The Amish Heiress

Chapter Twelve - The Secret Revealed

Chapter Twelve

The Secret RevealedJenny Hershberger went up the stairs and walked down the hall to her writing room. She opened the door and stood for a moment, looking in. Against the outside wall under the large picture window stood a beautiful birch-wood desk with an old-fashioned Underwood typewriter sitting on it. Jenny walked to the desk and ran her fingers lightly over the smooth surface.

Papa! How I wish I could feel your strong arms around me one more time.

Jenny stood with her hand on the back of the chair, touching the wood. Memories of her days in Apple Creek tried to push their way into her heart, tumbling over each other in a rush, so that for a moment, she was almost overwhelmed. She took a deep breath and turned away.

The walls of the room were lined with shelves, and the shelves were filled with folders, books, and stacks of paper and notebooks. But today they held no interest for her. She was looking for something else. In the corner, stood an old cedar chest. Jenny went over and knelt down in front of it. She closed her eyes and lifted the lid. The precious smell of cedar mixed with lavender rose softly from the box and caressed her senses—her mama’s scent. For just a moment it seemed that Jerusha was in the room with her. She knelt silently for a few moments and then opened her eyes and looked down into the trunk. On the top were several packages bound in brown paper and tied with string.

My books! Lord, will you ever let me publish these?

She lifted out the manuscripts, set them aside, and then dug down into the trunk. There were bits of material, scraps of batting, bolts of cloth, extra material for repairs and small samples of ideas for quilts that her mama had planned to make before she died. At the bottom was the bundle Jenny was looking for. It was large, wrapped in brown paper, and it, too, was tied with a string. Jenny took it out and opened it. There was a large, soft bundle inside, and she opened it and spread it out on the floor in front of her.

The Rose of Sharon, her mama’s most beautiful quilt, lay before her. The deep red silk that comprised the magnificent rose centerpiece glowed softly in the afternoon light. The royal-blue silk behind it was set off perfectly by the cream-colored backing. Jenny held the quilt between her hands. She could feel the soft double batting that filled it, the batting that had kept her warm through long, freezing nights when her mama Jerusha was fighting to keep her alive in the heart of the worst storm in Ohio history. As she caressed the quilt softly, tears started in her eyes.

“Mama, oh Mama. I miss you so. I wish that you were here so I could talk to you. You were always so wise, you loved me so. Oh, Mama, I need you now.”

Jenny pulled the quilt up around her as she knelt. She remembered the last time she had looked at the quilt. She had been with Jerusha in Apple Creek, after Jonathan had disappeared and they all thought he was dead. Jerusha brought out the quilt to comfort Jenny—to show her how the Lord had told the Springer family’s story in the quilt’s design. There was the rose that was for Jenna, her sister who had died; and the torn edge and the repaired batting that spoke of the places in Jenny’s life that had been restored. Jenny remembered the conversation with her mama, as though Jerusha were there with her...

“The story of your life does not stop with Jonathan’s death, my dochter,” her mama had said. “It goes on until it is your time to go. You do not know which pieces you will discover tomorrow, but they are there, already determined by die Vorkenntnisse des Gottes. He has already planned them. Now let me show you one more thing as a reminder.”

Jerusha moved the quilt until the rose was under her hand. “Look! Do you see it?”

Jenny looked, but couldn’t see what her mama was pointing at. And then she remembered and looked closer. There it was! Sewn into the center of the rose—a small, key-shaped piece of red silk so finely stitched that it was almost invisible.

“Ja, Jenny, a key. The Lord had me add it to the quilt so that we would always remember—”

“That He is the key to our lives and without Him we cannot hope to comprehend what is happening to us and why?”

“Yes, Jenny, and if you put your life into His hands, He will guide your path and you will understand everything.”

“I had forgotten all about the key.”

Jenny looked more closely at it.

“It is the strangest thing Mama. Did you know that Rachel has a key-shaped birthmark right above her heart? She has had it since the day she was born, and it is almost the same color as the rose. That makes me think that I was wrong in what I wrote to Jonathan. Maybe Gott is still speaking to us through the quilt. Perhaps the journey is not over after all. In fact, we may be coming to a new beginning. That is a hopeful thought.”

Jerusha had smiled at her then, and it warmed Jenny to know her mama was proud of her.

Now Jenny pulled the quilt closer, inhaling the fragrance of her mama. The Key—how had her mama known about the Key? But today the Key did not give her hope, only fear.

*****

Augusta St. Clair sat quietly in the sunroom of her Connecticut mansion. She loved the view that overlooked the formal garden and carried down onto a lower lawn where there was a pool, a guesthouse, and tennis courts. Out beyond that was the sea, green and rolling, the waves like glass. Augusta could hear the cries of the gulls and the surf breaking on the shore. It reminded her of Martha’s Vineyard—that summer with Jerod and...Robert...

Then the private phone rang quietly and Augusta was jolted out of her reverie. She looked around, but no one was there to answer it for her, so she got up and walked to the small table by the door where the phone sat.

“What?”

“Good morning, Augusta. I’m sure it’s a nice day in Connecticut, no matter how you sound.”

“Randall?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well?”

