by Jenny Hale
Leah quietly fiddled with the torn edge of the package to retrieve the documents, so as not to wake The Girls or Sadie, and slid Nan’s letter out with the other papers. She held it in front of her for a moment, knowing she was about to hear from Nan. She missed her so much.
Tears welled up in Leah’s eyes as she read “Dear Leah” in Nan’s writing. It was like her grandmother was talking to her from Heaven.
As a child, it had been Nan who had had those long, giggly conversations into the wee hours of the night with Leah; it had been Nan who would listen as she talked about boys or her school problems. And, when she’d gotten pregnant, and the child’s father refused to be a part of their life, she’d gone to Nan to find out what to do. Nan had raised Leah’s mother, Marie, and her uncle, William, by herself, and she was the strongest person Leah knew.
Leah could hear her grandmother’s voice perfectly as she read—soft like a whisper, the way she’d been when she’d tucked her in during her visits when Leah was a girl. As the words “Evergreen Hill” slid in front of Leah’s eyes, she could feel the warmth in her cheeks, and she knew what it was: hope welling up that she’d be allowed one last way to be near Nan. Leah had just one class left before she’d have her degree, and while she’d entertained finding a job as a corporate events planner to broaden her experience, the plan had always been for Nan to teach her the business—but only after she’d finished the classes. Nan wanted her to be prepared and also to have enough background to build her own vision for Evergreen Hill.
She had planned to finish her degree, wrap up Sadie’s school year, then drive the two hours to Evergreen Hill with all their worldly possessions and start a new life. Nan had always said she hoped Leah would be throwing big white weddings on the lawn, opening up the library for local historians, and showing school kids round the vast halls and servants’ quarters long after she’d gone. She had even promised that Leah would inherit the house.
That hope was burning Leah from the inside, telling her she might be able to give Sadie the life she’d always wanted her to have—the life Nan and Leah had planned. She blinked over and over as she read her inheritance: the plantation was hers. Evergreen Hill, with its winding paths and acres of open land, would now belong to her and Sadie. It was bittersweet, but she could hear Nan telling her to relax and focus on the positives.
Leah looked up at the paintings but she wasn’t focused on them. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but she realized that part of her had been dreading Christmas. It just wouldn’t be the same without Nan. But now it might feel different—still sad, but as if Nan were watching over them, spending Christmas with them, taking care of her and Sadie even after she was gone. And now, more than ever, she needed Nan. Leah imagined driving up the long drive, lined with oak trees. Snowy woods wrapped around three sides of the house like a familiar hug, the rest of the property sprawling out behind it—the old tobacco fields now enormous green pastures. The dark of the deciduous tree limbs a stark contrast to the white snow as they towered over the smaller evergreens; the cold juxtaposed with the yellow champagne-colored warmth radiating from every window of the house.
The plantation, Evergreen Hill, got its name from the wild evergreens that grew in the woods out back. It looked like the forest was full of Christmas trees, and during the holidays, Nan would string them all with white lights, making the snowy woods look like some sort of fairytale.
Sadie had grown up visiting Nan at Evergreen Hill just like Leah had. Leah delighted in the fact that Sadie had memories of family Christmases there, long summer breaks, climbing the old trees, picking vegetables and fruit from the garden out back, and hiking along the river. But in the last six months or so, Leah had just been too busy with work, and hadn’t been able to visit. Of course there was no way they’d miss the family Christmas, and that had become Sadie and Nan’s sign-off on the phone: “See you at Christmas!” But Nan passed away in November.
With the inheritance, Leah could retreat to the place she and Sadie loved most in the world. They’d go on long, winter walks with hot chocolate. She’d make them big fires in the colossal fireplaces and they could roast marshmallows to relax, away from the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season. Hosting special events and opening the house up as a museum would give her a chance to use what she’d learned and to make much better money in fewer hours, allowing her to bond with her daughter—just the two of them. She’d have to work fast so she could open the doors as soon as her classes finished or she’d never be able to afford the upkeep. It’d be tough, but Leah was sure she could do it.
