.“This is fascinating,” she said, reaching up to pat me on the shoulder. “Thank you for teaching me.”
Laura had turned off the vacuum just in time to hear that, and I caught her surprised expression. I was just as disoriented, and had to re-examine my assumption that Mother’s mind was failing. This eagerness to learn something completely new certainly didn’t seem to indicate senility.
Mother was so involved in tapping away that she didn’t even notice Laura’s exit, or her return. But I did. Laura had the bland look that she wore whenever she’d done something wrong, and I saw a slip of paper in her hand. “We’ll go take care of the kitchen,” I announced to Mother as I rose from the chair beside her.
“That’s fine, dear,” she replied absently. “This historian man certainly is vociferous in his defense of that second lieutenant governor—- I quite disagree, and I’m going to tell him so.”
I have created a monster, I thought, following Laura into the kitchen. Next thing we knew, Mother would be engaging in flame wars and starting her own blog.
The kitchen was filled with the yellowing light of the June evening. Laura and Theresa stood at opposite ends of the old oak kitchen table, not speaking. I sighed inwardly. If either of them would just try to connect . . .
“Mother’s medications. I wrote down the name on each prescription.” Laura slid the piece of paper across the table, and Theresa reached over to pick it up. I glanced back into the hall, but there was no sign of Mother. Still I thought it best to turn on the water faucet to hide our discussion.
“Diuretic,” Theresa said, moving her finger down the list. “Blood thinner. Estrogen.”
“Anything . . . ” I couldn’t think of a good word and settled for one from the psychedelic era. “Mind-altering?”
“Nothing. It’s all standard stuff for a basically healthy woman of her age.”
Theresa balled up the page and tossed it in the trashcan. I hesitated, then dried off my hands and retrieved it. I couldn’t see Mother digging around in the trash, but there was no reason to take chances.
Shoving the page into my pocket, I said, “So if that’s all the medication she’s taking, and there’s nothing that could interact to cause . . . well, disorientation, what might we be dealing with?”
“Nothing,” Theresa said sharply. “I don’t see why you’re so certain that something’s wrong. She seems fine to me.”
“I have to agree.” Laura said this reluctantly, as if agreeing with Theresa made her nervous. “She did fade out on me once, but I’ve done that myself, when I’m bored or distracted in a conversation. And she’s probably always bored or distracted talking to me. And, well, she’s a bit forgetful. Other than that, she seems the same as ever.”
I shook my head. Maybe I was imagining more than the usual loss of focus that came with age. But—“You don’t think it’s strange that she’s accusing Merilee of theft?”
Laura brushed a few crumbs off the scarred oak tabletop. “Maybe that’s just to get rid of her. To give her a reason to fire Merilee. It’s not fair, but how do you get rid of old family retainers?”
“You give them a pension,” I said. “You don’t fire them. And why would she want to get rid of Merilee? She’s always done a good job.”
Laura shrugged. “Two domineering old ladies might get on each other’s nerves after twenty years or so. Maybe Merilee said something Mother didn’t like—say about that President Urich. Mother doesn’t like being rebuked. She might be angry enough to imagine some crime.”
I had to admit that made sense. Mother wasn’t one to take criticism constructively, and it was pretty clear that President Urich was a new favorite. “Merilee called him Mother’s ‘new boyfriend’, and I don’t imagine that went over very well.”
Laura’s perfectly arched brows went up a notch. “You don’t think . . .”
“No!” Theresa replied sharply. “Mother wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” Laura put on her innocent face. “No one says she has to start being a saint, just because she’s older. He’s a good-looking fellow—”
“She wouldn’t,” Theresa said flatly. “She never even dated after—after your father died.”
“After? Perhaps not.” Laura’s eyes glinted with speculation.
I wondered what she was trying to imply. But she wouldn’t get far in that direction. Theresa was right. Mother adored my father, and seemed to have put away any thought of love after he died. “I’m sure President Urich is after her money, not her body.”
“Creep,” Laura muttered.
It was my fault that Laura now suspected this man of trying to seduce Mother’s money. After all, that’s what I’d been intimating. “Oh, come on, that’s his job. It’s all college presidents do anymore—raise money from rich alums.” I brooded for a moment. “Look at it from his point of view. Here’s this poor woman whose daughters have all left, and she’s got this big old house none of them want, and all this money they didn’t earn—why not suggest she do some good with it?”
“I don’t want her money,” Theresa said.
“I don’t need it.” Laura might not have meant to sound one-upping, but this earned her a sharp look from Theresa.
I knew I was supposed to weigh in with something like I neither need nor want Mother’s money. But I couldn’t quite get the words out. I hadn’t taken a vow of poverty like Theresa, or just signed a seven-figure contract like Laura. We’d grown up as the richest girls in town, and no matter how long I lived on a middle-class income, I never quite got used to worrying about the bills and retirement accounts. I did rather long for a fraction of Mother’s money, just in case . . .
