Hearts Through Time

SEVEN

With a shaky hand, Abigail wiped her wet cheeks. Emotion clogged her throat, and her heart felt like it would break. "While you were with Vanessa, I thought about how I could help you, so I looked through every newspaper I could find that had been kept here since I died, to see if there was anything about my father's death or even anything about Uncle Alexander." She sniffed. "This is what I found." She pointed to the newspaper on the floor.

Nick picked up the paper, and then stood and held it closer to the single-bulb light. "'Mistress demands money,'" he read aloud.

He looked at her and she motioned toward the paper. "Keep reading."

"'After the death of millionaire Edward Carlisle and his daughter, Abigail, Miss Lillian Burnett came forward with startling information. According to Miss Burnett, she and Edward Carlisle had been intimate for the past ten years. Although they never married, Miss Burnett says they had discussed it in great detail. Miss Burnett feels she is entitled to some of Edward Carlisle's millions, which have now been passed to his younger brother, Alexander Carlisle.'"

Hearing the words in Nick's voice made Abigail's chest tighten even more. His deep tone always stirred her, but now the words penetrated her mind, confirming the truth she had wanted to deny since reading the article.

"Is this true?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It can't be true! My father was a very proper man, and he wouldn't have done something so low, so scandalous. He was a good person and had a respectable name. He would not have done this, I assure you." Abigail wiped a tear from her cheek. "Besides that, when would he have had time for this woman when he couldn't spend enough time with his own daughter?"

She held back a sob. What if this were true? If her father had a mistress, it would have taken away time he could have spent with his own daughter. He never seemed to be able to find time for her, and now she wondered if this Lillian Burnett was the reason. Abigail had fought for his attention for so many years, knowing the only way she'd get it was to take an interest in the newspaper. She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.

"Maybe this woman, Lillian Burnett, was lying," Nick said.

Abigail wiped the tears from her face again. "Possibly."

He sat on the floor and motioned for her to join him. When she did, he tried to put his arm around her shoulders but then gave up and rested his palm on the floor behind her as he leaned toward her. She wanted so much to cuddle against his chest, to feel the warmth that came from a living person.

"It's surprising what greedy people will do or say in order to get money," Nick said. "I'm sure this lady was investigated thoroughly and her story was checked out. In fact, I'd bet money she was just a schemer, and that your father wasn't the first person she tried getting money from."

"Do you really think so?" Abigail's hopes lifted a bit.

"Yes. People do this all the time in today's world. I'm guessing this Lillian Burnett figured it out back in the early 1900s."

"I pray you are right about this." She sighed.

Nick's gaze moved slowly over her hair, eyes, and cheeks before coming to rest on her mouth. Soon his eyebrows drew together as his gaze shifted all the way down to her hands.

"Abby, you'd mentioned how you looked through those old newspapers." He paused as deeper lines creased his forehead. "How can you move objects? You know, like the chair in my office when Mr. Moore was there."

Slowly, a small smile tugged on her lips. "I have had many years to practice. But one day I was upset over something. I can't quite remember what, but I think it was the person who had torn down the walls to my father's office. Anyway, it made me so upset that I wanted to hit something—mainly that man. I knew nothing would come from it, except maybe it might appease my temper. So I swung. Of course I didn't hit him, but the movement knocked over a container of nails. I wasn't certain if I had really done that, so I tried again. That time, I knocked over the stool." Shrugging, she released a light laugh. "After that, I tried to see what else I could move. At first, I noticed that I had to become mad at something, but then it wasn't just being mad that pushed it. I had to concentrate and feel the emotion inside of me." Once again, sadness filled her, making her heart heavy. "After a while, I only continued to move things around so that I could feel somewhat alive. I don't really know how everything works, but I do whatever I can that does work."