Lucille's Lie

PROLOGUE

Lucille raised her head to see the sunshine beyond her window. The world out there would remain the same … her lovely flowers, lawns, hills, village homes. A pretty sight. Soon the only change would take place here in this dark room.

She turned to her side, adjusted the oxygen tube, and buried her face in the soft pillow, damp after a long, restless night. Mental inventory of her life and her wealth gave no comfort.

This fine house meant little to her now, any more than her valuable possessions, the lumber mill she operated successfully, the town that her family founded. All this finery. The good life. Nothing mattered to her except the moment-to-moment fear of what was to come.

Her cough ended in a sigh and whisper. My good life. All a lie. She reached out to the night stand and ran her hand across the smooth leather of the locked diary. Her life was here, spelled out in detail. All the sordid facts would be revealed when she died. And who would care when she was gone? No one. Not one … except …

David. She owed her younger brother so much. Oh dear.

She never should have made him suffer. But she did. She must make amends for that in order to forgive herself, if nothing else. There was still time. It was just a matter of finding someone who could help her so that she might die free of the most painful corner of her conscience … the lie she told David.

CHAPTER 1

Sheldon stared in disbelief and apprehension. This couldn’t really be the home of David P. Bradford. Could it? She sat with the engine running, not anxious to get wet in the downpour, wondering just what she took on when she said she would be happy to interview the hospital’s benefactor for a newspaper profile. The weathered two-story farmhouse, with broken shutters and upper windows boarded up, was right out of a Gothic novel, a behemoth enlarged by a long ell. It loomed out of fog, like an eerie house on the moors. All it lacked was a vicious dog barking and straining against its tether.

She heard him referred to as eccentric. David Bradford? Now there’s a real character for you. You never know what he’ll do next, Ashton’s general store owner said. But when she pressed him for details, he said no more. You’ll find out, if you’re going to interview him. With a sweet smile, the librarian smiled. He’s our dear eccentric. What would we do without him?

The longer she looked at the place, the more hesitant she became. At left, a drafty barn, precariously tilted, harked back to the days when the village of Ash-ton was a farming community. A pole propped the sagging double doors shut. One end was suspended in air where foundation rocks had fallen away, and on each side of the barn doors was a small window, one broken and stuffed with a dark rag.

She turned the ignition key off and listened to rain splattering against her venerable Dodge Dart. She had driven up the long driveway as far as the saw-horse barrier, and now she hoped the car wasn’t stuck in the muddy ruts. Hard to believe it had been so dry, but the county needed a month of rain, not this flash shower which seemed designed expressly to dampen her spirits and sully her mood for this important interview.

Oh well, she muttered. She tied her plastic rain bonnet under her chin, scooped up camera bag and purse, opened the door, swung her hips around … and stepped into a mud hole.

Oh no! My new shoes. She looked down at the white canvas ballerinas, now grungy brown, and curled her toes to hold them on, attempting an exit that wouldn’t mire her completely.

You’d think a man worth his weight in gold could have a paved driveway instead of a quagmire. Sheldon envisioned Mr. Bradford as a miserly old man, at this very moment watching her slosh through water and mud, rubbing his hands together, and laughing.

The heavy, soaking air smothered her in a miasma of moldering barnyard residue. How many years ago was this place was farmed? Probably long before Ash-ton was bypassed by the super highway. Yet, in the rain, its cattle aura carried a haunting memory, as vivid as the old farmstead.

Avoiding the muddy driveway, she picked her way beside it, through scratchy grass that snagged her hose. Head lowered, she squinted through the rain to focus on the ancient farmhouse ahead and tried to imagine the type of man who had built beautiful public buildings for Ashton, given many thousands of dollars to medical research at laboratories and universities, funded scholarships for local young people, provided for the poor, and yet lived in a decaying house surrounded by overgrown bushes. fields of juniper, the weathered barn, a rusting truck, all confirmed what locals asserted about David P. Bradford. He was eccentric to live like this. She wondered if he would be crotchety. Funny no one described the man himself. Mostly they talked about his money and what he did with it. One man went so far as to say, He’s a crackpot. Obviously Bradford was a man who marched to his own drummer.

