Secret Society

by Robin Roseau

  She waited to let us all understand the implications of that.

  "If everyone is ready..." She waited for nods. And then she bent her head and began to read.

  The will started with relatively minor bequests: a sculpture for Kate, two pieces of jewelry for my aunt. Excepting me, everyone in the room, including my mother, received a token, some memento from Grandmother Cadence. If anyone noticed my name went unmentioned, they said nothing. But Mom squeezed my hand and smiled at me.

  "These bequests are here," the lawyer said, and the assistant gestured to a table against the wall. "You may take them with you at the end, subject to a small amount of paperwork insisted upon by Ms. Todd."

  No one said anything. Everyone knew this was the small stuff.

  But then the will got a little more serious, and that was when I began to understand how wealthy my grandmother had been. It began with the brief discussion of a trust established as a scholarship fund for her great-grandchildren. To date, there were only two -- Kate and Dan each had one child. But it was understood that more were likely. When the youngest likely great-grandchild turned 25, the remaining available funds would be donated to charity as chosen by the trust manager, which meant the law firm.

  "I have more details regarding the trust," Ms. Hunt explained, and the assistant handed my cousins and me each a folder. "You may review these at your leisure."

  Next were cash gifts.

  There was a flurry of minor gifts to various servants and Grandmother Cadence's favorite waitress. Mom and Uncle Pete were each bestowed a quarter of a million dollars. I thought that was a significant amount of money, but Uncle Pete frowned, and Mom whispered, "She wasn't supposed to do that. She wrote me out of her will the day I moved out."

  "She wrote you back in after the birth of your daughter," the lawyer said.

  "She wasn't supposed to do that," Mom said. "We agreed. I was out, and I was staying out."

  "I'll take it," Kate offered. That ended the conversation.

  My cousins each received fifty thousand. Uncle Pete's frown deepened. I still hadn't been mentioned.

  "That's only a fraction of the estate value," Uncle Pete complained. "What did the old bat do with the rest of it?"

  My lips tightened. I knew I was supposed to remain quiet, but I opened my mouth to suggest my uncle not speak ill of the dead. But Mom had fingers over my lips before I could say a word. And so I nodded, saying nothing, but I wasn't happy.

  "I am not done reading," said Ms. Hunt.

  A second trust was formed with sufficient money to see to the care and upkeep of The House and Surrounding Property. I could practically hear the capital letters as she read. "There is an addendum with a list of the expenses to be covered."

  "But who gets the house?" Uncle Pete said. He looked over at my mom. "She disowned you. She's not giving it to you. She must be giving it to me."

  Mom said nothing, but I thought perhaps she knew what was coming.

  The lawyer ignored my uncle. "My remaining liquid assets, valued at approximately 7.5 million dollars, to charity." She paused. "There is an addendum with the list of assets and the charities to receive the funds." The assistant passed out a single sheet of paper to everyone in the room. I didn't even look at it.

  "What about the house?" Uncle Pete asked. "And the art? All the furnishings. They're worth almost as much as the house."

  "To my granddaughter, Blythe Montgomery, who alone of all my grandchildren never asked me for so much as a dime, I bequeath my home, the surrounding property, and everything contained therein, excepting any gifts previously mentioned. This is subject to certain conditions, to be discussed privately."

  I stared. "What?" I asked, stunned.

  Every pair of eyes in the room, excepting my mother's, turned to me. And then the uproar began. I won't repeat the things that were said, both about me and about my grandmother.

  But I bowed my head, looked at my note, and realized why she had written it.

  I didn't say one more word, not one word.

  Ms. Hunt let them rant for a while. One of my cousins -- I didn't see which one -- said something about contesting the will. My sweet cousin Kate called me a suck-up and worse. I'd never had a thing against her, but I learned that day that death and money do strange things to people.

  "She knew," Kate said. "She sat here quietly, not saying a word, while the rest of us received our pittances, all the while she knew she was getting millions."

  I glanced down at the note and said nothing.

  They ranted for a while longer, and there was another threat to contest the will along with a few threats against me. At that, Mom tightened her grip on my hand.

  "What does that note say?" Kate demanded. "I bet it told you what you were getting. Didn't it?"

  "It's none of your business what the note says," I replied.

  She tried to snatch it from my hands, but I evaded her grasp.

  Finally Ms. Hunt raised her voice. "That's enough!" And then the assistant let out a piercing whistle, and that got everyone's attention.

  "Thank you," said Ms. Hunt. "Ms. Montgomery, there is a note from your grandmother suggesting you now take this time to read her note to you."

  I looked at the lawyer for a moment then nodded. Then I very deliberately read the note.

  "Ms. Todd has left further directions," said the lawyer. "Anyone who wishes to receive the bequests as outlined will sign an agreement stating no intention to contest the will. Anyone who does not sign the agreement gets nothing. Ms. Montgomery, you are required to sign the agreement before I am allowed to share with you the conditions whereby you receive the property."

