The year She Fell (11 page)

“So you’re saying,” Laura interposed smoothly, “that the trusts might need to be modified in light of the estate tax changes.”

“And because of family circumstances,” Mother added. “There is a trust for grandchildren, but I’ve only been blessed with one grandchild, so—”

 
“Don’t count me out yet as a grandbaby-maker, Mother,” Laura said coldly. “I’m only thirty-five.” She glanced over at Theresa, sitting there with utter stillness, her shoulders slightly hunched. She didn’t add that Theresa wasn’t even thirty.

“Oh?” Mother replied. “It just doesn’t seem that your lifestyle is conducive to childrearing. Not to mention that there seems to be no wedding in the offing.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed, and she started to respond. Just as well that a moment later, someone knocked on the door. But my relief faded into confusion as the college president walked in.

He was quick on the uptake. He took one look at my face and said, “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense,” my mother replied, rising and holding out her hand to him. “I asked you to be here.”

He took her hand, still glancing uncertainly at us. “If there’s any problem here—”

The attorney said, “Well, it is a bit irregular—”

“I need Dr. Urich’s advice,” Mother interrupted.

“Oh,” Laura said, “I didn’t realize that Dr. Urich was also an attorney!”

This got the real attorney up on his feet behind his big desk. “Mrs. Wakefield, if my counsel isn’t—”

“I’m not an attorney.” Dr. Urich hesitated in front of the chair Mother had saved for him, just next to her, then discreetly backed up to rest against the window sill. “I’m sure Mrs. Wakefield just wished to hear about my plans for the college. Of course we stand ready to help with any documentation or information you need for the legalities for any gift she might be so generous to give.”

Dr. Urich was clearly embarrassed. I realized he must have thought this would be some informal meeting, not an official family gathering. But he could hardly leave now that the damage was done. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, addressing a disarming look towards me.

I wasn’t immune to his modest charm, and briefly thought of suggesting he come to my church and take over the stewardship committee. This fundraiser, at least, remembered that gifts were gifts, and not “pledges” and “obligations.”

 
“But you are almost family.” In another woman, Mother’s tone might have been considered coy. But—but this was my mother. “Loudon has been so important in the lives of my husband and me, and my husband’s parents before us. I’m sure they would agree that I should find ways of aiding the college through the estate. And Joseph, you represent the college.”

I saw Laura’s eyes flash at this use of his first name. “What sort of ways to aid the college?” she prompted in a casual tone that told me that she was on alert. So much for her assertion that she wasn’t interested in an inheritance. She was the one challenging Mother at every turn. Then again, nothing was less calculated to win Mother’s approval and benevolence.

But Mother took no offense. She turned to Laura and said, “Because of capital requirements, and the special considerations provided by the new tax laws, Mr. Wampler has suggested that we need to be especially creative in provisions for charities, to help offset the cash bequests that will no doubt be of most use to my daughters.”

This time I did not glance at Laura, but I thought she too must be relieved at that
cash bequests
. With cash, we wouldn’t get stuck trying to sell a house that probably couldn’t be sold, or the family’s very illiquid shares in the local bank. Good old cash could be squirreled away in a retirement account—and I needed one. Ten years teaching at various schools, most of them overseas, and a couple years as a minister, had left me without a vested pension. And if I should happen, as seemed increasingly likely, to face old age alone—well, I would be forever grateful to the parents who made it more secure.

“It is the house I’m most concerned with,” Mother added. “It is too large and too expensive for most families here. And I would hate to see it broken up into flats or offices. That would be a sad fate for a family home.”

She was right. The house was meant for a family—well, maybe the Magnificent Ambersons or some other family from the 1920’s. But the wiring was thirty years old, and the well was nearly played out, and—and it was just more of a burden than a blessing. I’d been hoping my cousin Neil, the one who ran the bank, would take it over, but he’d just built a big modern house on ten acres south of town, with a barn for his daughter’s horses and a studio for his wife. He was a banker. He knew the definition of “money pit”—the old
Wakefield
mansion.

“In your current will,” the attorney said delicately, “ownership of the house is to go to whichever of your daughters is willing to commit to at least part-time residence.”

“That was too much to ask. I realize that now.” Mother said this quite forthrightly, considering how seldom she admitted to mistakes. “And I just don’t think any of my nieces or nephews could afford to maintain the house. So I have come up with another plan. I would like to leave the house to the college.”

Dr. Urich had been silent all this while, but now he sat up very straight. “To the college?” He continued, almost breathlessly, “And how would you like such a generous gift to be used, Mrs. Wakefield?”

“As I said, it is a home. And I would hope it would remain so, even if it will not be a home for anyone in my family anymore.”

Emotions shivered through me. Regret. Loss. Fear. And something else—something resentful and small. She was going to give it away—our past. I thought of Cathy’s old room, with her skis still balanced against the closet door. And Daddy’s easel, still set up in the sunroom. And a thousand little memories collected in the corners and on the great staircase and in the kitchen of our home.

