Beyond the Whitecaps

By Jane Moxley

About the Book
Money is not the root to all evil, no. It’s the love of money that is deep-rooted in an unsuspecting, tormented soul.
Beth Harrison, the heroine in Beyond the Whitecaps, is very old and is dying. Her entire life had been clouded with sad desire, tragic wealth, and contaminated fame.
In and out of consciousness, Beth drifts back to when tragedy, greed, and murder took hold of her family, the wealthiest family in the world. While vacationing in England, a horrific accident took the lives of a Harrison grandchild and a daughter-in-law. Being the wealthiest family in the world, and having strangulated ties to the royal family, the accident would change the course of world history, and it would sadly chase the Harrisons forever.
Greed and social concepts of royal blood, blueblood, and the ill-bred come together in unwarranted sex, violent sex, and painfully needed sex, with homosexuality more welcomed than the natural state of lubrication. The love of money sharing the love of power is much more than beyond evil; it’s beyond the whitecaps.

About the Author
Retired schoolteacher Abelina P. Kraus and her daughter, Jane Moxley, a quality assurance specialist for Becton Dickinson, are co-authors of Beyond the Whitecaps. The mother-daughter team shares a love for writing.
Beyond the Whitecaps, their third book, took a little over ten years to write. Krausville, a children’s book, and Mausoleum, a thriller, are their first two published books.
Sadly, Abelina passed in 2016, leaving behind nine children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Jul 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887297514

Book preview

Chapter One

The seams to her white stockings aligned perfectly with the backstitching of her white shoes. Her attire could not be less than perfect. Her employment with the Harrisons was still new, as was her guarded opinion of the opulent surroundings of the Harrisons’ renowned estate, Huntington.

Flawlessly, her crisp uniform gathered slightly as she made her way through the stately mansion. She passed great gathering rooms housed with enormous paintings and ornate fixtures. The affluence of Huntington brought to her cascading emotions of its tumultuous history. A history that the world saw only as implausible and untouchable.

The elevator in the central hall was on its way down as she neared the library. The metal clanging stopped as the elevator came to a rest. The gray, paled gate soon opened, and a servant with luggage appeared before her. Remembering her instructions from her employer, she dared not to exchange words with the servant. It was not acceptable to socialize with the servants, and it was of no great interest for either party.

More and more servants passed her as she approached the main kitchen. A member of the wait staff met her at the south end of the kitchen and handed her a platinum tray. After examining the items on the tray, she straightened her uniform cap and left. She was a nurse. She was Mrs. John Harrison’s nurse, but the world knew her patient as the wealthiest woman in the world, Beth Harrison.

The Harrisons. A family of great wealth and of great fame. A family having no ties to human compassion, nor any desire to acquire such a need. They are of their own breed, using money as a tool, an insatiable tool. The Harrisons controlled everything and everyone in need of their privileged power, which was, in most part, the world.

The door opened. Deep inside Mrs. Harrison’s bedroom, the crackling of firewood hushed the chunks of snow that continued to fall from the mansion’s enormous dormers. Setting the tray down near the window box, the nurse noticed that the curtains in the room had been drawn, an indication that Mrs. Harrison had ordered them to stay open. More and more, the frail woman in bed had become increasingly afraid of the dark, a common thread shared by those who were very old and dying.

Is that you, Martha-Anne? her patient asked in a weak voice.

No, Mrs. Harrison, Martha-Anne’s shift ended this morning. It’s me, Miss Claire Sharon.

Oh, I’m sorry. Lately I’ve been a little confused about things. Would you please be so kind and give me a glass of water, Miss Sharon?

I have your medicine, Mrs. Harrison. I’ll give you water with your pills, and you may call me Claire Sharon. My last name is Ambrosa.

Yes, yes, and my name is Elizabeth, and people call me Beth, but you will remain addressing me as Mrs. Harrison. Do you understand? Now, I do not need any more pills. Get me some water please, Miss Sharon...Claire. Oh, Claire Sharon...dear God.

Yes, Mrs. Harrison, but you still have to take your medicine.