  At that, I nodded.

  "Anyone who contests the will gets nothing," Ms. Hunt continued. "Any of the grandchildren who contest the will also invalidate their children from involvement in the scholarship trust." Then she smiled. "Cadence was a dear friend. This will represents her desires quite clearly, and I am not the only one who will be able to say so in open court."

  And then the assistant passed out one more folder to each of us. There was a copy of the will, other documents, and on top of it all, the agreement we were to sign. Mother had hers signed and was holding a pen for me by the time I even had my packet. I signed immediately, and the assistant notarized and collected the papers from us.

  "The rest of you are free to seek outside counsel," Ms. Hunt said. "It will be at your own expense, of course, and you will hold up disbursement of all funds until this is resolved."

  "Sign the damn papers," my uncle growled. "Damn that bitch."

  "Very good," the lawyer said, once she had everything. She passed out checks, the assistant passed out the small gifts, and then -- amid much muttering and quite a few glares thrown my way, my uncle ushered his family from the offices.

  I waited until they were gone, and the assistant had tightly closed the door before I began to cry. "The things they said about Grandmother Cadence," I said.

  Mom put an arm around me, and Ms. Hunt sat down beside me, offering tissues. Mom and I both spent a minute pulling ourselves together, and I realized she was crying with me.

  "You hated her," I said.

  "I loved her with my entire heart," Mom said. "I just couldn't live by her rules. She and I both understood that."

  "Did you know she was going to do this?"

  "I thought she was going to give it all to you."

  "She considered that," said Ms. Hunt. "She spent hours with this firm determining what it would take to avoid a legal fight."

  "She wasn't supposed to leave me anything. Maybe a piece of jewelry or something, but no money. We agreed."

  "You were removed from her will when you turned 18," said the lawyer. "That was before I was her lawyer, of course, but we maintained records. But she altered her will twice in short succession, once several months before the birth of your daughter, and then again to specifically mention her by name. At that time, you were returned to the will on an equal basis with your brother. B
y then, I was a junior lawyer with this firm, and I remember her telling the senior partner that it had been a mistake to remove you in the first place."

  Then she turned her gaze to me. "How are you doing?"

  "I don't know. I don't know what to think."

  "I understand. There are conditions."

  "You said."

  The assistant handed the lawyer a single sheet of paper. "It is written out in legal form, but the conditions themselves are fairly simple. You must occupy the house as your sole residence, for a period of seven years. You are given one month to make a transition. During that seven-year period, you are not to sell any of the property, not so much as a single piece of jewelry. You are allowed to offer small gifts as you see fit, to your family members if you desire, personal friends, or for charitable purposes, provided the loss of the gifts from the house do not dramatically change the flavor of the house or any of the rooms."

  "When you say sole residence, does that mean I can't go on vacations?"

  "No. That's addressed in the legal terms. You aren't required to spend every single night in the home. But you shouldn't maintain two homes. Nor should you move in with a future boyfriend."

  "That won't be a problem," I said.

  "Or girlfriend."

  I laughed. "Is she allowed to move in with me?"

  "Yes, but you are advised caution. You now own a very prestigious home, and there are people who would seek advantage."

  "I understand," I said.

  "I have a letter for you." The assistant handed over another letter. I read it. The key phrase was, "A Todd woman has lived in your new home for over a century." The rest was general advice. I could read it with more care later.

  "There is one more requirement," the lawyer said. "You must legally change your name."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You must, in some meaningful fashion, incorporate the name Todd into your name."

  "Mother never married, and Todd was not my grandfather's name," Mom said. "It was my grandmother's, and I believe it was her mother's before her."

  I looked back and forth between Mom and the lawyer. "I have to change my name?"

  "You may choose how you do so," the lawyer said. "You may change your surname entirely. Or you may add Todd with a hyphen -- Montgomery-Todd or Todd-Montgomery. Or you may either modify your middle name or add a second middle name. However, you must begin using the change in all communications." She went on to explain at length the way I would use the name. Driver's license, passport, checks, business cards, my website. Everything.

  A Todd woman has lived in the house since it was built, and that was to continue.

  "If Grandmother Cadence gave the house to Uncle Pete, this wouldn't be necessary."

  "A Todd woman has lived in the house," the lawyer said. "Furthermore, even if you marry, you must maintain this change."

  "I see." I didn't know what to think.

  "Honey," Mom said. "I want you to change your last name."

  "To Montgomery-Todd?"

  "No. To just Todd."

  "What?" I screeched. "So I can keep the house?"

  "No. Because that's what your grandmother really wanted, but she wanted it to be your choice."

  "But Dad-"

  "Your father will support you."

  I cocked my head. "I can fulfill the requirement in less drastic ways."

  "Every father assumes his daughter will change her name at some point. They know that from the day you are born. This is somewhat unusual, but he is prepared."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because he agreed before you were born."

