The Lucky One

by Caroline Overington

  ‘I don’t want to be here, Nell,’ he said.

  ‘But I love you, Pop. I’m glad you’re here.’

  Tim stood up.

  ‘He’s getting upset,’ he said. ‘We should probably take him back up. Austin, can you help me?’

  Penelope nodded, relieved. She took the handles of Pop’s wheelchair and pulled him back from the table. Then she went around the front and made sure the foot rests were in place. Austin stepped towards the staircase, ready to re-take his elbow, with Tim by his side.

  Penelope said: ‘Back to bed, Mr Alden-Stowe? Perhaps a little something to help you sleep.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Margaret, sipping her wine, ‘drug him up.’

  * * *

  Fletcher waited until Penelope’s voice had become muffled behind Pop’s bedroom door before slamming his fist down so hard that a plate jumped.

  ‘Now, everyone calm down,’ said Fiona, her voice panicked.

  ‘He’s an old coot,’ said Fletcher, angrily. ‘And I was not in his room.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Mom. ‘He seems to think he saw somebody. Unless you think he saw a ghost?’

  ‘He wouldn’t know what he saw. He wouldn’t know a human being from a block of wood.’

  ‘Fletcher, please.’ Fiona’s tone, as she sought to broker peace, sounded desperate. Sol, to her left, wore that anxious face that visitors put on when a family fight breaks out at the table.

  ‘He can’t hear me!’ said Fletcher. He reached forward, angrily, and grasped his crystal glass, taking another large mouthful of red wine. ‘And even if he could hear me, he doesn’t know who I am. He’s completely crazy.’

  ‘He is not crazy,’ said Fiona. ‘He had a stroke, and maybe he has a touch of dementia. Show some compassion.’

  ‘He was supposed to forgive me. I was a kid,’ said Fletcher, grasping the neck of a wine bottle to refill his glass, ‘but now he’s had the stroke, it’s like the truth comes out. Or else he does it on purpose. He’s never liked me, not since I broke the stupid eggs from his stupid egg collection.’

  ‘They were very rare eggs,’ said Margaret.

  ‘I was a kid!’ Fletcher repeated. ‘What did I know about egg collections? It looked like junk to me.’

  ‘Hardly junk,’ said Margaret, pushing her plate back. ‘They were lovingly stored in that timber cabinet. Quite clearly worth a lot of money – or at the very least you should have known they had sentimental value.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Fiona. ‘He’s forgotten all about those eggs. He loves you, Fletcher. You’re his grandson.’

  Fletcher opened his mouth to argue, but then Austin shouted from the top of the staircase, ‘Look out everyone, I’m coming down.’ We looked up in time to see him with both arms out, like a wonky albatross, and one leg dangling.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Austin,’ said Tim, stepping out behind him.

  ‘I’m sure this thing’s not legal,’ he said.

  ‘Did he go back to bed?’ asked Mom.

  ‘He did,’ said Austin, stepping safely onto the polished floor, with Tim, then Penelope, close behind.

  ‘I feel awful,’ said Penelope. ‘Something must have unsettled him.’

  ‘Something like what?’ Mom’s fork was paused over her plate as she addressed Penelope. ‘I hope you don’t mean that we’ve upset him, coming here?’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ said Penelope. ‘No, Jesalyn, I don’t know what it is. I mean, maybe it’s so many people in the house at one time? Maybe that’s it.’

  ‘Maybe it is,’ said Mom.

  ‘For God’s sake, can we just forget it?’ Austin had settled himself back at the table. He raised a glass. ‘He’s probably forgotten he was ever even down here by now. Anyway, I propose a toast.’

  ‘To what?’ asked Tim, raising his glass.

  ‘To patience,’ said Solveig, holding up sparkling water. ‘To the wisdom of the elderly. To love.’

  ‘How about to family too?’ suggested Fiona, raising her glass.

  ‘How about to wine?’ said Fletcher, not bothering to clink with others as he gulped. ‘How about to getting drunk?’

  ‘No, to prosperity,’ said Austin. ‘To getting out of here. To making a bloody fortune.’

