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Heiress
Irene Brand
HER LIFE CHANGED OVERNIGHT….Unbelievable…but true! Allison Sayre woke one day to learn she was a millionaire. Yet Allison never dreamed that her legacy would include a shocking secret about her own identity. Or a reunion with Benton Lockhart, the man whose powerful spiritual convictions had inspired her faith.But Allison knew that all the money in the world could never soothe Benton's troubled soul–or heal his battered spirit. She prayed to understand the meaning of her new life–and to find a way to touch Benton's heart.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u9eb6e14e-8303-5d17-ad3c-056147f23cdd)
Excerpt (#u31a3521b-819b-5982-b032-a0e19ef33658)
About the Author (#ub201aed2-346f-5742-af01-1edc186cef1c)
Title Page (#udfc9edc9-54de-5545-8211-690e0ca15b71)
Epigraph (#u61038205-b9ab-52b6-a17f-565ce31d13c8)
Chapter One (#u937d51fd-0d48-506b-8ef7-2fb8f2244214)
Chapter Two (#u819a5f7b-4502-508e-b874-05c964d6ce6e)
Chapter Three (#ud5c55400-7b48-5da9-bedc-e4e4219956ca)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Using the mysterious key she had found in her uncle’s old desk,
Allison opened the safety deposit box…
The box held one sealed envelope. No name was on the outside. She slit the seal and took out a single sheet of paper. She scanned the document, then read it carefully. With a trembling hand, she returned the box to its proper place in the vault and put the envelope in her purse. The document she’d found had solved the mystery of why Harrison Page had left her a fortune and now Allison wished she didn’t know, for her life was shattered.
She wanted to pray, but a wall of anger and hurt feelings separated her from God, and the only prayer she could muster was a plea for guidance.
“Dear God,” she prayed aloud, “I don’t know if I can bear this alone…”
IRENE BRAND
This prolific and popular author of both contemporary and historical inspirational fiction is a native of West Virginia, where she has lived all her life. She began writing professionally in 1977, after she completed a master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself full time to her writing.
After a long career of publishing articles and devotional materials, in 1984 her first novel was published by Thomas Nelson. Since that time, Irene has published fifteen contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles with publishers such as Zondervan, Fleming Revell and Barbour Books.
Her extensive travels with her husband, Rod, to forty-nine of the United States and twenty-four foreign countries, have inspired much of her writing. Through her writing, Irene believes she has been helpful to others and is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her truly inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters of strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives.
Heiress
Irene Brand
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Do to others as you would have them do to you.
—Luke 6:31
Chapter One (#ulink_f8828b24-1dbd-5565-bc94-c4fdbf414952)
Chicago wasn’t at its best on a snowy January day, but Allison Sayre had lived in Illinois’s largest city all her life and she was accustomed to the capricious climate. The inclement weather hadn’t caused her mournful face and melancholy mood. Today, Allison had started delving into the past and she had reached a momentous decision. If she ever intended to bury Donald’s memory, today was the time to do it!
Allison glanced around the bedroom that she had occupied the first twenty-three years of her life until a year ago when she had moved into a nearby apartment. Scattered around the room were the mementos of her defunct romance, a lifetime relationship that had ended two years ago with a “Dear Jane” letter. She took the note out of her Bible and read it, although the words had been seared into her memory since the day the postman had delivered the message:
Allison,
I can’t go on with the marriage. I’m sorry.
Donald
Donald Brady had been the boy next-door, occupying a brick bungalow identical to the one owned by the Sayres along a row of modest single-family dwellings built in the 1930s. He and Allison had started kindergarten together and continued their education at the same schools. It had been easy to change from friends to sweethearts. Donald had entered the navy after his graduation from high school, while Allison had attended the University of Illinois at Chicago, an easy commute from her home, and they had set their wedding date for the week of her graduation. Donald had had a month’s leave for the wedding, and she had no idea anything was wrong until she received his note.
As Allison had looked at the wedding dress spread out on the bed, the pain of rejection and resentment was as sharp today as it had been on the day Donald had jilted her. Days went by now without a thought of Donald, and she would think she had forgotten him until something happened to stir her memory. A photo album had been her downfall today, and she was sitting on the floor with it spread out before her when the door opened.
“What are you doing?” her sixteen-year-old sister, Cleta, asked as she glanced at the littered floor. “You’ve about wrecked this room.”
“I started out to rearrange the chest of drawers and closet, but my cleaning turned into a journey down memory lane.” She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.
