Roses

by Leila Meacham

  “Well, I reckon we have to take our triumphs where we can, Sassie,” her father said.

  Rachel chuckled and pushed open the door. “Hello, everybody,” she said.

  The members of her family looked up from the table, where they were partaking of the bounty of food contributions lining the counter. For a heartrending moment, Rachel saw that her parents had aged in the months since she’d last seen them at Christmas. Middle age was showing in her father’s grayer hair and the stoop of his shoulders, her mother’s thickened waist and the lines around her eyes.

  “Well, look who’s here,” William cried, pushing back from the table. “How’s my little Bunny-hop?”

  “Better now that you are here,” Rachel said, her defenses sufficiently crumbling at his warm welcome, the sight of her whole family together again.

  “Well, is that any way to show it—by crying?” her mother asked, but she smiled slightly as she got up to add her arms to William’s.

  “Make room for me,” Jimmy said, his mouth full of a ham sandwich he set aside to complete the family embrace. Thus bound, they huddled in an exchange of hugs and kisses and damp eyes for a few minutes before disengaging and sitting down again at the table. For the next half hour, they might have been back at the kitchen table in Kermit in those long-ago days when Houston Avenue had been merely a street where her father had sent his annual Christmas card. Everybody began talking and chewing at once, sharing gossip and news of Winkler County, passing plates of ham and cheese, and spreading mustard and mayonnaise together. And then, as if a bomb had been thrown into the room and detonated instantly, Alice shattered the family bonhomie.

  “Well, Rachel,” she said, “how does it feel to know you’re going to inherit all of this right out from under your daddy?”

  At the counter, Sassie threw a shocked glance over her shoulder, and Henry, who’d come in for a coffee break, pushed away from the pantry door. Jimmy groaned, and William snapped, “Alice, for God’s sake!”

  Rachel felt the joy of the reunion dissipate like air from a burst balloon. “How could you say such a thing at such a time, Mama?” she asked, her voice soft with offense.

  “I’m only asking out of curiosity.”

  “Alice…,” William warned.

  “Don’t ‘Alice’ me, William Toliver. I’ve made no bones about the way I feel, and Rachel knows it.”

  Rachel stood up. “Henry, have you shown my family their rooms?”

  “Yes, Miss Rachel, and their luggage is already stowed.” The chimes of the doorbell suddenly reverberated throughout the house, as shrilling as sirens in the charged atmosphere. Quickly, Henry rid himself of his coffee cup. “There’s the bell again,” he said, sounding eager to get out of the kitchen. “We got more callers. I’ll go let ’em in, if that’s all right, Miss Rachel.”

  “Thank you, Henry. Put them in the parlor and tell them I’ll be right out.” She turned to the members of her family, still sitting at the table, her father and brother looking miserable, her mother guileless and unperturbed. “These are visitors come to pay their respects. Do you want to go to your rooms before you get snagged down here?”

  “Why? Are you ashamed of us?” Alice asked.

  A groan again from Jimmy and an exasperated sigh from William. Rachel said in as even a tone as her disappointment could manage, “I thought you might like to avoid receiving condolences from strangers on the death of a woman you didn’t like.”

  “Alice, Rachel is right,” William said, yanking his napkin from his shirt collar. “We don’t want to get stuck down here. Neither of us is dressed to meet these people, and I need a nap before we go to the funeral home.”

  Jimmy scrambled out of his chair with an air of apology. At twenty-one, he was tall and rangy. His reddish brown hair was a legacy from his mother, but the origin of his Howdy Doody looks had remained a mystery. “I’m sorry about Aunt Mary, sis,” he said. “I know you loved her very much and that you’ll miss her. She was a nice old lady. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

  Sweet, uncomplicated Jimmy. Since he didn’t feel entitled to anything he hadn’t earned, he’d never understood the dissension that had separated her from the rest of the family. She rumpled his hair affectionately. “Thanks, Jimmy, I appreciate that. Is there anything you’d like to do while the folks rest?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have a look at the limo. She’s still got it, hasn’t she?”

