Dawn's Prelude Read Free Page A

monies, will pass to my only living child, my daughter, Lydia Rockford Gray.’ ”
    Lydia couldn’t figure out why in the world this point was being brought to light. She was surprised by it, but her father and Floyd had died as a result of the same carriage accident.
    Robinson picked up a sheaf of papers. “I have the signed and sworn statements by three doctors, given before myself and Mr. Sterling, as well Judge Brewster, which confirm, as you know, that Floyd Gray died immediately at the site of the accident on April 2, 1870.” He paused and lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose. “I believe both of the Gray sons were available to identify their father’s body on the second of April, as well. Is this true?”
    Mitchell stood. “It is, but I hardly see the purpose of this.”
    “Please be seated, Mr. Gray,” Mr. Robinson requested. Mr. Sterling appeared rather upset and refused to look Mitchell in the eye. It was this small but important action that caused Lydia to take interest. Something wasn’t right.
    Robinson continued. “The purpose, Mr. Gray, will become apparent.”
    Mitchell looked at Marston, then took his seat. “Very well, please continue. But do remember the delicacy of my sisters. They needn’t be burdened with comments about identifying the dead.”
    As if on cue, Jeannette began to sob. Lydia wanted to be sick. The girls had no more love for their father than she had.
    Mr. Robinson lifted his papers again. “I have the same type of signed statement on behalf of Mr. Rockford, which in addition includes the papers that were completed by the hospital officials, where he was taken after the accident. As you are aware, Mr. Rockford died on April fourth. Given this and the obvious fact that Mr. Rockford outlived Mr. Gray,” Mr. Robinson stated, pulling his spectacles from his face, “Mrs. Lydia Rockford Gray is the sole heir of her father’s fortune.”
    Mitchell looked aghast. “That is hardly legal.” He turned to Sterling. “It isn’t legal, is it? Mr. Rockford’s property was to go to our father.”
    Mr. Sterling shifted uncomfortably, not even attempting to answer.
    Mr. Robinson peered over his wire-rimmed glasses at Mitchell. “Yes, that had been part of the agreement. However, as I stated, the will reads that your father would receive Mr. Rockford’s properties should he survive Mr. Rockford. Given that he did not, but rather died two days prior to the death of your stepmother’s father, the will clearly passes the inheritance to his only direct descendant, Mrs. Lydia Rockford Gray.”
    “Is this right?” Marston demanded, staring hard at Mr. Sterling. “Our father shared a profitable business with Mr. Rockford. They owned the venture in a fifty-fifty share. Are you telling me that, even though she had nothing to do with the growth and development of this industry, Lydia will now inherit half of what we’ve worked so hard to build?”
    “I think it would behoove us to hear the contents of your father’s will before this discussion continues,” Dwight Robinson declared.
    Lydia felt a strange sensation of confidence rush over her. She had never held any power over these men, and now she did. Now she was truly free from their demands and desires. She sat a little straighter and nodded at Mr. Robinson. “Please do continue.”
    Marston glared at her, but Lydia was unmoved. In her mind, she began to plan for her future. She would go immediately to live with Aunt Zerelda in Sitka. She had posted the letter that morning. She would simply enlist the help of her father’s lawyer and leave Kansas City forever. She wouldn’t even pack her clothes—those ghastly provocative fashions chosen by her husband. There was nothing, save her violin, that she would even want to take into her new life. Giddy with the weight of oppression lifted from her shoulders, it was all Lydia could do to keep from giggling out loud.
    Mr. Sterling began. “ ‘I, Floyd Gray, upon my death do hereby