LEGACY
Chapter One
Thomas Dawson mounted the steps
of the colossal mansion before him, wincing in pain as weight shifted onto his
wounded leg. He studied the cold, immovable stone, ivy creeping along the
ancient roots of the family legacy. Old money. How often had his mother used
that term? It was always a joke, a mockery, and yet the bitterness and sadness
behind her voice had often made him wonder if it was much more than that to
her.
She had disapproved, of course.
Never before had he been in this part of the country, let alone so far away
from his family. There was the brief period of time, when he was very, very
young, that they had lived in Wisconsin. It was a distant memory, something
long ago buried and romanticized. His father talked of it like it was a
paradise. It was where his father was raised, where his father formed his own
secrets of the past, and where his father’s own legacy had been built--on the
humble foundation of an old farmhouse where Thomas took his first steps. The
cold of the region, however, had finally gotten to his parents, and before
their next child was born, they’d moved to the sunny coast of California, where
opportunity beckoned. That was where Thomas grew up, caressed by the rays of
sunshine and the waves of the Pacific.
And now, here he was, three
thousand miles away, much closer to the coast of that other ocean, that colder
ocean, that ocean his parents wanted so desperately to forget.
He had been more scared of their
reaction than their fear of his sudden disappearance when he finally braved the
courage to send the telegraph. He knew that the letter he’d sent from the train
had probably just arrived, and now the telegraph had to follow. He had to tell
them that their fears were realized. They had told him not to come here, that
he would be hurt and disappointed, and oddly enough, they had been right. He’d
been literally hurt. The second his right foot stepped off the train and made
contact with the accursed Philadelphia soil, he had suddenly felt the wind
leave his lungs, lost his balance, and landed with a sickening thud on top of
his left leg.
The hospital staff had insisted
that he contact his parents. Everyone had wanted him to go straight home. The
doctor had even offered to pay for his return trip. But how could he leave
after all the turmoil that had brought him across the nation? How could he turn
around and go home after coming so close?
He’d convinced the staff that he
had someone to stay with, that he would be safe and fine and return home as
soon as his business was taken care of. His parents, to his relief, were
powerless to stop him. They didn’t have the means to come out and force him
home, although it put a lump in his throat to think of the anguish his very
presence on the East Coast must cause them.
Shaking these thoughts away, he
marveled at the finely carved oak doors stretching above him. Up, and up, and
up. Tentatively, he raised his right hand, as if about to swear an oath, and,
suddenly gaining confidence, knocked three solid times on the impenetrable
front door of the Hockley mansion.