I’m not well, Miss Claire Sharon, and we both know that I am not going to get well. There are no pills in the world that can help me, so let me be on with it; let me die in peace...and with some water!

Mrs. Harrison, you have a guest coming this afternoon, remember? You’ve been waiting a long time to see her, as I’ve been told by Mr. Scott. He said that she’ll be here later this afternoon.

Mr. Scott? Who is Mr. Scott?

Your house manager, Huntington’s house manager, Mrs. Harrison.

You mean Mr. Fenmore?

Who is Mr. Fenmore, Mrs. Harrison? I haven’t met him. Beth looked up at the window and searched with her eyes to remember the last time she saw Fenmore. I’ll make it a point to meet with Mr. Fenmore, Mrs. Harrison. I’ll ask Mr. Scott to introduce me to him.

Beth’s thin hands fondled her thick quilt as she said, Fenmore...gone? That’s right, I’ve forgotten. How silly of me. All right, all right, give me my pills...and my water. What time is it, Claire...I mean Claire Sharon...good grief…what time is it?

It’s nine o’clock in the morning, Mrs. Harrison.

And who did you say was visiting today?

Mr. Scott just mentioned that you have a guest coming. I don’t know who she is or her name, Mrs. Harrison.

Alright, I need to be alone...but before you leave, please have someone bring more firewood.

Yes, Mrs. Harrison.

The door shut. Beth was alone with her thoughts, alone with her confusion, and alone with her bewildering past. She tried to remember who her expected guest could be.

Her fingers moved up and down the silk embroidered quilt, soon catching a snag of a small pestering thread. She tried pulling it out, but her nails were too short to catch hold. She struggled with the silk thread until a flapping sound caught her attention. Her old blue eyes turned to the window. Outside, sharing the morning sun, the birds in the air were supportively whirling about in harmony.

The door suddenly opened. Beth turned to see a burly man carrying firewood. I’ll have a nice fire started for you shortly, ma’am, he said. Beth smiled; she recognized him with great relief. It was Richard Smeed, a longtime employee at Huntington, an employee her husband, John, had brought from England. Beth was a bit surprised that he addressed her as ma’am and not as Miss Beth, as he always had. She quickly dismissed his faux pas.

Mr. Smeed, it’s so very good to hear a familiar voice and to see a familiar face. There have been so many changes lately. I need more water. Won’t you please give me a glass of water?

Smeed looked down at the nightstand near the large framed bed. A fresh glass of water rested in reaching distance of her hand. Since Mr. Scott’s employment, there were many changes brought about at Huntington. Changes that brought profound submissive positions with the staff. He knew his place and answered, I’ll get someone to help you, ma’am.

The smile quickly faded from Beth’s face as she turned her head back to the window, back to the flapping of the birds. A sound of freedom and contentment, she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to join them, but an undercurrent from her past soon met with her in her drifting sleep; pulling her back to a time when life became no longer comfortable, no longer a friend.

Her dream would always start the same. She was a passenger trapped in the core of an unrelenting tempest, a wicked tempest, forcefully relaying the staggering truth of her family’s past…at a time in which she considered the beginning of the end of control, unadulterated control.

In truth, Beth was the tempest, and the dream was not a dream; it was the past, the present and current reality of a deceptive, fading dynasty. It was not a dream....

1938

The violent waves pounded the Queen Mary. It had been an angry storm, a storm that seized the North Atlantic with its substantial strength and considerable span. Still, the Queen Mary never relinquished her charge. The celebrated Cunard liner was on her way to America, away from England, and away from a much greater storm.

Below the royal compartments, he laid still. The sea air swept through his nostrils, conveying a brief sense of security. Trying hard not to think of the pain that consumed his body, he listened to the unending hammering of the waves.

Slowly he brought his unsteady hand to his bandaged forehead, allowing his fingers to fondle the dressing. The fabric of the dressing stirred a mirage of thoughts, torturing thoughts that wrestled with what had happened. It had only been a week, but it seemed like a lifetime of anguish. How incomprehensible, he thought, as his fingers continued to caress the thick dressing.

