Allison O'Brian on Her Own, Volume 2 Read online

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  © 1998, 1999 by Melody Carlson

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Combined edition published 2011

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3255-7

  Previously published in two separate volumes:

  Autumn Secrets © 1998

  Dreams of Promise © 1999

  E-book edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  To Frank and Patsy Carlson

  with love—me

  Allison couldn’t believe she’d done it. Whatever had possessed her to slip that poem under her mother’s door? She frantically tried to recall exactly what the poem had said, but any memory of the rhyming verse, like the misty dusk gathered on the estate lawn outside her window, was foggy and obscure now.

  She paced the floor of her room, feeling once again like a prisoner. Was Marsha reading it right now? Would she understand that all Allison wanted was to be a part of a real family? She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her auburn curls were wild and tangled from the ocean mist. Her pale skin looked almost ghostly, with dark shadows circling her green eyes like a sad raccoon. She shook her head and sighed. Just a poor little rich girl.

  She sat down on the bed and stared blankly at the well-furnished room. The richly polished hand-carved furniture had probably been in the Madison family for generations, but for all she cared it could be firewood. She didn’t want any of this. The Madison family fortune meant nothing to her. All she wanted was a life. A real life. A family that really loved her. If only Marsha could understand that. Allison whispered a quick prayer that the poem she wrote would open Marsha’s eyes.

  The dinner hour came and passed, but Allison couldn’t bring herself to go down to eat. Instead, she wrote a letter to her friend Heather in Tamaqua Point, Oregon, telling her about her eminent return to the Oakmont Academy for Girls. Allison wrote lightly about it, hoping to conceal her honest feelings. No need to trouble poor Heather with her ongoing problems. Besides, she knew that Grace would probably be the one to read her letter to Heather since Allison didn’t own a Braille typewriter, and she didn’t want Grace to know how miserable she was. Allison assured them all that everything would be perfectly fine—that it was really for the best. If only she could believe her own words.

  Someone tapped on her door, and Allison jumped in fright. Tucking the letter safely under a pillow, she quickly stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt. Willing her heart to quit racing like a freight train, she cautiously made her way to the door and opened it.

  There stood Marsha, dressed in an evening gown the color of rubies. She was obviously going out tonight, and she appeared every bit like the famous movie star she was. But her face looked serious, and her normally smooth brow was creased with a line shaped like a V.

  “May I come in for a minute, Allison?” Marsha asked stiffly.

  Allison held the door open and nodded mutely.

  Marsha sat down on a straight-backed chair, carefully arranging her shiny taffeta skirt in front of her. Allison perched on the edge of her bed, almost afraid to breathe. She studied Marsha’s made-up face, trying to read the expression on it. Was she angry at Allison for writing the poem? Did she want to talk?

  Marsha crossed her silk-stockinged legs, lightly folded her bare arms, and stared at Allison with a puzzled expression—as if she were thinking about speaking—but still she said nothing. The silence was making Allison very uncomfortable.

  “Are you and Stanley going out tonight?” Allison blurted, realizing that this was a fairly obvious question. Still, anything would be better than silence.

  Marsha nodded, still surveying Allison with a curious frown. “Allison . . . you know about the estate, don’t you?”

  “You mean about my inheritance of the Madison fortune?” Allison tried to sound nonchalant. “Yes, I heard you and Grandmother Madison talking. . . .”

  Marsha looked down and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  Allison wondered if Marsha was sorry for the pain their words had inflicted or just sorry that their plan to keep her inheritance for themselves was no longer a secret.

  Marsha cleared her throat and continued. “I read your poem, Allison. I didn’t know my daughter was a poetess, but then, I suppose there are a lot of things I don’t know about you. . . .” She looked directly at Allison, and it almost seemed as if her eyes were misty. But Allison was well aware of how Marsha, the actress, could turn tears on and off faster than her gold-plated bathroom faucet. Marsha stood and began to pace across the room.

  “I’m really not much of a mother, am I?” Marsha continued to speak, not waiting for an answer. “No, I never wanted to be a mother, Allison, but you’ve probably figured that out by now. Not that you’re not a nice kid. I really do like you.”

  Allison stared up in surprise. Any sign of affection from her mother was rare, and she sat quietly, waiting to see where it would go.

  “Allison, I have been thinking about your little poem—and about your request to live with James. . . .” Marsha paused and stared at the tranquil painting hanging over the bed. “You know, it’s funny. . . . I really don’t have anything against your father. He’s a very decent man.” She sat down in the chair again and gazed across the room as if she were looking over the years. “I really did love him at one time. At least I think I did. The truth is, I’ve never felt the same way about anyone since him. But, well, he was—I suppose we were—just mismatched. . . . He wanted the three of us to settle down and be a nice little family. You know, the white picket fence with a rose-covered cottage, but I didn’t want that then. Can you understand, Allison?”

  Allison swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She tried to understand how Marsha might have felt, but it didn’t make much sense. The little house and fence sounded like everything Allison had ever wanted.

  “It just wasn’t meant to be, Allison. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of all our unhappiness. And I’m sorry for what I did to James. It probably doesn’t mean anything now, but I truly am.”

