Head of the House

Copyright

© 2015 by Grace Livingston Hill

eBook Editions:

Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-516-7

Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-517-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Chapter 1

The house was wide and low and charming, built of rough gray stone with ivy climbing around the terrace walls, creeping up the rambling solid chimneys and around the stone bay windows. It had a homelike look, as if it were a place beloved where happy living went on and joy echoed from its solid walls, a place where every spot was enjoyed to the fullest, a place where friends and neighbors loved to come.

But that morning it seemed to be standing aghast in the early summer sunshine, its bright frill of daffodils that edged the terrace walls gazing with fixed yellow stare at a world that overnight had changed. The whole house seemed stunned with the sudden catastrophe that had befallen, like a beloved dog wagging his lonely plumy tail, wistfully, aggrievedly, to an unresponsive relative.

Two cars were parked on the wide drive near the front entrance, and a third drove hastily up as if it feared it was late. A lady in the backseat leaned forward, looking up at the house speculatively, with an almost possessive glance, critically taking in all its features. She stepped out of the limousine as her chauffeur opened the door for her, and she hastened up the broad low steps, noting a flower that hung down from its stalk over the walk, reminding herself to speak to the gardener about picking the flowers and sending them over to her house.

She was a large lady, imposing in her bearing, sharp of glance, firm of chin, and thin of lip, a great aunt on the mother’s side who had always considered it her business to set the whole family right and keep them so. Her name was Petra Holbrook, Aunt Pet for short, disrespectfully called by the children sometimes “Aunt Petunia.”

At the threshold, she paused with her hand on the doorknob and identified the two cars that were parked at the right of the drive, side by side as if a procession were expected and they were the first. She sniffed as she recognized them. The first would be Adrian Graeme’s car. Of course he would come first and try to act as though he was the most important member of the family, just because his name was Graeme and he was the oldest relative on the Graeme side. But he surely didn’t expect to have anything to say about matters. He was only a second cousin and had never been generous. But then, of course, the notice had been sent to them all. That was certainly a shabby car he was driving. His second-best likely. It didn’t seem very respectful to come to such an important engagement in a car like that, but then his flighty wife, Lutie, likely had the other off somewhere shopping. Wasn’t she coming? Probably she was going to try to get out of any responsibility. Perhaps she would be late and come fluttering in after everything was all arranged. Lutie Graeme! Such a silly name for a grown woman. Well, she for one intended to see that Cousin Lutie had a task set for her that would make her wish she had come earlier.

And the next car was Jim Delaney’s. Jim had been a half brother of John Graeme and would likely think he had a say. And, of course, he was pretty well fixed and ought to be able to shoulder some of the responsibility. But he needn’t think he was going to choose what it should be. After all, he was only a half, and a man at that. And a man wouldn’t know rightly what was good for children suddenly left without father or mother. Jim’s wife was dead so she would not be there to complicate matters.

She swept the driveway with another glance that glimpsed the side toward the garage. Apparently the lawyer hadn’t come yet.