A Surprise Inheritance

The mailman had come early. I was still in my lounge clothes. I looked out the glass slits in the door. No one was out across the street or down the road. I do not know why I worried. I had a lot more on then most teenagers and young women. The wrinkles on my arms and saggy tits surely could not be noticed at such a distances, as from the street.

I opened the door and was pleasantly surprised the day was not going to be scorching hot. It is nice when the weathermen get it right now and then. I turned to the mailbox next to the door and found it with a catalog folded over a pack of business envelopes. Back in the house I dropped the catalog into the coal shuttle by the fireplace with other catalogs and magazines. I hadn’t used the living room fireplace for ages and I noticed I needed to do a little spider extermination.

The top envelope was the city utility bill. I headed for my office. There I sorted out two bills and dropped them into a wire basket. The three advertisements I dropped into the round file. It had taken me a long time to understand in school; the teacher meant the trash can.

The last was a business letter from London, a law firm. I was used to getting cards from Louis, my first cousin once removed. I took the brass letter opener and slit the top of the letter open. I sat down in my computer chair to read it. It was bizarre and it caused me to reflect.

Louis had married an English girl, Lauralee. I had asked her to visit me years ago. They had fallen in love, married, and lived here in town for five or six years. Louis had gotten a better job offer in England. Lauralee was delighted and they moved with their adorable baby girl to her hometown outside of London, near her mother, Nora. I did visit every 18 months or so.

Louis had the most wonderful mother-in-law. I had stayed with Nora when I attended a learn while you travel overseas course. She and I hit it off. I was an older student and the course had everything I needed to transfer to a 4-year university so I could get my B.A. I had already built a well-paying daycare business up from babysitting Louis as a toddler. I even bought the house it was in. It had been paid off years ago.

I picked up the letter again and reread it. It was about Nora’s eldest sister, Sarah. I reflected on the day I had met Sarah. Nora had taken me on a trip to where she had grown up. I no longer can tell you what happened in what order but I do vividly remember various details. We stopped at a tower with white peacocks in the gardens. I was not only fascinated but in love when a handsome bird spread its tail feathers for us.

We were headed down a long straight country road when a heavy nasty odor hit us in the face. We both gagged. I tried to cover my noise and it didn’t help. Nora stepped on the gas and we roared down the road in her little Morris Minor. If I pushed the foot mat to the side, I could see the road fly by through a little rusted out hole in the floorboard. The smell chased us. We made a left and the smell dissipated.

It was not a long trip so we soon pulled into a short very wide drive. A square two-story gate house was on the right and a farm manor house on the other. Nora pulled up to a large square stone walled- in pond overgrown with algae. Sarah had come out on the side patio. She called to us, “Nornor, you should have called. I might have been gone.” Nora laughed and shot back, “We would have poked around, peeked in the windows, and gone on. This is a spontaneous drive on such a lovely day.” I remember it as being perfect.

Sarah took us through into her newly remodeled kitchen. It was impressive, very contemporary, much like an American kitchen. She serves us tea and cake. The English prepare such wonderful desserts. We left by the lovely heavy wooden front door.

The last time I saw her was at the baptism of Louis and Lauralee’s second child. We sat together in an old English country church and caught up about the things we had written to each other. Being pen pals we knew things about each other that our families did not know.

I stared at the letter and decided to call the solicitor. In frustration I put the phone down. My phone plan was only for the US of A. I Face-timed Louis. He was at his desk at work. I read him the letter. He laughed, “Do you have every letter she ever wrote you.”

“I certainly do, every single one in the bottom drawer of my file cabinet.”

“Could you see if the solicitor is legitimate.”

“I will do and call you back.”

An hour later Louis Face-timed me back. “It sounds like you have inherited a house. Send all of the letters to the address listed and they will see if they are all there.” I thought, did Sarah really keep track of every letter she wrote. Again, the word bizarre came to me. I said, “Thank you, and I will let you know what happens.” I found a shoe box and packed all the letters in it and took it to the post office that afternoon. It cost me a small fortune to post it with insurance and certification.

 When I got home, the answering machine was blinking and the night’s hassle started. Louis’s mom and my best friend and cousin had called to invited me to dinner. I love my cousin but this did not extend to her nice but overbearing husband. He loved to pick things apart and question what I did. He lived up to his reputation and turned the night upside down. I left with the start of a stomach and headache. Did he think I was stupid? I had started a business as a teenager with the care of his son. When I decided to retire, I sold the business and property, bought a small house and had enough left to invest in a retirement portfolio. He was trying to plan out every detail in a night, instead of letting it unfold as it went along.

When I got home, I realized I had brought this all on because I had not wanted to order overseas phone coverage. The next day I ordered it and the day after I called the overseas office with a bunch of questions. A man answered the phone with a hint of a French accent.

I entered the office building. I was disappointed it was not made of old stone with plush carpets and wood paneling. Older contemporary English buildings always reminded me of damp chilly weather.

