Sins and Needles

by Monica Ferris

  Susan had a brother, Stewart—how fortunate that this family mostly followed a charming custom of giving their children names that began with the same letter! Alice’s Susan and Stewart, Susan’s Jan and Jason, Jan’s Reese and Ron. Stewart was an exception. About ten years younger than Susan, he was the sort of lazy, charming ne’er-do-well that tail-end boy babies inevitably become—according to Miss Hanraty, who was enormously prejudiced against the male sex, with a particular dislike for this specimen. Stewart was married to a high school principal named Terri, and they had four daughters: Mary Katherine, called Katie, twenty-one, married, and pregnant; Alexandra, called Lexie, nineteen, a freshman at the University of Minnesota; Bernadette, called Bernie, sixteen and a genius at science, taking college-level classes in high school; and Cecilia, called CeeCee, a cute and funny fourteen.

  Edyth Hanraty was born in an era when women were considered to need a man to complete them and to take care of them, but she had flouted convention and remained defiantly single all her life—even long after the necessity to be defiant was gone. She declared that no woman should ever find herself dependent on a man and decided her fortune would enrich only women. She made a will that left most of her considerable fortune to the University of Minnesota to set up a scholarship program for female students majoring in business. The rest was to be divided equally among the female children of her sister, Alice, and their female descendants.

  That meant, out of all those people, only Susan McConnell and her daughter, Jan Henderson, were heirs.

  This was, Marcia privately opined, grossly unfair. Katie, Lexie, Bernie, and CeeCee were left out, and they were not only female, they were the members of the family who were most in need of a windfall. As Edyth had loved to point out, Stewart’s many business schemes had never panned out, and Marcia knew a high school principal’s salary only went so far. But while dictating the terms of her will, Miss Hanraty had declared that Terri had made her bed by marrying the feckless Stewart and must lie in it, along with her daughters.

  Marcia had privately hoped for a change in Miss Hanraty’s heart when Katie got a degree in business. And Miss Hanraty had been delighted—but then Katie married Perry Frazier right after graduation and, worse, got pregnant on her honeymoon. Even Katie’s earnest desire to go back to school for her MBA had not re-softened Miss Hanraty’s heart.

  “Ruined! Ruined!” scolded Miss Hanraty, “She’ll never get her MBA, not with a baby to raise! The best we can hope for is that Bernie doesn’t follow her example!”

  Three months later, Edyth Hanraty had been found dead in her bed. Marcia had been shocked to learn the death was not natural, that someone had managed to insert a thin knitting needle into her brain while she slept.

  Marcia’s mind went off on a tangent. How was that possible? Surely she would have wakened and struggled! But Edyth had been found in a peaceful pose by her great-niece, Jan, and might have gone quietly to her grave had not a mortician felt something while he was poking around, arranging her hair.

  Now that the funeral was over and the family was starting to make inquiries—Jan had called, and so had Stewart—she decided it was time to call a family meeting.

  One thing Marcia was grateful for—when it came time to select a law firm to work for, she had chosen Bailey, Farwell, and Winston. Mainly it was for the same reason Edyth had called on it to represent her: all its attorneys and support staff were female. Marcia was no longer the ardent feminist she had been back when her law degree was new, but she still enjoyed working in an all-female atmosphere. Yet there had been other pleasures she’d discovered after joining the firm, not least of which was an efficient staff. All Marcia had to do was tell her secretary she wanted a two-hour meeting with Edyth Hanraty’s family as soon as possible. Her secretary checked Marcia’s schedule and began making phone calls. By the close of next day, the meeting was set for two days later, in the big conference room, beginning at ten a.m.

  So this was the day. And while Edyth’s will had been both interesting and distressing to draw up, it was going to be merely distressing to talk to the family about it.

  But Marcia had been in the law business for a long time; she had been in distressing situations before without letting it show. Her job was to follow her client’s instructions, not to divert or second-guess them.