Sheldon hesitated at the front door, her hand raised to knock, her eyes following a long crack that split the upper right panel. She tried to think of her prepared questions, but she had the sinking dread that she would blurt out, Is it true that you go to the junk yard for parts to repair your truck? or Do you really get food scraps from the local restaurant to feed your dogs? or …

The door swung open and, her knuckles just short of banging the man’s nose, Sheldon found herself looking into a pair of cool blue eyes and hearing a voice boom, Miss Merrill?

Ahhh … yes … yes, I’m Sheldon Merrill. Shellie. This must be the butler, she thought.

I was watching for you. Come in out of the rain. I’m David Bradford.

He took her raised hand and tugged her inside. Of all the mental pictures she had of David Bradford, this definitely was not one of them. This was no old man with a long beard and patched coat. This was a young, virile, six-foot Paul Newman image. Certainly not yet 40, he had dark auburn hair with just a fringe of curl along the collar line, high cheekbones, and square jaw.

Now she wished she hadn’t cancelled her hair trim yesterday, and she definitely should have dressed in something classier than a plain white blouse and ancient gaucho skirt. She glanced down at her filthy shoes. Lord. Who knew? Eccentric? What age group did that apply to? Wait until she got back to the office. She’d tell Harry just what she thought of him for leading her to believe she was interviewing a curmudgeon. "Write a good profile on the guy. You’ll find him … interesting," Harry had said. His emphasis on the word interesting left Sheldon with the distinct impression that Bradford was old and wily, not young and virile and handsome.

Sorry about the smoke, he said. Now she glanced down the dank hallway, saw faded yellow wallpaper and two closed doors, a long table and mirror, and realized that it was all hazy. The fog swirling around the house must be smoke.

It will clear up in a few minutes. I thought a fire would help cheer up this dismal day. Besides, it was rather damp and cool in here. Haven’t opened the front parlor for some time. I guess the flue needs cleaning.

He opened a door and stepped back for her to go in. She hesitated by the stairs leading up to the second floor, pushed her bags back on her shoulder, and balanced herself against the dark banister to tug off her shoes. Her stockings were a mess, too. Just brave it out, she thought.

Think I’ll just leave these muddy shoes here, if you don’t mind. When she walked into the living room she got another surprise, a bit like entering the land of Oz, going from black and white to color, all light and cheerful, almost blinding after the dark hallway.

In front of the blazing fire, a linen-draped table, set with gleaming silver service and a plate of delicate desserts, stood on an oriental rug woven in rich, dark hues. Antique chairs with colorful petit point on black background flanked the table. It could have been a scene set for a photo shoot of a nineteenth century drawing room. Mahogany furniture, marble-top tables, deep green velvet sofa, velvet flocked wallpaper. The grandeur drew an Oh my! from Sheldon.

I take it you like the room? His eyes lit up as if he savored her approval of the decor. His guileless manner went contrary to what she had heard of Bradford. Some went so far as to call him a ruthless man. She knew he was a shrewd Wall Street broker. The librarian had told her that he had inherited a financial house and turned it into one of the most prosperous brokerages in New York City.

It’s beautiful, Mr. Bradford. Just beautiful. I would never have expected … that is … uh, she fumbled for a way to praise without at the same time insulting the exterior appearance. It’s gorgeous, so elegant.

Surely this man, most likely a billionaire, didn’t need praise for having a pleasant room in his house. Yet, he grinned like a new father being told he had a beautiful baby.

This room is kept closed and the furniture covered most of the time. Only on special occasions does it get used. Entertaining is not something I do on a regular basis, but when the need arises, I can put my best foot forward, so to speak.

So, Sheldon thought, being interviewed for a newspaper profile is a special occasion. Perhaps she should relax. It would appear that it was as special for him as for her. She had interviewed plenty of notables, from visiting dignitaries to local bigwigs, but she never encountered anyone who piqued her interest more.

Let me take your coat, he said. She set her bags on the floor, and handed him her rain apparel. In an instant he was out the door again, carrying her wet coat and rain bonnet. She took the opportunity to look around, and wondered who had put the room together. It had a woman’s touch, with Royal Doulton figurines, silk lampshades, velvet pillows. It all looked much too feminine for Bradford, unless he hired an interior decorator. At that thought, Sheldon smiled. Not likely. Or maybe he was married. No one told her. Of course, he would be married. She should have realized that sooner.

From another room she heard a telephone ring twice.

