Antique Dreams

Book 3 of the Brandywine Brides series
Chapter One

Brandywine, Delaware 1912

“Hold on, friend. Hold on. Help is on the way.”

Aaron Stone pressed his bloodied coat to the deep gash on Conrad Bradenton’s leg. He stared past the faces of the others in their lifeboat. Strangers, save their present shared experience. His gaze traveled across the frigid waters into the almost black night, a darkness interrupted only by the sight of the sinking wreckage that had been their ship.

“Soooo cooold,” Conrad mumbled. He clutched the blanket around his shoulders and closed his eyes.

“Don’t you give up, Conrad.” Aaron glanced down at his friend. He applied more pressure to the wound, but the blood flow showed no signs of lessening. “Don’t you die on me.”

A wan smile found its way to Conrad’s pale lips, and he opened his eyes to mere slits. “Not exactly the turn of events we were expecting, is it?” he managed to say, his voice strained and weak.

Aaron could only muster derision at Conrad’s words. That was an understatement if he ever heard one. “The ship is unsinkable,” they’d touted. Unsinkable. Right. Tell that to the over two thousand passengers and crew who had either already lost their lives or were fighting at that moment to keep them. The churning waters of the icy Atlantic bubbled around the remains of the Titanic, as the ship sank farther and farther beneath the ocean’s surface. What were those engineers saying now after learning the news? They’d likely think twice before making such audacious claims again.

If only Conrad hadn’t insisted they secure their passage from London on this particular vessel. But his friend had gotten caught up in the prestige and excitement that came with being a first-class passenger, and he wouldn’t be dissuaded. Look where that got him, though—where his hasty decision had gotten them both.

A raspy, shuddering breath drew Aaron’s attention back to Conrad. His friend’s face had taken on a deathly pallor, and blue tinged his lips. No. This couldn’t be the end. Why did the ship’s pitch have to shove that trunk into Conrad and send him flying? And why had he landed on that large shard of mirrored glass? Just when their escape had been within their grasp. Yet, despite Conrad’s almost useless right leg, they’d clawed their way to safety and snagged a spot on one of the lifeboats. They’d
gotten away from the danger of the sinking ship.

And now this.

“Please,” Conrad whispered.

Aaron leaned down, putting his ear close to Conrad’s mouth. His friend’s words were barely discernible above the lapping waters against their boat and the roaring groan of bending metal as the greedy fingers of the Atlantic pulled the ship deeper into its clutches.

“Please,” Conrad repeated, the veins in his neck popping from the strain of speaking.

“Shh,” Aaron cautioned. “Save your strength. You’re going to pull through this.”

Where was that rescue ship? The Carpathia? The one that had telegraphed to say it was en route to their location, no doubt with extra boats and medical care. Aaron would make sure they saw to Conrad first.

“No. Must. Tell. Sister,” Conrad continued.

Each word slipped through his friend’s lips on a gravelly breath. Aaron leaned as close as he could to save his friend the effort. Whatever it was he wanted to say obviously couldn’t wait.

“What is it, friend? What must you tell your sister?”

Conrad managed to raise his right arm enough to hold up a well-worn book. Now, where had he been keeping that? And how had Aaron not noticed it before now?

“You.” Conrad’s eyes opened all the way, and his earnest gaze sought Aaron’s. “You take care of her.” He wet his lips with his tongue. “For me,” he finished in a whisper.

The book fell into Aaron’s lap, and Conrad’s arm dropped to the base of the boat. His eyes drifted closed, and his chest rose and fell one final time. In slow motion, the life that had infused Conrad for over two decades left his body.

“He’s gone,” one of the other passengers said.

“If we bury him here, we can make room for two or three more in the boat,” another voice spoke.

Aaron’s ears heard their words, and his brain processed the wisdom of it all, but at his core, he couldn’t accept the truth. They were right, though. Nothing could be done to save Conrad now. He barely managed a nod, never taking his eyes off his friend. Immobilized, he watched as the others dumped Conrad’s lifeless body over the side. Aaron shut his eyes tight. The body made a muffled splash as it slipped away with no fanfare. Or was that only what he heard? A near silent testament of a life so full of unrealized potential. No man should have a burial like this.

Even when the boat rocked as they took on new survivors, Aaron didn’t look. Instead, he ducked his head and opened his eyes to look at the book in his lap. If he acknowledged the other passengers, they’d only remind him of the place where his friend had just lain. Running his hand across the faded cover, he moved his fingers to the edge, caressing the fine leather binding.

How in the world could he make good on Conrad’s request? He didn’t even know where his friend’s family lived, let alone any of their names beyond the surname of Bradenton. They had briefly talked of heading south once they docked in New York to some area south of Philadelphia, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall the town. Aaron slid his fingers to the edge of the cover and opened the book.