  The meeting was held in Conference Room A. It was painted a rich cream with a cream carpet, dark green drapes on the one big window and matching green leather cushions on the chairs. The table was some exotic wood with a distressed and bleached finish coated with plastic to make it smooth again. Thermos jugs and porcelain cups with the firm’s logo on them waited on a sideboard.

  “Anyone who wants coffee will find it here,” said Marcia, pouring a cup for herself.

  Stewart took a cup, ostentatiously putting an envelope of imitation sugar in it and stirring piously as he went halfway down the far side of the table and sat next to his wife with her cup of plain black coffee. Susan took a cup, and so did Jan—who doctored hers with real sugar and cream.

  When everyone was seated, Marcia rose from the head of the table to speak. “This is a sad occasion. My client, Edyth Hanraty, is dead, and we are about to begin the process of distributing her estate in accordance with her wishes, which were expressed in a will signed five years, three months, and seven days ago. I have asked you to this meeting to discuss that will and what it means to each of you.”

  She opened her attaché case and lifted out a legal-size document, its pages stapled at the top to a blue back. “This is the original copy of the will. If anyone feels a need to read it, it is here for that purpose, and I have photocopies of it for anyone who wants one.”

  Jan raised a hand, and so did Stewart. The others shook their heads, if tentatively. Marcia suspected some would ask for a copy later.

  “Rather than read the whole thing, how about I outline the contents pertinent to you all?”

  The family sighed lightly, relieved not to have to listen to yards of legal language, and settled back to hear Marcia’s synopsis.

  Marcia began, “Edyth Hanraty gave instructions that her estate was to be liquidated and the proceeds divided after her bills were paid. I have only begun the search for assets and liabilities. However, the estate is likely to total at least fifteen and possibly as much as twenty-two million dollars.”

  The listeners could not help brightening at this.

  “Under the terms of the will, 65 percent of the net money realized is to go to the University of Minnesota to establish a full business scholarship for one or two women a year.” She took out a yellow tablet on which she had written some figures. “That will likely mean a scholarship fund of somewhere between almost ten and a little over fourteen million dollars. Of the rest, she has left three hundred thousand to her church, a hundred thousand to various charities, and minor bequests to her housekeeper and her veterinarian. The ‘rest and residue,’ as they say—somewhere between four and eight million—is to be divided equally among the living descendants in the female line of her sister, Alice O’Neil.” Marcia looked up from her notes. “That is, to Susan McConnell and Susan’s daughter, Jan Henderson.”

  “No codicil?” asked Stewart.

  Marcia blinked at this legal term. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’d been talking to her the last few months of her life,” explained Stewart, “and I thought I had her convinced to leave a little something to my daughters. She didn’t even need to write a whole new will, I told her; all she had to do was make a codicil, a kind of amendment.”

  Marcia shook her head. “I’m afraid she never mentioned that to me.”

  Stewart sat back glumly. “Oh. Well, I hoped she would. I know she was particularly fond of Katie, here.” He gestured at his daughter, who blushed faintly.

  “Oh, Daddy, I hope you didn’t bother her too much about that,” she said. “She gave up on me when I married Perry—and I put the cap on it by getting pregnant on our honeymoon.” A young man, who might
be handsome once he finished growing into his nose, took her hand. She looked at him, a warm smile forming. “I was sorry to disappoint Aunt Edyth, but we’re doing just fine without any help from her.”

  “Still,” said Stewart, “I think another thing we’re all aware of is how unfair this will is. Surely, now that the money is going into Jan’s and Susan’s hands,” he said, “they can correct this injustice by redistributing the money.”

  “The estate is far from being closed, Mr. O’Neil,” said Marcia, “so I don’t think it appropriate at this stage to talk about what is to be done with any monies your sister or niece might end up with.”

  Terri O’Neil, Stewart’s wife, said mildly, “Of course, you’re right. Stew, would you please let Ms. Weiner finish telling us what we need to know?” Terri was a stick-thin woman, not tall, but her experience as principal of a public school gave her an unmistakable authority; and though her tone was pleasant, Stewart immediately sank back in his chair with a shrug that dismissed the whole matter.

