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“She is,” Toby agreed. “And that’s my daughter, Andrea. Your niece, actually.”
“Andrea,” I repeated. I stared down at the round, grinning face staring up at me through a pair of glasses and found myself smiling in turn. “How old is she?”
“She’s eleven,” Toby smiled proudly.
I was about to press more when my eyes landed on the last person in the picture. A stout, elderly man with a beaming smile and a thick, dark beard. “And this?”
Toby’s smile faltered. “That’s Dad—Francis…”
“He looks so different.”
“Different?” Toby frowned.
“When I looked you up before, I came here, the pictures I saw of him were all young. But here he’s… I suppose this is the first time I’ve actually seen a picture of him.”
Francis Ashbluff. My father. A strange pain pulled at my heart, and I swallowed around a growing lump in my throat. Never had I considered any sort of emotion toward the man, but there was something painful about seeing him smiling, happy, with a family while knowing he had abandoned me and my mother.
“I’m sorry,” Toby said softly, then he rose suddenly and crossed to the desk. “I can’t imagine it will bring you much comfort, but you were on his mind.”
I tore my gaze away from the picture. “I was?”
Seated at the desk, Toby rummaged through the papers, nodding. I set the picture down and rose to join him as he pulled out an envelope.
“Your mother sent two letters, and he kept them. I don’t know the exact details between him and your mother, but she sent a letter years ago asking for medical help. You were sick, and she was in need of help.”
“I was sick?” I accepted the letter and glanced down. Seeing my mother’s handwriting was painful, a shock since I hadn’t seen it in years. Judging by the date, this was when I was still a baby and had been struck down with measles. My mother had asked for help paying hospital bills as well as a few angry paragraphs about abandonment. Reading them, I chuckled to myself.
“This sounds just like her,” I mused. “Did he help?”
“I’m not sure,” Toby answered honestly. “Maybe? When I checked my father’s records, a large amount was written off back then, but it's hard to tell. The uhm…” He paused and then passed the second letter over slower. “This one was more recent.”
I slid the letter on top of the other and began to read as Toby spoke.
“Your mother was sick, cancer?”
“Yes,” I replied tightly.
“He wanted to see her. I know that much because the date she sent this, two days later, my dad was supposed to go on an emergency trip, but he couldn’t because that weekend I had a skiing accident, and he stayed with me in the hospital.”
Scarlett’s heart stopped. “What happened?” I asked distantly, but the story never reached me. I was too distracted by the date of the postmark on the letter. My mother had sent this a week before she had died. A last attempt to reach out, as the letter was filled with words of regret and explanation. What stunned me the most was that my mother had mentioned me a few times, detailing how I had cared for her and how wonderful I was, almost begging Francis to come and see her. And then she passed away one week later.
“—I was in the hospital for three months,” Toby finished, drawing me back to him. “It was pretty scary. And reading that, I can’t help but think that if he had gone, if he had taken that trip then…” He trailed off, and I lifted my gaze to Toby’s.
“Reading that, and then some, I think… it contributed to how angry I was at you. Or not you but rather, my father. And I am sorry, but I hope… I hope knowing that he tried to come and see me brings you some kind of comfort.”
“Not really.” I swallowed hard and re-folded the letter. “She died years ago. He had plenty of time to come and find me but chose not to.”
Toby’s brow furrowed, and he nodded. “I’m sorry.”
That didn’t stop my mind from wandering, though. How different would things have been if he had turned up? If I had learned I had family just as my mother said her final goodbyes?
Would it have been a good reunion?
A soft knock at the door disturbed my thoughts, and Toby stood as the door swung open. A maid popped her head in.
“Sir, dinner is served.”
“Excellent, thank you.” Toby stepped around the desk. “Ready to meet everyone?”