  Rachel opened a counter drawer and tossed him a set of keys. “Here you go. Take it for a spin if you like.”

  The doorbell rang again. “I’m outta here!” Jimmy announced, the keys jingling as he made for the door.

  Alice confronted her daughter. “Which stairs are we to use—the servants’ or the main staircase?”

  Rachel faced her mother. She still wore the clothes, makeup, and hairstyle of the post–World War II era in which she was her prettiest, but little about her now was the same as the happy-go-lucky woman who used to take Rachel to the playground and push her in the swing, arranged vases of wildflowers Rachel had gathered that wilted by the time she got them home, read to her at night, and taught her how to swim. Years of resentment—for which Rachel took full blame—had robbed her of her vivacity. If only Rachel’s father would agree to share in the revenues of her inheritance, he could quit his job tomorrow and enjoy a comfortable retirement. That’s all her mother wanted. But her father’s pride, the only trait he’d inherited from the Toliver line, wouldn’t allow it—as her own Toliver blood would not permit her to make the sacrifice required to save her mother’s love.

  “Whichever one you feel more comfortable taking, Mama,” she said, leaving the kitchen to greet the callers in the hall.

  Tension prevailed among them throughout the remaining gray, sultry, exhausting days, brightened only by Matt’s constant assistance and support. The night before the funeral, he said, “There’s a place I’d like to take you where we can have a quiet drink together. Want to go?”

  Tired and anxiously awaiting what the next day would bring, she said, “Lead the way.”

  It was to a cabin deep in the woods. Beyond its screened back porch lay a lake. The large, partitioned room smelled freshly cleaned and cooled by a window air-conditioning unit and ceiling fans. “You were expecting me,” she said.

  “I’d hoped. What would you like to drink? White wine?”

  “That’s fine,” she said, drawn to an ancient Indian headdress hanging on a wall. “You have eclectic tastes.”

  “Not mine. This place was built and furnished by our grandfathers and your great-uncle when they were boys. I’m the third generation to use it as a getaway. I’ve left it pretty much the same. If I’m not mistaken, that headdress belonged to Miles Toliver.”

  “Really?” Rachel touched it reverently. “I’ve never seen anything belonging to my grandfather. I suppose because nothing belonged to him.” She threw him a look over her shoulder. “Our families are so… interconnected. Are you sure we’re not related?”

  Matt popped the cork of a bottle of Chenin Blanc. “I sure as hell hope not. As far as I can tell, you and I are among the few good things that came from the bust-up of my grandfather and your great-aunt.”

  “Well, thank God for that,” she said, taking the glass he offered.

  “And Somerset,” he said with a wry smile, tapping his Scotch and water to the rim of her glass. “I don’t know whether I’m sadder for them or happier for us.”

  “We can do nothing about the past—only the future,” she said. They sat on the couch, their shoulders touching. She glanced toward the curtained bedroom. “The tales this place could tell. Do you… suppose this cabin is where it all began for Aunt Mary and your grandfather?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Is that why you brought me out here tonight?”

  “No,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder, “but I’m not above keeping the tradition alive.”

  She chuckled and nestled again
st him. “I’m all about tradition when the time is right,” she said, and added soberly, “How I wish I could get my mother to understand that.”

  “Don’t worry about your mother,” he said, his lips against her hair. “All you have to do to get back on track with her is to give her an offer she can’t refuse.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Grandchildren.”

  She laughed and snuggled deeper. “Sounds like a plan.”

  On Monday, the funeral service seemed interminable owing to the many eulogies Aunt Mary would have hated but that Rachel had permitted as a fitting tribute to the woman who had meant so much to the town, county, and state. The grave site rites were mercifully brief, and the crowd dispersed quickly to the reception to get out of the cloying heat. Because of Amos’s instructions that refreshments not be replenished once everyone had made a pass at the table, people did not linger, and the Tolivers were freed to leave for his office at the expected time.

