The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(21)
I brought the flowered box inside the house and set it on the kitchen table; but by then, my heart was so heavy I couldn’t look at another thing for two days. When I finally did get around to going through the rest of the box, I found a receipt for a tractor Papa had bought; letters Will had written in college, and Mama’s recipe for chocolate cake. Way down near the bottom of the box was a bulky white envelope from Scott C. Bartell, Attorney at Law. I was pretty sure this was the will but, I was almost afraid to open it— mostly because I didn’t want to see that my brother had left something of Mama’s to Elliott Emerson. The will had been written three years ago, before Becky died, it told how if Will died first everything he owned should go to Becky and if she died first, everything should go to Will. On the second page it went on, In the event both parties are deceased, all tangible personal property and estate assets are bequeathed to Miss Abigail Anne Lannigan, twin sister of William Matthew, and daughter of William John and Livonia Lannigan. There was no mention whatsoever of Elliott Emerson.
Scott Bartell turned out to be a right nice person. I telephoned him and he said he was real sorry to hear about Will’s passing. He also told me not to worry because he’d take care of everything; even August J. Binkerman. “The only thing Will had was three bank accounts,” I told him, “and a handful of personal stuff that came from the farm.” I wasn’t really lying, because back then I didn’t know diddley-squat about the bonds. I knew Will had gotten a sizeable sum when he sold the farm but I figured he used that money to buy the house in Culpepper.
“Get me the numbers for those bank accounts,” Mister Bartell said, “I’ll make sure that everything is transferred over to your name.”
Scott Bartell did just that; and in no time at all, I had one-hundred and sixty-seven thousand dollars in the Middleboro Savings Bank. God knows that was the most money I’d ever had and I suppose it went to my head ‘cause I got to feeling a bit guilty about the way I’d turned my back on Elliott. In the middle of dusting a table or washing dishes, I’d get to thinking back on how much it pleased my brother to know there was another Lannigan. Unlike Becky, Will believed Elliott to be a direct descendant of Papa. “Distantly related,” he’d say, “but still a Lannigan.” Maybe if Will hadn’t fallen apart the way he did, he would have provided some sort of remembrance for Elliott.
In August I called Elliott. “My brother felt fondly toward you,” I told him, “and I think he would have wanted you to have his watch.”
“Is this really Aunt Abigail?” Elliott asked, like he thought it might have been somebody else playing a trick on him.
“Of course it is, you fool,” I said. That boy had a way of agitating a person the minute he opened his mouth and I had to practically grit my teeth to keep on talking. “I know we’ve had our differences, Elliott, but Will believed you’re Lannigan kin, and I want to do right by my brother.”
“You want me to have his watch?”
“Yes, and a bit of cash.”
Two days later, there was Elliott, standing on my doorstep with his hand open. “I came to visit,” he said and plopped himself down on my sofa. “Got anything cold to drink, lemonade maybe?”
I went into the kitchen, fixed some iced tea with a slice of lemon and served it to him in one of my very best glasses. The gracious thing would have been to take polite sips, but Elliott gulped it down like a man dying of thirst then set the glass down on the wooden end table—not on the coaster I’d put out for him but, smack on the wood. “Thanks Aunt Abby,” he said in this smart-alecky but supposed-to-be-funny way.
“You’re quite welcome,” I told him; then I ceremoniously picked up that glass and moved it over onto the coaster. Elliott and I never had much to say to each other and being together was awkward—we were like two foreigners who spoke different languages. After he’d collected Will’s watch and a check for two-thousand dollars he took his leave. I suppose I was a bit disappointed because I’d been hoping a different Elliott would show up; one who was thoughtful and pleasant, one who could sit and visit with an old lady without fidgeting like his pants was on fire. As it turned out, I can’t say I felt sorry to see him drive off, nor did I have any regrets about giving him that money. I’d planned to write out a check for ten thousand dollars, but when he set that wet glass down on my fresh-polished table, I decided to make it two. Knowing what a good heart Will had, I imagine he would have gone ahead and given Elliott the ten thousand; but, I felt two was more than he deserved.
Mama always used to say that God watches every thing you do; and if you do right by other people, He’ll do right by you. I expect it’s true, because a month after I gave Elliott the money, Destiny happened along.
Beyond the Valley
1927
The summer following Livonia’s death the Valley experienced a growing season such as the farmers could never before remember. Tomatoes grew to the size of melons and the corn became so tall that a man walking between the rows was hidden from view. William spent hard-earned money to buy a new gasoline powered tractor and Will started riding Malvania back and forth to Cobbs Corner so he could visit with Rebecca Withers. Most everything in the valley changed that year; everything except Abigail Anne—she remained firm in the conviction that she would be a teacher like Miss Troy. From morning until night, she had her nose in a book. She’d be cooking potatoes or frying up a piece of pork and on the table alongside the stove would be an open book. She’d stir the pot absentmindedly and marvel at things she’d never thought possible. “Imagine,” she told Will, “talking movies!”