  Allison noticed how Marsha’s black eye makeup was beginning to stream down her rouged cheeks in dark, ugly streaks, her carefully made-up party face now melting. She looked over at the dressing table to where a lace-trimmed linen handkerchief lay. Her grandmother Mercury had made it and left it for her at Grandpa O’Brian’s house at Tamaqua Point. She picked up the pretty handkerchief and handed it to Marsha, who naturally had no idea of its significance. Allison watched as Marsha daubed her face, and the white linen quickly became smeared with ugly blotches of tear-stained makeup.

  Marsha sniffed, then held her head high. “I have come to a decision, Allison. I am turning over a new leaf. I’m only human, but somehow I am going to try to make this whole mess up to you.”

  Allison stared speechlessly at Marsha, wondering if she had heard her right. Was this a dream?

  “For starters, Allison, you may choose where you wish to live. After fourteen years of being shoved from pillar to post, it’s high time you had a say in things. Your poem showed me that.” Marsha dabbed her nose again.

  “You mean it, Marsha?” Allison stood in disbelief. She wanted
to rush forward and hug her, but she hesitated. Marsha always held physical affection at bay. “Oh, Marsha, thank you! Thank you! I can’t believe it—I really get to go to Oregon, to go to school with Heather and Andrew. It’s just too good to be true! This isn’t a trick, is it? Do you really, honestly mean it, Marsha?”

  Marsha nodded and smiled faintly. “Yes. Mother will have an absolute fit, but I do mean it. And it’s my decision to make, not hers.” She rose and walked over to the cherry-framed mirror above the vanity table. “Oh, my goodness, I do look a fright!”

  “Marsha,” Allison began in a trembling voice, “I just want you to know, in spite of everything that’s happened—I do forgive you. And—” She paused and wondered if it could really hurt anything to hug her own mother. “I love you, Marsha,” she whispered as she timidly stepped forward and reached out her arms. Marsha felt stiff and awkward at first, but before Allison let go, she thought Marsha softened, just a little.

  Marsha’s face became streaked with fresh tears, and she wiped them with the handkerchief again before handing it back. “Thanks, Allison. Tomorrow morning I’ll arrange your flight. Who knows, you may even beat James home. Weren’t they traveling by train with some aunt of Grace’s? Now, wouldn’t that be a surprise if you were already there waiting for them when they got home?”

  “Thanks, Marsha.” Allison smiled brightly. “Since I’ll be living in Oregon now, I’ll actually be closer to you down in California. I could come—I mean, if you didn’t mind—I could come and visit sometimes. . . .”

  Marsha’s face brightened. “Now, that would be nice, Allison. I think I’d like that, and I’m sure Stanley would, too. I’ll discuss it later with James.”

  Allison didn’t know what more to say, but then she remembered the whole issue of the Madison estate and her inheritance. “Marsha, I really meant what I said. I don’t want this estate. I will be happy to sign anything over to you right now, if you’d like. I’d gladly give it all back—”

  Marsha laughed. “Silly, silly girl, no one takes a juvenile’s signature seriously. Don’t worry about the estate. It’s mostly Mother’s concern. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

  Apparently having said all she wanted to say, Marsha glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Good grief! I better go fix my face. It’s already after eight—although I do enjoy being late. It’s always more fun to make a big entrance that way.”

  Marsha whisked through the door with the soft rustle of taffeta following her. Her perfume lingered in the air, and for once it didn’t make Allison nauseated. She looked down at the soiled handkerchief in her hand. It was smeared with smudges of black and red, but Muriel had told her to use the handkerchief, explaining how Irish linen always laundered nicely. Allison studied the stains and decided that it would never be washed. She smiled to herself as she neatly folded the handkerchief and tucked it into a corner of her letter box, where she kept other mementos and treasures. And then she laughed out loud and thanked God. At long last, she was really, truly going home!

  At Allison’s request, the taxi driver stopped just where the driveway began. She wanted to catch everyone by surprise when she knocked on the door. She remembered the first time she’d walked down this drive. It was a similar day, foggy and damp, and she’d been more than a little frightened by the large stone house draped in the ocean mist. She remembered meeting the old man she had supposed to be a rude gardener.

  A lump grew in her throat as she recalled his sharp inquisition, with shovel in hand and skeptical frown. Then how he almost fell over with a heart attack when he realized she was his very own granddaughter. Of course, she’d been just as surprised to discover he was not the gardener, and that he actually owned the big, dark house looming behind him. The bittersweet memories brought tears to her eyes, and Allison blinked them away. The tears seemed to automatically come whenever she thought of her dear grandpa.

  But it was time to put away unhappiness, for this was a day to rejoice! And her grandpa was probably smiling down from heaven right now. No one could be happier than he to see that Allison Mercury O’Brian had finally come home to Tamaqua Point to stay!

  Allison had deliberately not called ahead to warn them of her arrival. It had taken several days to get everything together and to get flight connections out west, but Marsha had come through with flying colors, even agreeing to Allison’s plan not to telegram ahead to Oregon.