  He had driven on ahead and stood watching for their arrival from his office window. Rachel spotted him through the slatted blinds, his dark-suited, cadaver-thin figure reminding her of a forbidding bird of omen. Once again, the odd feeling flitted through her that had begun when the textile agent had shown up empty-handed. Percy’s Mercedes pulled up shortly, and Matt gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they all filed into the law office. He said quietly in her ear, “Granddad wonders what in hell he’s doing here unless Mary left him Ollie’s box seats at Texas Stadium. But who knows? They may stay in the family.”

  “Who knows?” she said, jabbing him playfully in his ribs.

  The air-conditioning had not been on long enough to cool Amos’s private office. “Lord, it’s hot in here,” Alice complained, fanning herself furiously with a funeral program. It was the first time she’d broken her sullen silence since leaving the reception.

  “It will be cooler in a moment,” Amos apologized, patting his face with a handkerchief. He indicated they were to take chairs arranged in front of his desk, ceiling fan spinning at top speed, and took his position before them.

  “Surely we won’t be here that long, Amos,” Percy remarked, apparently knowing something about the cooling system that the others did not.

  “Uh, no… this shouldn’t take long at all.” Rachel noticed that he studiously avoided their eyes, as if he were a juror coming into the courtroom to deliver a guilty verdict. “First, let me say,” he began, joining his hands over a legal folder on his desk, “that Mary Toliver DuMont was of sound mind when she dictated and had duly witnessed as genuine the codicil before me. It is extremely unlikely that any part of it is contestable.”

  “A codicil?” Rachel repeated, her skin prickling. “You mean she added something to her original will?”

  “The codicil invalidates the original will,” Amos said.

  The room went pin-dropping silent.

  William coughed dryly into his closed hand. “None of us would want to contest Aunt Mary’s wishes, Amos. You can be assured of that.”

  Percy’s look had sharpened. “Perhaps we should get to it,” he said. “It’s time for my Scotch.”

  Amos sighed and opened the folder. “Very well, but before we go on, there is a second matter I should mention. Mary brought this codicil to me a few hours before she died. It was a heart attack that claimed her life, but you should know that she was already dying from cancer and had only a few weeks to live.”

  Another stunned silence filled the room. Percy was the first to speak, his voice sounding like a dried corn husk rattling in the wind. “Why didn’t she tell us? Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “She planned to tell you upon her return from Lubbock, Percy… I’m sure to give you a few more days of peace.”

  Rachel swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Was that why she was coming to see me, Amos—to inform me of her cancer?”

  “Well, yes, and to explain the reason for the codicil.”

  Her fanning halted, Alice said, “What about the codicil, Amos?”

  Amos removed a document from the folder. “I will be brief and summarize. There’s a copy here of the codicil for each of you to take with you and read in its entirety. You will see that provisions have been made for Sassie and Henry along with several other minor recipients. Now, in regard to you, the main points are these: Mary sold Toliver Farms last month in highly secret transactions. Details of the sale can be learned by contacting Wilson and Clark, the firm in Dallas that handles her real estate ventures. Somerset was not included in the property sold. The total of the sale was…” He glanced at another sheet and stated a sum that drew a breathless exclamation from Alice in the astonished silence. “The proceeds are to be divided equally among the three surviving Tolivers—William, Rachel, and Jimmy.”

  No one spoke. No one moved. Percy shook out of his shock first. He frowned at the lawyer. “Is this a joke, Amos?”

  “No,” Amos said, his sigh sounding dredged from his soul. “I’m afraid this is no joke.” He rested his sad gaze on Rachel, who stared at him out of eyes blank with disbelief. “Rachel, I am so very, very sorry. I know what a terrible blow this must be to you.”

  It was as if an explosion had gone off in her head. She could not see, hear, or feel. She blinked rapidly, as if clearing her vision might assist her hearing. She had misheard Amos. She thought he’d said that Aunt Mary had sold the farms, but that was not possible….

  “Did we hear you right, Amos?” Alice asked in the awed tone of a lottery winner. “Aunt Mary sold her holdings and divided the money among us?”

  “Er… among her blood heirs, Alice. I’m afraid you were not included.”

