Varina gave her great-niece a disapproving look.
“What’s that?” Josephine was clearly taken aback.
Felicia leaned in and raised her voice. “I said, what do you want from us?” She gestured at Varina, Lizzie, and Marie. “Why are we here?”
“Want? I don’t want anything. I want to give you all the most precious thing I own. This house. This island.”
“But why us?” Lizzie crossed and uncrossed her legs. “You never spoke to my grandmother again after the ’72 election. You don’t know anything about me or the rest of my family. Why give me anything?”
Josephine didn’t seem put off by the younger woman’s brashness. “You’re Ruth, made over. Aren’t you? Not in looks, of course. She was much prettier. All that glorious red hair. But personality-wise, you’ve definitely got her DNA. Her spunk. You’re a fighter. I like that.”
“And what about me?” Marie asked. “Brooke tells me you seem to think there’s something you need to make amends for with us.” She gestured at the women sitting in the semicircle, with Josephine at the center.
Josephine was studying Marie. “You’re very like her, you know. Your mother had a quiet beauty. She radiated sweetness. I don’t mean to say she was a pushover. But there was a gentleness that drew people to her. Ruth and I … I don’t know how she put up with the two of us. We were bossy, brassy. Opinionated.”
“Ha!” Varina chuckled. “Opinionated. You two sure were. But Millie? My goodness. She was an angel to me.” Varina glanced over at Felicia. “You know, Millie gave me my first pair of high-heel shoes. Pink satin with rhinestone buckles and ankle straps. I was only fourteen, but I thought I was real grown up. They were the prettiest pair of shoes I ever owned. And Millie gave them to me.” She tapped her chest with pride.
“High heels with rhinestone buckles? On this island?” Felicia looked dubious. “You, Auntie Vee?”
Her great-aunt looked down at her feet, shod today in sensible beige crepe-soled walking shoes. “I didn’t always wear ugly old-lady shoes, you know. I used to spend all my folding money on stylish shoes. Back when I was working for the railroad, if it was payday, I was going straight to the shoe store.”
“Whatever happened to those shoes, Auntie? Do you still have them?”
Varina’s face clouded. “No, child. I … lost ’em. Wore them that one time and never saw them again.”
While Varina spoke, Josephine struggled to pull herself to an upright position in the recliner, ignoring the dogs on her lap, her eyes riveted on Varina, her face tense. Her breathing was raspy and irregular, and Brooke panicked for a moment. Should she call the doctor?
Teeny, or was it Tiny? Whichever one it was whined softly and delicately licked Josephine’s chin, which seemed to relax her.
Brooke relaxed a little too, and sitting back, she spotted Gabe out of the corner of her eye. He’d seated himself in a distant corner of the room, and he was doing the same thing, his eyes darting back and forth between his client and Varina.
What did he know that she didn’t? Had he drawn up the new will Josephine requested? Surely, that’s why he was here. But she hadn’t had time since they’d arrived on the island to pull him aside and inquire.
“You still haven’t told us what you want from us,” Marie reminded her hostess.
Josephine was still staring at Varina. “Forgiveness.”
“What did you do that was so unforgiveable?” Lizzie asked.
Josephine folded her hands in her lap. “It was a long time ago. I’ve spent nearly seventy years trying to put it out of my mind. And now I’m dying, and it seems the chickens have come home to roost.”
“Does it have anything to do with that man? The one who disappeared at the party here on Talisa—back in 1941?” Lizzie asked.
What little blood remained in Josephine’s face seemed to drain away in the blink of an eye. “How do you know about that?”
She turned to Varina. “We all swore. We took an oath. Did Ruth say something?”
“Relax,” Lizzie said. “Granny never mentioned it. But she kept a scrapbook. She clipped all the newspaper articles about the disappearance of … what was his name again?”
“Russell Strickland.” As Josephine whispered the name, she reached over and briefly clutched Varina’s hand.
“Right.” Lizzie snapped her fingers. “Russell Strickland. Big mystery back in the day. There was even a story in The Saturday Evening Post. Granny pasted that in the scrapbook too. Along with some photos of three girls dressed up in fancy evening gowns. I’m guessing it was Granny, Millie, and you.”
Josephine pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“Was this man actually engaged to my mother?” Marie asked. “Is it really true?”
Josephine’s chest heaved and fell. She coughed, covered her mouth with her hand, and finally grabbed an inhaler from the table beside her chair and took two puffs.
“It was a mistake,” she said when she’d regained her breath. “He was all wrong for Millie. A dreadful man. We tried to get her to break it off.”
Brooke was intrigued. “What was so awful about him? And if all of you hated him, why would she agree to marry the guy?”
“She had no choice,” Josephine said. “Millie’s father…” She nodded at Marie. “Your maternal grandfather lost everything in the stock market crash in ’29. He took his own life not long after that.”
Marie looked shocked. “I didn’t know.”
“It was hushed up. I doubt Millie ever knew the truth. My papa told me, strictly in confidence. But Millie’s mother was destitute. They had no money and were dependent on her grandmother.”
Josephine continued with her story, meeting Marie’s gaze as she spoke. “Your maternal grandmother’s people, the Prestons, still had money and a certain position in Boston society.” She smiled ruefully. “We all did. Our families—mine, Ruth’s, Millie’s—were what people called robber barons. We weren’t Rockefeller or Vanderbilt wealthy, nothing as showy as that…”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lizzie drawled. “I’d say owning your own private island is pretty damn showy.”
“Touché,” Josephine said. “Anyway, after her father died, Millie’s mother and grandmother were determined that she would make a brilliant marriage. Russell Strickland’s people—his grandfather, that is—owned banks, railroads, a seat on the New York Stock Exchange.”
“In other words, he was mega-rich,” Felicia said.
“I suppose.” Josephine tugged the afghan on her lap, drawing it up to her shoulders. The room was suffocating, with only the box fan droning away in an open window, and everybody except the hostess dabbed at the perspiration on their faces.
“She met Russell at Ruth’s coming-out party in Newport.” Josephine’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He cut quite the figure in white tie and tails. He was tall and rangy. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and the most arresting deep blue eyes. What we used to call matinee idol looks. He had buckets of money, and he threw it around like it was water. Anyway, he swept Millie off her feet—or rather, he swept Millie’s mother and grandmother off their feet.”
Marie’s brow puckered. “He doesn’t sound like Mama’s type at all.”
“No. Forgive me, dear Marie, but he was rich, which meant that he was your grandmother’s type. By then, Millie had dropped out of college. Her mother didn’t see the point of spending money on educating a girl, and anyway, Russell was in hot pursuit.”
Felicia fanned herself with her hands and yawned. “Can we cut to the chase, please? Like, how did this Russell Strickland just up and disappear?”
Josephine fixed Varina’s great-niece with an icy glare. “I was getting to that.”