He was on his way back to America, back to a place from which he and his family would escape every year to go on holiday. Now it had become a place to which they’d escape. He was leaving his wife and young daughter behind in England. They were both dead.

Dear God in heaven, he whispered. Cautiously, he raised his body and shifted his weight to his right side. The pain became more unbearable. Still he stayed on his right side, for he knew the value of change. He was a doctor.

The pounding of the waves continued on, seemingly more violent. The light in his room was dim and so he struggled to see the porthole. He could almost swear that the waves were trying to break through the porthole. He closed his eyes, for the pain had now become too agonizing to bear. He had to position himself back onto his back. His right elbow dug into the mattress as his left hand reached behind to grab the sheet. His hand found the morning paper.

Bullshit! he said between his teeth. His pain now had an adversary, anger. The paper crumbled between his hand and the sheet as he landed onto his back. He turned to the porthole again. They’re all full of bullshit! he yelled, as to assault back to the ocean...to the world. With the paper still in his fist, his hand wrestled to get it out from beneath him. He let it fall to the floor, but having the paper still near made him more anxious. The porthole became more of a blur. All of England is full of crap..., he moaned.

The waves seemed to have calmed, as did he with a low whisper, You are a Harrison, and you are a doctor, a good doctor. It happened. Don’t lose it, Jack. Through his grief, he realized the power he had given to unwarranted lies. He closed his eyes. The paper continued to torment him.

...HARRISON FAMILY TRAGEDY

The HARRISON family has suffered a great tragedy while on holiday in England. The wife and daughter of Doctor Jack Harrison have drowned. The bodies of Carolynn Harrison and eighteen-month-old Elizabeth Harrison were swept away in the Essex River when the automobile in which they were passengers, driven by Jack Harrison, crashed into a tree near the river. Searchers have combed the swollen banks of the Essex River for days. The accident occurred during the horrific storms that passed through the west side of England earlier this week. Dr. Harrison, his wife, and his daughter were visiting Carolynn’s father, Lord Alistair Thomas. It is believed that alcohol played a factor. The extent of Dr. Harrison’s injuries are yet unknown, nor will be known. Dr. Harrison, along with other members of his family, left England soon after the accident and are now on the Queen Mary headed back to the States.

Other family members, Jack moaned. He could only imagine what the rest of the family was doing, especially his four young sons. The years of transatlantic travel filled with happy memories, memories he thought would be solid building blocks for their future, were now gone.

A chilling sound of the crosswinds brought on an eerie whistle, and soon his thoughts became more erratic. The pain behind his ear brought on a ringing noise. His hand went immediately to his ear. Feeling the thick bandage covering his ear, his mind fought to unravel what had happened.

...most of it was still a blur; he could not put the sequence of events together, but he could remember pulling his little Elizabeth from the car and putting her down to where he thought would be a safe place. His lips tightened as he remembered looking into her green eyes and promising her...Daddy would be back. He wanted to do more than scream; he wanted to die, as his thoughts kept zeroing in to that single moment when he realized that she, too, had drowned. I shouldn’t have left her; she was too young to understand the danger....

The door to his cabin opened. There was no need to move his eyes to see who had entered; he knew. The smell of cigar permeated the room, quickly smothering away the sea air. It was his father. Avoiding the chase of an argument, he closed his eyes. His father, a surgeon as well, administered more morphine. The door shut, leaving behind the stench of tobacco. Everything started to get fuzzy. The pain in his head started to slowly diminish, and the sea air slowly regained control of the room again. Before surrendering to a deep sleep, it struck again: the agonizing reality that he was going home without Carolynn and his little girl.

 John Harrison stood outside his son’s door. He stood there for a moment to collect his thoughts. His son’s wounds would heal, but would Jack’s heart ever heal? Jack was his first child, his wife’s favorite. Although his wife, Beth, would never admit to their extreme relationship, it was there. Beth and Jack shared a very special bond. John looked around their great state room. There were unopened telegrams from all over the world scattered throughout the room. It was supposed to have been a joyous holiday for him and Beth, his brother Marcus and his wife Rose, and Jack’s family. He wanted to turn around and talk to his son, but he didn’t.

