A Daughter's Inheritance by Tracie Peterson, Judith Miller Page A

Michael turned toward Broadmoor Island, the island that had been his home since birth. He knew every inch of this two-mile-long island like the back of his hand. Since his early years, he’d explored the dog bone–shaped island with its sloping lawns that led to the docks and its craggy ten-foot-high seawall that protected Broadmoor Castle as it towered toward the heavens. Now he wondered if his days on this island were numbered. With Mr. Broadmoor’s death, the family would possibly sell the island. Few of them enjoyed this magnificent treasure, and Michael knew wealthy men would be willing to pay a generous sum for the palatial summer home of Hamilton Broadmoor.
    He docked the boat and glanced toward the house. His mother had been watching for him, for she was already picking her way down the path to the boathouse. Moving with haste, he lifted the bundles of food and dry goods onto the dock, where he would transfer them into a cart for transport to the residence. It would take several trips, but the cart would be easier than attempting to carry all of the items in cumbersome baskets.
    “I was beginning to worry,” his mother called out when she neared the boat.
    He bit his tongue. No need to remind her how many items she’d requested or how long it took Mr. Warnoll to fill her massive order for roasts and chops.
    “Did you pick up the mail?”
    “I did, though that reminder wasn’t on your list.” He pecked her cheek with a fleeting kiss.
    His mother extended her arm, and he handed her the bundle of mail. If she was looking for a letter from Broadmoor Mansion, she’d find nothing there. He’d already checked. She riffled through the mail while he loaded the cart, always careful to keep the newspaper hidden from view.
    By the time he had unloaded the final cart of goods, his mother was already scurrying about the kitchen, arranging the new supplies in their proper locations and checking to make certain he’d purchased every item in the quantity requested.
    “So far I haven’t found any mistakes.” She lifted her chin and gave him a smile.
    Without fanfare he spread the paper across the table in front of his mother and pointed to the picture of Hamilton Broadmoor. She gasped and dropped into a nearby chair.

7
    Tuesday, July 6, 1897
    They didn’t need to worry long. Early the next morning, Mr. Simmons from the telegraph office arrived by boat with a message that servants from the Rochester mansion would begin arriving that afternoon. Michael was instructed to meet the train and transport the servants and the family’s trunks to the island. Unlike some of the summer residents, who transported their riding horses and milking cows to their homes each summer, the Broadmoors’ two riding horses as well as the farm stock were kept at the island year-round, expediting the process of moving their goods to the island. With the arrival of the servants several days in advance, the family’s clothing would be pressed and hung in their wardrobes, menus would be planned, and the individual needs and desires of each family member would be met prior to their coming.
    Michael was waiting outside the Clayton station when the train from Rochester hissed and jolted to a stop. He would have no difficulty recognizing at least some of the Broadmoor staff. Each year several new servants arrived with those stalwart members of the staff who were expected to spend each summer at the island, regardless of their families back home. Michael’s mother always looked forward to reuniting with some of them. No doubt his mother’s favorite, Kate O’Malley, would be among those arriving. As head housekeeper at Broadmoor Mansion, Mrs. O’Malley’s presence was expected. Maggie Atwell and Kate had become good friends over the years. Yet not good enough friends that Kate had written to inform them of Mr. Broadmoor’s death, he thought while watching the housekeeper detrain.
    He waved his cap and headed across the tracks. “Welcome, Mrs.