There, scrawled in blotted ink was what looked like it could be an address, but in the darkness, he couldn’t make out the words. He could only see a few numbers and possibly a town name. All right, so maybe he had the where. Now, he just needed the how and the what once he arrived. . .if he arrived.
They hadn’t been rescued yet. And until that happened, Aaron had no guarantees of anything. But he couldn’t lose hope.

After closing the book, he placed his right hand on the cover and raised his eyes to the midnight sky. “I promise, friend,” he spoke to the heavens. “I’ll find your family. If it’s the last thing I do.”

* * * * *

Aaron trudged along the road on a Saturday afternoon as he ventured into a more affluent area to the northwest of Wilmington, Delaware. He could barely recall the past three and a half weeks. Everything since the ship sank blended together in a muddied blur. Even the train ride down from that New York station failed to produce any significant details. He’d just been going through the motions, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to make it through each day without letting the gloom of grief overpower him. Nothing stood out, save one fact. Conrad was dead. And he’d been left behind to pick up the pieces.

One of those pieces had brought him here to Greenville. The trolley system in downtown Wilmington had been out of the question, but the concierge at the Hotel DuPont had secured him a driver the moment he’d made his needs known. After being dropped off at the edge of the main road, the sudden quiet in the wake of the departing motorcar made a world of difference. Since he didn’t know how long he’d be, he couldn’t in good conscience ask the driver to wait. A telephone call to the hotel when he was ready would take care of that. Right now, he needed this time to rehearse what he would say when he came face-to-face with Conrad’s family.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered.

Aaron raised his head and glanced down the street, lined on both sides with full poplar trees in perfect symmetry. A lot like the street where he’d lived outside of London before his Mum and Dad had passed. Only there, they’d been sycamores. The effect was the same, though. Inviting, peaceful, and attractive to those who viewed it.

But enough of this dillydallying. He’d made a promise, and he had a task to complete. Flipping open the worn book Conrad had left him, Aaron glanced down at the now familiar scrawl on the inside cover—3047Ashview. Another look at the homes. Several acres separated each home. He should have had the driver bring him a little closer. Oh well. One step at a time brought him to the Bradenton manor. His journey was almost complete. At least the traveling part. Something told him this meeting would only be the beginning.

As Aaron stood at the end of the circular drive leading to the impressive brick colonial, he took in the well-groomed lawn and protective copse of trees to the right and rear of the home, affording a decent level of privacy. He wet his lips and swallowed then made his way to the front door, stepping in between the twin white columns and onto the porch. A family like this would either close the door in his face or welcome him inside. Only one way to find out.

“Here goes nothing,” he said to himself.

Aaron raised his arm and rapped three firm times on the oak door then stepped back to wait. He had taken great care with his grooming that morning and wore what some might consider his Sunday best, yet he still felt shabby and insignificant. It didn’t matter that he looked like he belonged. Inside he didn’t feel it. If only he could have had someone else accompany him. It might have made the purpose of his visit easier to handle. At least that way he could share the weight of the load he carried.

But no. He was here alone. And alone he would do it.

The lock to the door clicked, and Aaron straightened. Best make a good impression right from the start. At least he’d sent a message ahead announcing his pending visit. The door swung open, and a butler greeted him.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Yes,” Aaron rasped. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said again, this time stronger. “My name is Aaron Stone. I believe Mr. Bradenton is expecting me.”

The butler’s eyebrows rose.

Aaron smiled. “My accent is a bit of a shock, is it not?” Aaron nodded. “You likely do not encounter many around here who sound like me.”

“Do come in, sir,” was the butler’s only response as he swung the door wider.

Aaron expected nothing less. He stepped over the threshold onto the marble floor of the foyer. After handing his top hat and cane to the butler, he took in his first view of the inside of the manor. Two sets of columns much like the ones out front flanked both sides of the entryway, leading to a sitting room on the left and an informal dining room on the right. A wide curving staircase sat to the right and rose to the second level. A hallway straight back past two more rooms and continuing under the stairs led to where Aaron assumed the kitchen would be.

“Will you wait here, sir, or would you like to have a seat in the parlor?”

“Here will do just fine,” Aaron replied. “Thank you.”

“Very well, sir. I shall fetch Mr. Bradenton immediately.”

The butler disappeared down the hall and under the stairs toward what appeared to be a corridor to another section of the home. Aaron tucked the book under his right arm, brushed back the left side of his frock coat, and slid his hand into his trouser pocket then rocked back on his heels. The staff kept the home remarkably clean, an earmark of respect and pride.

A door opened down the hall, and out stepped a young lady, garbed completely in black. With her head bowed, she walked in his direction but showed no signs of seeing him. Should he alert her to his presence or allow her to continue uninterrupted? Aaron couldn’t see her clearly, but her veil had been pushed back from her face, revealing carefully styled blond hair, pinned with a decorative comb. Her demeanor and clothing confirmed what he’d wondered from the moment he’d arrived in Wilmington. They had been notified of Conrad’s passing.

