Free The Rose Legacy by Kristen Heitzmann Page B

pocket.
    As she went outside again, Carina half smiled to think how Mr. Garibaldi had hollered when Papa told him she was leaving. He was Papa’s cousin, and she had done his books as a favor to Papa, since the cousin’s eyes were so crossed he saw double. All she had heard from him were complaints until she was leaving, and suddenly she was invaluable! Irreplaceable! How could Papa think of letting her go? What sort of father was he to send a daughter so far?
    But Papa did not holler back. He was a man of mild temper, above displaying emotions even when his parental judgment was questioned. His voice stayed low, his countenance unruffled. “ My daughter is twenty-one years old. She may choose her path .” And that, even though it made his heart ache to be losing her. Mr. Garibaldi blustered and swore. Papa never did either.
    Only Mamma hollered and slapped. She had married above her class because of her beauty. Now Carina did smile, recalling the story told again and again as the women sat together, baskets of mending beside them. How Papa had come to treat Nonna’s illness, laid eyes on Mamma, and fallen in love.
    He could have married higher, but the little dark-eyed beauty was all he could think of. Nonna’s own reputation had soared with the catch made by her daughter. The other widows came to her for advice. How can we marry our daughters well?
    “She is too lazy,” Nonna would say, or “her mind wanders,” or “she eats too much dolci .” So they would think it was her training that had made the match for Mamma. But Nonna knew it was Mamma’s lovely face, her smile, her laugh that brought her good fortune.
    Carina frowned. That was not always the case. Of the two DiGratia daughters, she most resembled Mamma in all those things, but it was Divina whose fortune had been won. Not won! Stolen. Divina had stolen her good fortune.
    She kicked a stone and traipsed back to Mae’s kitchen. There, she gathered the empty crates outside her door. They smelled a little of salt pork, but the waxed paper linings had kept them free of grease. With the linings gone, they would do nicely for the job.
    She returned to the office and set about organizing the papers into the crates. She tried filing them by type of complaint, then found that almost all dealt with claim disputes and filed them by date instead. Her own claim she found no trace of, but she had only sorted through a small portion by the time her stomach wanted food. Had the elevation turned her into a voracious wolf?
    Mr. Beck had been out most of the morning, but he returned now, slightly breathless but with a jaunty step. “May I buy you lunch?”
    Recalling Mae’s assumptions, Carina filed the paper in her hand, then met his hopeful countenance. “I think it best if we keep to business, Mr. Beck.”
    He raised his brows, surprised. “I see.”
    His expression remained pleasant, and she hoped he did see. She had left everyone she cared about—left them with one thought, one hope in her mind. And no one, not Berkley Beck or anyone else, could replace them. She dropped her chin. “Thank you for understanding, Mr. Beck.”
    The color rose slightly in his cheeks, but he smiled, though without showing his teeth this time. “Of course, Miss DiGratia.” He turned on his heel and left.

    Propped up by his crutch on the street corner, Cain Bradley shook his head. The look on Berkley Beck’s face could sour milk, no two ways about it. He felt a cackle seize his throat and indulged himself. Oh, how the mighty have fallen…. Perhaps it weren’t right to delight in another’s misfortune, but something had stuck in Beck’s craw, and Cain hoped it choked him.
    Cain glanced heavenward. No offense, Lord, but even you had your moments with the scribes and Pharisees, callin’ them whited sepulchers, all clean and tidy on the outside but inside full of dead men’s bones and all corruption. Well, I’m a-lookin’ at corruption right here and now .
    He leaned forward