The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(91)



“You sure this is what you want?” the deputy asked, and Destiny nodded. He poured the sand back into the pouch and handed it to her.

Those three things surely weren’t the most practical choices, but my heart was certainly touched by the love that went into picking them.

Mister Hoggman refused to waste any more time arguing an appeal – it was a decision he made as soon as he learned that there wasn’t any million dollar inheritance and his thirty-percent fee would be fifty thousand dollars instead of the four-hundred-thousand he’d been expecting.

Elliott, on the other hand, never could accept that there was no million dollars to be found. While Destiny and Charles were on their honeymoon, he, acting as executor of my estate, came and cleared out my house. He tore through things like a sore ass bull, yanking stuff out of drawers and closets, shaking loose every towel and blanket in the linen closet, ripping the linings out of coats, still looking for some lost bankbook or safe deposit box key that would lead to the missing million. I always knew that man didn’t have a bit of love for anybody or anything, except maybe the money, and he certainly proved me right. Without giving a second thought, he threw my personal belongings in plastic garbage bags – perfectly good clothes that should have gone to the Salvation Army for poor folks to get some use out of, but he wadded them up and tossed them out. He ripped open every garment bag and suitcase he could find, the entire time cussing and ranting like a man gone crazy. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he’d yell and bust up some little knickknack that I’d had for fifty years or more. He even sliced a big hole in my mattress and box spring, figuring the money might be hidden in there. Not one thing of sentimental value did he set aside. My good dishes, that for years and years I’d washed by hand so they wouldn’t get the least little chip in a cup or saucer, he threw into a garbage pail and shattered into a million pieces. I can’t say it didn’t hurt to see him treating my things in such a manner, but I kept watching because I wanted to know what would happen to the picture of Will I had hanging on my bedroom wall. Elliott walked right by it a half-dozen times, then he finally yanked it off the wall and tossed it into a garbage bag along with two photo albums and my picture of John Langley. Well now, I thought, that’s that.

Elliott had always let on like he was real fond of my brother, but when it came down to it, Will was just another chunk of garbage to him. They say God works in mysterious ways, and I for one believe it. If Elliott had honestly cared about Will, he would have held on to the photograph – and who knows, maybe sooner or later he would have found those bonds hidden behind the picture.

Elliott – well, after they sliced up the money from my estate, he got five-hundred and eighty-seven dollars – the exact same amount as went to Lannigan Families up and down the Shenandoah Valley. Housewives who barely recognized the name Lannigan would open up the envelope and gasp at a windfall they’d never expected. Emma Mulberry bought a new washer and dryer; Albert Bennigan had his tractor repaired and splurged on a gold locket for Mary, his wife of thirty years; Susan Carter bought her daughter a wedding dress, some pearl earrings and a blue garter. All in all, I’d say spreading that money around brought a lot of happiness to a lot of people – well, all except Elliott. He kept looking for that missing million, until finally the bitter taste of frustration settled into his stomach and gave him an ulcer.

I suppose I’m reasonably happy with the way things turned out. My preference would have been for Destiny to inherit everything, but God saw fit to give her something a whole lot better – Charles. When I saw him swear that he’d love and cherish her for as long as he lived, I knew I didn’t have to worry about Destiny anymore – she’d found what I’d spent a lifetime looking for. As for those bonds and what finally happened to them—well that’s another story.

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