She looked down at the old key in her hand, the memories of that house washing over her. Once, Nan had given Sadie that key to hold while they planted tomatoes together in a garden at the far edge of the plantation. It was hot, and Leah had worn her thinnest pair of shorts to keep as cool as possible in the sun. Sadie had alternated twirling and watching her sundress balloon around her with planting, and Leah had called out for her to “keep track of that key.”
When they were finally finished, their hands swollen in their gardening gloves from the heat, Sadie reached into her pocket, only to realize the key was gone. They had dug through the tomato plants, combed the soil together, searching, the heat nearly unbearable. Sadie’s face had fallen, worried, after about an hour of looking, that Nan would be upset with her for losing the key. Instead, Nan made up stories of how they’d have to camp out under the weeping willow tree and live on tomatoes.
“Like castaways,” she’d said with a laugh. Leah could still picture her face as she smiled, the lines around her eyes and along her cheeks, the bright white of her teeth, the way the wisps of hair had escaped from her bun and wrapped around her ear. It had been Sadie who’d finally found the key in a nearby patch of grass where she’d been twirling. While Leah was relieved, Nan had snapped her fingers, pursed her lips, and said, “Well, my dears, I suppose our castaway days are over.”
Life was perfect there. While Leah really enjoyed the history of the house, Sadie had found her niche as well. Every Christmas, Nan and Leah would take Sadie to the local high school’s national-level gymnastic show, and talked about how maybe one day Sadie would be a part of their gymnastics team. The team was the top in the state, its coach a local celebrity, having been mentioned on several news programs for her coaching talents.
The schools in that county were as highly rated as the gymnastics program—a far cry from Sadie’s small elementary school where the teachers’ time was consumed by students with larger problems than simply schoolwork. While Sadie grappled with math, Leah knew that her daughter’s overworked teacher was struggling just to make sure her class had pencils and hot meals. In a different classroom, would Sadie have as much trouble understanding?
“Good morning,” Louise whispered. She shuffled in, her thin body hidden by Leah’s pajama bottoms and a T-shirt that she’d borrowed, her long fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee. She sat down beside Leah and her face shifted from groggy to more attentive as she looked at her friend. “What’s that?”
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Leah said, blinking to push the tears back. “Did you find the cream and sugar okay?”
“Yes. You always keep the sugar to the left of the coffee maker and the cream’s in the fridge. Now, tell me what you’re reading. You looked deep in thought just now.” Louise folded her feet underneath her and pulled a corner of the quilt across her lap, concern on her face.
“I was just reading a letter from my grandmother.”
“Oh.” Louise had been the first person Leah had called when she’d finally wanted to talk about it. “What does it say?”
“She’s giving me Evergreen Hill.”
“Wow. That’s huge…”
Leah took in a deep breath and looked at the little Christmas tree in the corner of the room. It was adorned with ornaments Sadie had made in school and when they’d had craft nights together.
“Are you going to open the plantation again?”
Leah nodded.
Louise took a sip of her coffee and wriggled into a different position. “You’re really going to move.” She frowned. Roz and Louise had always known Leah’s plans, but since Nan’s death everything had been up in the air. Now those plans were suddenly starting to feel real.
Leah thought about leaving her friends, and admitted to herself it would definitely be hard, but if she could give Sadie that kind of lifestyle, it would be a sacrifice worth making. “You and Ethan are coming every single holiday, remember?”
“I’m still going to miss you. Who will I make cookies for?”
Leah smiled. “That guy, Bret, at your office.”
“Stop,” she said with a giggle. “I’ll bet you’ll be glad to quit your job at the restaurant,” she said more seriously, a delighted look in her eyes. Louise hadn’t liked the idea of Leah taking on another job—Leah could tell when she’d told her for the first time.
