She shook her head and lowered her eyes. “No sir, I just move from place to place, but I am fine because I know how to survive.”
Franklin felt something warm stir in a heart that had long been cold and guarded. He extended his hand toward her and said, “Not anymore, because you saved my life today, and I would like to help you if you will let me.”
Abigail studied his face carefully and seemed to recognize genuine gratitude rather than pity. After a brief hesitation, she placed her small hand in his.
In the weeks that followed, Franklin’s mansion in Upper East Side Manhattan transformed from a silent museum into a lively home. Abigail moved cautiously at first, yet her laughter soon filled hallways that had echoed only with footsteps before.
Franklin gave her a bright bedroom overlooking the Hudson River and bought her new clothes and books, but more importantly he gave her time and attention. However, the betrayal had left deep financial wounds that could not be ignored.
One afternoon, attorney Harold Greene arrived at the mansion carrying thick folders and a troubled expression. Franklin and Abigail were in the study, where she was sketching while he reviewed company files.