Was this the sister he was supposed to find? Or perhaps another family member? She placed a hand on the knob at the bottom of the banister. A loud smack echoed in the foyer, and the lady immediately stopped. Aaron looked down at the book that had slipped from under his arm then back up at the lady. The resemblance to Conrad was uncanny. No doubt about it. This had to be his sister.

“Do forgive me, miss.” He withdrew his hand from his pocket and bent to retrieve the book then straightened again. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“Oh! You’re British,” the young lady said without preamble.

Aaron gave her a rueful grin. “Guilty.”

“Are you here to see my father?”

“I believe so, yes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “But that all depends on your identity.”

Despite the somber dress and her obvious state of mourning, a light pink colored her cheeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She raised her right hand to her cheek then clasped her hands in front of her. “My name is Lillian Bradenton. Andrew Bradenton is my father.”

Under normal circumstances, a cordial smile might grace her lips, but not today. Sadness made her brown eyes dark, and a slight frown pushed her mouth into a straight line. Aaron wanted to approach for a formal introduction, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“Miss Bradenton, my name is Aaron Stone. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He nodded. “And yes, I am here to speak with your father.”

“I am sure he will be here shortly.”

“Actually, I am already here,” a man spoke from behind Miss Bradenton.

She turned, and Aaron swayed to the left to peer past her shoulders.

“Mr. Stone, I presume?” Mr. Bradenton approached, aided by a polished beech-wood cane with a brass handle. His slickedback, silver-lined hair and tailored black suit befitted the owner of such a manor. He paused to touch his daughter’s cheek before standing directly in front of Aaron and extending his hand.

Aaron accepted it. “Yes, sir. Aaron Stone, sir.” He released the man’s hand and put his own in his pocket, holding the book close. “I sent a message ahead to alert you to my coming arrival.”

Mr. Bradenton nodded. “Yes. I received it.” He turned to his daughter. “Lillian. Would you please fetch your mother then join us in the parlor?”

“Yes, Father.” Miss Bradenton nodded at Aaron before again resuming her path toward the stairs.

This time, she ascended them with grace and dignity, her head held high, and the smooth slope of her shoulders erect. The lone lock of blond hair curled into a tight ringlet had fallen across her back and now bounced with each step she took on her way to the second floor.

Mr. Bradenton cleared his throat, and Aaron shifted his eyes back to the man in front of him, who regarded him with a slightly amused expression.

“You wouldn’t be the first gentleman to be taken by my daughter’s quiet charm, Mr. Stone. I’m only sorry this meeting isn’t under better circumstances.”

“As am I,” Aaron replied.

“Please.” Mr. Bradenton swung his right arm wide. “Would you join me in the sitting room? As your message stated you had a matter of great importance to discuss, I have invited my wife and eldest daughter to join us, and we can wait for them there.”

A dozen scenarios played out in Aaron’s head about how he’d begin what he’d come to say as he walked ahead of Mr. Bradenton. He only hoped the one he’d rehearsed was the right one. Moving to the farthest seat available, he settled into an upholstered accent chair adjacent to the white stone fireplace with a dark stone hearth. Bradenton chose a wingback chair to Aaron’s left, and the two waited in silence.

A few minutes later, the sound of shoes clicking on the marble floor in the entry preceded the ladies’ arrival. Both men stood as Mrs. and Miss Bradenton entered, the mother dressed in a similar fashion to her daughter. Mr. Bradenton reached for his wife’s hand and drew her to his side, turning almost simultaneously to face Aaron.

“Mr. Stone. I’d like you to meet my wife, Grace. And sweetheart, this is Mr. Stone, the gentleman I mentioned would be paying us a visit today.”

Mrs. Bradenton smiled. “Mr. Stone. It’s a pleasure.”

“Our daughter, you have already met,” Mr. Bradenton announced. “So, let us all take our seats, and we shall see to this important matter.”

Aaron didn’t settle into his seat. Instead, he perched on the edge. It would help him to not get too relaxed. After all, he didn’t know how long he’d be staying. That all depended on how the family received what he’d come here to say.

“Mr. Stone, if you please.”

All right. The day of reckoning had come.

Aaron took a deep breath, pressed both hands on top of the book Conrad had given him, and wet his lips. Time to recall the speech he’d committed to memory.

“I would like to thank you for seeing me. As has been established, my name is Aaron Stone.” He paused a second or two, regarding each family member in turn. “And I have come at Conrad’s request.”

Mr. Bradenton stiffened. Mrs. Bradenton bit her bottom lip as the sheen of tears brightened her eyes. And Conrad’s sister gasped, clutching a handkerchief as she raised her hand to her mouth. None of them offered any verbal response. His speech hinged on that. What was he going to say now?

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