Leah nodded, trying not to let that idea get her too excited, and looked back down at the letter, flipping to the next page. She still needed to see what was involved before she let herself get carried away. “I haven’t finished reading the letter. Do you mind if I read the rest?” Leah pulled the quilt up higher. The house was drafty in the winter.
“Not at all.” Louise scooted closer and took another sip of her coffee, the steam showing itself in the cool morning air.
I struggled my whole life with regrets… the letter said. I know we’ve made plans together, and plans are good. But you can’t plan for everything. I certainly know that. I’ve learned that sometimes you’ve got to put your heart before your head and do what makes you happy right in that moment, or you’ll always regret it. She read on about how Nan had things she’d never said, large parts of her life she’d never lived… This didn’t make any sense to Leah. What was she talking about? Never have regrets, Leah… Then, as she continued to read, Leah’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
“What?” Louise said, turning her body toward her, apprehension on her face. Not within arm’s distance to an end table, she set her mug on the floor and leaned closer to Leah.
Leah had to close her gaping mouth. She re-read the line over and over, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She pulled the packet from behind the letter and flipped through it. “Holographic will?” she whispered as she tried to figure out what was going on.
“What?” Louise said again. “What is that? Tell me. The suspense is killing me!” she said in a loud whisper.
She read Nan’s words. “‘I’ve written a holographic will, Leah. I wanted to get it down on paper as quickly as possible to override what I had originally planned…’” She looked up. “I only own half of the plantation. Something about a change in her will,” she said, hearing the shock in her own voice. “Nan gave the other half to someone named David Forester…”
The coffee pot beeped in the kitchen, alerting them that it was shutting off. The sound rang in Leah’s ears as she tried to visualize the person from the letter. Like snapshots in her brain, she saw him: sharing her ice cream, gathering leaves to do leaf drawings, playing kickball in the back yard.
“I know who that is,” Leah said.
“Who is it?”
Leah looked up from the letter, still making the connection as she focused on Louise. “He used to live there—his grandmother sold the house to mine. But he moved away when we were young. I haven’t seen him since I was probably five or six years old, he was ten or eleven—something like that… Davey Forester.” She hadn’t said that name in such a long time.
“That’s weird. Why would she do that?”
“I have no clue. When his grandmother sold it, they all moved away. Why in the world would she give it to some kid who had barely lived there?” Leah turned the page over, looking for more explanation, but that was all Nan had said. She thumbed through the packet that accompanied the letter—a bunch of paperwork, granting her the inheritance. She scanned the legal jargon, stopping at times to try to take in what would be expected: estate considerations… each owner is free to sell or allow interest to pass by will… Contribution toward maintenance, repair, payment of property taxes, assessments, liens on the property… She set the papers down onto her lap, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden.
“I’m going to have to call Nan’s lawyer to see what’s going on.”
“Definitely.”
As Leah slid the letter and packet back into the envelope, she stopped, noticing the P.S. that was written on the back of the envelope. She’d seen it earlier, but there were so many thoughts going through her mind that it hadn’t registered the first time. It said, Leah, if I could drive home one piece of advice, it would be to never have regrets like I did. Don’t do it. I told David the same thing. He’s a good man, but he needs a little nudge every now and again. So do you. Act on your impulses, go with your gut, and follow your heart. Every time. I love you.
“Good morning!” Roz said, plopping down beside Louise, on top of the quilt, wearing only a T-shirt and big, wooly socks at the end of her long, bare legs. She had her glasses on, no make-up, her dark hair spiking up in haphazard points.
“Morning, Roz,” Leah said with a friendly smirk.
“How are we?” With a sneaky grin, Roz took Louise’s coffee from her hands and had a sip.
“I was drinking that,” Louise said, shaking her head.
“You can have it back.”
Leah knew that Louise wasn’t really upset because being a nuisance was how Roz showed affection. She would have their backs in a second if they were in trouble.
