27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Margaret blinked awake as sunlight crept through the curtains, gently warming her bedroom.
Her twenty-first birthday had arrived, though it felt no different from the day before when she was twenty.
She slipped out of bed, grabbing her robe from the bedpost and wrapping it around herself.
At the vanity, she paused, taking a moment to examine her reflection.
With a quiet sigh, she loosened her braid, letting her hair fall to her chest.
As she studied her appearance, she couldn’t help but think about the day’s alternative.
If she had yielded to her grandmama’s selfish wishes, she would have been wed by now or preparing to marry within hours.
The idea made her stomach churn. Margaret stared at her freckled complexion, remembering how the magazines had claimed freckles weren’t considered beautiful.
But Mama and Daddy had always told her something different—encouraging her to embrace who she was, freckles and all.
If Margaret had become a marchioness, she would deny who she truly was.
She counted it a blessing she wasn’t marrying Eugene.
Margaret grabbed her hairbrush, combing out her tangles.
This is who you are. You are Margaret Nicholson.
Your name may not have a good reputation, but your name doesn’t define you.
She didn’t feel like a Nicholson in the way her grandparents were.
She was Margaret, daughter of Collin and Anna Nicholson—the ones who defied society’s shallow expectations and rejected vanity to live by their own principles.
And Margaret had inherited that same strength.
She was a person of principle, and not even her grandparents’ overbearing demands could strip that from her.
Margaret styled her hair into a low updo and retrieved her wide-brimmed cream hat.
As she stepped into her closet to choose a dress, something on the floor caught her eye—a wrinkled newspaper.
She picked it up, noticing the date wasn’t more than a week old.
It must have slipped from a maid’s pocket.
She hadn’t had the time to keep up with the news since starting her job in Richmond.
Curious, she sat at her vanity chair, smoothing the paper over her lap, and began skimming through the sections, letting her mind wander through headlines.
Another protest over Ellis Island's immigration restrictions had broken out, which wasn't new. She quickly moved past it, and a headline caught her eye among the employment sections.
Now Accepting Applicants for Poetry Columns
Margaret’s heart leaped at the advertisement for The Boston Globe. She looked up, noticing Roger’s anthology on her nightstand. Margaret studied the newspaper again, reading the description. It was perfect. Roger no longer had a job, and this was an answered prayer—exactly what he needed.
Collin could hardly believe the day had come.
His first-born daughter was finally grown.
She was no longer that little girl he would carry on his shoulders and rock to sleep.
She was a woman, and her girlhood days were over.
Collin was filled with pride at how much Margaret had grown.
These past weeks had been difficult, and he noticed her grow and develop into a woman of integrity and strength.
He couldn’t deny that Margaret’s decision-making worried him, but she had proven herself capable.
She knew her own mind and had a knack for making thoughtful, smart choices.
And now, she was in love. Margaret hadn’t said outright that she was in love with Roger McKinley, but Collin could see it written all over her face in the way her eyes lit up at the mention of his name and the soft smile she tried to hide whenever Roger came around.
He had never seen his daughter care for someone so much outside their family unit.
Margaret was always by the man’s side, caring for and encouraging him.
The way Margaret acted towards Roger made Collin jealous.
He was no longer the most important man in her life.
If Roger and she decided to marry, Roger would be Margaret’s priority, and Collin would be left out of the picture.
Collin prayed they would stay in Charlottesville, but the two young people would have to spread their wings, and that was what he feared the most—losing his baby girls.
On many occasions, Collin had been asked if he regretted not having a son, and he never did.
He was happy and content with three beautiful girls, but now that they were grown, and for the first time, he wished for sons.
Sons stay by their fathers, and daughters cling to their husbands and move away to start their own life.
It broke his heart in two thinking that.
His daughters played Blind Man’s Bluff again as Anna sat on a picnic blanket with Roger.
They spoke for nearly an hour, and it was good for them to get to know one another.
Roger was one of a kind, and Collin was blessed to know him the past weeks.