But I didn’t say that. I said, “Mother can leave her money where she pleases. I just want to make sure she’s, well, doing it in sound mind. So let’s tell her that we’re ready to discuss this estate planning, even meet with her attorney, tomorrow.”
“You tell her,” Laura said, with her usual abdication of responsibility.
“We’ll all tell her,” I said firmly. “Right now. I’ll speak the words. You two can just follow me and nod.”
Simultaneously, Laura and Theresa tried out a nod, and for just a moment, they both smiled at the silliness of it. But then Theresa’s face fell into its customarily serious lines. “Don’t make Mother feel incompetent. There’s no evidence of that.”
Exasperated, I replied, “I’ll be the soul of tact.”
So we all trooped down the hall to the den. The evening sun had descended below the mountains, and the room was dark except for pale glow of my laptop screen. Mother was hunched over the desk, so engrossed in whatever she was typing that she didn’t hear us enter.
As Laura flipped on the overhead light, I cleared my throat. “Mother, about that estate planning. Now that we’re all here, maybe tomorrow we can meet with Mr. Wampler and go over your—”
Mother jerked spasmodically. I’d never seen her move that way, and alarmed, I crossed the room towards the desk. I was only a few feet away when she turned, sweeping her arm clumsily into the cords dangling from the laptop. I flinched in anticipation, and barely got there in time to grab the computer before it fell.
Mother was all apologies, unprecedentedly flustered at the sight of the phone cable dangling off the corner of the desk. She got up from her chair and backed away. “I’m so sorry, dear! I was startled, and I’m afraid—oh, is it broken?”
It’s just a computer, I told myself, and forced a smile. “I’m sure it’s fine.” I set the laptop back on the desk and hit the power button, relieved as the screen turned blue and the familiar desktop appeared. I reached for the phone cord—and found the plug still attached to the modem jack. Mother had yanked it right out of the modem card, and I needed that, as there was no wi-fi in this old house..
She was hovering at my shoulder. “Is that a problem?”
“Just a minor one,” I said. Actually, it meant I was going to have to replace the modem. That would be an adventure. I wasn’t su
re if I’d be able to find a compatible one here in Wakefield, and besides, I’d never opened up a laptop before. But I couldn’t live without email, not with Sarah off at camp with her own little notebook. I forced a smile. “Really, Mother, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Can we still get on the Internet?” she asked.
“Well, no, not until I get one little part installed. But I’ll get that tomorrow.”
“Oh, I’m glad. I was just beginning to get the knack of it.” Mother smiled and added, “Now what was that you were saying about meeting with my attorney?”
CHAPTER FIVE
The attorney’s office was on the second floor of the bank building, which meant he got most of the town’s trust and estate work. He greeted us with a pleasant reserve that didn’t quite conceal how eager he was to get more work on this important estate.
It was an old-fashioned office, with worn leather chairs grouped in an arc around the desk. It looked just the same as it had many years ago, when Mother brought us here and signed the papers that made the six-year-old Theresa our sister.
I glanced over at Theresa, wondering if she remembered that day. Just like then, she was sitting in the last chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze steady on our mother. The last two days must have been hard for her—all that worldly stimulation after so long in a place of quiet and peace. I could almost feel her tension radiating across the room. Impulsively I crossed to the seat next to her, sat down, and reached over to touch her cold hands.
Her fingers curled. Just for a second our eyes met, and I could see the effort it was taking her not to pull away. Had she always been so resistant to touch? Or was that the result of her year in the cloister? I didn’t know. And that meant I didn’t know her.
“Mrs. Wakefield.” The attorney came out from behind his desk, a folder in his hands. “Here is your latest will. You’ll remember you updated it just last year.”
Mother took the folder and opened it on her lap. “Well, I’m likely to make some changes in it, now that my daughters are all here.”
“What sort of changes?” I asked, trying to sound only mildly interested. “I know you and Daddy set up some trusts.”
Mr. Wampler’s eyes lighted up. “Yes, the family trusts are key to the estate planning.” He went off on a long lecture about taxes and generation-skipping and probate, while I fought the urge to reach over and take the will from Mother’s restless hands.
“So you’re saying,” Laura interposed smoothly, “that the trusts might need to be modified in light of the estate tax changes.”
“And because of family circumstances,” Mother added. “There is a trust for grandchildren, but I’ve only been blessed with one grandchild, so—”
“Don’t count me out yet as a grandbaby-maker, Mother,” Laura said coldly. “I’m only thirty-five.” She glanced over at Theresa, sitting there with utter stillness, her shoulders slightly hunched. She didn’t add that Theresa wasn’t even thirty.
“Oh?” Mother replied. “It just doesn’t seem that your lifestyle is conducive to childrearing. Not to mention that there seems to be no wedding in the offing.”
Laura’s eyes narrowed, and she started to respond. Just as well that a moment later, someone knocked on the door. But my relief faded into confusion as the college president walked in.
