The Gift of a Legacy

by Jim Stovall

  The breakfast banquet contained every imaginable variety of fresh fruit, pastries, eggs, and all of the other dishes one would expect as well as some one wouldn’t. Second cups of coffee were savored, and third cups were enjoyed by a few of us.

  Finally, I heard my long-awaited guest of honor and new client approaching. Joey Anderson rounded the corner and stood in the entryway to the breakfast room. The conversation around the table ceased, and the room fell silent as everyone stared at Joey. His hair was a mess, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his clothes looked as if he had slept in them.

  Gus broke the silence, speaking to me. “Ted, I think you may have had one of those senior moments they talk about. You must have told Joey we were meeting for lunch instead of breakfast.”

  Amid the laughter, Joey slunk over to the table and slumped into the chair at the far end.

  Claudia asked him what he would like, and Joey just shook his head, grumbling, “I don’t eat breakfast.”

  Gus responded to Joey, “Well, son, if I got out of bed when you did, I wouldn’t eat breakfast either.”

  Joey finally found his voice and a modicum of courage, declaring to everyone, “Look, I don’t know you people, and I really don’t want to. I just want to know how quick I can get my money and get as far away from this place as possible.”

  I took Joey’s cue and reached into a briefcase near the base of my chair. I set a two-hundred-page document on the corner of the table and smiled at Joey.

  “Joey, it’s not quite that simple.”

  He just stared at me, dumbfounded, so I explained, “Your great-grandmother came to me several months ago and asked me to replicate some tenets of the last will and testament of our mutual friend Howard ‘Red’ Stevens. Those particular provisions of Red Stevens’s will dealt with Jason Stevens.”

  I motioned toward Jason. Joey and Jason nodded at each other perfunctorily.

  I continued, “The details will all become clear to you in time, but for the purposes of this meeting, suffice it to say that you have not inherited any money or other assets.”

  Joey blurted out something unintelligible.

  I held my palm out toward him to silence him and continued. “However, you may figure in the future ownership of Anderson House if and only if you are willing to take up residence here and accept the bequest Red Stevens left to Jason as a provision of your great-grandmother’s will.”

  Joey sat in stunned bewilderment.

  I glanced at Miss Hastings and asked, “Anything else?”

  She rose and gathered up the papers I had set out on the table as she spoke.

  “No, sir, that about covers it for this morning. We will continue this discussion tomorrow morning if Joey decides to stay on.”

  Miss Hastings smiled at Gus Caldwell and asked sweetly, “Gus, since Joey is not familiar with the schedule here at Anderson House, I’m wondering if you could drop around his room tomorrow before breakfast and help him get to the right place at the right time.”

  Gus nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it. I believe I’ve got my cattle prod out in the truck.”

  Jason laughed nervously, stating, “I will be here early for breakfast.”

  Jason had experienced Gus’s cattle prod as an abrupt substitute for an alarm clock during the month he was learning about the gift of work.

  I rose and said, “My thanks to all. Same time, same place tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Legacy of Work

  Our work is how we give ourselves to the world and leave a legacy behind.

  Joey jumped up from his chair so abruptly it fell over backward and crashed to the floor. He ran from the room and could be heard stomping up the stairs just before the sound of the slamming door to his room reverberated throughout the house.

  Everyone around the breakfast table looked at me expectantly. I was trying to formulate some kind of excuse, explanation, or statement to cover Joey Anderson’s behavior when my thoughts were interrupted by an infernal commotion involving screeching guitars and pounding drums. Everyone automatically gazed at the ceiling in the direction from which the sound was emanating. It could be felt as much as heard.

  I raised my voice so everyone could hear my question. “What in the world is that?”

  Sometimes facts, knowledge, and information come from the most unlikely places. Hawthorne cleared his throat, looked at me, and responded, “Mr. Hamilton, sir, I believe that is Maximilian Swayne and his band.… It’s from their latest album, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Knowing that Hawthorne was more a product of my generation than of Joey’s, I blurted, “How do you know that?”

  “Well, sir,” Hawthorne explained, “he was a dear friend of Miss Sally’s, and he and the band actually worked on some of their latest compositions here at Anderson House.”

  I was bewildered and confused, but I nodded at Hawthorne as if that were the most logical explanation I had ever heard.

  I thanked everyone and headed up the stairs to confront my latest client and the heir to Sally May Anderson’s unique bequest. I didn’t knock on Joey’s door, as I was certain he wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway.

  When I peeked inside, I saw Joey stretched across the bed as the cacophony continued from the stereo speakers in his room. Eventually, he glanced in my direction and gave me a look somewhere between annoyance and disgust. I motioned for him to turn down the music, and he hesitated but finally complied.

  He addressed me rather loudly, as someone naturally does when they’ve been listening to music that loudly—or standing behind a jet engine. “I don’t like people telling me what music to listen to or how loud I should listen to it.”

  I smiled amicably and said, “I totally agree. I believe that’s Maximilian Swayne and his band. From their latest album, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Joey looked at me as if I had sprouted wings or grown an extra head.