  * * *

  The conversation had turned to money and that seemed to make Fiona nervous.

  ‘If we’re going to do this, let’s move into the other room,’ she said. My family rose in a group and headed towards the occasional chairs in the sitting room. All except Margaret, who had passed out with age and wine and tiredness, and been put down on Austin’s bed; and Penelope, who retired to her cottage.

  ‘We can put the fire on,’ said Mom, pressing a button on the wall to ignite the gas flame.

  ‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ I said, but Mom said: ‘No, no, Eden, we’re here to discuss something important. Please come and sit down.’

  I sat down in a grey armchair by the arc lamp. Okay, I thought, so they’re finally going to tell me why I’ve been yanked out of class, and what this reunion is all about. I sat and waited.

  It seemed like Fletcher had been appointed chief spokesman because he took the lead, shuffling himself forward in his armchair, hands clasped and hanging between spread knees. ‘I don’t know how much of this your mom has told you, Eden …’ he began.

  ‘I haven’t told her anything,’ said Mom. ‘I was waiting for us all to be together.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll start from the start.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘How much do you know about the way this property is structured?’

  ‘Structured?’ I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. ‘You mean, who owns it?’

  ‘Yes. How much do you know about the Trust? The Alden-Stowe Family Trust?’

  ‘I guess just what Mom’s told me: that the Trust owns the estate.’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ said Fletcher. ‘The Trust owns the estate – the old castle, this pavilion, everything – and we’re all beneficiaries. You and me and Austin and your Mom and my parents. You’ve got it exactly right. And maybe you also know that none of us can sell unless everyone agrees?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘And maybe you also know that until now, we’ve never been able to agree on whether we should sell or not?’

  ‘I guess,’ I said, because of course I knew what Mom had told me: that she wanted to sell after Dad died, but Fiona had refused.

  ‘Okay, well, the reason we’ve all come together this week is that your mom has found a buyer,’ said Fletcher, ‘and my mom has decided that the time is right.’

  ‘Okay …’ I said uncertainly.

  ‘And they want to give us a great big pile of money,’ said Austin. He was standing near one of Mom’s favourite pieces: the suspended fireplace, with the long copper pole that came down from the ceiling and the opening that looked like a big smile.

  I looked over at Mom. She was nodding happily.

  ‘I told you you’d be impressed with me,’ she said, leaning forward.

  ‘I’m impressed with you, Jesalyn,’ said Fletcher, slapping the leg of his trousers. ‘You’ve done an amazing job, finding these people.’

  ‘Amazing,’ agreed Austin.

  ‘I have to agree, it is fantastic,’ added Fiona. ‘The terms are very generous.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but wasn’t the reason you didn’t want to sell, Auntie Fi, because of Pop living here?’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Fiona, ‘and that’s the best thing about this deal. These people are happy to sign a contract and pay a deposit now because that seals the price for them, but we can all stay … well, Tim and me, anyway, until Dad passes.’

  Mom shuffled forward in her chair.

  ‘And the reason we wanted you to know about this is because it obviously affects you,’ she said. ‘You grew up here, so you have an attachment, but more importantly, you’re almost eighteen, and I didn’t want to do this without including you. Because we are both beneficiaries of the trust – me
and you – and although you’re still too young – technically too young – to have a say, the last thing I want is for you to turn around in two years, or even in ten years, and say: “Mom, you shouldn’t have done that.”’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, uncertainly.

  ‘So that’s why I’m telling you now. Because I’d like to accept this offer on our behalf. It means that we’ll have some money straightaway. Not a lot of money but some money, with the promise of more to come.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said again. ‘And what about Penelope?’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, we’re not consulting Penelope,’ said Austin. He’d lurched away from the fire, across the room towards a half-empty bottle of wine on the sideboard. ‘Penelope’s got nothing to do with this.’

  ‘She lives here.’

  ‘She works here,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘But she’s been here forever,’ I said.