Sheldon went to the polished brick fireplace, relishing the warmth of the fire, and ran her hand along the satiny hardwood mantelpiece. Over it was the only piece of art work in the room, a large portrait of a young woman with a tender expression and regal bearing. This would be his wife. Her light blond hair curled softly, her sensual brown eyes focused just beyond the viewer, as if welcoming her lover. Maybe David Bradford, stood beside the artist. If in flesh and blood she looked like the painting, then this was a beautiful woman, indeed, just what one would expect a man of charming good looks and enormous wealth to have on his arm at an elegant soiree, presuming he attended such affairs. But, of course, he would have to. There must be many occasions when he was the guest of honor for his philanthropies. Sheldon sighed. How come some women got it all?

But she never let herself wallow in self-pity. Maybe her mother wasn’t the most insightful person in the world, but from her Sheldon learned at least one important lesson about life. You don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself and wait for good fortune to smile on you. You get to work and take pride in your own accomplishments, however meager they may be. Hadn’t Mum done just that? She started work at the hardware store 30 years ago and was still there, walking the mile each way every day, five and a half days a week

Sorry to keep you waiting. I had a phone call.

At the sound of Bradford’s voice, Sheldon whirled around and found herself looking not just at her host, but at an unexpected sight in the corner alcove. She squealed in disbelief, Oh, my goodness! That’s a bear!

His resonant laugh was hearty, like his voice, as if echoing in a cave.

Don’t let old Ernie scare you. He’s thoroughly dead and stuffed, I assure you. Sit here by the fire. You’ll be dry in no time. Sorry you got wet, but it’s good to see the rain.

If only it would go on for several days. The weather report is that it’s only a passing shower. I never thought I’d get tired of seeing sunshine.

Too bad. So little rain won’t do a thing to help the farmers. Then he grinned again. You see I do read your page, Miss Merrill. You do the farmers a good service.

With some surprise and a blush that he read her work, Sheldon thanked him. She had been creating the Agriculture Highlights page for the Westburgh Press more than a year, in addition to her regular reporting duties at the daily. For weeks now she focused on the current dry period and how farmers suffered. Some called it the Great Drought of 1977. Farm auctions were held almost weekly as dairymen gave up in the wake of withered crops and dried up water sources. To make matters worse, army worms had pitched a battle against surviving crops. Sheldon stood beside farmers, their crops hit by invading army worms, and listened as the hairless green grasshoppers crunched their way through corn fields. Corn stalks folded and clattered on hard soil, like bamboo sticks in the dry wind, then the marauders marched on to the next field for their next overnight raid.

She sat in the chair that Bradford held for her.

You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.

It’s no trouble, I assure you. I have a lady come in for this sort of thing. She even does the baking. She makes my life much easier. When you live alone you need all the help you can get. Especially someone like me. I’m good with high finance, but no good at keeping house.

Alone? Then who’s the woman in the picture? How Sheldon wanted to ask the question, but, on the other hand, why should it matter to her? It was as if she’d mentally laid claim to the man. But wasn’t it every woman’s fantasy to find a rich, handsome man with no strings attached?

Sheldon turned her head to look at the bear again. To her it was an appalling sight. Why would he have a stuffed animal, a big one at that, in his otherwise elegantly appointed living room? Did you shoot it?

Yes. He poured coffee for both and passed the pastries. Sheldon noted the outmoded style of his blue suit and narrow blue necktie. She wasn’t fashion conscious, but doubted that these were designer clothes.

He looked up and smiled. Oh lord, he was good-looking. She shifted in her chair and ducked her head. When she peeked up again he had turned his attention to the bear. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

Ernie the man, Ernest Pelletier, was my guide in the Maine woods when I hunted there a few years back. I’m sorry to say, he died three winters ago. I used to go to the Mooseneck Lake area each fall, mainly for bird hunting, but once in a while I’d shoot a deer for camp meat. One year this bear had caused all kinds of trouble, breaking into the camp and smashing things up. So Ernie offered a free two weeks at the camp if someone could shoot the animal. I got the free two weeks.

His eyes shone with deviltry over the absurdity of his needing to get free lodging, and Sheldon began to understand something about him. Here was a man who enjoyed making people believe he was eccentric. She’d bet he put it all on just for the fun of having the reputation, leaving people to guess about him.

But she took a dim view of hunting.

So you shot the bear. Such a drastic measure. She had always thought there was something barbaric about displaying animal trophies. It was impossible for her to hide her disgust.

