by Jane Peart
While the water was heating, Joy distractedly sifted through her mail. Among the sheaf of envelopes and advertisements was a long, white legal-size envelope. The return address immediately caught her attention: Lawrence and Bidewell, Attorneys at Law, Mayfield, Virginia. What on earth could this be? She tore it open and drew out the letter. Her eyes raced down the two pages so fast, she was merely skimming the sentences. Then she got to the last paragraph:
If you will provide us with a copy of your birth certificate, duly certified by a notary public and signed by two witnesses, proving that you are indeed Joy Montrose, daughter of Beaumont Montrose and Anne Layton, we will process the transfer of the property known as Montclair. Please contact us at the first possible date so this can be expedited.
The shrill whistle of the teakettle startled Joy. She grabbed a hot pad and poured the boiling water over her tea bag, still stunned at the contents of the letter. Her knees felt shaky, and she sat down on one of the kitchen stools and reread it.
With the death of Miss Heather Montrose and as the executors of her will, we are instructed to inform you that as the only remaining member of the family, and the direct descendant of Fraser Montrose, your grandfather, you have hereby become the heir and owner of the house and land known as Montclair.
No matter how many times Joy read the letter, she still couldn’t believe it. After a while she called Molly and read it over the phone to her.
“Do you think it’s some kind of joke?” she asked Molly.
“Hardly,” was Molly’s reply. “With all that legal language. The best thing to do is to call them and verify it, then send them what they asked for. It looks as though you’ve become a property owner, Joy.”
Joy found it hard to sleep that night. She couldn’t wait until the next morning to make the call to the lawyers and then tell Gayle. Montclair, which loomed so large in both their backgrounds, really did exist and was not just some myth or long-ago romantic tale.
The conversation with Mr. Lawrence, the attorney, lasted only about ten minutes, but it changed Joy’s life forever.
“Since Miss Montrose never married and was getting on in years and had been in failing health, she had us searching for you quite a while ago. We didn’t know if your stepfather had adopted you and if you were going by his name, so that delayed us. Unfortunately, Miss Montrose passed away before we located you. She did, however, write a letter that was to be given to you if our search was successful. I believe it contains instructions as to what she wanted done with stored family heirlooms, artifacts, paintings, and other memorabilia.
“Montclair was at one time famous for its thoroughbred horses. It was also a tobacco farm. The land of course has not been farmed productively for many years. Some of it was sold off by Miss Heather in the last few years for financial reasons. But the house and the twenty acres surrounding it are still quite valuable. I urge you to come down as soon as you can arrange it, to view the place yourself, make these decisions.”
Joy hung up the phone, feeling very weak. She had inherited a mansion, valuable land, antiques, silver, the belongings of a wealthy family. She who had always struggled to make ends meet, worked hard just to keep up current expenses, now owned a plantation house in Virginia. It was unbelievable.
Her next call was to Gayle, who was just about to leave for the hospital.
“Can I catch you later?” Gayle asked. “I’ve got to make rounds.”
“But this is important, Gayle. To both of us. Listen.” Joy read the letter to her and told her about her conversation with the lawyer.
There followed a long pause, and then Gayle asked, “Well? Are you going?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it. I mean, it’s too overwhelming. I never dreamed that anything like this would ever happen to me.” Joy shook her head. “I never knew anything about my father’s family—the Montrose family. Just what you and I have pieced together.”
“I think you should go, Joy.”
“Oh, Gayle, I feel so inadequate to deal with all this alone. I’ve had no experience in talking to lawyers or real estate people or—”
“Yes, but aren’t you curious? This might provide the answers to all the questions you’ve always had about your family background. And he says there are things you’ve inherited that you’re going to have to make decisions about. No one else can do that.”
“I know,” Joy sighed. Then she asked impulsively, “Would you go with me, Gayle? Montclair is your family home, too.”
There was another long pause. “Well, in a slightly different way, of course.”
“Yes, I know, but still…Oh, please, Gayle, come with me.”
“Okay. Why not? If you can leave this morning, so can I. As it turns out, I’m already free tomorrow and Sunday, and I can arrange to take a couple more days off and make it a long weekend.”
“How shall we go? By train or bus?” Joy thought for a moment. “But that would take forever. Plane? No, too expensive.”
“I’ll drive,” Gayle said decisively. “We can take my car. Let’s see. Mayfield is near Williamsburg, right? That’s about 250 miles. The drive will take us about four or five hours. It will still be early when I finish my rounds, so if we leave right away, we should get there by this afternoon. That will give us enough time to go out to Montclair and look it over while it’s still light.”
“Oh, thank you, Gayle. I feel much better about it now that you’re going with me.”
“You know what I thought you had to tell me when you said it was very important?”
“No, what?”
“That you and Evan Wallace were engaged.”
Joy gasped. “You did? What made you think that?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious how he feels about you.”
“I hope you’re the only one who thinks that,” Joy said. “…You are, aren’t you?”
There was a significant pause before Gayle answered. “You know hospitals.”
