Free Lucas by Kelli Ann Morgan Page B

the
envelope over to inspect the writing.
    Whittemore
    New York
    Her family’s name, on
her mother’s side. She flipped the photograph over. There, staring back at her,
was the image of her grandparents, her mother with a fellow she didn’t
recognize, and a much younger Liam Deardon holding a little girl. Her. She
reached for the desk to support herself and felt around for the narrow chair,
unwilling to take her eyes from the photograph.
    Impossible!
    She quickly pulled the
letter from the envelope and scanned the contents.
     
    March 7, 1843
    Dear Mr. Liam Deardon,
    Words cannot express
the deep gratitude and respect I have for you. For a man of your position and
power, it would have been easy to walk away after my wife’s father, Mr. Joseph
Whittemore, died unexpectedly, but you honored the promise you made to watch
over and keep his family safe. I know, firsthand, the great lengths you went to
in order to secure Claire a husband worthy of her. To this day, I am unsure
that I could ever be as much as she deserves, but I love her and have cherished
every moment we have spent together. I am forever grateful for the trust you
placed in me.
    I regret to inform you
that I have taken ill and can no longer be the protector and provider I once
was. The doctors tell me I will not live to see our precious baby girl’s third
birthday. I ask in earnest that you continue to watch over my beloved Claire
and our little Lucy after I am gone. They mean more to me than life itself.
Please let them know how very much I loved them. I know it is unfair of me to
place this burden on your shoulders, but you are the only one I trust to see it
through. Thank you.
    Sincerely,
    Adam Prescott
     
    Lucy reread a portion
of the letter over and over, unable to fathom the truth of its contents.
    …our little Lucy
    …our little Lucy
    “…our little Lucy,” she
said aloud.
    It can’t be.
    “What was that?” Lucas
asked, coming to stand behind her. He pointed to the signature. “Do you know
him? Adam Prescott?”
    “I think…” She shook
her head in disbelief. “I think he was my father.”
    “But I thought—”
    “I have to go.” She
jumped to her feet, the letter clutched to her chest, and picked up her skirt
as she ran down the attic steps and out the small door toward Liam’s quarters.
    “Who is Adam Prescott?”
Lucy asked, gasping for air as she burst through the door to Liam’s room.
    He sat in a chair at
the small table next to the hearth, overlooking the north pasture where the
horses still frolicked. He still looked weak, but she needed answers.
    She tossed the letters
and the single photograph she’d discovered in the attic onto Liam’s lap. “Who
is Adam Prescott?” she asked again, more quietly this time.
    He gave a resigned
chuckle. “Come sit, Lucy.” He pointed to a chair opposite him, picked up the
old photograph, and rested his wrists on the table, caressing the picture.
    “Your grandfather,
Joseph, and I grew up in the same little town back East where we did everything
together. We were inseparable, Joe and I. Even as we got older, we worked the
same jobs, attended the same college, and courted the same girls.” Liam set the
photograph down on the table and looked at Lucy.
    She leaned forward like
a child might upon hearing a tale of adventure being recounted in great detail.
    Cough.
    “One day, a little over
a year before you were born, a young painter by the name of Samuel Morse
approached us and told of an electrical instrument he was working on that could
transmit messages over a wire that would allow folks to communicate quickly
with others in distant towns.”
    “The telegraph.” It
would explain how Liam had his own personal telegraph in his study.
    “Yes. Joe and I were
intrigued and pooled some of our substantial funds to invest in Morse’s vision.
Well, your grandfather died before that dream was realized, but not before I
promised him that I would always take care of his family.”
    “And