The Amish Heiress

Chapter Fifteen - The Meeting

Chapter Fifteen

The MeetingGerald St. Clair looked at his watch for the twentieth time. The two-hour trip from Manhattan had been boring—extremely boring. It was always tedious spending time with his grandmother, especially traveling. She didn’t let him smoke cigarettes in the limo or listen to the radio. And now she was dragging him out to a farm to meet, of all things, an Amish girl. Augusta had briefed him carefully before they left, and now he was fidgeting in the back seat beside her. He could just imagine how this Rachel would look—cow-like features, big boots covered with mud and manure, and on top of it all, that stupid bonnet that the Amish girls wear. He needed a drink badly.

“Grandmother, do we really have to go through with this?”

Augusta looked up from her magazine. Her sharp face was set in “the look” and Gerald glanced away.

“Gerald, look at me!”

Gerald turned back and tried to meet her steely gaze.

“Do you want to be poor?”

“No, Grandmother.”

“Do you want to live in some crummy apartment on the Lower East Side?”

“No, Grandmother.”

“All the privileges and perks, the life of ease and comfort to which you are accustomed—do you want all that to just disappear?”

Gerald sighed. “No, Grandmother.”

Augusta pulled a compact from her purse and checked her appearance. After another touch of lipstick, she snapped it shut and looked at Gerald. “Now I’m going to explain this one more time. This girl has the Key. That means she inherits everything except the tiny pittance left in my husband’s trust fund and the house we lived in together. And she gets the New York house and the Connecticut estate. When I say she gets everything, I want you to know that means billions.”

Gerald tried to counterattack. “When you say there’s only a pittance left from Grandfather and my father, are you talking a few million, a few thousand, what?”

Augusta smiled the icy smile and reached into the Louis Vuitton bag that held her notebook. She opened it and leafed through until she found an official-looking document between two pages. She pulled a pair of reading glasses from the same bag, adjusted them on the end of her nose, and began to read. “The Trust of Jerod St. Clair—Current cash and bonds, value not including the properties in Manhattan, London and Connecticut: $15,985,000. Expenditures 1989: $4,000,000. Income and interest 1989: $500,000. Net debit 1989: $3,500,000.”

Augusta removed her glasses and put the notebook away. Gerald looked out the window and frowned. It was worse than he thought. He shifted in his seat.

I really, really need a drink.

“So you see, darling Gerald, your profligate ways, your trips to Europe, the gambling in Monaco, the women, the drugs and alcohol, and whatever other vices you have picked up in your short but flamboyant life are grinding us right into the poor house. If you keep it up, we will be out of money in less than five years. And when it’s gone, there isn’t any more except for the property. If we have to sell all the property, we will be able to raise a few million, but that won’t last. Why, you might even have to get a job.”

Augusta chuckled but Gerald didn’t think it was funny. He thought about mentioning his grandmother’s penchant for Arabian horses, five thousand dollar bottles of wine, and trips to Paris for the latest fashions, but he thought better of it and tried a different tactic. “But, this Rachel...I mean, do I really have to marry her?”

“Rachel Hershberger cannot inherit the estate unless she marries a suitable male St. Clair within a certain time period after being verified as the genuine heir, or in her case, heiress. The St. Clairs put that stipulation in the inheritance protocols to ensure that the money would always remain in St. Clair hands. The only other option is for you to marry someone and produce a male heir who would inherit when he comes into his majority.”

“Majority?”

“Yes, Gerald, when he turns twenty-one. So you see, given that it would take you a minimum of nine months to produce an heir if you started today, and assuming that it would be a male, you would still have to wait twenty-two years to get the money. That is, if you survived that long working at a Dairy Queen.”

Augusta paused. “You know, Gerald, you really should have brought a book.” She smiled again and returned to her magazine.

*****

Rachel stood on the corner by the General Store in downtown Paradise. She had the manila envelope with copies of her grandmother’s wedding license and her mama’s birth certificate. The meeting was supposed to be at 10 A.M. but the St. Clairs were late. Rachel stood nervously shifting from one foot to the other. She was so intent on looking for the car that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her.

“Gut mariye, Rachel.”

Rachel’s heart jumped. She turned to see Daniel King standing on the sidewalk.

“Daniel, why must you always come creeping up on me? You scared me.”

His smile faded. A shadow crossed Daniel’s face for just a moment, and then it passed. “A cat looking for a mouse creeps, Rachel. I just happened to be walking by. And judging by your face, I should keep on walking.”

Daniel turned to go.

“Wait, Daniel. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just...it’s just...”

“Just what?”

“I have something very important to do, and I don’t have time to...” She paused.

“To say hello to a friend?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I... Oh, Daniel, why do you always fluster me so?”

“Don’t mean to, Rachel, really. But while we are here, can I ask when you will come to look at the mare and the foal again?”

Rachel felt a twinge of irritation.

Doesn’t he know this is the most important day of my life? No, of course not.

“Really, I don’t have time to think about that. I have a very important meeting.”

At that moment, a long black limousine pulled into the parking spot in front of them. The back door opened and a young man got out. He was dressed in charcoal slacks and a white pullover sweater. He was very handsome with chiseled features and dark, wavy hair. He looked around, and then his eyes settled on Rachel. A smile crossed his face and he approached. Rachel noticed that his eyes were taking in all of her.

“Rachel Hershberger?”

Rachel blushed under his frank perusal and stammered an answer.

“Yes, I’m Rachel.”