Joy hesitated, then decided to confide in Gayle. “Truthfully, he has asked me to marry him, Gayle, but I’ve said no. I’m not ready to get married to anyone. You know my plans for the summer, as soon as the mural is finished.…Well, anyway, marriage isn’t in those plans.”
“He won’t be easy to convince,” Gayle said.
“I know. But he’ll have to understand.”
“I hope you’re right. Breakups are so hard—they leave a residue of bitterness no matter what. Well now, about our trip…,” Gayle said, changing the subject to the details they would need to take care of before leaving.
Joy was relieved, not only that Gayle had agreed to go with her but that they would be gone when Evan returned from New Orleans. That way she could put off a little longer telling him her decision.
They were to meet at Good Samaritan as soon as Gayle made morning rounds. Joy quickly drove to the hospital and sought out Ginny. Ginny’s eyes widened as Joy told her where she was going and why.
“Would you do me a favor, Ginny, and put this note in Evan’s box in the doctor’s lounge? He won’t be back from the medical conference in New Orleans until after I’m gone.” Joy handed Ginny her hastily written note explaining her journey.
“Okay, but he isn’t going to like it,” Ginny told her.
chapter
17
AT THE MAYFIELD sign they took the off-ramp from the expressway and headed for the center of town. Mr. Lawrence, the lawyer, had informed Joy that the keys to Montclair would be available at Tedroe Realty on Main Street.
Gayle found a parking space right in front of the office. Armed with the letter and her identification, Joy went inside.
The Realtor seemed surprised when she introduced herself. He hurriedly slipped on his suit coat, which had been draped on the back of his chair, and stood up. “Well, mighty nice to meet you. I’m Asa Tedroe.” He extended his hand. “I didn’t know you’d be here so soon. Mr. Lawrence just told me last week that he’d finally located Miss Montrose’s kin.”
Immediately he started rummaging in his desk drawer, pulling out key ring after key ring, examining the tags on each as he spoke. “Haven’t been any Montroses around here in a good long time.” He dropped the keys into a small brown-paper envelope, scrawled the name Montclair and some directions on it, and handed it to her. “Only Miss Heather living out at Montclair. In the last several years her health declined. She never was strong. Had polio as a child that weakened her considerably. Then after her younger brother Beau was killed”—he shook his head—“that near finished her. She was never the same after that. She adored him, you see. He was seventeen years younger. Almost more like her son than a sibling. She became a kind of recluse.” He paused. “But she was sharp right to the last. Got all her affairs in order. That’s how Mr. Lawrence was finally able to contact you.” His eyes squinted a little, regarding her. “I reckon you’ll be planning to sell the place? If so, I’d sure like to list it. We’re the oldest realty firm in the county.” He smiled. “Ask anyone hereabouts— they’ll tell you that, Miss Montrose.”
Not wanting to make any hasty commitment with so many things unresolved, Joy simply took the envelope and said, “Well, thank you, Mr. Tedroe. I’ll have to talk to Mr. Lawrence, since he’s handling the estate. I have an appointment with him tomorrow.”
“Oh, by the way, Miss, in case you were going out there planning to stay, there’s no electricity. Was turned off shortly after Miss Montrose’s death.”
Back in the car Joy told Gayle, “I’ve got the keys and the directions out to Montclair. We take the second left after the traffic light at the corner. That puts us on the old county road. We stay on that until we come to a stone wall. There are wrought-iron gates we pass through that lead up to the house.” Joy spilled the contents of the envelope onto her lap, examining the key tabs. “One looks like a padlock key, so the gates might be locked. Then it’s about a quarter mile up to the house.”
They drove through town and took the turn onto a two-lane country road. A light rain began to fall, and Gayle switched on the windshield wipers. Their whisking sound was the only noise in the small car. Filled with a sense of anticipation mixed with excitement, neither of them spoke.
When they came in sight of a stone wall with tall iron gates, Gayle slowed the car. “That must be it.”
Joy jumped out of the car and ran to the gate. There was a padlock on the gate handle. She hunted for the right key and inserted it into the rusty lock. After a few attempts she managed to turn it, loosening the metal padlock. Using both hands and all her strength, she pushed the gate open enough so Gayle could nose the small car through. When she got back into the car, Joy’s face and hair were misted.
“Okay, here we go,” Gayle said, shifting into low gear.
As they started up the narrow driveway, Joy was aware of strange sensation. The drive approaching the house suddenly seemed familiar, as if she had known it in some distant way all of her life. It was as if it were a place somehow lodged in the memory of her heart.
She glanced over at Gayle to see if she was having any of the same feelings. But Gayle was staring straight ahead, her capable hands on the wheel of the car, competently guiding it over the rutted, overgrown lane toward the house.
The mist added a luminosity to the scene. Joy leaned forward, peering through the crescent arc made by the windshield wipers. Through the silver gray veil of rain, the lacy froth of pink and white dogwood blossoms, she saw the blurred outline of the house appear. Montclair! It looked like something out of a dream.
Joy’s breath became shallow. Strangely, she felt as if she were coming home to a place she had never been.
Gayle slowed the car to a stop. Nothing was said. Both young women seemed caught in some kind of spell.