“I have good news and bad news. The good news; I located Jenny St. Clair. Her name is Hershberger now and she’s married. She’s Amish, like her mother.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“Jenny Hershberger does not, I repeat, does not hold the Key.”

Augusta swore softly under her breath.

“Are there any other possibilities?”

“The Hershbergers have a daughter, but Jenny assured me that the daughter has no bearing on this situation. So it looks like Gerald will have to find a bride and produce an heir in order for you to get your hands on the money.”

“I’ll be dead by then, Randall.”

“Well, as they say, Augusta, timing is everything.”

The line went dead.

*****

Ten minutes later, the phone in Michel Duvigney’s office rang. Duvigney picked it up.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Michel, it’s Randall. Just wanted to tell you that you’re in luck. I found the daughter of Robert St. Clair and she does not hold the Key. Looks like you won’t be subject to an audit for at least twenty-one years—that is if Gerald produces an heir tomorrow. If he doesn’t, the audit will be sometime after that. In any case, you can rest easy tonight.”

“Good job, Randall. Your check is in the mail.”

“I hope you didn’t forget to add the bonus we spoke about.”

“You’ll get your money, Randall. All of it.”

“That’s wonderful, Michel. We certainly wouldn’t want to see the information I have about your inappropriate activities involving the principal of the St. Clair trust get into the hands of the wrong people, like, for instance, the board of trustees.”

Duvigney gritted his teeth.

“No, Randall, we wouldn’t. Like I said, you’ll get your money.”

The line went dead. Michel Duvigney got up slowly, walked over to the wine bar and got out the de Delamain Cognac. He poured himself a glass and then went back to the desk. He picked up the phone and pressed a number. When someone answered, he spoke.

“Order me another bottle of the Le Voyage de Delamain Cognac, please.”

He set the phone back in its receiver and sat down behind the desk. Aside from Randall’s outrageous demands, he felt much better. Lifting the glass in the air in a toast, Duvigney smiled. Things were looking up.

*****

When Rachel came home, she stood in the hallway thinking about the man she had just met—and the woman he represented.

Who is Augusta St. Clair and why is she looking for us?

Rachel heard the soft sound of voices from the front room. It was her mama and papa, talking quietly. Rachel started to walk in when she heard something that made her stop and listen. Her mama was speaking.

“... and he’s looking for someone who holds the Key.”

Jonathan’s low voice answered Jenny. “What is ‘the Key,’ Jenny?”

“It’s the St. Clair birthmark. It’s a key-shaped red stain right above the heart. It has been the main way that the trustees of the St. Clair estate have decided who inherits the fortune. My birth father, Robert St. Clair, was the heir to the St. Clair money. He had the St. Clair birthmark, the Key. When he died, all his money was put in trust until a new heir could be determined. Obviously, Augusta must be having trouble laying her hands on the money or she wouldn’t be sending out agents. There’s something going on and it does not bode well for us, husband.”

“And this Key—is it the same one that Rachel has on her chest?”

“It seems so, Jonathan. The man, Randall, showed me a picture of one of the St. Clairs from around AD 1200. He had exactly the same birthmark above his heart.”

“And the holder of the Key is the heir to all the St. Clair’s money?”

Rachel’s heart leaped. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mama went on.

“Yes, Jonathan, but there is a catch.”

“What’s that, Jenny?”

“Rachel would have to marry a suitable St. Clair male in order to inherit. That would keep the money in the family.”

“How does that affect Rachel?”

“Augusta St. Clair has a grandson, Gerald. From what Randall said—actually didn’t say—Gerald would be a suitable male St. Clair.”

“So, if Rachel married him, she would become wealthy?”

“Yes, Jonathan, very wealthy. And that is why we must not tell her.”

As she stood outside, listening to her parents, Rachel felt a great knot forming in her chest. She could not believe that her parents were conspiring to deceive her. This was her life they were deciding. She was about to open her mouth and say something, but in that moment she felt the card in her hand. She turned and, being very quiet, walked back down the hallway and held it up in the light.

Gordon Randall

12 Plaza Way,

New York, NY 213-342-1200

Rachel felt something else rise up in her. It was a mixture of hope and fear. This was her way out! She was the heiress to a vast fortune. She could come forward and claim it, and then she could do anything she wanted with her life. No more Papa yelling at her, no more elders of the church telling her what she could or couldn’t do. She could pay her own way through school and set up her veterinary practice wherever she wanted. It was like a miracle.

And yet, there had been something about the man’s eyes that troubled Rachel. She sensed that he was very wicked. But still... As the prospects began to spin in her mind, as the reality of who she was and what she could have, merely by revealing herself, came into focus, something in Rachel’s heart hardened.

In that moment, she made a fateful choice. She would leave here; she would leave this Amish life with all its rules and regulations, the hateful Ordnung that bound her with fetters of steel. She would escape from her papa’s insanity, his moods and rages. This was her way out. As she stood there in the hallway, a great battle began to rage in Rachel’s soul. She thought of her mama and her home, all the things that she loved...and... Daniel.

Daniel? He’s just a friend. I could never marry Daniel.

And yet there was something, like a light trying to force its way into a very dark place.

Daniel! He loves me. He loves me with all his heart. Daniel...

For just another moment she hesitated. And then Rachel shut the door of her heart and walked down the hall to her room, clutching Gordon Randall’s business card.