Worthy Brown's Daughter by Phillip Margolin Page B

other. A person was not only a body. The body was only a vessel that contained a person’s soul. The way a person looked did not define her. It was her personality that made Rachel different from every other person on Earth. And that personality—her soul—would live as long as those who remembered Rachel existed.
    If death had not parted Rachel’s soul from Matthew and he was still passionately in love with her, would it be fair to court Heather, no matter how strong his feelings for her? Was it possible to love two women equally?
    And there was another problem. Heather had rekindled feelings in Matthew he thought were dead, but Matthew wondered if he was foolish to pursue her. There were two inescapable facts he had to confront; he was poor, and Heather Gillette was the daughter of the wealthiest man in Oregon.
    DURING DINNER, HEATHER TALKED NONSTOP about the interview for The Spokesman she’d conducted with the Keans. Benjamin Gillette smiled proudly during Heather’s excited recitation of her discussions of Shakespeare, the theater, and the arts with the famous thespians. By dinner’s end, Matthew was completely relaxed. He had worried that Benjamin might be upset that Matthew had accepted his daughter’s invitation to the theater, but Benjamin seemed pleased to be in his company. When Heather left the men to make her final preparations for their evening out, he offered Matthew brandy and a cigar.
    A brief return to summer’s balmy weather had surprised Portland, and Ben led Matthew outside to the front porch. Matthew sipped his brandy and contemplated the snowy face of Mount Hood, which was turning a shade of rose in the rays of the setting sun. Benjamin blew a stream of smoke into the air.
    “What’s come of that matter with Caleb?” Gillette asked.
    The question surprised Matthew. Then he realized that it shouldn’t have. After all, Barbour was Gillette’s attorney.
    “He’s shown no inclination to return Mr. Brown’s daughter, so we’ll have to go to court.”
    “How do you fancy your chances?” Gillette asked as Francis Gibney brought the carriage to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps.
    “I think it will be a hard case, but I believe I’m on the right side of it.”
    Gillette nodded as the front door opened and Heather bustled out, all smiles, her excitement a delight to the two men who waited for her.
    PORTLAND’S NIGHTTIME STREETS WERE ALWAYS crowded, but the throng in front of Stewart’s Willamette was unusually large. Gaslight shone down on the hoi polloi, who crowded around the entrance to the theater eager for a glimpse of the elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen lucky enough to have a ticket for the performance. Francis drove the carriage to the curb, using it as a barrier to protect his passengers from the mob. Matthew helped Heather down. She looked stunning in blue satin, her slender neck graced by South Sea pearls the color and shape of a full moon.
    The lobby was even more claustrophobic than the street, and Matthew was grateful for Benjamin’s bulk, which, coupled with his prestige, cleared a path through the crowd. They were almost through the lobby when Orville Mason hailed them.
    “Have you ever seen anything more thrilling?” Heather asked him.
    Matthew suspected that Heather was swept away by the excitement of the moment and her visit with the actors, since she must have had some experiences in San Francisco and Boston that rivaled the Keans’ premiere.
    “Not in Portland,” Orville answered.
    “Everybody is here,” Heather said after a quick perusal of the theatergoers.
    A bell signaled the ticket holders to take their seats, and Orville looked for his parents. Heather grabbed Matthew and pulled him after her father.
    THE PERFORMANCE WAS MAGNIFICENT. AFTERWARD, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Eldridge, prominent patrons of the Portland art scene, hosted an elegant affair at their mansion so Portland’s elite could meet the Keans. Matthew shielded Heather as they pushed