“Glorified and sanctified be God’s great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will . . .”
Gus prodded Buck and inclined his head toward a group of tombstones on their left.
“May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity . . .”
A small figure, wearing a badly stained Confederate cavalry hat and tunic, crouched among the gravestones. When the vagrant realized he’d been seen, he scurried away. In his haste the hat fell off, revealing a long tangle of red hair.
“Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen . . .”
Buck almost gasped. By God! It’s Rufus Snead. What the hell is he doing here?
“May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen . . .”
Apparently the sniper hadn’t given up stalking him. Buck was tempted to pursue him but two things dissuaded him. He wasn’t armed, and he was loath to disrupt the service.
“He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.”
The ceremony concluded, Miriam came over to Buck and invited him to the house for a small reception. Buck hesitated, then accepted. His pursuit of Snead would have to wait—at least until he was armed.
The banker’s smoke-streaked residence on Senate Street was a sprawling three story brick building with a kitchen in back and beyond it a carriage house. A butler in patched livery greeted them at the front door, accepted the gentlemen’s hats and walking sticks, while female servants helped the ladies out of their cloaks and feathered hats.
The party proceeded to the drawing room in front, where a scant buffet had been laid out. Ruth was pouring sherry into small crystal glasses. Gus was at the other end of the long trestle table decanting modest portions of brandy into matching crystal snifters. The butler approached him quietly and waited until he was recognized.
“Yes, Quintus?”
“Beg pardon, sir, but a letter comed a short while ago for Mr. Jacob Greenwald.”
“I see. Where is it now?”
“In the hall, sir. You want me to fetch it?”
“Yes, please. But bring it directly to me.”
“Yessir.”
A minute later, the black man approached with a silver salver on which a yellow envelope lay.
Gus thanked him, dismissed him and then examined the document to verify the name of the addressee. He noted that Miriam had been observing him out of the corner of her eye while talking with her guests and discussing the Lord only knew what. It took the merest nod from him for her to excuse herself and join him. Her immediate reaction when he showed her the envelope was, “More bad news? Is this salt for the wounds?”
Together they went to Ruth and Sarah.
“Ruth, my dear, a letter has arrived addressed to Jacob.”
The new widow’s hands shook.
Sarah relieved her of her glass. “Momma, do you want to sit down?”
“Please. What does it say?” Ruth asked after she was seated. “Who sent it?”
“Would you like me to open it for you?” Gus asked.
The grieving woman nodded.
Gus was surprised when he realized his own hands were shaking too. He tore open the flap, unfolded the crinkly paper, scanned the terse words and quickly read them aloud.
“Franklin Drexel is contesting Sarah’s sole ownership of the brokerage and has obtained a court order closing it, pending court determination of his challenge. The hearing is scheduled for the 18th. I require your original documentation to go forward with your defense. It’s signed Simon Weinberg.”
“Our family lawyer,” Sarah explained.
“Perhaps you would prefer to discuss this in private,” Miriam said, eyeing Buck.
“No.” Sarah replied. “Dr. Thomson’s aware of my situation with Randolph.”
Her mother frowned, doubt on her face.
“All of it,” Sarah declared.
“We must return to Charleston immediately,” Ruth said.
“No,” Sarah repeated. “You stay here. I’ll go back and take care of this.”
“I must—” Ruth started to say.
“Nonsense,” Miriam stopped her. “Sarah is right. You need to stay here and recuperate. Your daughter’s well qualified to deal with this.”
Ruth covered her face with her hands. “And we thought they were our friends.”
#
“Do you have any idea what the basis of their suit might be?” Buck asked Sarah who was sitting between her mother and Miriam.
“I can think of three possible causes of action. First, that the agreement to sever his junior partnership was obtained under duress. Second, that there was no compensation for value received, and third, that our religious divorce has no legal standing.”
“May I ask a few more questions?” Gus asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m hoping you might be able to give us some ideas on how to proceed.”
The banker nodded. “Do you have any papers signed by Randolph renouncing his claim to the business?”
“Yes, they’re in our private safe in the office.”
“Is there anyone back there who has the combination to that safe and who you would trust to turn those papers over to your lawyer?”
“Arthur Saxe has worked for my father for twenty years, but he doesn’t have access to the safe and—”
“No,” Ruth said decisively. “I don’t trust him, not with something this important. I must go back—”
“Put the thought out of your mind, my dear,” Miriam rejoined. She turned to her husband. “What other questions do you have?”
“Were there any witnesses to your father’s confrontation with Randolph?”
“My mother and I . . . overheard their conversation.”
“But you weren’t in the same room,” Buck pointed out, remembering Sarah saying they were listening at the door.
“It’s my house,” Ruth snapped. “I have a right to know what’s going on.”
“Momma,” Sarah interceded, “I don’t think Dr. Thomson’s implying anything.”
Ruth made a harrumph sound, while Miriam poured a glass of water and handed it to her.
“No offense intended, ma’am,” Buck said evenly.
“May I continue?” Gus asked.
Ruth nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m just so—”
“Legally you and Randolph were still married at the time of his death,” Gus posited. “Is that correct?”
Sarah nodded.
“Are there any other heirs to your father’s estate besides you and your mother?”
“Aaron, of course,” Ruth said brightly.
“Momma—”
“He’ll come back. I’m convinced in my heart he will.”
“Ruth, dear,” Miriam said softly. “I know how hard it is, believe me. It took me a long time to accept that Bert and Harry were gone, that they will never be returning home.” Her eyes filled with tears. Gus moved up beside her chair and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“You said he was lost in the war, is that correct?” Gus pressed.
Sarah bit her lip, then stiffened her spine. “My brother was a blockade runner out of Charleston. He’d been sailing since he was a little boy and made dozens of trips safely, but we haven’t heard from him in over a year. The papers listed him as MPD, missing, presumed dead.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ruth interposed. “The war’s over, and he’ll be coming home.”
“Yes, Momma. But let’s not discuss it now. The question is what we’re going to do about Randolph’s father. You stay here with the Graysons, and I’ll return to Charleston.”
“Not by yourself,” Buck said firmly. “I’m going with you. I’ll check with the stagecoach company and see if they have anything available. How soon will you be ready to leave? Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Leave tomorrow?” Miriam exclaimed. “That’s impossible. They must sit Shiva, after which they need to rest. I won’t hear of her leaving tomorrow. It’s out of the question.”