss Adams, but have you a beau? Because if you haven’t, you need to get one—soon.”
A beau. A husband.
In less than a month.
Even though Grandfather had known that falling in love would mean that, sooner or later, she would get hurt.
Sitting across the desk from Samuel, Miss Adams looked as if she wanted to turn and run at his words. The defiance in her face mirrored the expression he’d often seen in his daughter’s—and his late wife, Veronica’s—whenever he tried to reason with them. So much so that a part of him wished he could follow Miss Adams right out the heavy cypress vestibule doors. But clearly there was no escape for either of them. Without a wife, Samuel would lose this church—and possibly his daughter. Just as Clarissa would lose her home if she didn’t find a husband. And neither of them had the luxury of time.
Then comprehension softened her eyes and they turned dewy, the golden flecks deepening to burnished copper. “Grandfather always did want to marry me off.”
Samuel cleared his throat of the sudden lump forming there, the sweetness in her tone affecting him in a way he’d never known. Would she calmly accept the will’s terms and fulfill her grandfather’s wishes, allowing the late pastor to dictate her life from the grave? Or would she whisk aside her calm resignation and refuse?
“You are, of course, free to reject the will’s stipulations. But you won’t inherit.” Samuel brushed away his foolish sentiment. His job was to present the letter and advise her if necessary, not to become emotionally