 Offset from the state room, inside their private quarters, John found Beth seated with Rose standing behind her. They both looked tired and anxious.

How’s he doing? Beth asked.

John looked into her red eyes. He’s fine.

Did he say anything? Rose asked.

No.

Was he awake? Beth asked impatiently.

Yes, he was awake. He closed his eyes when he realized that it was me.

I don’t understand, said Beth.

John’s tone went deep, I do. He is so different from his brothers; he has always been different. Allen and Logan are passive. Jack always seems to be fighting the world...or me. I started to believe that little Elizabeth was the best thing for Jack.

We all did, Rose said, lowering her eyes to Beth.

Beth’s heart sank. She knew her husband’s deep thoughts, as well as everyone else in the room. Jack was different because of what John considered an unnatural bond that she and Jack shared since his birth. John was hoping that Elizabeth would replace Beth...but he failed to realize what generated and fed their special relationship. It was John’s self-empowering attitude. He was one of the wealthiest and most famous men in the world, but he did not know how to put a leash on what the world had come to know as...Harrison Power.

Still standing behind Beth, Rose put her hand to Beth’s shoulder. Feeling the familiar tension between Beth and John, Rose tried to change the subject. Speaking of Jack’s brothers, Allen and Logan, have you heard from them?

Yes, John answered. Allen telegrammed us late last night. He and Logan have been fending off...well, I’ll just say that the press is bombarding the entire family. Huntington has been surrounded by the press since the accident.

Dear God, will there be no end to this? Rose asked with a questionable sigh.

What is it, Rose? Beth asked. Rose thought about the morning paper. No matter how much privacy the stateliness of Huntington could offer, they could not hide behind its gates forever.

I think, like you, Beth...I’m just tired.

Beth got up and walked to the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the deck. The storm was slowly passing, but the ocean remained rough. Tears swelled in her eyes as her hands clutched the guardrail. She thought back to a time when she used to hold Jack up to stare at the whitecaps. He would say that they were his. All has been spoiled, she said, as to be speaking to God.

Nothing has been spoiled! A chill ran down Beth’s back. John had followed her. He repeated himself, grabbing her arm and hugging her tight. Beth began to sob uncontrollably. Being much shorter than her husband, she closed her eyes, rested her head into his chest, and pretended to hear the sound of Jack’s whitecaps, but the brutal pounding of the waves relentlessly chased her.

John was a strong man by nature. Born and raised on a farm in northern Maine, he and his younger brother, Marcus, helped manage the family farm. His father was the only general practitioner in several counties, which brought more hardship than rewards for the family. Having been the oldest, John carried most of the burden of managing the farm. It was this heavy burden of responsibility that quickly converted into a great disappointment when his father decided to take on Marcus under his practice first. Marcus did not know how to manage the farm, nor his life.

This was the beginning of the end of John and his father’s relationship. John waited for a good harvest and then moved on. However, he did more than just move on; he moved across the Atlantic to England. And as for Marcus, he too moved on, never to become a doctor nor a farmer.

England was good for John. It was during his studies at Oxford that he met and married Elizabeth Jane Rodes. Elizabeth gave birth to Jack during the completion of his final year of internship at Oxford’s school of medicine. Soon after they would move back to the States.

It was more than a strategic move; it was an empowering move. John made it known early on he wanted never to be addressed as Dr. Harrison. Partly for Marcus, but mostly because he didn’t want people to co-join his wealth with medicine. To him there was more power behind money than with a stethoscope.

...Her tears stopped and the cold chill had left her. John, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit with Jack for a while. John held her tight and kissed her forehead. Before she departed, their eyes met; the uncertainty was there. He watched her as she walked away, and slowly, he turned back to the ocean.