“Why, Allison—are you crying?”
“A little, I guess.”
“No wonder you’re crying. Your beautiful wedding dress!”
Cleta ran to the bed and carefully lifted the garment from its paper wrappings. Allison remembered how many hours her mother had slaved to make this gown of white slipper satin styled along colonial lines. The yoke of nylon marquisette was outlined with folds of lace-edged satin and caught at intervals by clusters of pearlized orange blossoms. Tiers of lace trimmed the hemline of the pickup skirt, which ended in a court train edged with matching lace.
Cleta carried the gown to the mirror on the closet door and held it in front of her. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Sell it, if Mother agrees. I have no intention of marrying now, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wear that dress.”
“Maybe I could wear it at my wedding.”
“I doubt it—not without a lot of alterations.”
Allison and her sister were alike in many ways, but lanky, large-framed Cleta had already grown several inches taller than Allison, who had a light, trim figure that moved without effort. The siblings had thick chestnut hair, but Cleta’s eyes were a dark brown, while Allison’s amber eyes beneath dark lashes turned warm as liquid gold when she smiled—a trait she had exhibited rarely since her romance had ended.
Cleta lounged on the floor beside Allison. “What put you in such a mood anyway? Pictures in the album?”
“Since I haven’t been busy chaperoning you and Tim while Mother and Dad have been gone, I decided to clear out this room, for I didn’t take time to do it when I moved into the apartment. I found too many things that reminded me of the past.” She turned several pages in the album. “You’ve seen most of these pictures.”
“I’ve not seen this one,” Cleta said, pointing to a photo. “Who’s this handsome guy standing between you and Donald? Looks like you’re in a football stadium.”
“When we were sophomores, Donald and I and several other teenagers from our church went to a Young Believers Crusade in Indianapolis, which was held in Market Square Arena—a combination sports and entertainment center. There were young people from all over the world witnessing to their faith. It was a wonderful experience and one that broadened my concept of how to live a life pleasing to God.”
“But who is this?” Cleta said, tapping the photo of the golden-haired Apollo who had excited her interest.
“That’s Benton Lockhart, a plenary presenter at the crusade. He was a college freshman, and one of the most vibrant, motivating speakers I’ve ever heard. All the girls were crazy about him.”
“Including you?”
“Including me,” Allison acknowledged with a laugh. “But of course he didn’t know I existed. I was just a face in the crowd to him. I haven’t seen him since that time, or even heard of him, although judging from his charisma, I fully expected him to become a well-known evangelist.”
“Too bad you don’t know where he is—maybe you could still use that dress,” Cleta said as she stood up and ran her hand over the shiny fabric. “I hate to see you unhappy. Why did Donald have to marry someone else?”
Noting the distress in Cleta’s eyes, and to cover up her own unhappiness, Allison joked, “Oh, you bring Benton Lockhart around, and I’ll put on that wedding dress in a hurry.”
The telephone rang, and Tim called from the living room, “It’s for you, Cleta,”
Cleta scuttled across the hall into her bedroom, leaving Allison with her memories. She knew she should be happy that Donald had had the courage to tell her the truth rather than marry her when he loved another woman, but two years hadn’t made her pain any easier. Donald was her past, and she had to stop mourning for him. Remembering the words of the Greek philosopher Epictetus, Allison opened her Bible and wrote on the frontispiece: “He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.”
She had many reasons to rejoice. Charles and Beatrice Sayre had been good and understanding parents, and she got along well with her siblings. Since graduating from college Allison had worked for a religious book publisher in Chicago, and although there wasn’t much room for advancement at that firm, she had received good training, which would be helpful in finding another job.
“I’ll stop grieving and rejoice,” she said solemnly, and the words were a vow.
Bowing her head, Allison prayed, God, I claim a verse from Proverbs for direction. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” Lord, I do claim You for my guide. If You will direct my decisions, I can throw off the unhappiness that has gnawed at my heart for two years. Direct me into new paths.
With a lighter heart, Allison ran downstairs and found eighteen-year-old Tim lying on the couch watching television. A midterm high-school graduate, Tim would begin classes soon at the University of Illinois at Chicago.
“What do you say to eating out tonight at the Pizza Shop and taking in a movie? I’ll pay.”
Tim hesitated and glanced at the phone. “Aw, Sis, can’t we eat here at home?”