  "What did Grandmother Cadence do?" I asked emphatically.

  "I promised her I wouldn't tell you," Mom said. "I won't violate that promise."

  "It was such a big deal that you let her have me all that time, even as much as you hated being there."

  "She treated you very well."

  "I know, and I wouldn't trade a minute of it."

  "Your grandmother did something no one else could have done, and it didn't involve money. Honey, we offered to give you her last name when you were born. She refused, saying that a child should carry the name of her parents. But I want you to consider it now."

  I turned to the lawyer. "You knew Grandmother Cadence."

  "I knew her very well."

  "This is what she truly wanted?"

  "She wanted it to be your choice. You will satisfy her memory if you alter your middle name."

  I looked at Mom. She nodded at me. "Your father is expecting this, honey. The only reason he's not here is because he can't stand your Uncle Pete. He didn't know you were getting the house, or he would have tried to be here to protect you."

  "I'm glad he wasn't. His heart."

  "Yeah. I know."

  I returned my attention to Ms. Hunt. "I don't know how-"

  "I have paperwork for you," she said. "We handle everything, but you'll need to attend court for it to be official. Do you want to think about it?"

  "Blythe, middle names Suzanna Montgomery. Surname Todd. I will sign paperwork as Blythe S. M. Todd." I turned to Mom, and she nodded again.

  "We'll handle it," Ms. Hunt said. "Your grandmother loved you a great deal. Both of you. And she was deeply proud of you, Ms. Todd."

  That was going to take some getting used to.

  The House

  I had never really liked the house, but now I stood in the center of the foyer, alone, and I felt overwhelmed.

  It was a monster of a house, old and stately, and the surrounding property matched it well. I'd always found all of it deeply intimidating.

  On the other hand, as a child, Grandmother Cadence had never discouraged my explorations, and I had spent days exploring the nooks and crannies.

  But now I stood there, overwhelmed. It was Grandmother Cadence's home. It wasn't mine. I expected her to appear at any moment, dressed to the nines and ready to offer me tea or a conversation in the parlor.

  The terms of the will were clear. I was allowed no drastic changes in the house for seven years, excepting those required to keep it in good repair. I could make minor decorating changes, such as rearranging furniture and artwork, but if new paint was required, it would match the existing paint. New furnishings were right out, excepting again as necessary.

  I was expected to sleep in Grandmother Cadence's room, in her bed, but it was here I was offered the most room for change. This was the one room I could change to more closely match my own tastes, provided I retain use of her bed and dresser.

  There were no on site servants, but there was a woman who came in with her daughters three days a week to see to the cleaning and a gardening service that saw to the yard. A part time handyman had seen to the structure for years, but he had recently retired, and Grandmother Cadence had been using a service since, not having found an individual she wished to entrust instead.

  I was to continue to use the housekeeper but was given leeway with the two other services. I didn't see any reason for changes. The expenses were paid by the trust, but I would have to talk to Ms. Hunt if I wished any changes from the existing routine.

  Mrs. Cain, the housekeeper, had taken care of the house. I knew there would be fresh bedding and pillows waiting for me, and the house was spotless.

  As it always ways.

  "Grandmother Cadence," I said to the house. I turned in a circle.

  It was all quite overwhelming.

  * * * *

  I settled in. Of course I did. Life goes on, after all. There were a few missteps with my new name, but one of Grandmother Cadence's requirements had been that I inform the people in my life of the change. And so I explained that I was honoring my grandmother's memory with the full blessing of both parents.

  The first meeting with my father was awkward for me, but he had quickly put me at ease. He was the one who said, "You honor your grandmother." I'd gotten a warm hug and kiss and detected not a single sign of disappointment. Signing checks and credit cards slip
s was the hardest for me, but I quickly learned to think before signing, and that helped.

  I should describe the house, the property, and the surrounding neighborhood. Let us begin from the outside and work our way in.

  Grandmother Cadence's home -- now my home, although it would take some time for that to really sink in -- was in a small, affluent, first-ring suburb called Broadwater. Broadwater was incorporated as a village, and it worked hard to appear like a small village while nestled inside a major metropolitan area. A hundred years ago, or possibly longer ago, it had been just that -- a village, several miles from the city that would eventually grow to surround it. As the metropolis grew around it, the Village of Broadwater modernized, but it kept its charm at the same time. As the name implied, Broadwater was on the shore of a lake, and it was that lake that helped to isolate it. There was a village green right on the waterfront and several other parks throughout the village.

  The entire village constituted a prestigious zip code, but there was prestigious, and then there was prestigious.

  One can perhaps guess what side of that line housed my Grandmother Cadence and her stately property.

  The house was in a gated community called West Hollow. West Hollow was not on the western edge of the village but was instead on the western shore of the lake. Grandmother Cadence's home was not actually on the lake and didn't even have a view of the water. Instead, the house was at the southwest corner of the community, and the wall surrounding West Hollow defined the south and west edges of the property.