“That’s okay. We can make more,” Leah said, standing up and stretching. She dropped the key into the envelope and took the package to the kitchen to make some more coffee. Louise hopped up and followed, grabbing Roz by the arm and pulling her off the sofa.
“What’s up?” Roz asked, entering the kitchen, taking the coffee can from the cabinet under the coffee maker, and setting it next to the coffee pot. “The two of you looked intense.” She clicked the light on above the stove; the small counter was dark in the mornings before the sun came in through the double window in the breakfast nook.
Louise took the carafe from its base and rinsed it in the sink then filled it with fresh water as she eyed Leah for the go-ahead to tell Roz the news. Leah nodded. “Leah inherited her grandmother’s plantation.” Then, Louise turned to Leah, as if waiting for her to offer further explanation.
“Dang, girl! You just hit the lottery! I guess it’s full steam ahead then on the big plans, huh?” Roz said, scooping coffee grounds and filling the coffee maker as she looked back over her shoulder at Leah. After she finished, she turned around, giving her friend her total attention.
Leah sat down at the kitchen table, toying with the chocolates in the bowl, the foil papers making a crinkling sound. She was too preoccupied to make coffee. “I don’t know. I don’t own the whole thing, so I don’t know if I can. Someone else owns it with me—a man.”
Roz made a dramatically excited face, her lips pushed together suggestively. “What kind of man? A gorgeous, wonderful man?”
Leah rolled her eyes. Roz was obsessed with finding Leah a future husband, telling her she just knew that Leah would be the perfect wife. She called all the time, trying to set Leah up with people she knew. The first few times, Leah had actually gone on the dates, but they were disasters, so she stopped listening to Roz’s suggestions. She picked up the thin package of documents and waved it in the air. “David E. Forester III.”
“Maybe he’ll let you run the business. I’m struggling to imagine a man with a name like David E. Forester III—” Roz said the name in a deep, dramatic, manly voice “—fluffing wedding dresses and arranging flowers. That name sounds more like some sort of big executive to me. But who am I to stereotype?”
Leah laughed. “You don’t know anything about him!” But neither did she when it came down to it. She hadn’t seen him in years. “But I hope you’re right. Sadie h
as her heart set on that school with the gymnastics team. She hasn’t said it, but without Nan, I think she’s been terrified that dream won’t ever come true.” Leah sighed. “She just adores Evergreen Hill. I can’t believe I haven’t taken Sadie in so long.”
“You haven’t taken me where?” Sadie said, coming in and setting her stuffed bunny on the island. She turned to look up at her mother, and her tiny ankles barely showed under her pink terry-cloth robe and fluffy slippers. Her hair was like a bees’ nest in the back.
“To Nan’s house.”
Sadie’s face dropped in sadness. “I miss her.” She rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“I miss her too.” There was a moment between them—they’d had many of those in the last few weeks since Nan’s death. She could see the same sadness in Sadie’s eyes that she felt.
“Nan said, when we moved there, I could have the yellow room,” Sadie said. She pushed a wild strand off her face with her little fingers, her sparkly nails that Roz had painted last night bright against her milky skin. “She let me leave some of my books there, and my jump-rope. Do you know if we’re moving there yet?”
“I’m not sure,” Leah said, trying to keep her face as neutral as possible to keep Sadie from worrying. “I really hope so.”
Roz shot a look at Leah and then poured a cup of coffee. “If you move, I’ll have to work the showroom alone. Who will protect me from Stan?”
Leah laughed. Stan was the florist’s delivery driver. He often pulled around back, let himself into the floral arrangement staging area, and basically threw himself at Roz on a regular basis. He was shorter than her, and he talked with his hands and laughed a lot, making a snorting sound they thought could fall into the wild boar category but they weren’t sure. He would follow them into the showroom and walk around after Roz like a little puppy, calling her “Sweetcakes.”