The sea wind whistled into the room as Beth closed the sliding door behind her. Staring at her son, she saw his body looking so broken. Gently she raised his arm and adjusted his pillow. The sheets have to be changed, she said in a whisper. She gathered the tray filled with water bottles and glasses and placed it near the door.

Several hours had passed. Still near Jack’s bed, Beth slept comfortably on a couch. Clutched between her chest and arms was Kate Chopin’s novel, The Awakening. A slight tapping noise carried Beth into a deeper sleep. In her dream, she could see a seagull with a broken wing...flap, flap, flap....

The flapping noise soon turned into a hard knock. She jumped and looked around the room. The seagull...the dream had ended. The sliding door opened; it was Rose carrying a tea tray. May I come in?

Still holding onto the sting of Rose’s comment suggesting that everyone thought that Jack would change with Baby Elizabeth, she quietly answered yes. There was no need to hold onto any ill feeling towards Rose; there would be no point in it. She and Rose were never close. It was John’s idea to have Marcus and Rose live at Huntington. She didn’t trust her, nor did she have any desire to.

Beth didn’t move to help her with the tea tray, and so she waited for Rose to say something about nothing. And she did, as always.

The sea was an angry one today. I thought that maybe you would like some tea. How’s he doing?

Beth had to bite her lip as she thought of Rose’s words… the sea was an angry one today. It had been one monstrous storm all week, Beth thought. What did Marcus see in the woman who had the brain of a bird? Yes, she is well bred and had money of her own, but nothing like the Harrison fortune. How did this simple girl come to be a Harrison?

Beth held tight to The Awakening. Her eyes froze to the floor. It was John, she thought. What did John see in her to become Marcus’ wife? Beth’s voice choked when she answered. He’s okay, I think...well...I think John thought that he would be doing a little bit better.

Marcus feels the same way.

Of course he would; they’re brothers!

Beth, I was only commenting on what Marcus said.

And I was only speaking the truth!

Have you and John had a fight?

No, Rose, it’s not that. Beth turned her eyes to Jack. He’s angry with us. Jack is angry with us, and we don’t know why.

He’s not angry with you or John. He’s mad at himself and at the world.

No. He is angry with us!

Beth, he’s been so doped up.

Rose, is there something you needed?

No, I just wanted to see how Jack was doing…and you.

The shrill of the wind invaded through the sliding door. The two women stared at each other in silence. Tears started to flow down their cheeks. Beth went to the sliding door, opened it, and slammed it shut again to silence the invader. Before Rose could say anything, Jack started to moan. Beth hurried over to his side.

Go to sleep, honey, Beth said in a caressed tone. Jack moaned Carolynn’s name and told her how tired he was. It’s me, Jack. It’s your mom. Jack’s eyes were barely open, still he was able to see a woman’s figure standing near his bed; and close behind her, a shadowy figure.

Carolynn, he called in a weak voice.

Honey, no, Carolynn’s not here. It’s your mom and your Aunt Rose. Jack closed his eyes.

Rose spoke softly, nearly whispering, Beth, get some rest. I’ll stay with him.

I can’t rest; not now, Rose, Jack needs me.

Nothing had changed, Rose thought. Beth was still Beth, impenetrable. Well then, I hope you don’t mind, I’ve taken the liberty of making arrangements for Jack’s bedrest once we get home to Huntington.

Beth turned and examined Rose’s face. Oh, how she hated being nice to her. Thank you, Rose. My mind hasn’t been straight. I should have thought about Jack’s recovery at home.

Rose took a deep breath and sighed, Beth, there’s something else.

What, what is it, Rose? What?

It seems as though John’s disappeared again. Marcus and I are quite concerned with his occasional disappearance. It’s not healthy.

Surprisingly, Beth found herself protecting John. Rose, Jack is John’s first son, and he’s hurting for his son. All of this is still so fresh, so shocking. Give him some room.

Of course....

Beth never allowed Rose to continue.... Where are Jack’s boys?

Rose took in a yawning sigh, Heath and William are outside the room. They want to be with their father.

That’s out of the question! They are not allowed to come in, Rose. I don’t want them to be anymore traumatized than they have been. Is that understood?