The man extended his hand and when she shook it, he held it a little too tightly.

“I’m Gerald St. Clair. It’s very nice to meet you.”

The intense blue eyes were focused on her face now. Suddenly, Rachel felt very uncomfortable. She pulled her hand away and glanced at Daniel. He was looking back and forth between Rachel and Gerald with a strange expression on his face.

“Gerald, this is my friend, Daniel King. Daniel, this is Gerald St. Clair, a...well, I suppose we are distant cousins.”

Daniel extended his hand. “Gut mariye, Gerald.”

“Excuse me?”

“It means good morning.”

Gerald smiled. “Oh, oh sure. Good morning.”

Ignoring Daniel’s outstretched hand, he turned to Rachel and motioned toward the limo.

“Well, cuz, shall we go?”

Daniel looked at Rachel with a puzzled expression. Rachel found herself feeling very strange, almost like she was being torn in two. She patted Daniel on the shoulder awkwardly.

“I have to go, Daniel. I will talk to you later.”

“But, Rachel, who—?”

Rachel interrupted. “I can’t talk about it right now, but I’ll tell you later. Now I must go.”

Rachel turned and as she did, Gerald took her arm and steered her toward the car. As he did, he glanced back at Daniel.

“Nice to meet you, Dennis.”

“Daniel. My name is Daniel.”

“Right, Daniel. Come on, Rachel. We have an appointment and we’re running a little late—all that traffic getting out of Manhattan really slowed us down.”

Gerald opened the door, and Rachel started to get in. She paused and looked back at Daniel, then got into the car. The door closed and the limousine pulled away from the curb. Rachel looked out the back window. Daniel King stood alone on the grass by the edge of the road, staring after her. Suddenly, Rachel had a very sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

*****

Augusta St. Clair leaned forward in her chair as the man before her read from a thin binder.

“Although developed in the 1980s, polymerase chain reaction technique in DNA testing has only recently become the standard process for paternity testing.”

Dr. Sanderson looked at Augusta over his glasses and then looked back down. The desk in front of him was empty of anything except the document he was perusing. The rest of the office was bare of furniture except for the three chairs that were now occupied by Gerald, Rachel, and Augusta. The doctor continued reading. “PCR is a technique through which samples of DNA fragments are copied and replicated many times until billions of copies are made. Because of the power of PCR, very small samples of DNA from any part of the body can be used in a DNA test. Additionally—”

Augusta broke in. “Yes, Doctor, I’m sure the science is very good. What I want to know is the probability factor for proving paternity, or in this case, grand-paternity.”

The doctor gave Augusta a peevish look and went on. “As I was saying, because half of the child’s DNA is inherited from the mother and the other half from the father, the child’s DNA should match portions of both biological parents. It will also prove that even distant cousins, such as Rachel and Gerald, share the same common ancestor.”

“To what degree, Doctor?”

The doctor looked down at the paperwork on his desk and traced a few lines with his finger. “99.999 percent accuracy, Mrs. St. Clair.”

“Good. So, what do we have to do to complete this part of the procedure?”

“A buccal swab is all we need.”

“A buccal swab, Doctor?”

“A buccal swab is a way to collect DNA from the cells on the inside of a person’s cheek. Gerald and Rachel simply need to let me swab them—very simple and painless. The samples are analyzed to create the individual’s DNA profile. The DNA profiles will then be compared to determine whether there is a genetic match.”

“How long will it take?”

“We should have the results in about a week, Mrs. St. Clair.”

“Good. And the birthmark?”

“After examining Rachel’s birthmark, it is my opinion that it is a port-wine birthmark, which has been known to be hereditary in many cases. There is no evidence of tattooing or any artificial substances beneath the skin. I am not an expert in this field, but I can refer you to a man who is. However, as I said, I am quite sure that the birthmark is genuine.”

Augusta glanced over at Rachel. The girl was leaning forward listening intently to the doctor. Augusta smiled to herself.

Come into my web, little fly...

*****

Daniel King pulled his buggy up in front of his house and got out. His maam was out in the front beating carpets. Daniel unhitched the horse and began to lead him toward the barn.

“No greeting, son?”

Daniel looked up. “What? Oh, I’m sorry, Mama, I was thinking about something.”

“Rachel?”

Daniel looked at his mother. He never could hide anything from her. “Yes, Mama. It is Rachel.”

“I think you should try thinking about someone else, Daniel. That girl is never going to love you like you love her. Her mind and heart are out in the world out there. She will never be content to be an Amish wife.”

Daniel felt the truth in her words, and they twisted in his heart like a knife. “You are right, Mama, but Rachel is in trouble.”

“Daniel, Rachel is always in trouble. And it worries me to see you mooning over that half-Englisch girl.”

His maam turned back to the rug and began to beat it. Daniel stared at his mother’s back and then walked toward the barn. He led the horse into the stall and put some hay out for it. Then he walked out the back of the barn and took the path up the hill. He needed to go to his place. He needed to think.

As he walked up the hill, the afternoon sun warmed his back. The birds sang in the oak trees along the path, and the fresh air of Pennsylvania filled his senses. But Daniel’s heart was heavy. He had seen something in Gerald’s face as he had stared at Rachel. Lust and greed and wantonness—revealed in a way he had never seen so obviously before in a man. It sickened him. Daniel did not know who these St. Clairs were, but he did know in his heart that they were not good people. And he knew that Rachel would never find her dream with them.