You sound as if you don’t approve.

I don’t believe in killing.

Killing. He studied her for a long moment, his eyes moving from her head to her hands which circled the coffee cup, then back. Not even shooting animals for table meat?

No. Not even that. It’s taking life, and I feel that life is precious.

You’re a vegetarian, then?

Well, no. I’m not.

He laughed heartily. And where do you think the meat you eat comes from?

She felt her face heating with embarrassment, as it always did under attack of an aggressive man like this.

I do make a distinction between animals that are raised for meat and animals that are in the wild. I just feel they should be left there to live free like nature intended.

A Bambi lover. Well, you see nature isn’t exactly kind and understanding like you are. Animals in the wild, like deer, unless culled in an annual hunting season, will over populate. Then, according to nature’s design, they become diseased and die, starve to death, or maybe maimed or killed fighting over food. Venison is one of the tastiest meats you can eat For that matter, Ernie there provided several fine meals in camp, too. I respect your tender feelings, but they are misplaced.

Sheldon wanted to crawl under the table. Why had this topic arisen? Now she was on the defensive. Not that she wanted to argue with her handsome host. She’d just like vindication for her own belief.

You may think that, Mr. Bradford, but I don’t. Isn’t life precious to you?

Life? What life? Animals? Humans?

Both.

That’s a question that’s not as simple as it sounds. It’s like most things in life, without a single blanket answer. If you want to know whether I would shoot an animal, yes I would and obviously do. If you want to know whether I would shoot a person, again the answer is yes. But if you ask whether I would deliberately kill an animal or a human being out of perversity, then the answer is no. I respect life. Very much so. I do not hold it sacred.

You could shoot a person? Sheldon was horror struck at that thought.

Yes, under certain circumstances.

You think there are circumstances that justify shooting someone?

You think there aren’t?

I can’t envision ever being in such a circumstance, no.

What if someone threatens to kill you?

Then you negotiate, you talk them out of it.

Again Bradford tipped back his head and laughed. "Oh, my dear Miss Merrill. I won’t insult you by calling you naive, but obviously you’ve never had a knife held at your throat by a drug addict. You’ve never had someone burst into your home with a gun. You’ve never faced a crazed rapist. I assure you if you had experienced any one of those circumstances, you would try to find some way to stop the assault, even it meant to shoot the attacker."

Sheldon studied the table top. Since she couldn’t relate to those offenses in any way, it was difficult to judge what she would do.

I’d try to escape somehow. At the very least, I’d try to talk my way out of the situation. Her voice sounded tentative to her own ears.

If you could get away. There are few … and I daresay that includes you … who would wait to be killed without doing something about it. I would kill under unusual circumstances. And while we’re on the subject, not all killings are with guns. The bare hands can be just as lethal as a gun.

Sheldon knew it would be pointless to go on with an argument she was ill prepared to make. She only knew that deep in her heart she could not kill. She had seen hunters drive through town, honking their horns to attract attention to the fact that they had a deer carcass tied to the fender. It turned her stomach. And killing a human being was just unthinkable.

She reached into her bag to get her mini recorder, placed it on the table between them. She had to concede, for now. But she wished he didn’t look like he had just taken a refreshing dip in the pool while she felt like she had nearly drowned in it.

I doubt that you and I will see eye-to-eye on that issue, but now I know why you named the bear Ernie.

He nodded. In honor of my dear friend. And that’s why I have him in the best room in the house. He’s my special guest. He reminds me of very special times at Mooseneck.

It was Sheldon’s opinion that the camp life for hunters was what most hunters really cherished. It had to be a male thing, she decided, this macho business of carrying a gun and shooting prey and then gathering around the fire with a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other, telling a raft of stories about their exploits against defenseless animals. Bambi lover, indeed! It was simply inhumane to kill.

Peripherally, Sheldon saw Bradford’s focus rise from the fire to the portrait, and he seemed transported to another place. She waited for him to break the silence though she would like nothing better than to ask who the woman was. Something in his expression just now told her not to ask, at least not yet.

Then Bradford stiffened. He leaned forward, his arms on the table, and looked Sheldon square in the eyes, thrilling her with the intensity of his own.

Miss Merrill, he said in a firm voice. What is the single most important quality a person can possess?

Did he intend to carry on this reverse interview, tricking her into saying something that would make her feel even more childlike in her convictions? Did this have to do with killing? She had never thought about a single most important quality, and she was bereft of thought and words.