  But then, perhaps feeling the censorious thoughts directed at Stewart, Terri spoke to the whole table. “I’m sure you all understand Stewart’s anxiety about this. We’re all agreed that Aunt Edyth’s will was grossly unfair to the girls.”

  The girls, all four of them, squirmed uncomfortably in their chairs along one side of the table. There was a similarity of delicate features among them, though their hair ranged from flaming red (Katie) to pale blond (CeeCee). They had their mother’s slender build but their father’s light coloring.

  CeeCee said abruptly, “I don’t want any of the smelly old woman’s money.”

  “Hush, CeeCee,” said her mother.

  “But I mean it! I don’t want it!”

  “Be happy then!” snapped Bernie. “Because I don’t see anyone at this table offering you any!”

  Susan turned to Marcia. “Is it possible Aunt Edyth wrote one of those codicils all by herself?”

  “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. I feel I was entirely in her confidence, and I would have been pleased to do that for her, or even draw up a new will.”

  Stewart said, “How long will this search for assets take? Not long, right? From what I know of her, I’m sure she kept very careful records.”

  “She did. She had a wonderful head for business,” said Marcia, nodding. “But some of the assets need to be valued. The house, for example. It’s a beautiful example of the Craftsman style, and in a prime location. I’ve been in it twice, and it seemed to be very carefully kept up.”

  “Yes, it was,” said Stewart, sitting forward again. “I was out there just a couple of days before she died. That house is in perfect condition, inside and out.” He smiled around the table. “And it’s full of antiques.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows at them, as if sharing a jolly piece of gossip.

  Marcia said, “It does contain some interesting things. Was Miss Hanraty a collector?”

  “Yes,” Susan said, “she had exquisite taste in antiques. She was buying them when I was a child. I remember watching her bid once by telephone. She would say ‘thirty-five’ and ‘thirty-seven,’ and I was dancing with excitement. Only afterwards did I learn she meant thirty-five and thirty-seven thousand dollars. I was quite shocked that someone would spend that much money over the telephone.” She smiled at the memory.

  “She had many years and all the money in the world to indulge in her passion,” said Stewart. “Our grandparents were collectors, too. The house is full of top-drawer things.”

  “Hmmmm,” said Marcia. If they were right, the estate was even more valuable than she’d thought.

  Katie spoke up. “She has the most beautiful silver service. It’s not that complicated Victorian style, but it’s not modern, either. It’s…willowy. I thought it was Art Deco, but Aunt Edyth said it’s Art Nouveau. I think it’s beautiful. If there’s going to be an estate sale—” Suddenly she turned to her mother. “Do you think Perry and I could buy it, Mama? It’s huge—a service for twenty at least, so we could share it. Or if it’s going to cost a lot, could you come in on the sale with us? If you don’t want any of it, Perry and I will buy out your share, no matter how long it takes, I promise. Mama, please?”

  “Now, darling,” said Terri, obviously preparing to say no.

  But Katie became agitated, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, don’t say no! You don’t understand! I admired her so! She was so strong, she wasn’t afraid of anyone! And this service is kind of like her, not…” She made a gesture of frustration. “You know how lace and hoop skirts are feminine, but then there’s female without the fluff? Oh, it’s hard to explain! Aunt Edyth wasn’t fussy-female but she was, so…womanly. I guess that’s the word. Not like some kind of man, not—not butch. And somehow that’s how that silver is, not fussy but not plain. It reminds me of her. She was brave and I wanted to be like her, and I know she liked me! I’m so sorry I disappointed her. I tried to make her understand how much I love Perry, and I thought she’d see it was all right, but she didn’t. Oh, how I wished she loved me just a little bit more, then she might have put me in her will, and I could use the money to buy that silver! But can we anyway? How much would it cost?” She turned to Marcia, her eagerness like a naked flame. “How much would something like that cost, do you know? I mean, maybe not so much, right? ‘Art Nouveau,’ is that an important style? If it is, there are so many pieces, maybe it could be divided in half, and then maybe we could afford it.” She looked at her parents beseechingly.