He was a hard worker and a good man, but what worried Collin was how he’d recover from his past trauma.
Roger was unemployed and lost, but Collin prayed that Margaret would help him.
So far, Roger had visibly improved, with color returning to his face and strength building in his frame.
But mentally, Collin was unsure if he’d ever return to normal.
Collin had experienced his trauma from war, but it had never completely gone away.
With trauma from that and in the facility, who knew what would become of Roger?
Collin decided to join Anna but halted upon noticing a silhouette approaching, walking down the grassy hill in the distance.
The man was dressed in a striped khaki suit and carried a briefcase, yet his gaze remained fixed downward, his straw boater hat shielding his face.
Out of concern for his family, Collin started walking his way.
It wasn’t long until Collin recognized the man’s slender frame and his great height.
When the man peered upward, the sun reflected upon his spectacles.
“Mr. Agnes!” Collin waved. When they met each other, they shook hands. “How nice to see you. I wasn’t informed you were coming.”
Mr. Agnes slipped one hand into his coat pocket and began to rock back and forth. “Because I wasn’t invited, sir. I have come to speak with you about a certain . . . matter.”
Collin nodded. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
With shaking hands, Mr. Agnes opened his briefcase. He sorted through different files until he came upon one in particular. Taking a deep breath, he handed the file to Collin.
“I have lied to you again, sir, and I am sorry.”
Collin opened the file, revealing a handwritten will, similar to the one he had read after his father’s death.
Dear Collin,
If you are reading this, I have gone to meet my Maker.
Yes, I capitalized Maker. I have changed in the last two decades.
I am not sure when you read this that you have forgiven me, but I want you to know how sorry I am.
These past years have been the most unhappy, mostly because I lost my own son, whom I should have loved and cared for, and for the reason of none other than money.
I should have treated you as a son, not my heir. I should have supported you when you wanted to be an artist, and I took that dream away. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but it was best for me. I have ruined many lives, including Anna’s, because I thought of only myself.
For years, I have blamed you for corrupting the Nicholson name, but in truth, I have. I understand now why you don’t want me in your life. I have robbed you of so much and I understand the risk you would take to introduce me to my grandchildren I hear about.
So now that I will be out of your life for good, I want to give you what I should have a long time ago—your freedom. I, Lucas Samuel Nicholson, hereby declare my son, Collin Luke Nicholson, as my sole heir and beloved son.
I love you,
Father
“W-What is this?” Collin stumbled for words, eager for answers. He was beyond confused. He had read his father’s will, declaring Margaret heir if she found a suitable husband by her twenty-first birthday. This didn’t make sense. Which one was the true will?
“A few years ago, my father passed, leaving me in debt,” Mr. Agnes said.
“After finishing school, I took the job with your father, but I had no idea how much it would change my life. It took all my strength to come clean to Evie and despite my truth . . . I was nervous to speak out about another matter that might cost my life.” Mr. Agnes avoided his gaze.
“I’m ashamed, sir. I was forced to destroy this will and forge another.
But I couldn’t destroy this. I kept the will hidden until I could figure out a way to give it to you. Please forgive me.”
Mr. Agnes then broke down in tears, his spectacles fogging.
Collin’s world stood still. His father had been a changed man.
These past few weeks, Collin had hated him, cursing his grave, yet the entire time, he had remained true to his word.
The will was a testament to that. Father never wanted control. He had never been using Margaret.
Collin placed his hand on Mr. Agnes’s shoulder. “I forgive you. I, too, know what it’s like to be manipulated and frightened.”
Mr. Agnes pressed his lips together for a moment. “I turned Mr. Baldwin in with evidence. I don’t care what it’ll cost me.”
“You won’t be prosecuted,” Collin promised. “You can have my word. When it comes to court time, you will be a witness, not an accomplice. You were trying to live, and I understand. Your family needed you alive.”
“Thank you, sir . . . I-I am undeserving.”
“We all are undeserving of any grace. If Christ can forgive me, I can forgive you.” Collin held the file against his chest. “Have you heard anything about Roger’s case?”