Chapter 2 - THE SECRET ELEANOR HAD BURIED FOR 28 YEARSNobody moved.
The musicians had stopped playing.
Even the photographers lowered their cameras.
Sarah stared at Eleanor.
“What are you talking about?”
Eleanor looked at her son.
“David, get your father.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Something in her voice frightened him.
Richard Whitmore approached, irritated.
“What is going on?”
Eleanor whispered:
“The baby.”
Richard stopped.
Margaret stared at him.
“You know something.”
Richard's face hardened.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You do,” Eleanor said.
Sarah looked between them.
“What baby?”
Margaret slowly opened the velvet box completely.
The sapphire brooch caught the light.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
“That rose…”
Margaret looked confused.
“You recognize it?”
Eleanor didn't answer.
Richard grabbed her arm.
“Not here.”
Margaret stepped forward.
“You know this brooch.”
Richard glared at her.
“You need to leave.”
David stepped between them.
“Dad, what is happening?”
Richard's voice became cold.
“Your wedding is about to begin. This is not the time for some old story.”
Margaret looked at him.
“It isn't a story.”
She pointed at Sarah.
“She is the story.”
Sarah's breathing became shallow.
“Margaret, please.”
But Margaret finally understood.
Someone in that room knew more than she had ever been told.
She looked at Eleanor.
“Who was Sarah's mother?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
“I can't.”
“Who?”
“I said I can't.”
David's voice rose.
“Mom, tell me.”
Eleanor looked at him.
Then at Sarah.
Then at Margaret.
And finally she whispered:
“Her mother was my sister.”
Sarah froze.
David stared.
“What?”
Eleanor continued.
“My younger sister, Catherine.”
Richard grabbed her arm.
“Enough.”
Eleanor pulled away.
“Twenty-eight years ago, Catherine had a daughter.”
Sarah felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath her.
“A daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Eleanor looked directly at Sarah.
“She disappeared.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
She pulled the sapphire brooch from the box.
“I found this beside the baby.”
Eleanor stared at it.
“That belonged to Catherine.”
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
“Then who was I?”
Nobody answered.
And then an elderly man near the back of the hall spoke.
“I know.”
Everyone turned.
It was Mr. Howard, the Whitmore family's retired attorney.
He had been silent throughout the entire confrontation.
His face was pale.
He held an old leather briefcase.
“I know exactly who Sarah is.”
Richard shouted:
“Howard, don't.”
The old attorney looked at him.
“I've kept your secret for twenty-eight years.”
May you like
He placed the briefcase on a table.
“But I won't keep it anymore.”
