Excerpt
At the Bottom of the Garden
Clara1I wanted to say no, of course. Every sane woman would have said no. I had finally reached a point in my life where things were somewhat settled. I had the house, the garden, and a well-stocked wine cellar. I had a mostly reliable housekeeper and a lovely, big jewelry box crammed with sparkling rocks. I had new dreams, too—plans—that had bloomed forth in my aging heart long after I had deemed that dried-up organ satisfied.
All I needed to make the dream of my legacy come true was a sizable influx of cash.
That was why I did not immediately hang up on Miss Feely when she called and disturbed my otherwise excellent breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and an assortment of melon balls; why I did not merely snort at her request and call for Dina to come and whisk the phone away again. Instead, I played for time, knowing only too well what kind of wealth my late half brother had inherited. Wealth that he, in my opinion, did nothing but squander on “adventures” and foolishness. He was always blessed, that one—touched by a golden finger at birth and wandered through life as if bad things could never happen to him. He was just that special—so beyond us mere mortals.
Until he wasn’t, of course.
“Miss Feely, are you telling me there’s no other option for the girls?” I asked, incredulous. “Surely on Amanda’s side . . . ?” I didn’t even care if the busybody on the other end learned just how little I knew about my late sister-in-law. “We weren’t close,” I felt obliged to clarify nevertheless. “I suppose you could call me and my half brother estranged, though there was no bad blood between us.” None that he knew of, anyway.
“Mrs. Webb sadly had no one left,” the woman on the other end replied. “As far as we can determine, you are the girls’ closest living relative—you did know that your brother had passed?” She sounded aghast all of a sudden, terrified that she had blindsided me and become the bearer of terrible news.
“Of course.” How could I not know? It had even been in the news: The search continues for missing couple, now presumed dead on K2. The press seemed to be unable to decide whether the incident was more tragic or romantic, given that the two of them had climbed the mountain as an anniversary celebration. Personally, I couldn’t help but think of it as justice: Icarus flying too high at last. It was nothing more than he deserved. “I sent flowers to the memorial.”
“I’m sure the girls were grateful.” Miss Feely sounded an itsy bit terse. “As I mentioned, they are living at home with Lucia, the nanny, for now, but that needs to change going forward.”
“Why?” My free hand toyed with a linen napkin.
“An employee is not a substitute for parental care, Mrs. Woods. Besides, the will is very clear: Mr. and Mrs. Webb wanted the children to go to their closest living relative—”
“What about foster care? Or an orphanage?”
“Well, that would be a last resort, and hopefully unnecessary.” Miss Feely did her best to poke at my conscience. “You have to understand, Mrs. Woods, that these girls are very vulnerable, not only because of their age and circumstances, but because of what they stand to inherit—”
“Yes.” I cut her off. “How much is that exactly?”
Miss Feely seemed to think for a moment before suggesting an amount that made my withered heart twitch with delight. “It’s hard to tell exactly with a fortune this size. A lot of it is invested and tied up in bonds,” she noted.
I did my very best to sound unfazed, though it truly was a struggle. “In that case, I assume I wouldn’t take them for nothing?”
Miss Feely went quiet for a moment. “The bulk of the inheritance will come to the girls when they turn eighteen—if they are still living, that is. Otherwise it will all go to charity.” It shouldn’t sting but it did. Even though I knew better than to expect anything from my brother, the callousness of the stipulation ached like a two-day-old bruise. Charities were well and good, but what about me, his own sister?
Miss Feely gave me a second to process the unfortunate news before offering a touch of hope. “But there is a clause . . .”
“Yes?” My fingers drummed lightly on the polished oak of the table.
“Well, in the event that Mr. and Mrs. Webb were to die before the children came of age, there is a clause that stipulates what each child will need to live and get a good education—”
“Yes?”
“It will be paid in monthly installments to the guardian.”
“Is that so?” I stopped my drumming and pressed the heavy black receiver tightly to my ear. “How much are we talking about, Miss Feely?”
Her answer left me grinning like the cat that got the cream, and my old heart sped up its pace. Maybe there was still hope for my grand plan, despite my dwindling fortune. It wasn’t that I hadn’t coveted my brother’s ample assets before—far from it. I had just not envisioned coming by them in quite such a roundabout way.
“How old are they now?” I asked. Though I had made it my business to stay informed, the girls’ exact ages had escaped me, being of so little consequence.
“Lily is fourteen; Violet is nine.”
“Good,” I said, although it wasn’t exactly ideal, with Lily being only four years away from her inheritance. At least they weren’t toddlers, with all that entailed. Perhaps they were even quiet kids with impeccable table manners. They were recently bereft, too, so would likely be sad and cry a lot. That was fine by me. I much preferred a little crying to ear-shattering shouts of joy.
“The guardian would also have to act in the girls’ place when it comes to managing their fortune, together with Mr. Skye.” She was referring to my brother’s lawyer—Miss Feely’s own employer. “Lily is very mature for her age, but we cannot expect her to know much about money. She will need the guidance of a steady hand—”
“Of course,” I readily agreed. A nice feeling had started spreading through my body: a tingling sensation, like lust, or even love. I belatedly recognized the feeling as relief. Here was the answer—the thing that I needed. Surely Mr. Skye could be persuaded to steer some of the fortune my way? I did, after all, have a brilliant proposal. “I’ll take them,” I told Miss Feely.
“Well.” She sounded perplexed. “Don’t you want to meet them first?”
I experienced a surge of annoyance. “This is why you called me,” I reminded her. “You wanted me to take the girls.”
“Yes, but—I suppose, since you don’t know them, there should perhaps be some consideration—”
“You should be grateful, Miss Feely. My nieces are blessed to have a capable aunt to take care of them, with a big house and soft beds waiting. Not all orphans are as lucky.”
“Of course not.” Miss Feely quickly composed herself.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I assured her. “Tell them to expect me by dinnertime.” Now that I had realized what this stroke of luck could mean for me, I was eager to strike at once, before the chance scuttled off and disappeared. This was a windfall, and I’d better make it work in order to secure my legacy.
“That’s quite soon.” Miss Feely sounded surprised. “It is a long trip,” she saw fit to remind me.
“I may not live in a big city like my brother and his family do—did—but this is the seventies after all, and we have access to an excellent airport. Ivory Springs may be a small town by some standards, but it isn’t primitive.” Not quite, anyway.
“No, of course not,” Miss Feely hurried to say. “I suppose I will see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yes, Miss Feely, I guess you will.” I wore a wide grin as I hung up the phone.
Still, I should have said no. Any sane woman would have—but not me, no . . . I marched ahead toward my own doom like a witless, grinning fool.
