Myrna's Estate

Staring at the letter, Alice didn’t know what to think. She’d never heard of Aunt Myrna. Why would the woman list her as a beneficiary to her estate? The letter was from a lawyer’s office and looked legit, but who was Myrna Lewis?

Better call her mother and see if she knew anything.

“Mom, I just got this letter from Dewitt and Swayne about a Myrna Lewis. Have you ever heard of her?”

“Myrna Lewis? No. Wait your father’s saying something.”

Coming on the phone, her Dad asked, “What is this about Myrna Lewis?”

“I got this letter from a law firm saying I’m named in her will. Do you know who she was?”

“My father’s sister,” Alice’s father said.  “She was an artist. So she’d dead?”

“I guess. The letter says I’m named in her will. Did you get a letter too?”

“No. Our Aunt Myrna was, how can I say it? Eccentric would be a nice way to put it. She was a crazy artist. Did nude paintings.”

“Grampa Charley had a sister who was an artist?” It was hard for Alice to imagine. Her Dad’s father had been contemptuous of anything whimsical. He’d loved her, she knew, but he was stern. If she’d spun improbable dreams, he’d say he ‘believed in hard work not wishful thinking’. 

“So this is not a scam? But why would she put me in her will? Didn’t she have children?”

“No, Myrna was not the family sort.”

“Was she a very successful artist?”

Her Dad laughed. “She seemed to live well enough. Maybe, above what she earned. Maybe when you get to the office, they’ll hand you a bill.”

“What!”

“Just kidding,” Dad chuckled. “Don’t worry, you can’t inherit debt. Maybe she left you a painting. It might be worth something. I think she sold them for thousands. Though I’m not sure anyone bought them for thousands.”

“Okay, thanks, I call the number on the letter.”

The law firm was friendly enough, but didn’t tell her anything. Just put her through to the lawyer’s line, where she got voicemail. “You’ve reached Phoebe Swayne. Please clearly state your name and number, and I will return your call.”

The lawyer’s assistant, Donna, called her back and Alice had appointment for the following week. 

She didn’t know what to think. A letter saying she had an inheritance from an aunt she’d never heard of seemed to be the weirdest thing. Things got weirder.

At the law office, Phoebe Swayne greeted her.  Phoebe looked close to fifty, wore glasses and had her hair back in a thick ponytail. Her nails were clipped short and unpolished, and a Band-Aid was about her index finger. Solemnly shaking Alice’s hand, Phoebe said, “Good of you to contact our office so quickly.  If you’ll follow me.”

Alice was led to a corner office with large windows that overlooked Main Street and Phoebe pointed to a chair.  They sat with a beige table between them. Two yellow folders were on the table. A thin on top of a thick. 

Taking up the thin folder, Phoebe cleared her throat. “This is unusual. Myrna Lewis was unique and had interesting ideas. This folder details her specific requests regarding her estate. Were you very close to your aunt?”

“I didn’t even know I had an aunt,” Alice answered.

“Oh no? Oh well. Yes, your aunt had some interesting ideas.”

“Did she even have any money?” Alice asked. 

“Money! Yes.” Setting the thin file aside, Phoebe opened the bottom folder. It was stuffed with photos of marble sculptures in circle stone gardens. “Myrna Lewis owned Cedar Garden Estate. You know the gardens on Cedar Avenue. Seventy-five acres in the center of Crowfield.” She held up a picture of oaks growing in a field of lavender. “And there are her art galleries, libraries and international bank accounts.”

“But she can’t be leaving me her estate. I didn’t even know I had an aunt.”

“No.  I mean not exactly. I’m not saying your Aunt Myrna left you her estate. She hasn’t. Not exactly. Only she’s not left it to anyone, specifically.”  Leaning back in her chair, Phoebe fiddled with the thin folder. “Maybe I should have explained earlier.  But it seemed best to meet in person to ensure understanding. Normally a will straightforwardly lists who will inherit, but your aunt had other ideas. And the money to carry them out. Instead of an inheritance, she left a contest.”

A contest? Alice could hardly believe her ears. But, “Why did she name me at all? My father’s a closer relative.”

“Yes, well, Ms. Lewis wasn’t interested in convention. She hated moderation. Used to say ‘moderation was living life to the minimal’. While living, she filled each day with exuberance. And so for her to leave her wildly earned wealthy to your conventional father. Horrifying! He’d likely set it safely in the bank and live off the interest. Myrna was horrified by dull reality, and so created this contest.”

Feeling her eyes widen, Alice stared disbelieving. If her aunt hated ordinary life, what sort of contest would this be? And, if she’d owned the Cedar Gardens, for how much money? 

“You are not the only one who has a chance to win your aunt’s estate,” Phoebe said looking down at the sheet in the folder. “Ruby Olson and Victoria Taylor are contestants. Ruby works at the coffee shop Myrna used to visit. Apparently good customer service is noticed. Victoria paints and sells her artwork at the Saturday farmer’s market.”