  “Well, glory be!” She slapped the desk and turned to her husband, still sitting dumbfounded. “Did you hear that, William? Your aunt did right by us after all. She sold her land.”

  “All except Somerset,” William said with a quick glance at his daughter. “I’m assuming, Amos, that Aunt Mary left the original farm to Rachel?”

  Amos shook his head regretfully. “No. She left Somerset to Percy.”

  Jolted from her daze, Rachel cried, “No—no—she couldn’t have!” Horrified awareness surged into her numb senses. “There’s been some mistake.”

  “Good God, Amos!” His look furious, William wrapped a protective arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Why the hell would she leave the family plantation to Percy? She must have been insane! How could you let her do that to Rachel?”

  “She wasn’t insane, William, believe me, and there’s a letter here from her doctors to testify to that. She knew exactly what she was doing despite my best efforts to convince her otherwise.”

  Jimmy leaped from the chair as if ants were crawling up his pants legs. “This isn’t fair! Rachel was supposed to get Somerset. Aunt Mary promised it to her. Well, she’ll just have to buy it back.” He rounded on Percy. “What do you say, Mr. Warwick? You’ll sell it back to my sister, won’t you?”

  Percy was staring off into space, still as a figure in a tableau, seemingly oblivious to Jimmy shouting into his ear as if he were deaf. William said, “Son, take your seat and be quiet for now. This is not the time or place to discuss these matters.” He turned his attention to Amos. “The house? Who gets the house, Amos?”

  Another sigh. The bony ridges of Amos’s cheeks reddened. “The Conservation Society of Howbutker,” he said, and added in visible embarrassment, “Mary stipulated that Rachel is to have anything in the house she wants—jewelry, paintings, furnishings. The rest that is not historically associated with the mansion will be sold at auction and the proceeds deposited into the estate.”

  William’s grip tightened around Rachel’s shoulders. “This is unbelievable.”

  “Why?” Alice demanded, twisting to look at him, a line of annoyance between her brows. “You don’t think your aunt was capable of coming to her senses?”

  Still standing, Jimmy cried, “I don’t care what you say, Mr. Hines. She was crazy. She had to be, to do this to Rac
hel. She had no cause to give Somerset to somebody else and leave the house to a bunch of old busybodies.”

  “Hush, Jimmy.” His mother tried to draw him back into his chair. “No use taking that attitude. What’s done is done. It can’t be helped.”

  Jimmy shook off her hand and glared at her. “And aren’t you happy about that?”

  “Amos, I don’t understand…” Rachel’s voice, quavering, cut through the war of words. “Why did she do this?”

  “She listened to her conscience for once,” Alice answered. “I know you’re hurt, Rachel, but she did the right thing. In the eleventh hour she realized it was wrong to go back on her promise to your daddy. And it’s not like you weren’t remembered, sugar. Why, with your share of the money, you can buy as many farms as you want.” She reached to brush away Rachel’s hair, but her daughter raised a shoulder to fend off the gesture.

  “Oh, Alice, be quiet,” William said. “Can’t you see that’s not what she wants to hear?”

  “Did she give you any explanation?” Rachel persisted to the lawyer, tears of disbelief standing in her eyes. “Surely she said something….”

  “I begged her to tell me, my dear, but she said… there wasn’t time. That’s why she was flying out to see you… to explain her reasons. But she assured me that she’d acted only out of her love for you. You must believe that. Her words to me were: ‘I know you think I’ve betrayed her. I haven’t, Amos. I’ve saved her.’ ”

  “Saved me?” She struggled to understand, reaching in her mind for some clue to explain this insanity. “Oh, I see,” she said, as if suddenly enlightened. “Her idea was to save me from the mistakes she made in the name of Toliver, is that it? How noble of her, but my mistakes are my own business to make and should have been none of hers.”

  “And there was another thing…,” Amos said, his voice feeble. “She mentioned that there was a curse on the land from which she wished to protect you.”

  “A curse?” Incredulity sparked with growing anger behind the shine of her drying tears. “She never said anything to me about a curse.”