The Amish Heiress

Chapter Eleven - The Connection

Chapter Eleven

The ConnectionBobby Halverson stood at the gate, watching the new black BMW pull up the lane to the Hershberger farm. He waved and the driver, who had started to pull in at the farmhouse, continued on up the hill and pulled in behind Bobby’s old Ford truck. Bobby watched as the driver climbed out. He was exactly as Bull had described: clean-cut, well dressed, and very professional looking. The way his coat fit tightly around his shoulders told Bobby that the man was in good shape and, given what Bobby knew about him, would probably be a deadly opponent in a fight. He carried a leather briefcase. Bobby noticed there was no telltale bulge under his coat.

Carries himself like a pro and he considers us harmless enough to leave his gun in the car.

Bobby opened the gate and motioned the man inside. He walked up to Bobby and stopped. Bobby could tell he was getting the once-over, and for a moment, he regretted that the sessions at the gym had somehow gotten onto his drop-off list.

“Sheriff Halverson?”

Bobby chuckled. The only one who still called him that was Bull. “Ex-sheriff. I haven’t been on active duty for almost ten years. Call me Bobby.”

The two men shook hands and Bobby could feel strength in Gordon Randall’s grip. Randall looked at Bobby in surprise at the return strength he felt from Bobby.

“Well...Bobby. Thanks for seeing me. Is Mrs. Hershberger joining us?”

“Yes, Mr. Randall, she’s waiting inside.”

The two men walked up the steps and into Bobby’s bungalow. Jenny was sitting at the table. Bobby had arranged extra chairs, one beside Jenny and one across from her. He moved ahead of Randall and took the seat next to Jenny as he motioned Randall into the other chair. Randall got right down to business.

“I’m here on behalf of Augusta St. Clair.”

“Concerning?” Bobby asked.

“The estate of Robert St. Clair.”

“And what does that have to do with Mrs. Hershberger?”

Randall shifted in his seat and looked at Jenny. “You are the daughter of Robert St. Clair—?”

Bobby smiled. “Mr. Randall, you can direct your statements to me.”

Randall frowned. “I’m not exactly sure how you got in the middle of this, Bobby, but—”

Bobby interrupted him. “Since her adoptive parents’ deaths, I have been Mrs. Hershberger’s guardian and advocate. She is here to listen to this conversation, but she is reluctant to make any comments at this time.”

Jenny looked at Bobby. “It’s all right, Bobby. I just want to say one thing. Mr. Randall, I will hear what you have to say, but I will make no comment on it, nor am I prepared to enter into dialogue with the St. Clair family or their representatives. Please give us the specifics of your request, and we will consider it after you have gone.”

Randall frowned again. He obviously did not like to be told how he had to conduct his business. He nodded to Jenny. “Fine, Mrs. Hershberger.”

He turned his gaze back to Bobby.

“Mrs. Hershberger is the daughter of Robert St. Clair and Rachel Borntraeger St. Clair. The American St. Clairs are a branch of the St. Clairs of Europe, one of the wealthiest families in the world, and Robert St. Clair was one of the main heirs to that fortune. When he died in a car wreck in 1949, he left Rachel St. Clair a widow and their small child, Jennifer Constance St. Clair—Mrs. Hershberger—without a father. In a normal course of probate, Robert’s fortune should have passed to his wife. But the St. Clairs set up specific rules of inheritance several hundred years ago that ensure the bulk of the estate will remain in the family’s control.”

“And just what does that mean?”

“Rachel St. Clair could not have inherited the fortune, but her daughter could have, provided—”

“Provided what, Mr. Randall?”

“Provided she has the Key.”

Bobby looked over at Jenny, who was staring at Randall with an expression on her face that Bobby had never seen before. “And just what is the Key?”

Randall reached down, picked up the briefcase, and put it on the table. The latches made a sharp click, click.

Bobby winced.

Like the bolt of my old M1903 being pulled back to load in a shell when I was waiting up on the ridge, just before the fight on Guadalcanal.

“Sheriff?”