  ‘She hasn’t been here forever.’ Mom was shaking her head. ‘She came … well, when did she come, Fi?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure,’ said Fiona, brow wrinkling. ‘It was just after Mom was diagnosed. She’d been feeling tingly in her legs and we were all telling her to go to the doctor and she went, and it was MS. Just devastating. And almost as soon as she was diagnosed, she needed help. And so Penelope came. I’m pretty sure I was still in school – maybe I was sixteen, seventeen? And Jack was a bit older. So late seventies, maybe early eighties? She’s been here a long time, that’s true.’

  Then I asked: ‘And what about Alden Castle? Isn’t it protected? And the old cemetery?’

  It was like they’d never thought about it. Fletcher actually said: ‘The cemetery?’ and Mom said: ‘God, I’d forgotten there was even a cemetery here.’

  ‘The people in the cemetery are dead,’ said Austin, refilling his glass. ‘We don’t have to ask them to move. And it’s just a few headstones.’

  ‘I guess we’ll have to discuss that with the new owner,’ said Tim. ‘Are there rules about what you can do with a cemetery?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Mom. ‘The cemetery, the castle, it’s all just details. The point is, Eden, we may have a deal. Finally, finally, we may have a deal to get rid of this place and secure our future. Remember we walked away with nothing.’

  Fiona said: ‘I think that’s a little unfair, Jesalyn.’

  ‘It would be awesome if you two could, like, not argue,’ said Austin.

  ‘The point I’d like to make is that we honestly can’t afford to go on here much longer,’ said Tim. ‘We’re sinking in debt.’

  Fletcher nodded, saying: ‘That’s right. Alden Castle is falling down and mortgaged to the hilt. Nobody will lend us any more money so there’s no hope of starting up a new business – cattle, wine – because it’s all so expensive and, with our luck, doomed to failure. And nobody wants to, anyway. And yet we’re sitting on land worth millions. So, what do you think Ewok? Do you see yourself being flat broke for the rest of your life, or do you see yourself as being nice and comfortable?’

  ‘I mean, yeah, it’s not complicated,’ said Austin. ‘It’s simple. Rich versus not rich. I choose rich.’

  * * *

  I had agreed to meet Earl outside the pavilion the following morning. Not for any reason, just to hang out. He was already waiting when I stepped out – in the cabin of an old truck with the driver’s window down.

  ‘Hey there,’ he said.

  ‘Hey yourself.’

  I didn’t want to give anything away in my voice but I was feeling conflicted. Mom had specifically asked me not to mention the discussion we’d had at dinner, not to him, or to Penelope because, she’d said, it wasn’t a done deal, and selling the estate – especially the castle – could get people in Paso worked up. She wanted to get the contract signed before we announced anything to anyone, which sounded fine as far as people in Paso went but Earl and Penelope lived on the estate. I’d known them all of my life. This affected them. And keeping secrets from them – maybe even telling lies – felt weird.

  ‘You okay?’ Earl asked, as I made my way round to the passenger-side door.

  ‘Yep,’ I said, as I used the truck’s worn strap to haul myself up, and stuffed my backpack below the front seat. ‘Mom says we have to go into Paso and pick something up from the family attorney, then drop it at my great aunt Margaret’s later, when she gets home. She’s still here, sleeping off last night’s dinner.’

  ‘Okay. What do you want to do first?’

  I thought about it for a minute, then said: ‘Do you know what I wouldn’t mind doing? Hiking up to the cemetery.’

  ‘The cemetery?’

  ‘If that’s okay.’

  Earl thought for a second, like he was calculating time and distance and the fact that we still had to get to Paso that day, then said: ‘You bet.’

  He turned the truck on the white pebbles and we trundled off, down the gravel drive, towards Alden Castle.

  ‘I’m dying to get inside there again,’ I said. ‘I want to see what’s changed.’

  ‘Now?’ said Earl.

  ‘No, no, it can wait. Let’s hike.’

  Earl parked the truck beneath the shade of an oak tree and fished two half-filled bottles of water from the floor behind his seat.

  ‘I can’t vouch for how fresh this is,’ he said, ‘but it’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘It’s not that hot.’

  We set off, picking up the trail directly behind the castle, with me going first, clutching one of the water bottles in one hand and keeping my thumb hooked around my bra strap with the other. Earl followed, cowboy hat tilted low, shading his face.

