Chapter 4 - THE CHILD WHO WASN'T HIS
Josiah already knew.
That was the next shock.
Margaret had confessed when Clara was two.
Before marrying Josiah, she had loved another man.
He died before learning she was pregnant.
Josiah married Margaret anyway.
He raised Clara as his own.
“Does Edmund know?”
“Yes.”
“Why hasn't he exposed it?”
“Because legally Clara is mine.”
“Then what does he want?”
Josiah looked toward the silver mines.
“Her inheritance.”
Margaret's father had left a trust to his biological grandchildren.
Clara would inherit a fortune at eighteen.
If Edmund gained guardianship, he controlled it until then.
Rose's trust was smaller.
But Clara's—
nearly half a million dollars.
In 1887, it was a staggering fortune.
The custody case suddenly made sense.
But Margaret's death did not.
Evelyn read the diary again.
The final entry was written the night before Margaret became ill.
Edmund came again. Clara saw us arguing. I fear what he may do.
Evelyn looked at Josiah.
“Your wife didn't die of pneumonia.”
His face became stone.
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
She closed the diary.
“But your daughters might.”
That night, Clara woke screaming.
This time sound came out.
“NO!”
Everyone ran.
Clara pointed toward the window.
A man stood outside.
Josiah reached for his rifle.
The figure ran.
Josiah chased him into the snow.
Evelyn stayed with the girls.
Then she smelled smoke.
The west wing was burning.
Someone had set fire to Margaret's bedroom.
The diary was still inside.
Evelyn ran toward the flames.
Josiah caught her halfway there.
“Let me go!”
“No!”
“The diary!”
“Damn the diary!”
“It proves—”
“You are not dying for paper!”
He dragged her outside.
They watched the west wing burn.
Evelyn cried with frustration.
Then Clara approached.
In her hands—
the diary.
She had taken it before the fire.
Clara looked at Evelyn.
Then whispered clearly:
“Uncle Edmund pushed Mama.”
May you like
Josiah stopped breathing.
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