Bobby shook his head and refocused. “Sorry. What were you saying about the Key?”

Randall pulled a document from the briefcase and laid it on the table. It was obviously old and it had been covered with a clear plastic shield. The border was a filigree of gold, surrounding the illustration of what appeared to be a knight. Only instead of an armored breastplate, the man was wearing a loose garment that was pulled back over his chest to reveal a red, key-shaped mark right above his left breast.

“This is a picture of Reynaud de Sinclair, Mrs. Hershberger’s ancestor. It dates back to around AD 1200. That red mark is the Key. It’s the St. Clair birthmark. Normally, it’s found on the chest of the oldest son. Don’t ask me how, but this has been true since the first St. Clair came to England with William the Conqueror in 1066. The Key has always determined the heir.”

“But Jenny is a woman, so how can she be of interest to you?”

Randall smiled, but it was not a happy smile. “I’m getting to that. The daughter or granddaughter of a direct heir who dies can inherit, provided she meets two conditions: first, she must hold the Key and, yes, from time to time this birthmark has occurred in a female child. In fact, there are three known occasions when that has happened. If she does hold the Key, then the estate is put into trust until she meets the second condition.”

“And what is that condition, Mr. Randall?” asked Jenny.

Bobby glanced over and started to speak, but saw the determined look on Jenny’s face and held his peace.

Randall smiled again, but this time it was a bit more relaxed. “The second condition is that the female inheritor with the Key shall find a suitable male St. Clair and marry him after it is determined she is the true heir. Otherwise, she cannot inherit. This ensures that the fortune stays within the St. Clair family. In the case of discovering an adult heir such as Mrs. Hershberger, the woman has one year to fulfill the condition.”

Randall looked at Jenny. Jenny stared back at him. “And if the heiress is married, Mr. Randall?”

“As I said, Mrs. Hershberger, the heiress must find a suitable male St. Clair and marry him within one year, if she wants to inherit.”

Bobby broke in. “And if the heiress is a baby when it is found that she has the Key?”

Randall answered, still looking at Jenny. “In that case, the estate would be held in trust until the girl is eighteen, at which time the same condition concerning marriage goes into effect.”

Jenny pushed her chair back and got up. “Well, Mr. Randall, it seems you’ve made a trip for nothing. I do not hold the Key and even if I did, I would not divorce Jonathan for all the money in the world. So you can tell your Augusta St. Clair that she can sleep easy tonight. I’ll not be coming after her precious money. And why is all this coming up now?”

Randall twisted in his seat.

Bobby jumped in. “Well, Mr. Randall, can you answer that question please?”

“I’m not really at liberty to discuss Mrs. St. Clair’s financial situation.”

Bobby took a guess. “So, she’s in some trouble, financially, and she’s looking for a way to get out.”

Randall didn’t answer, but Bobby could see that his random shot had struck home.

“Well, if you won’t answer that, how about this? Augusta is a St. Clair. Why can’t she inherit the estate?”

“Very simple, Bobby. She is a St. Clair by marriage only.”

“What about her children?”

“Augusta’s husband died in the war. Her one son and his wife were killed in a ski accident in Switzerland over fifteen years ago. Her only living relative is her grandson, Gerald, and he does not hold the Key.”

“So, as I guessed, Augusta is in a bind and is casting about for some way to get out. I assume that this Gerald would be a suitable St. Clair heir if a daughter or granddaughter with the Key could be found?”

Randall didn’t answer that one either. Instead, he took a different tack.

“I understand that you have a daughter, Mrs. Hershberger.”

Jenny’s face turned pale.

“My daughter does not concern you, and she has no claim on the St. Clair fortune. As I said, you’ve made a trip for nothing. Bobby will show you out.”

Randall stood and shook Jenny’s hand. She turned and left by the kitchen door. The two men shook hands, and then Randall went out the front and headed to the car. When he got there, he stopped and looked around for a minute.

“Nice place you got here, Bobby.”

“Yep. Thanks.”