He was quick on the uptake. He took one look at my face and said, “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”
“Nonsense,” my mother replied, rising and holding out her hand to him. “I asked you to be here.”
He took her hand, still glancing uncertainly at us. “If there’s any problem here—”
The attorney said, “Well, it is a bit irregular—”
“I need Dr. Urich’s advice,” Mother interrupted.
“Oh,” Laura said, “I didn’t realize that Dr. Urich was also an attorney!”
This got the real attorney up on his feet behind his big desk. “Mrs. Wakefield, if my counsel isn’t—”
“I’m not an attorney.” Dr. Urich hesitated in front of the chair Mother had saved for him, just next to her, then discreetly backed up to rest against the window sill. “I’m sure Mrs. Wakefield just wished to hear about my plans for the college. Of course we stand ready to help with any documentation or information you need for the legalities for any gift she might be so generous to give.”
Dr. Urich was clearly embarrassed. I realized he must have thought this would be some informal meeting, not an official family gathering. But he could hardly leave now that the damage was done. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, addressing a disarming look towards me.
I wasn’t immune to his modest charm, and briefly thought of suggesting he come to my church and take over the stewardship committee. This fundraiser, at least, remembered that gifts were gifts, and not “pledges” and “obligations.”
“But you are almost family.” In another woman, Mother’s tone might have been considered coy. But—but this was my mother. “Loudon has been so important in the lives of my husband and me, and my husband’s parents before us. I’m sure they would agree that I should find ways of aiding the college through the estate. And Joseph, you represent the college.”
I saw Laura’s eyes flash at this use of his first name. “What sort of ways to aid the college?” she prompted in a casual tone that told me that she was on alert. So much for her assertion that she wasn’t interested in an inheritance. She was the one challenging Mother at every turn. Then again, nothing was less calculated to win Mother’s approval and benevolence.
But Mother took no offense. She turned to Laura and said, “Because of capital requirements, and the special considerations provided by the new tax laws, Mr. Wampler has suggested that we need to be especially creative in provisions for charities, to help offset the cash bequests that will no doubt be of most use to my daughters.”
This time I did not glance at Laura, but I thought she too must be relieved at that cash bequests. With cash, we wouldn’t get stuck trying to sell a house that probably couldn’t be sold, or the family’s very illiquid shares in the local bank. Good old cash could be squirreled away in a retirement account—and I needed one. Ten years teaching at various schools, most of them overseas, and a couple years as a minister, had left me without a vested pension. And if I should happen, as seemed increasingly likely, to face old age alone—well, I would be forever grateful to the parents who made it more secure.
“It is the house I’m most concerned with,” Mother added. “It is too large and too expensive for most families here. And I would hate to see it broken up into flats or offices. That would be a sad fate for a family home.”
She was right. The house was meant for a family—well, maybe the Magnificent Ambersons or some other family from the 1920’s. But the wiring was thirty years old, and the well was nearly played out, and—and it was just more of a burden than a blessing. I’d been hoping my cousin Neil, the one who ran the bank, would take it over, but he’d just built a big modern house on ten acres south of town, with a barn for his daughter’s horses and a studio for his wife. He was a banker. He knew the definition of “money pit”—the old Wakefield mansion.
“In your current will,” the attorney said delicately, “ownership of the house is to go to whichever of your daughters is willing to commit to at least part-time residence.”
“That was too much to ask. I realize that now.” Mother said this quite forthrightly, considering how seldom she admitted to mistakes. “And I just don’t think any of my nieces or nephews could afford to maintain the house. So I have come up with another plan. I would like to leave the house to the college.”
Dr. Urich had been silent all this while, but now he sat up very straight. “To the college?” He continued, almost breathlessly, “And how would you like such a generous gift to be used, Mrs. Wakefield?”
“As I said, it is a home. And I would hope it would remain so, even if it will not be a home for anyone in my family anymore.”
I couldn’t stop myself. “Mother, perhaps I didn’t make this clear earlier.” Of course I didn’t. I’d never said anything of the kind earlier. “But I would like to keep the house in the family. I would—” I took a deep breath. “I would be willing to take charge of it.”
It felt to me as if the whole world had paused, or at least the little bit here in this room. Laura was looking aghast. Theresa was regarding me with something like compassion. President Urich was doing his best to conceal his disappointment.
Mother, however, seemed not to have heard me. “The house would be most appropriate as a residence for the college president. Right now, the president’s house is just another faculty home, too small for the sort of entertaining required to recruit top professors and students.”
“Mother—” I began, but she waved a hand to shush me.
I felt like a fool. I’d staked my claim, sacrificed my freedom, proclaimed my commitment. And my mother, the one who was supposed to care so much about family traditions, had ignored me entirely. I might as well have been invisible.
Aid came from an unexpected source. Theresa stirred beside me, and said clearly, “I would be willing to be part-owner of the house, and to help Ellen with the maintenance.”
Laura straightened in her chair. “I could help too. If all three of us pitch in—”
The year She Fell Page 7