Well … I don’t know. I suppose I’d have to say love.

Ah. A typical woman’s answer. He leaned back in his chair as if he were a judge about to exact a stiff sentence. Love. A passion. Not all business and not all life is conducted on a level of passion. You can hardly take love into the boardroom, not in my boardroom anyway.

He snorted a sound that could pass for derision.

Sheldon moved her chair slightly away from the table, as she tried to understand what he was getting at.

No, he said, his brow furrowing. Love doesn’t do it. So what is it? It’s loyalty. He slapped his hand on the table rattling the cups in their saucers. Pure and simple. Loyalty. That’s the most important quality a person can possess. Without loyalty you have nothing. Love be damned … a brief interlude in someone’s arms or a tumble in bed, call it love if you like, lasts how long? Just until a test of loyalty arises.

He leaned back, turned his head in the direction of the portrait, then quickly back. Again Sheldon wondered what the outbreak was about. The woman in the painting? Or just the rambling of an eccentric?

She fidgeted and ran her finger around the rim of the fine china cup, so thin it could cut a person’s lip. Was there more? Should she get on with her interview? Her unease must have shown.

He threw back his head and laughed again, as if he had told a joke.

My philosophies bore you, do they? Consider this. Loyalty, or lack of it, is what makes or breaks a family, a business, a system. Yes, even a government. Betrayal topples governments. And what lies behind this great dearth of loyalty in the world today?

He pointed his finger at her. You know as well as I do. It’s self-interest. Self-interest overrides everything else. Love is easy to give, but loyalty takes introspection and self-denial.

He heaved a great sigh, then looked at Sheldon again. Do get on with the interview. Just don’t get too personal.

Her surprise at this speech left her breathless. Now, so quickly, he was asking that she not become personal in the interview. Personal. Like asking how loyalty or disloyalty had affected his life? Why he lived alone? Was the beautiful woman someone he’d loved? Had she been disloyal to him?

The librarian told her that Bradford was not long on patience if he thought someone was trying to outwit him. One thing was certain. He had very definite opinions and wasn’t shy about expressing them.

Let’s start with the new wing that you’ve built at Westburgh Hospital. What prompted you to do this?

More than one thing, but only one that I care to mention. My mother. Theresa Trent Bradford. Everyone called her Aunt Tess. She was the kindest, most generous, most loving woman you would ever meet. Held an open house for townspeople after church every Sunday. Went to homes of the sick. Knit clothing for the poor. Just a real good woman.

His head lobbed to the side and he shifted his weight. With a little sniff, he went on.

When she was 71 she had a heart attack one day, and I found her on the kitchen floor at the Trent House. That’s across the road, where my sister Lucille lives. She’d gone over there to see my sister, but Lucille wasn’t home. I got my mother to the Westburgh Hospital, but they couldn’t perform the surgery that she needed. Their facilities were limited. So she had to be transported to Mid-State General. She died in the ambulance on the way. That was six years ago.

Sheldon said nothing, but frowned in sympathy. She reached for the urn and poured more coffee for both.

I don’t fault anyone for her death. It was simply that the hospital was ill equipped. They had to send all such cases to a larger facility for critical care. After we buried Mama, I knew that I needed to do something about it. The people of Dedham County deserved to receive the same kind of health care that they could get in any other county in New York State. So, I told the hospital board members I wanted to build an intensive care unit with all the latest equipment. Of course the offer was accepted. And now it’s finished and we’ll dedicate it next week in memory of my mother. As you know, it’s the Trent Intensive Care Unit.

He shrugged his shoulders as if it were an everyday occurrence.

She checked her notepad for another question and looked up only to find that he was studying the portrait. He quickly looked away when she asked, Didn’t you also give the town of Ashton an ambulance?

He nodded, and remained quiet.

When did you do that?

Three years ago.

And the school?

Mmm … he rolled his eyes in thought. In 1971. Six years ago.

She already had the story on the fire station and the school from the fire chief and the principal. She hoped he would elaborate, but he was still in that far-away state.

Do you have other family? she asked.

No. Just my sister and myself now. Distant. So distant. What was he thinking?

You’re not married?

No.

You grew up here in Ashton? Sheldon took a sip of lukewarm coffee. His brevity left her disappointed. Why? He had started out seemingly eager. Such a changeable man.