“If you have any other information, I’m sure Mrs. St. Clair would be more than happy to make it worth your while to share it.”

Bobby nodded but did not answer. Randall got the message.

“Well, thank you for your time.”

Randall climbed in the car, started it, drove around the circular drive in front of the house, and headed back down the hill. Bobby watched him go. Then he walked back into the house. To his surprise Jenny was standing in the kitchen. She had come back in after Randall left. She was shaking and pale.

“Jenny, what is it?”

“The Key, Bobby. I lied to Randall. Rachel holds the Key.”

Bobby’s chin dropped. “What?”

“Yes, Bobby. Rachel has the St. Clair birthmark right above her heart.”

Bobby sat down at the table and motioned Jenny to sit. “Does Rachel know about this?”

“She knows she has a birthmark, but I never knew that there was any significance to it, so we have never talked about it.”

Bobby tapped the tabletop with his fingers. “Are you going to say anything to her?”

Jenny looked down at the table. “Do you trust these people, Bobby?”

The question was almost a whisper.

“No, Jenny, I do not trust them. From what we know about Augusta St. Clair, she is a cold, scheming woman who won’t hesitate to do what she thinks will best protect her interests. And this fellow, Randall, scares me. He’s a thug of the worst kind because he’s intelligent and highly trained. He’s Augusta’s tool and the extension of her wishes. I would not trust them with Rachel in any way.”

Jenny sat down again and pulled her chair next to Bobby. Bobby put his arm around her.

“That’s how I feel, too, Bobby. Rachel must never know.”

*****

Rachel trudged home from the King farm. The new colt was doing fine. The joy of working with Daniel’s horses had lifted her spirits for a while, but now she had settled back into a gloomy mood. The sun was just going down over the western hills, and the soft scent of lilacs filled the air. Spring had burst upon Paradise with all the colors and sounds of the earth awakening after cold months in the grave of winter, but Rachel did not notice. For her, everything in her life was gray and flat. The offer from Cornell weighed heavy on her heart. She wanted to go so badly, but she knew that she would have to leave her faith do it.

I’m Amish and my papa will never say yes, and even if he did, the elders would never let me go in a million years. Oh, why was I born Amish? I can’t stay here!

As she came to the lane leading home, she was surprised to see a black automobile come slowly down to the main road. The man behind the wheel saw Rachel and pulled to a stop. The electric window rolled down and Rachel looked into a pair of steel-gray eyes. For some reason, she shivered. The man smiled at her, but the smile made her feel creepy.

“Are you Rachel?”

Something about the man made Rachel’s gut twist.

“Yes...”

The man smiled again. “Don’t worry. I’m a friend of the other side of your family.”

“The other side?”

“Yes, you did know that your mother was born a St. Clair, right?”

Without knowing why, Rachel was suddenly afraid. She stammered an answer. “I knew that Mama’s birth mother was named Rachel, but that’s all. She lost her mama when she was four, and then my grossmutter, Jerusha, found her in the storm and she went to live with Grossdaadi Reuben and Grossmutter Jerusha in Apple Creek. I was named after her.”

Why am I telling him all this?

The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a card. “My name is Gordon Randall and I work for your great-aunt, Augusta St. Clair. She’s trying to find out all she can about her relatives on both sides of her family. She lives in New York.”

“Why is she so interested in her Amish relatives after all these years?”

Randall nodded, and though the air was warm, Rachel shivered again.

Randall’s eyes were boring into Rachel. “I can tell you’ve got some of the St. Clair attitude. Augusta is getting old. She has alienated many of her relatives by her, shall we say, rough ways. Now she wants to set things right before she dies.”

That’s a lie!

Randall leaned out the window and handed Rachel the card. “I’m sure she’d like to meet you. If you’re interested, give me a call and I’ll arrange it.”

Randall rolled up the window, nodded, and drove off. Rachel felt sick. She knew that she had been in the presence of evil. The words he spoke had twisted in the air like snakes. Rachel waited until the car disappeared around the bend and then quickly turned back up the lane. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from running.