  Allison swallowed a nervous sigh as she approached the house. What fun it would be to surprise them all! She couldn’t wait to see the look on her dad’s face. She rang the bell and tried to suppress the enormous grin that was spreading across her face like a floodlight. Her heart pounded with excitement. The last time she’d seen her father, he had seemed so forlorn, so hopeless—as if the sun had permanently disappeared from his world.

  “Allison Mercury O’Brian!” screeched Muriel with delight as she jerked the door fully open. She pulled Allison inside the foyer and hugged her tightly. “Land o’ mercy! It’s really you! George, come here—you’re never going to believe this!”

  Allison looked around. “Is Dad—”

  “Allison, Allison!” bubbled George as he took her bag and slapped her on the back. “Well, I’ll be!”

  Allison turned to Muriel. “Where’s Dad?”

  Muriel threw back her head and laughed. “By golly, I don’t know how you did it, but you beat him here, Allison! He and Grace and Grace’s aunt Mildred are due in Portland tonight at six. But I don’t understand. He telegramed before they left saying that Marsha had won the custody suit, and that you would not be coming back.” Muriel tilted her head and cocked one eyebrow. “Allison O’Brian, you haven’t run away again, have you, darling?”

  Allison detected a sly smile lurking behind Muriel’s suspicious question. She laughed. “Not this time, Muriel. This time I’m home for good! And with Marsha’s blessing!”

  “Oh my! Oh my!” was all Muriel could exclaim, and Allison had to giggle—it wasn’t often that Muriel was caught speechless like this.

  “I’ll take your things to your room,” George offered with a big grin. “And welcome home!”

  “Well, let’s get your coat hung up and get you into the kitchen.” Muriel had regained her speech, and as usual seemed focused on eating. “I better get some food into you before it’s time to go to Portland. Andrew’s picking them all up at the train station since George has misplaced his eyeglasses again. And I suspect you’ll want to go along, too. Andrew’s stopping by here to pick up a basket of food. In the meantime, you have less than forty minutes to tell me the whole story!”

  The minutes flew as Allison recapped the story about Marsha changing her mind and arranging for the trip. Then Allison heard the familiar sound of Andrew’s voice calling from the back porch. She felt certain that her heart skipped a beat, but she determined to remain composed.

  “I’m here, Muriel,” he called. “What is it you want me to pick—” He stopped in midsentence and stared at Allison as if she were a ghost.

  “Hi, Andrew,” her voice came out in a half whisper. “I guess I’m kinda like a bad penny—I just keep coming back.”

  “Welcome back, Penny!” he whooped. He dashed over and hugged her and swung her around. “Are you here to stay?”

  She felt her cheeks redden with delight. “Yep, like it or not! I’m here to stay!”

  He grinned. “Well, I guess we can put up with it. At least until you start getting bossy again.”

  She socked him gently in the arm and laughed. “Are Heather and Winston out in the car?”

  “No, it’s a school night, and we thought they better not.”

  Muriel frowned. “I don’t even like sending you on a school night, Andrew, but until George finds his glasses, there’s no point in sending him, either. He’d end up in a ditch for sure.”

  Andrew looked at his watch. “I better get rolling if I want to make it by six.” He turned to Allison and shook his head. “I still can’t believe you
’re here.”

  Muriel handed Andrew a basket of food. “This is what I called you to pick up. James and Grace might be hungry for some real food after a week’s worth of train cooking. And of course, Grace is bringing back her aunt with them, so I packed plenty of food. Also, I thought Allison should ride with you. It’ll be a great surprise for Jamie, and you might enjoy the company.”

  “Sure would!” Andrew took the basket, and Allison grabbed her jacket.

  “Muriel,” Allison said, “don’t tell Heather and Winston yet. I want to surprise them when we get back, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, dear. Now, you two better scoot! Andrew, you drive carefully, you hear? It’ll be daylight going, and then Jamie can drive back home.”

  Andrew promised to be careful as he waved good-bye. Then he opened the door to Grandpa’s green Buick for Allison. “Muriel said to take the car instead of the jalopy,” he explained. “I guess that makes sense, but I’d rather drive the jalopy.”

  Allison slid in. It felt strange for Andrew to open the door for her and for them to be going someplace together—just the two of them—almost like a date. Then she told herself to stop thinking such silly thoughts. After all, she and Andrew were just very good friends. Anything else was ridiculous.

  “So tell me, Al, what happened? Last thing I heard was that Marsha was taking you back to Beverly Hills.”

  Allison once again began to explain the amazing story, this time with more details than she had shared with Muriel. The driving time seemed to whiz by as she poured out what had transpired in the last several weeks.

  “Unbelievable!” Andrew exclaimed. “So your grandmother was actually trying to cheat you out of your own inheritance? And your mother was in cahoots?”

  The city lights of Portland were getting closer now as Allison hurried to tell her story. “Sadly enough, I guess that about sums it up. But you haven’t heard the best part yet. I guess I went a little crazy when I found out about the inheritance business. It was bad enough thinking I was being shipped off to boarding school again, but to learn about that was just too much. I felt tricked and betrayed.”