  I continued, “I can honestly say every time I listen to Maximilian Swayne’s music, it is at least that loud.”

  Somehow, thanks to a musician I had not even been aware of ten minutes earlier, Joey and I—at least for the moment—had found some common ground.

  Joey sat on the edge of his bed, and I took a seat in a wingback chair facing him.

  Patience is a tool, or sometimes a weapon, that comes to those of us who have enjoyed over eighty years here on earth. I just stared at Joey contentedly, prepared to wait all day, until he finally spoke.

  “I think you ought to at least tell me what’s going on.”

  I nodded amiably and responded, “I totally agree.”

  I waited until he asked, “So what do I have to do to get my money?”

  “Son,” I explained, “if you already have some money, you don’t have to do anything to get it, but you’re not going to get any more here. At least not in the near term.”

  Joey slammed his hand down on the bed and blurted, “This whole thing is bogus. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

  I smiled, ignored his outburst, and continued. “But your great-grandmother did—as I stated earlier—make provisions for you in her will.”

  “What’s the deal?” he asked.

  I smiled and declared, “I’m glad you asked. Her will, as it relates to you, provides for you to receive your inheritance only if you will take up uninterrupted residence here at Anderson House and are willing to learn the lessons your great-grandmother set forth that mirror the Ultimate Gift provisions of Red Stevens’s will.

  “Red’s grandson, Jason, has generously agreed to guide you on this journey. Any time you wish to leave, you are free to go, but only if you complete each of the lessons will you be made aware of your inheritance and receive it.”

  Joey ranted and complained bitterly, utilizing some language I promised my sainted mother I would not utilize or repeat.


  Suffice it to say, despite all of Joey’s complaints and protestations, he and Gus Caldwell came down the stairs the next morning at the appointed hour to take their places at the breakfast table. Jason Stevens and Miss Hastings were already there, and Hawthorne and Oscar joined us as Claudia, once again, served a sumptuous breakfast.

  I thanked everyone for being a part of the work-in-progress that Miss Sally had asked me to handle. I nodded toward Joey so there would be no mistaking the object of my comments.

  He blurted, “I don’t understand—”

  Gus piped up, “Well, we agree on that, but at least I was able to get you out of bed this morning without the cattle prod.”

  Jason laughed uncomfortably. The mention of the cattle prod obviously invoked some unpleasant memories for him.

  I continued, “Joey, the first lesson is work, and your guide for this entire experience will be Jason.”

  I nodded to Jason, and he began, “Joey, I have been exactly where you are. I was born wealthy and had everything I thought I wanted but absolutely nothing that I needed to live a fulfilling life. Trust-fund babies like you and me automatically think of work as something someone else does for us. My first lesson in work began with a message from my grandfather that I want to share with you.”

  Jason punched a button on a remote control he’d set on the table beside him. The large flat-screen television across the room came to life, and I once again saw the image of my best friend. He was never far from my thoughts, but seeing him larger than life on the screen in front of me released a flood of memories and emotions.

  He began to speak.

  “Jason, when I was much younger than you are now, I learned the satisfaction that comes from a simple four-letter word: work. One of the things my wealth has robbed from you and the entire family is the privilege and satisfaction that comes from doing an honest day’s work.

  “Now, before you go off the deep end and reject everything I’m going to tell you, I want you to realize that work has brought me everything I have and everything that you have. I regret that I have taken from you the joy of knowing that what you have is what you’ve earned.

  “My earliest memories in the swamps of Louisiana are of work—hard, backbreaking labor that as a young man I resented greatly. My parents had too many mouths to feed and not enough food, so if we wanted to eat, we worked. Later, when I was on my own and came to Texas, I realized that hard work had become a habit for me, and it has served as a true joy all the rest of my life.

  “Jason, you have enjoyed the best things that this world has to offer. You have been everywhere, seen everything, and done everything. What you don’t understand is how much pleasure these things can bring you when you have earned them yourself, when leisure becomes a reward for hard work instead of a way to avoid work.”

  The image of my friend faded away as if it were some sort of mist that could not be held or grasped.

  Jason addressed Joey and the rest of the group.

  “As we go through each of the lessons my grandfather and your great-grandmother planned for us, we will have some special people who are frequent guests of Anderson House assisting us. But when it comes to the gift of work, there’s no one better to learn from than my friend Gus Caldwell over there.”

  Gus nodded at Jason and smiled at Joey, stating, “Jason, I’ll be glad to serve.”

  I knew the process had started, and I hoped Joey would succeed with his bequest as Jason had with Red Stevens’s Ultimate Gift legacy.

  I retired to my room and packed my bags, preparing to leave Anderson House and trusting the lesson of work to Jason and Gus Caldwell.

  But I couldn’t leave without walking up the small knoll that was the highest spot on the Anderson House grounds. Near the summit, Miss Sally had been laid to rest next to her husband, Leonard. As I approached the two headstones—one that had weathered a half century in that spot and the other that had only been in place for a day—I noticed another mourner next to Miss Sally’s grave.