  ‘How long do you think since anyone came up here?’ I asked. ‘Because I’m thinking I haven’t been up since Nan died.’

  ‘Right,’ said Earl, and from his tone I could tell he was thinking the same as I was thinking, something like: And what a disaster that was.

  The story is pretty well known to anyone who lives in Paso. It was all over the news at the time. It was back when we still lived in Alden Castle, before we even had the pavilion. My nan had been diagnosed with MS when she was in her forties – that’s why Penelope came to live on the estate, to take care of her – but she still lived a long time, although her death wasn’t unexpected. One thing she always talked about as she got sicker was how she wanted to be buried where she’d lived all her married life, in the cemetery behind Alden Castle, but when Pop called the San Luis Obispo Registrar of Births and Deaths to get a permit, they told him, ‘No, the days of burying your dead on your own property are over.’

  Pop got furious and shouted down the telephone: ‘What do you mean, no? My whole family is buried up there. My mother. My father. My brother. I intend to be buried there, too.’

  But the registrar wouldn’t budge, saying: ‘You’re talking about a different era. This is not the Wild West. We have rules and regulations now.’ Then he – this official – tried to suggest that Nan be buried in the Paso Cemetery, meaning in town. Pop wouldn’t have it, shouting: ‘Nell never set foot in the Paso Cemetery. Why would I bury her there?’

  Finally the registrar said: ‘Well, what about cremation? You can scatter your wife’s ashes wherever you want.’

  Fiona was all for scattering Nan around Alden Castle, but Pop said: ‘I promised my wife that she would be buried in the cemetery and that is what is going to happen.’

  It was Dad who took control. He arranged for an ambulance to come to the estate to pick up Nan’s body. I was there for that; I think all of us kids were, maybe even Earl, and I remember watching – we’d been shooed away, so it must have been from whatever piece of machinery we were hiding behind. Two paramedics jumped down, crossed the drawbridge and went inside the castle, then came out again, with Nan in a slippery black bag.

  I don’t remember exactly how long it was before Nan’s ashes came back, but I’m guessing it wasn’t all that long. We had a funeral service for her in the chapel and it rained like
it hadn’t rained for years. Then all the old-timers from Paso who knew Nan from before she got married, when she was still a Beyer – they were another big Paso family, who’d been in sheep – came back to the castle for coffee and little cakes and a stickybeak. And with the rain still falling we all had to trudge up to the cemetery and bury the box of ashes in the ground. It took all day, and I remember my legs being so tired and Fletcher complaining and when we got back to Alden Castle, Pop basically collapsed into one of the old chairs by the fireplace, and I don’t know whether it was that day or the next day – I think the next day – but at some point, he opened the little velvet bag filled with Nan’s belongings the funeral home had given him, expecting to find Nan’s wedding band and pendant inside, but it wasn’t her wedding band or her pendant. It was a man’s chunky silver ring and a heavy crucifix.

  Dad’s first thought was, Oh, they’ve given us the wrong bag, but that’s not how it turned out. The funeral home they’d used had been corrupt. The owners had been taking bodies and selling them to medical schools for students to cut up, and substituting boxes of burnt timber instead. And but for the mix-up with Nan’s belongings nobody would ever have known, and we would never have found out what happened to her.

  Pop was inconsolable, saying: ‘I made her a promise that she’d be buried here, and this is my punishment.’ And from that day forward, he also started saying: ‘Don’t anyone let that happen to me. When I die, I’m not to leave this estate. Do you understand me? I don’t care what law you have to break, I’ll be buried here.’

  I guess it was six months later that Pop had the stroke. We hadn’t yet started the plans for the pavilion. The idea that we needed another house to replace the castle wasn’t one I’d heard, so people who say it was the stress of what Mom did are wrong. More likely it was the stress of what happened with Nan.

  I didn’t see the stroke happen, but my dad did. Pop was sitting in the armchair where he always liked to sit when we lived in the castle. The fire was raging. Penelope was doing a Sudoku. Dad went into the room to give Pop a ride into town, saying: ‘Okay, Dad, are you ready to go?’