In a confused tone, Rose continued. I’m afraid their Poppy…John feels differently. Beth held tight to Jack’s hand.

Rose, John may be their grandfather, but he’s not their father. Jack is their father, and he and I have both agreed not to allow the boys to see him like this.

You and Jack...?

Yes!

Rose looked at Jack and then at Beth. Her heart bled for John. Excuse me, Beth. I was only just trying to...well, help.

All the years she and John had been married, Beth was still sidestepping John’s way of thinking. Of course you were only trying to help, she answered. I’m sorry.

Rose looked down and saw Beth massaging Jack’s hand. Beth caught her looking and stopped. I told the boys to stay together. Where are Reed and Harry?

Rose whispered in a bewildering tone, They’re with their Uncle Marcus, still looking down at Beth’s hand on Jack’s.

How long have they been gone? Beth asked anxiously.

Just a little over an hour, why?

Beth had no reply, but instead removed her hand from Jack’s hand, walked to the door, and opened it to see Heath and William. They were just sitting, not saying a word. She looked past them to their mother’s room. Carolynn’s suitcases were back to back with Elizabeth’s suitcases. Fighting the urge to scream, she looked back to the boys. Heath was now looking at her in a strange way. He was the oldest of the Jack’s four boys. All were smart like their father, but Heath was the one who was most like Carolynn. And although he barely spoke during the past week, he understood everything. Beth could see it in his young eyes that he knew things were never going to be the same. She watched as Heath quickly turned his eyes to the toy in William’s hand. It had belonged to Elizabeth. Quietly, Beth closed the door.

Oh, Rose.

What, what is it, Beth?

I need to sit down. Rose helped her to a nearby chair. William has one of Elizabeth’s toys.

It’s alright...it’s alright. You’ve been strong long enough. John should be here, I’ll go find him.

No. I need you to find Marcus. I need to have a talk with Heath, William, Reed, and Harry, together. Please, will you go now and bring them here?

Why...sure.

It was a gripping, weak moment for Beth. Thank you, Rose. Thank you for all that you’ve done this past week.

Alone again with Jack, and now sitting back on the couch, Beth’s thoughts were of John. Oddly, even before the accident they were arguing more and more. What had changed in their marriage? Something pinched her leg. She reached under her leg and pulled out The Awakening.

Chapter Two

The morning air was damp. Holding tight to John’s arm, Beth was glad that she decided to join John for a morning stroll. On the upper deck, she soon became well aware of John’s being unusually quiet. She said nothing. They continued to walk.

The mist off the sea had turned unfriendly. She nudged at her husband’s strong arm. John took in a deep breath before looking down at her, and then only, it was with a half-smile.

John, Jack’s going to be okay. He’s your son, and he’s a Harrison.

Will he be okay? Will we be okay, Beth? Twenty years from now, this horrid time will still be with us. If I know Carolynn’s father, Alistair, he is not going to let any of us forget about his daughter’s death. Carolynn was everything to him. Losing both his daughter and granddaughter...well, he’s neither going to let us forget, nor the rest of the world forget, that a Harrison took their lives.

John, you talk as though Alistair will make it his mission to get even. Remember, he can’t do anything stupid. To England, he is Lord Alistair Thomas, a titled nobleman.

My dear, how many years have we known Alistair, and through whom?

Beth loosened her grip around John’s arm. And through whom...the queen, Beth whispered to her broken heart. They had ties to the queen long before Alistair came into their lives. Oh John, it’s all so hard to accept that both Carolynn and Elizabeth are out of our lives forever.

My dear, what could be even harder to accept is that we may not have bodies to bury. Jack needs closure, and so do we.

John, did it not seem strange to you how neither Alistair nor his servants mourned over their deaths? My word, a mother and her child have been killed. They were so cold, and what about Alistair’s eagerness to send us back to the States?

It’s over. They’re gone, my dear. Don’t do this to yourself....

Beth interrupted, "But his grandsons, he didn’t even say good-bye to his own