  Cooper is a beautiful tan canine of indeterminate origin. He had been Miss Sally’s constant companion for the past ten years of her life. I had often made fun of Miss Sally for talking to the dog, but over the ensuing years, I had found conversing with Cooper to be quite satisfying and stimulating. He never questioned, complained, or argued. He simply stared at me with eyes that had a depth of understanding and acceptance that I have rarely found among humans.

  I looked at him and said, “I miss her too, and I wish I could stay here on this spot from now on, but we’ve got to be about our business and do what Miss Sally would expect us to do.”

  Cooper tilted his head and sighed a bit. I spent another minute with Miss Sally and then turned to leave. Cooper walked beside me as we moved away from the fresh grave. He stopped a short distance away and turned to look at the grave again.

  I tried to reassure him.

  “Don’t worry, boy. We can come back any time we want.”

  As we headed back down the hill toward the immense, stately house, I saw Gus Caldwell’s pickup truck bounding up the hill with Joey in the passenger seat. Gus waved and stopped the truck beside Cooper and me.

  He rolled down his window and called, “Hello.”

  I waved at them as I approached the driver’s-side window and noticed Joey staring off into the distance distractedly.

  I shook hands with Gus and said, “I just wanted to say good-bye to Miss Sally before I headed back into town for a few days.”

  Gus looked down at Cooper and chuckled, declaring, “Well, it looks like you got a good sidekick there.” He pointed his thumb toward Joey and continued, “That’s a whole lot more than I can say.”

  I looked past Gus at Joey and said, “Yeah, I can see you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  Gus announced, “I was looking over the lay of the land earlier, and I determined that Miss Sally and Leonard should have gardens with paths and benches all around their gravesites. There should be a stone walkway up to the top of the knoll, and the whole thing should be surrounded by a sturdy wrought-iron fence.”

  Gus and I laughed as he continued his drive up the hill. I watched the truck fading into the distance and remembered the fence that Jason had built on Gus’s ranch. And I remembered Gus telling me that not only do good fences make good neighbors, but good workers make good fences.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Legacy of Money

  We will leave many legacies behind. Money is an important tool but the least valuable of all our legacies.

  My trip back to the city and my office was uneventful.

  Anderson House is just a few hours and a million light years away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan area where I live and work. I slipped back into my normal routine handling court dates and other legal matters, but my thoughts were never far from Miss Sally, Anderson House, and the challenges and opportunities that faced Joey.

  Gus Caldwell was never one for a lot of detailed communication. He was fond of saying, “If I need a hand, I’ll give you a call. Otherwise, just count on everything getting done.” Hawthorne, however, took it upon himself to keep me posted on the daily activities of Gus, Jason, and Joey, as well as their progress on the renovations surrounding Miss Sally’s gravesite.

  I was ensconced in my office, engrossed in a complex corporate contract, when Miss Hastings tapped on my door and entered. She allowed me to finish reading the clause I was focused on, and then, when I looked up, she announced, “Mr. Hamilton, I just heard from Anderson House, and they’re ready for the next meeting tomorrow morning.”

  Never wanting to miss an opportunity to experience that magnificent place, I finished up the contract, and Miss Hastings joined me for the drive to Anderson House that afternoon.

  Hawthorne greeted us at the front steps and whisked our luggage to our adjoining rooms. Claudia greeted us with te
a and refreshments while Oscar filled me in on all the details regarding the work that had been done atop the knoll where Leonard and Miss Sally had been laid to rest.

  I went upstairs to unpack and to settle into my familiar room. I rested a bit, as people in their eighties should do from time to time, then donned clothes more fitting for Anderson House’s pastoral setting and headed across the property toward the knoll.

  The first improvement I noticed was the wonderful native-rock walkway that meandered up the hill with shrubs, plants, and flower beds strategically located on either side. As I walked along the walkway, I tried to imagine the amount of work that had been done to gather, move, and set each rock in the interlocking pattern.

  As I reached the top of the knoll, a gate set in a six-foot-high wrought-iron fence that stretched into the distance confronted me. There was an arch above the gate with an inscription that read, “In memory of Leonard and Sally Anderson.” I opened the gate and wandered through the idyllic network of paths, gardens, and benches that surrounded the gravesite.

  In the far corner of the enclosure, I heard voices, so I headed in that direction.

  I was greeted by Gus’s booming voice shouting, “Hello!”

  As I got closer, I could see Jason waving at me energetically and wearing a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

  He called, “Mr. Hamilton, have you ever seen anything more perfect than this?”

  I shook my head and responded, “No, Jason. I can’t imagine anything better for Miss Sally and Leonard.”

  I looked at Joey, who was leaning against a shovel. He was covered with dirt and sweat and seemed about ready to collapse.

  I said, “Hello, Joey.”

  He waved halfheartedly and muttered, “Hi.”