I couldn’t stop myself. “Mother, perhaps I didn’t make this clear earlier.” Of course I didn’t. I’d never said anything of the kind earlier. “But I would like to keep the house in the family. I would—” I took a deep breath. “I would be willing to take charge of it.”

It felt to me as if the whole world had paused, or at least the little bit here in this room. Laura was looking aghast. Theresa was regarding me with something like compassion. President Urich was doing his best to conceal his disappointment.

Mother, however, seemed not to have heard me. “The house would be most appropriate as a residence for the college president. Right now, the president’s house is just another faculty home, too small for the sort of entertaining required to recruit top professors and students.”

“Mother—” I began, but she waved a hand to shush me.

 
I felt like a fool. I’d staked my claim, sacrificed my freedom, proclaimed my commitment. And my mother, the one who was supposed to care so much about family traditions, had ignored me entirely. I might as well have been invisible.

Aid came from an unexpected source. Theresa stirred beside me, and said clearly, “I would be willing to be part-owner of the house, and to help Ellen with the maintenance.”

Laura straightened in her chair. “I could help too. If all three of us pitch in—”

“You needn’t bother,” Mother said, and turned back to Dr. Urich. “There would be two conditions on the gift. First, it must always be used as the president’s residence, or be given back to the family.”

Dr. Urich said, “I think I can assure you that this president and future presidents will be grateful and proud to reside in such a grand home.”

Mother nodded. “And there will be a memorial fund to help defray the expenses of running the house, in addition to the endowment you and I spoke to aid the president in maintaining his own academic research.”

Dr. Urich leaned back against the window sill. He seemed out of breath and beyond speech. “That would,” he finally managed, “be quite generous of you.”

“There is another condition.” Mother said. “The house must be called the Catherine Wakefield Memorial Hall. In honor of my late daughter, a proud graduate of Loudon.”

This last made Dr. Urich pause in his expressions of gratitude. After a moment, he went to my mother and bent so that he was almost kneeling before her. In a low, trembling voice, he said, “It would be our great honor to memorialize your daughter in such a way.”

Mother nodded in her magisterial way. “So, Mr. Wampler, please modify the will to create the two endowment funds, and bequeath the house and all its contents to the college”

“All its contents?” Now Laura had given up entirely on discretion, and was regarding Mother with outrage.

“Yes, dear,” Mother continued calmly. “It wouldn’t be fair to expect the college to pay to furnish a house that is meant as a gift.”

I wanted to protest, but couldn’t. I told myself I didn’t want the house, didn’t want the responsibility, and that the college would doubtlessly make better use of it. But I couldn’t believe Mother would have made that choice, when all three of us were willing to take on the responsibility of the house.

Unwillingly, however, I understood. We would take on the responsibility. Dr. Urich was grateful. He was beyond grateful. I could hardly blame Mother for preferring his response to ours. But that didn’t keep me from feeling—oh, desolate.

Theresa was still calm, however, and asked, “So, Dr. Urich, do you have a family large enough to fill this house?”

The college president rose quickly. “I have a son. He lives with his mother in
Maryland
— but he visits. But I have no anticipation of living in the house, as I’m sure Mrs. Wakefield will quite outlive my tenure as president.”

Mother considered this. “We must consider alternatives. I’m not certain how long I’ll be able to maintain the house, and might want to move into a smaller facility. If so, then I’ll be transferring it to a trust. Mr. Wampler, you can work out such details, I’m sure. The Catherine Wakefield Memorial Hall trust. It’s best to start planning early.”

Laura rose and went to the wide window overlooking the town square. “Well, Mother, now that everything’s settled to your satisfaction, I think I’ll go. I see they’re getting ready to dedicate the new police lockup. That passes for high entertainment here in
Wakefield
, so I can’t miss it.” She thanked Mr. Wampler, murmured
well done
to Dr. Urich, and left the office.

There didn’t seem much point in further discussion. I stood and slung my handbag over my shoulder. “I’m having lunch with Janie and Linda, and then I have to go get that part for my computer. Would you like me to drop you and Theresa at home first?”

Dr. Urich immediately claimed chauffeur honors, and offered lunch first—the least he could do, considering. But Theresa said she’d rather walk. We left together, silent as we went down the marble stairs to the street. I wanted to ask her if she really meant it when she spoke of coming home to live in the old house, if that meant she was leaving the convent. But that would mean calling attention to what Mother had just done to all of us.

 
Across the town square was the shiny addition to police headquarters, and in front of that was a temporary stage, where a band was setting up. Laura was headed over there, strolling across the courthouse lawn with that carefree grace of hers. Theresa glanced at her, then over at the crowd in front of the new building.
 
I could almost feel her shrink back into the doorway.

Then she surprised me again. She took a deep breath, and said, “I think I’ll go over and listen to the band. I’ll see you back at the house later.”

I almost went after her—to keep her company, to protect her from the crowd. But that would be too intrusive. So I watched her walk away, her back straight, her stride purposeful, the light breeze teasing at her long gray skirt. How brave she was, I thought, in her own way, when so much of the world was a challenge to her.