“Are they even relatives?”

“No, but at least Myrna knew them,” Phoebe answered.

Okay. That was a point. “So, what is the contest?”

“The first thing is to show up at the Cedar Gardens next Tuesday at ten in the morning.”

“I work Tuesday mornings,” Alice said. 

“As do I,” Phoebe answered. “Myrna was specific. First Tuesday after each of you was contacted. As I said, Myrna did not value conventionality. The choice is yours and even if you try, there is no guarantee you’ll succeed.”

Alice didn’t know what to think. A contest to win the Cedar Garden Estate? It would be worth more than a winning lottery ticket. How could she not try? Even if it seemed improbable, but. “Is the property paid? I mean there’s nothing owing on it? Because I haven’t. I mean, there’s no way I could make payments on it.”

“Owing?  No,” Phoebe reached into the thick folder. Beneath the glossy garden photos, lay bank statements. Sheets showing columns of black numbers. “These are moneys held in your aunt’s accounts,” said Phoebe.

Alice could barely breathe. It was so much. More money than Alice could understand. But. “So the contest is to decide which of the three of us will inherit all of her estate? Couldn’t we divide it instead? It seems more than what any one person could spend.”

“That was not what your aunt wanted. I cannot discuss more now. If you want to learn more, you will have to attend the meeting on Tuesday.”

“So, it is either all or nothing?”

“Tuesday. Any questions will have to wait until Tuesday.”

*

Tuesday morning was overcast but warm. Alice left her apartment at nine, thinking she’d arrive first and have time to look around. Even though Cedar Gardens was renowned and Alice was from Crowfield, this would be was her first time visiting. Raised practically, goal activities like work, study, and sports were valued over wandering about daydreaming. 

It was like entering a fairy tale world. Tall, thick stone walls with gargoyles at the gates enclosed cobblestone streets. Cute. Like stepping back in time. There were circle gardens of roses, dahlias and lilies as far as she could see. A definite escaped from the surrounding city of glass and concrete buildings. The house where they were to meet looked out of Hansel and Gretel.  

And Phoebe was already there. Sitting behind a folding table, Phoebe checked Alice’s name off on her iPad and said, “You’re the last to arrive.” It wasn’t even nine-thirty. 

“Victoria arrived early to sketch.” Phoebe pointed to a thin blond with a pug nose who sat on the ground among ferns staring at a marble statue. A sketchbook was in her lap and several torn sheets were under a rock beside her.

Definitely intimidating to see such an art focused competitor.

“Ruby decided to walk through the gardens. If you want to get started, you could try and find her and bring her back.”

Alice nodded, “Okay. Thanks.” Finding Ruby should be easy. Who’d be sightseeing on a Tuesday morning?

Before wandering, Alice approached the artist. 

“Fuck,” Victoria muttered. Paying no attention to led stains, she scribbled through what she’d drawn and ripped out the page. Crumpling it, she muttering “fuck,” again, she stuck it under the rock.

“Hi,” Alice called.

Victoria glowered up at her. 

“Phoebe told me you were part of the contest too. Pretty crazy, eh? I mean have you ever heard of a contest like this? Myrna Lewis was a real character.”

“She used to stop by my table at the market,” Victoria answered.

Were all artists so apathetic? Wasn’t she at all excited about the possible fortune? Victoria didn’t seem grief-stricken. Only indifferent.

“Phoebe said that Ruby was walking around and that if I found her, we could start. Did you want to come help me look?”

“Nah, that’s alright,” Victoria answered.  “I’ll stay and try to get this right.”

“Myrna’s sculpture, eh? Hard to sketch?”

“It’s getting the lines. The depths. In the sculpture you can tell he’s carving flowers at a table, but it’s hard recreating the space on paper.”

Alice nodded. So that was what it was. “Okay. See you in a bit then.” 

If the contest was about art, Alice was sunk. Unless she could convince Victoria and Ruby to work together. Victoria certainly didn’t seem materialistic. 

Alice was surprised there were so many people. One couple seemed on a date.  A beautiful red haired woman in a long hippie style skirt and sandals skipped along. She might be the barista. 

“Excuse me,” Alice called to her, “Are you Ruby? Ruby Olson?”

“Yes,” Ruby smiled.

“Hi, I’m Alice Lewis.” Alice held out her hand. “Phoebe Swayne said to find you and she’ll let us know more about everything. It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?”

“Amazing,” Ruby agreed, looking at the gardens as though they were already hers, “Don’t you love this place?” 

“Umm, it’s like out of a fairy tale.” They started back for the stone house. 

“Yeah, Myrna sure had an imagination,” Ruby said.

“Did you know she was going to do this?” Alice asked. 

“I never knew what sort of crazy thing she was going to do. It still doesn’t seem real. I keep wondering if she’s really dead. Keep expecting her to appear. Like she’s testing us.”

Was that possible?