  Susan said, “Katie, I’m afraid it might be very costly, since it’s not only antique, it’s real sterling.”

  Katie groaned. “I was afraid of that! Maybe something else…But oh, I want the silver!” She didn’t cry, not quite, but her husband put a comforting arm around her.

  Stewart put his elbow on the table, holding his hand up, calling for permission to speak. “I have an idea,” he said.

  A little current passed through every member of the family. Marcia suspected Stewart was a Man of Ideas—not all of them good.

  “I understand how we have to follow Aunt Edyth’s wishes as expressed in her will. And why not? It was her money, after all. I’d do as I pleased with it, if it was mine. But”—he let his hand fall onto the table’s smooth surface—“the rest of us are family, too, and some of us over on this side had a fondness for the old b—uh, bird ourselves.” His eyes twinkled at his near miss. “So how about we say that each of the girls can buy one item from the house—at a discount? Katie, here, has been visiting her aunt since she was eleven or twelve, and I’m sure you at least, Jan, know the two of them got along like a house afire until recently. Every time I went out there, she’d ask about the girls. I know she was pleased at how well Bernie’s doing in her science classes.”

  Jan looked at her mother. Maybe this wasn’t so terrible an idea.

  Susan said, “If Jan agrees, I think that each of the girls should be permitted to choose one thing from the house.”

  “I think that’s a grand idea,” Jan said.

  “Well, then, what about Jason?” asked Stewart.

  “What about me?” asked Jason, surprised.

  “If my girls can buy something, I think Jason should be allowed to do that, too.”

  Jason threw up his hands. “I don’t want anything.”

  “She has some first editions,” said Susan temptingly.

  “Yeah?” said Jason, his eyes kindling, then threw himself back in the chair. “No fair, no fair!” he grumbled.

  Jan laughed. “Gotcha, brother mine!”

  “And how about Terri?” asked Stewart. “She’s at least female.”

  Marcia spoke up. “Hold on, Mr. O’Neil. It seems as if you’re trying to get this privilege for every member of the family.”

  Stewart winked at her. “And so what if I am? I think it’s a damn good idea! ‘Fair’s fair’ is fair for all!”

  Susan asked, “What kind of a discount?”

  “What?” Stewart frowned at her.

/>   “What kind of a discount?” she persisted. “Are you saying half price? Less than half price?”

  Stewart threw up his hands. “I don’t know,” he said, looking puzzled at being asked. “I was just throwing out the idea. It’s up to you to decide how much to charge.” He scratched under his chin rapidly, then his fingers slowed and he began to smile. “A dollar!” he announced. “You know that legal sentence, ‘a dollar and other good and valuable’—whatevers.” When Susan glowered at him, he said with patently false innocence, “Well, you asked!”

  Jan said, “I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’ve been feeling very guilty at mother and me getting so much money and everyone else getting nothing at all.”

  “There are others getting money—getting most of the money, in fact,” noted Marcia. “You and your mother are dividing only about 25 percent of it.”

  “Yes, but none goes to them!” argued Jan, gesturing to her family members around the table. “Actually, I had been thinking about giving everyone something, a kind of souvenir from the house, but I like this much better, that everyone can choose for herself, and himself, what he wants.”

  “What, everyone?” asked Stewart, giving her a challenging look.

  Before Susan could draw a breath to object, Jan said, “Everyone.” She smiled at her Uncle, who smiled back, satisfied. Marcia suddenly thought, That’s what he was after all the while—and Jan not only knows it, she approves.

  “Ms. Weiner, is this legal?” Susan asked. “Can we do this?”

  “You two are the heirs. You can do what you like with your inheritance.”

  Jan looked at her mother, who cocked her head sideways for a few moments, then surrendered with a nod. “All right, everyone,” Susan agreed.