When I got to the office, a still attractive middle-aged woman said, “You must be Miss Betty Lee Travis. If you sign these papers I can take you to the house.” She pushed some papers towards me. I bristled, “What is your name and who are you?” The attorney I had talked to on the phone over the last several months was a Mr. Arthur Bennet. The lady stood up and stuck her hand out over the narrow desk. “I am Mabel.” After the shake she pushed the papers over my way. “If you take a seat we can get started.” In my head the nursery rhyme “Mabel, Mabel set the table.” came to me. I could not help myself and under my breath I said, “and I am not hungry.” “What?” I said, “Never mind” as I picked up the papers and squared them up and reached over and stapled them in the left-hand upper corner. I neatly put them in my slightly oversized Coach bag. “Shall we go and see the house now.”

“Just a minute.” She went through a door. Soon a good-looking older gentleman came out. He extended his hand, “I am Arthur Bennet. It is good to meet you at last. I was on the phone with another client. I hear you are anxious to see the house.” I gave him a genuine smile, took his extended hand, shook it, and said. “It is good to meet you in person, too.”

The trip took forty-five minutes. We talked about each other’s lives. And other things like I had flustered Mabel. He explained, “Mabel doesn’t drive and was trying to expedite things. When you took charge, she didn’t know what to do. I am closing all my open cases so I can retire.”

“What are you going to do when you retire?”

“I want a lovely place in the country. I have a horse and belong to a rambling group.”

“What is rambling?”

“We walk trails, ridgeway paths and other places.”

“I didn’t expect you as an outdoor type person.”

“I grew up on a French vineyard.”

“That explains it.”

I also found out he had a daughter that married a French man and they lived in the south of France with two children. He also had a son who had moved to New Zealand, married a native women, and had three children. He missed the companionship of his wife who had died five years ago. I was impressed with the diversity of his family. I told him about how I had gotten Louis married to an English girl. He seemed pleased with the tale.

We pulled into the same place Nora had pulled into all those years ago. The farmer’s wife a young woman stood on the porch and waved to us. We all introduced ourselves and shook hands. I wanted to go in though to the kitchen first. It was like I remembered it. Sarah in her letters had mentioned she was not much of a cook. It showed. It was a beautiful pristine vintage kitchen.

The living room had not changed much, with the exception of the worn and ripped chair. The cleaners mentioned this to Arthur and he apologized to me. I loved the chair at first sight and would like to have it reupholstered. I told Arthur it would be creepy to leave it in its original upholstery. Arthur chortled, “Afraid of sitting on Sarah’s ghost.”

The den had been turned into a bedroom and it smelled of death. The bed was stripped and the mattress stained. Arthur informed me of the details of Sarah’s death. She had died in her sleep and was found two days later by the farmer’s wife. There was a bathroom downstairs.

 We went upstairs and looked at two furnished bedrooms. The third bedroom was empty and another was the junk room. One of the bedrooms in the twenty’s had been turned into a bathroom and closet. The attic opened up over the whole house. It was even clean with a few boxes and pieces of furniture in it. The last room we looked at was an office over the entry hall.

Arthur looked at me as we stood on the upstairs landing between the bedrooms. “This is an amazing place I had no idea it be so nice and big, too. Your one lucky lady.” I felt overwhelmed, “I hardly knew what to say.” Arthur offered me his arm and we walked down the steps. “Where are we going now.” “My dear to the gate house, pond, and stables.

We discovered that the keys did not fit the square house’s lock. I went back to the house with Arthur tagging alone. I went over to the tall secretary desk and folded it down so it made a desktop. There was a wad of keys right there in plain sight. I was delighted and waved them in Arthur’s face. He laughed, “You think you are a smarty pants.” As his face lit up.

I said, “That is a very American phrase.”

“Britain and France are not the only places I have lived.”

We rushed back to the gate house door. It was mostly an empty room with a huge fireplace on one side, a stone stairway on the other and a dirt floor. It was just like Sarah had said. The railing was wood and a bit wobbly. At the top of the stairs the door was locked. I fumbled with the keys with no success. Arthur took them and got the door to open.

I stepped into a lovely empty room. Across one wall were three tapestries hung portrait style to the floor. I thought they covered up windows. Arthur looked at them and found a door under the center one. I found just wall under the one on the left. Arthur fiddled with the keys. I mused, “Do you think the tapestries are old?” He shot back. “No, they were popular about thirty years ago. It’s open.” The tapestry had come back down over the door. I pushed it aside and had to lightly push Arthur forward. There were dark shelves on all the walls full of books. The humidifier in the right-hand window had left the room smelling fresh. I was amazed, floor to ceiling books. Arthur had stepped forward and turned around and pointed. “Betty, these look old.” “They do, don’t they?” I pointed to a strip of yellow from floor to ceiling, “Look National Geographic magazines.” There were five ladders on tracks so you could get to the top shelves and window seats at the three windows.

Arthur went over to the long library table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit down. He took the end chair next to me. “As your solicitor I need to advise you to check for paperwork concerning the library and its contents. It needs to be evaluated if not already for insurance purposes.”

I stared at him and then the books. All I could think of was I needed to live in the Gate House, this unfinished house. I blurted out, “My bedroom is going to be next door to this library.”

He gave me a kind look and said, “Shall we go to my office and sign the papers.”

“There is no need I have them here.” as I pulled them out of my bag.

“That was why Mabel was so flustered.” He then proceeded to explain what each page was about and where to sign.