Ruby’s eyes moistened as she talked about Myrna, but they were back before Alice could ask anything else. Victoria joined them and they sat in the row of folding chairs across from Phoebe.

Phoebe turned the iPad screen to face them and started a video of a naked woman painting a wall-sized canvas. “This is how Myrna became famous,” she said.

When her Dad said Grampa Charley’s sister did nude paintings, Alice hadn’t envision this.

“Don’t worry. You’re not expected to paint nude,” Phoebe reassured, leaving the video playing. “Selling her art, Myrna created everything around you. And she nearly gifted everything to the Crowfield Preservation Society. But what if the society sold it? Dividing her gardens was the last thing Myrna wanted. 

“So how could she ensure her legacy remained intact and true to her vision? By choosing three women, young as she’d been when she began her art dancing. Have them describe how they’d manage her estate. The best presentation wins. And if each is dismal, everything goes to the society.”

Create a vision of how she’d manage the property? Alice had no idea. How could she align her mind with a shameless woman who painted in the nude? On the small screen paint-smeared, dancing Myrna continued rubbing bright colours onto the canvas with her bare fingers. Get into that mindset? Hard enough looking.

But imagine the money. She could tour the world donating money like Angelina Jolly. 

Maybe Ruby and Victoria would be open to collaborating? But they looked already to be visualizing. 

 “Could we collaborate?” Alice asked. “Three head being better than one and all. She’s left so much, even split three ways, it’s a fortune.”

“That’s not how life works,” Phoebe answered. “There’s only one prize.”

“Who decides which design is best?” Victoria asked.

“I do,” Phoebe answered, closing the video.

Ruby and Victoria blinked and turned adoring eyes onto her. So much for hoping they didn’t care much about winning.

Phoebe stood. “You have until December sixth to submit your ideas. And I can tell you Myrna Lewis believed in power thoughts. That your thoughts create your reality. I’d keep that in mind with your designs.”

They had to learn all they could about her Aunt Myrna. Or at least had to know what Phoebe believed about her. There was time. It was only early August.

“Can we bring you what we’re working on to see if we’re on the right track,” Ruby asked.

“Why?” Phoebe answered. “By waiting until December, you’ll each have the exact same chance.”

“But if you like none of our designs, everything goes to the Crowfield Preservation Society?” Alice asked.

“As I’ve said,” Phoebe answered, taking keys from her pocket.

Alice looked from Ruby to Victoria, hoping one would consider brainstorming. “Did you guys want to walk around?” she asked.

Sticking sketchpad in her crochet bag, Victoria looked puzzled.

Ruby said, “I did a tour when I first got here.”

“Can we at least exchange information? In case we find out something important?” Alice pleaded.

Looking at time on her phone, Victoria said, “It is early. We were only supposed to meet at ten.”

“So you have time?”

Victoria shrugged and Ruby answered. “I guess a second walk wouldn’t hurt.”

“Great!” Alice was so relieved she could have sunk to the ground. “Myrna Lewis was my grandfather’s sister. I’ll talk to my Dad later to see if he knows anything.  I mean, information about Myrna that’s not well known. But stuff Phoebe would know. Anything Phoebe doesn’t know wouldn’t be helpful.”

They started walking. “What do you remember most about her? What did you think the first time you met her?”

“She was my best customer,” said Victoria. “Bought four of my paintings. And she noticed details and gave advice. I didn’t know she was famous.”

“I don’t remember when I first met Myrna,” said Ruby. “Everyone knew who she was. Some hated her. She used to order stuff that wasn’t on the menu. But she tipped really well.”

Alice wondered if they had other ambitions, but Victoria said, “Art is my life.”

**

Afterward, Alice wished she could drive straight to her parents for advice, but they worked until five. Instead she headed north toward Cedar Heights. In the old section of an old cemetery, her Grampa Charley was buried beside his parents. To find their graves, she looked for the biggest oak knowing they were under its shade. A dark cross marked her grandfather. Sitting on the stone bench before it, Alice stared out. 

Why did you hide your famous sister? Did you hate her that much? Were you ashamed? 

Grampa always valued family. It was everything. So how? 

No answers were found in graves. Birds chirped in high branches and flew through the clear blue sky.

On the other side a new monument looked like an angel. Getting closer, Alice saw that Myrna’s stone was a scaly mermaid. Taking pictures, Alice wondered if Myrna thought mermaids sacred. 

But did that matter? Phoebe said, ‘power thoughts create reality.’ Her aunt couldn’t want a copy of her vision. Alice had to create her own. Something that reflected her soul. 

Contemplating soulfulness! Wasn’t that nonsense?

Life was work. Surviving and getting ahead. The practicality of making sure bills were paid. Trying to figure out her soul seemed frivolous. Like choosing art school over accounting classes. 

Yet, her Aunt Myrna had done well. Her mermaid statue stared beyond the distant hills.  

Sighing, Alice stuck her phone in her purse. However soulful she’d try to be, she wasn’t ready for nude painting.