In mock concern, Allison went over and rubbed his forehead. “Are you sick? I’ve never known you to turn down free pizza before. Mother placed you in my care this weekend, I can’t have you getting sick.”
Tim pushed her hand away. “If you want pizza, have it delivered.”
Cleta entered the room. “Now, Allison, don’t annoy Mr. Millionaire, or when he comes into his riches he won’t share with you.”
Tim raked his long brown hair back from his face and revealed dark, serious eyes. “All right, poke fun at me if you want to, but I’ll bet you’re just as curious as I am. I wish Mother and Dad would call.”
Allison sat down in a chair opposite the couch. It had been four days now since their parents had gone to Columbus to attend the funeral of Beatrice’s only brother, Harrison Page. They hadn’t returned at the expected time, nor had they telephoned. Beatrice had called when they arrived in Ohio, but no word had come since then.
Allison knew very little about her uncle. His wife had been an invalid several years before she died and the couple had no children, so the disposition of his considerable wealth was often a matter of family speculation.
When Allison went into the kitchen to prepare their evening meal, Tim turned off the television and followed her.
“Surely he left us something. He must have had lots of money, and after all, I’m the only nephew Uncle Harrison has, and you and Cleta are his only nieces. What else would he do with his money if he didn’t pass it on to us?”
“I don’t know,” Allison said, “but I can’t believe that he would remember us in his will when he didn’t have anything to do with us when he was living. I’ve seen him only two times—when our grandparents died.”
“But Mother heard from him,” Tim argued.
“A card at Christmas with a hundred-dollar bill in it. The rest of the time she didn’t know if he was living or dead.”
“Surely I’ll get enough to buy a new car.”
“Only a car?” Cleta taunted him. “I thought you were expecting his whole publishing company.”
Tim went out to the backyard and slammed the door, but he rushed back in when the telephone rang and slumped into a chair when he found Cleta talking to one of her friends.
“I wish I’d paid more attention to Uncle Harrison when he was alive,” Tim moaned.
Allison was rummaging in the refrigerator to see what leftovers were available. “Have you considered that Aunt Sarah may have had relatives he knew better than he knew us? Maybe they’ll inherit.”
Tim groaned, dropped his head on the table and wrapped his arms around his head. Cleta hung up the phone in record time for her, shoved Tim away from the table and laid out the plates and silver.
“I’ll admit I’d be pleased if we did get some of his money,” she said. “It would ease Dad’s load. I know he dreads the expense of sending Tim and me to college.”
“Don’t spend the money until you get it,” Allison warned, although she knew that her sister’s observation was true.
Since Allison’s plans of taking the family out for dinner had been foiled, she settled on food that her mother had prepared before leaving. She sliced some roast beef, browned boiled potatoes and tossed a garden salad. They could eat the rest of the apple pie for dessert.
Allison had just gotten the dinner dishes rinsed and put in the dishwasher when they heard a car entering the garage. Tim rushed to the door between the kitchen and the garage, and the girls were right behind him.
Charles was opening the car door for Beatrice, and he said, “Your mother has had a rough time, so don’t pester her. You can help me unload, Tim.” He put his arms around Cleta and Allison and gave them a hug. “We’ve missed you. Has everything been all right here?”
“Yes,” Allison said in her low, melodious voice, “but we’re happy you’re home.” Charles Sayre was a brawny man, jovial and friendly, always ready to listen to his children’s problems. Allison had missed him.
Beatrice greeted her children with a slight, sad-faced smile. “Mother,” Allison said. “I’m sorry it’s been a sad experience for you.” She put an arm around her mother, who was standing as rigid as a statue.
“He was my only brother. What else would you expect?”
Allison gasped, for never before had her mother been so curt with her. It was almost as if Allison had done something to annoy Beatrice. How could that be? She hadn’t seen her for a week.
Beatrice turned abruptly and walked into the house, passed through the kitchen and into the living room. Again Allison was stunned. It wasn’t like her mother not to comment on the tidiness of the house. The three siblings had always worked hard to earn their mother’s praise, and the house looked as neat as it had when their parents had left. Beatrice Sayre was the dominant personality of the family, and although she could be tender and understanding in times of distress, she exerted a rigid discipline over her children. Charles made the money, but Beatrice managed their finances so that the family lived comfortably.
Charles was laughing when he followed Cleta and Tim into the living room. They struggled with the luggage, and he carried a large plastic bag, out of which he pulled three teddy bears. “Here, I brought you some presents from Columbus.”
