Chapter 28 - The Confrontation at the River
They brought Richard down the front steps in the pouring rain. A small crowd of neighbors from the surrounding farms, alerted by the sirens and the smoke, had gathered at the bottom of the lane, watching in stunned silence as the lord of Blackwood Manor was pushed into the back of a police cruiser.
I stood on the porch beside Miles, who was pressing a clean handkerchief to the scratch on his cheek. Sarah stood a few feet away, her head held high, watching the cruiser's red taillights vanish down the drive.
"It's over, Mrs. Mercer," Arthur said, stepping out into the damp air, tucking his legal files into his waterproof case. "The arson alone guarantees no bail will be granted tonight. With the tape, the wrench from the exhumation, and Sarah’s testimony, Richard will spend the remainder of his natural life inside the state penitentiary at Thomaston."
"What happens to Blackwood?" I asked, looking up at the dark, imposing facade of the house.
"The manor was purchased with funds stolen from the maternal estate," Sarah said quietly, walking toward us. "Legally, it belongs to me. But I don't want it. I have lived seventy years with the ghost of this house hanging over my trees. I want it torn down."
"Torn down?" Miles asked, surprised.
"Level it," Sarah said without hesitation. "Sell the timber. Use the trust to build a park for the county children. A sanctuary where no one has to prove their pedigree to walk on the grass."
She looked at me, a soft, rare smile softening the lines around her mouth. "And a scholarship fund. For little girls who wear paper crowns."
My eyes welled with tears. I reached out and took Sarah’s hand. Her skin was rough, calloused from years of honest labor, but warm and full of life—the exact opposite of the cold, dead hands of the man who had tried to erase her.
"Come home with us, Sarah," I said softly. "It's midnight. Lily is asleep at our house. My mother-in-law is watching her. Come have breakfast with us in the morning."
May you like
Sarah looked toward the dark woods of the gorge, then back at me. "I haven't eaten at a family table since 1978, Elena."
"Then it's about time," Miles said gently, offering her an umbrella. "Lily makes pancakes. They're shaped like stars, but they taste like victory."