After a few minutes, as if on silent cue, they both got out of the car and looked up at the house. At close range the effects of the time during which it had stood empty became obvious. It also looked as if over the years the house had been randomly enlarged, as if it had met the changing needs of the family who had lived there. Instead of spoiling it, this gave it a kind of charm. It appeared to be not an empty house of sad memories but rather one that still had a life of its own, a survivor bravely standing despite the ravages of time.
Once real people had lived here, Joy realized—her ancestors, the family from whom she’d come. Her own father, Beaumont Montrose, had grown up here, had left this house to go off to marriage and war, and had cherished the memory of his home, as he’d written in the letter to his bride shortly before he’d been killed.
It was getting dark. The sprinkle had turned into rain.
“Think you want to go inside?” Gayle asked.
“I don’t know,” Joy answered, fingering the keys.
“Since there are no lights, maybe we’d better find a motel and get a room for the night,” Gayle suggested gently. “We can come back out early tomorrow.”
“Yes, I guess that’s the best idea,” Joy agreed.
They returned to the car. Gayle backed up and turned around, then started down the drive. Joy looked back and caught a last glimpse of Montclair gleaming pale and lovely on the hill. She felt a kind of fierce pride. It was, after all, her heritage.
She sighed. What was to become of it? If she were to sell it, the buyer might subdivide the property and develop it. But how could she possibly keep it? On the other hand, how could she even think of letting it go?
On the way back to town, both Joy and Gayle were wrapped in a kind of melancholy. They had touched the past and it lingered hauntingly.
They found a Howard Johnson’s motel, where they registered, then went to the coffee shop off the lobby. They ordered soup, hamburgers, and coffee, and Joy expressed some of her concerns.
“When I first learned I’d inherited it, it seemed like a windfall. Now that I’ve seen it, I don’t know. It would need a great deal of restoration.”
“The taxes alone on a place that size could bankrupt a person,” Gayle suggested.
“Yes. The lawyer told me that the state already has liens against the property for back taxes that have begun to accumulate. Realistically, it may be more of a liability than an inheritance.”
“Maybe you could arrange to give it to the state as a historic landmark?”
“That’s a possibility. Virginia is very history conscious. A house like Montclair, which was built before the American Revolution and remained in the same family all this time, should be attractive to a heritage society.” Joy took a sip of coffee, then sighed. “I should talk to the lawyer about it. There’s so much to think about.…”
“And pray about,” Gayle said quietly.
Saturday morning they decided that to make best use of their short time, they should move out to the house. Camp out, actually, but they had come prepared. They had both brought sleeping bags in case they couldn’t find a motel on the trip. After a quick breakfast Gayle suggested they get a floor plan of the house, so they stopped at Tedroe’s Realty again.
As he went to his file cabinet, the Realtor asked, “So how did you find the place, Miss Montrose? Not in too bad a condition, I hope? That is, other than some cobwebs and dust?”
Although he seemed inclined to conversation, Joy did not want to be delayed. “Fine, just fine.”
“Well, I understand Miss Montrose only used a few rooms. She closed the rest of the house off in the last ten years or so. A house that size used to require over twenty servants to keep it in order. Nowhere would anyone get that kind of staff nowadays. Best use for it, in my opinion, is to raze it, subdivide the property, build a retirement community—townhouses, nine-hole golf course, maybe tennis courts. Just the thing for rich retirees from up north looking for a moderate climate, leisure activities. You could make a pretty penny selling it, I’ll tell you.”
His suggestion struck Joy like a stab wound. She was surprised at her own reaction. Desecrate a beautiful, historically rich estate? She gazed at Mr. Tedroe, barely able to conceal her horror. Did
he have no sense of the past, its importance? Maybe he was just thinking like a Realtor about valuable property. She was surprised to be taking it so personally. After all, only a week ago she had not even been aware of Montclair as her inheritance. What was to become of it was now up to her. She took the floor plan from him and said good-bye as quickly as she could without being rude, then rushed out to join Gayle in the car.
By the time they shopped for groceries, stopped at the hardware store for flashlights and batteries, they got to Montclair later than they had planned.
On the way out from town Gayle remarked, “I’ve heard Montclair is haunted.” She gave Joy a sidelong glance. “Sometimes you hear the rustle of taffeta skirts behind you on the stairs, and then there’s a lady in pink who dances on the lawn with her parasol on moonlit nights, and a mysterious lady who arrives by carriage and peers in the gates, then goes away again.”
“You’re teasing!” Joy looked skeptical.
Gayle shook her head. “No, it’s true. My grandmother told me herself that her own mother told her.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Joy asked half seriously. “If there are any ghosts at Montclair, I’m sure they’re benevolent ones. My ancestors were good people. I think it was a happy place. Ghosts haunt places that are dark and mysterious, with evil secrets like murder and that sort of stuff, right?”
“Well, I don’t know about your ancestors, Joy, but my ancestors lived here, too, remember? And I’m not sure their lives were all that happy.”
Joy realized that was probably true. She and Gayle were coming back to a place from different perspectives.
“I’m sorry, Gayle. I didn’t think. I hope this won’t be a sad experience for you.”
