A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

and requested another foster child. I’m not going to say it was easy raising children who had been neglected and had experienced a myriad of traumas, but I was willing to accept the challenge. And once I decided to homeschool you and saw you thrive, I knew that’s what I wanted for the others. My mother accused me of setting up a safety net for my children where they wouldn’t be able to survive outside the bubble I’d created.”

Taylor hadn’t had much interaction with Elise’s parents, who’d relocated to Florida to take advantage of the warmer climate. “Thankfully, they did live long enough to see us survive.”

“You’re right. My mother finally had to admit that Conrad and I had done a good job raising their grandchildren.”

Taylor would readily admit to anyone that he’d had the best upbringing any child could wish for. Although Conrad was a workaholic, putting in long hours at his office Monday through Friday, on the weekends he devoted himself totally to his wife and children. Once the family increased, he’d arranged for an in-ground pool and basketball and tennis courts. On Saturdays or Sundays, he could be seen shooting hoops with his sons and daughter or swimming laps with Viola.

“And I’m certain once Patrick marries and has children he will also become a good father.”

Elise’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “I shouldn’t say this, but I really don’t like my future daughter-in-law.”

Taylor angled his head. “Why would you say that?”

“She’s a bit too pushy and immature for my tastes. When Patrick doesn’t do what she wants, she tends to pout like a little child.”

Taylor wanted to tell Elise he agreed with her but didn’t think it was his place to comment on his brother’s choice as a potential wife. “It’s apparent that it doesn’t bother him.”

“Well, I still don’t like her,” Elise mumbled under her breath.

He sat straight, wondering if his mother would approve of the woman he would choose as a wife. “I’m ready to move into your condo.”

Elise stood, Taylor pushing off the rocker and rising with her. “I just have to get my keys.”

Sonja had drawn up a list of things she had to do before she relocated to New Jersey. She’d handed in her resignation, giving the gallery owners two weeks’ notice. In the interim she’d gone through her closet to select garments for spring and summer, and then went online to purchase a number of tees and khakis that she’d planned to make her work ensemble, along with boots and running shoes.

She and Taylor communicated with each other electronically, either texting or emailing her with updates and emojis. He sent her a thumbs-up after it’d taken the security company a week to set up their system, and a thumbs-down after the maintenance company used more than a dozen workers over the span of a month to clean the entire house from the turrets to the cellar.

When she wasn’t working at the gallery, Sonja went online to research Bainbridge House and had gleaned more about the house than the family for which it had been named. However, she did discover an article written about Charles Garland Bainbridge that recorded he’d been prevented from building his summer cottage in Newport, Rhode Island, like millionaire owners of The Breakers, Marble House and Chateau-sur-Mer because there were rumors that his wife may have been a mulatto. Sonja was anxious to go through the contents of the trunks to uncover what secrets the Bainbridge family wanted to hide or deny.

Bainbridge House had survived while Newport’s summer retreats of wealthy Gilded Age industrialists hadn’t after World War II. The Victorian-era mansions had become impractical and out of style. Many were converted into schools or condos, and others were neglected, razed or abandoned until the Preservation Society of Newport County began buying up Gilded Age mansions and opening them to the public as museums.

She’d just finished packing a Pullman when her cell phone rang. Smiling, she picked it up. “What’s up, boss?”

Sonja did not realize how much she’d missed Taylor until he called her. And not seeing him for weeks had exacerbated the longing she’d continually denied acknowledging. There was something about her best friend’s brother that turned her into an emotional pretzel whenever she asked herself what she wanted from Taylor and the answer continued to evade her.

Taylor’s laugh caressed her ear. “Not hardly,” he teased. “I’m calling to let you know I’ve leased a furnished condo for you less than ten miles from Bainbridge House, because the only extended-stay hotel was too far away. Your car is parked in the attached garage. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll pick you up and drive you back here.”

“I’m ready now, Taylor. I just finished packing.”

“How many bags do you have?”

“I have a Pullman, a smaller one with wheels and a carry-on bag with my laptop.”

“I’ll come up to your apartment and help you with your bags.”

“That’s not necessary. My uncle will help me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Taylor. I’m sure.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll call you once I reach the bridge.”

“Okay.” Sonja wheeled her bags out of her bedroom to the entryway. She’d alerted her aunt and uncle days before that she would be leaving before the weekend.

Nelson pushed to his feet. “I guess this is it.”

Sonja nodded. “Yes. But I’m not going down until Taylor calls to let me know he’s on the GW Bridge.”

Yolanda came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t get so involved in your work that you forget to take time to relax.”

Sonja laughed. “I don’t plan to work weekends.” Taylor told her she was responsible for her own hours, and for her that meant taking Saturdays and Sundays off.

Yolanda approached Sonja and hugged her. “Good for you.”

She returned her aunt’s hug and kissed her cheek. “I have some time before Taylor will be here to pick me up—I’ll help you in the kitchen.” Since she’d retired, Yolanda spent most of her time in the kitchen scrolling through the internet