by Tim Myers
“And it took you a full day to call me?”
He said, “Please understand, this was your great-aunt’s wish, not my whim. She was quite matter-of-fact making her arrangements. There was to be absolutely no fuss at all.”
I had to smile, a reaction I was sure would make Young think I was some kind of ghoul, but I’d heard Belle expound on the pointlessness of funerals all my life, and I was glad she’d stuck to her guns to the end.
“So why am I here?” I asked.
“As her only living relative, you stand to inherit her entire estate,” the lawyer said.
“I can’t imagine Belle had all that much,” I said, “and I certainly don’t feel the need to discuss it right now.”
The attorney held up one hand. “I understand, it’s a natural reaction. However, your great-aunt,” he looked pleased at remembering her correct title, “insisted we do this her way.” At that, Young smiled gently. “She was quite a forceful lady.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “Okay, what did Belle have to say?”
Young reached across his desk and handed me a letter. I felt a chill sweep over me as I recognized the precise, spiderweb writing. “Your great-aunt wanted you to read this. I’ll give you some privacy,” he added as he stood and excused himself from his office.
My hands trembled as I tore open the envelope, somehow uneasy with this missive from the grave.
I needn’t have worried. Though Belle herself was gone, in this letter, at least, she was still with me, full of every bit of spit and vinegar as she’d ever been.
Harrison, my boy, if you’re reading this, I’ve finally kicked the bucket. What a run I had! Don’t mourn me, young man, and that’s an order. I had more joy than sorrow, more smiles than frowns. It was a good solid life, one well worth living, but it’s time for me to shuffle off.
You, on the other hand, are just getting started. I know, you don’t feel all that young, but from where I’m sitting, you’re still in short pants. Let’s cut to the chase, you know I never really liked all that sentimental mush. I’m giving you At Wick’s End, and more importantly, all of River’s Edge. You didn’t know I owned the whole building, did you? The old girl still has a few surprises up her sleeve.
I put the letter down for a moment, astounded that Belle had been a property owner and landlord. So that was why she’d taken me on such an extensive tour of the converted factory and warehouse when she’d first told me of her plans to open a candle shop there. What had once been a huge expansive workspace on the banks of the Gunpowder River was now divided into stores, shops, offices and even an apartment where Belle lived. At Wick’s End was in one comer of the downstairs space. I hadn’t really understood her fascination with candles and had passed it off as some kind of hobby to keep her active in her later years. I picked up the letter again and continued reading.
Now don’t get too excited. River’s Edge barely brings in enough to cover the taxes and monthly expenses, and you’ll need to work hard to make a go of it. But that’s exactly what I want you to do. At Wick’s End is a wonderful place, and I want you to quit whatever dead-end job you’re currently in and run my shop. Your shop now, actually. Candles bring light into the world, my boy, and we need all the illumination we can get.
Allow an old woman the last word. Throw yourself into this, Harrison, and make me proud!
