Читать книгу An Obstinate Headstrong Girl - Abigail Bok - Страница 6

Lizzy did not delay after the rest of the family had eaten. Consigning the dishes to her younger sisters’ care, she hastened to the garage and knocked on the door of her father’s retreat.

She found him staring at a corner of this comfortless chamber—little more than a closet, with unfinished walls perilously holding up rack upon rack of bookcases, and a space heater under the battered desk fighting a losing battle against the damp. As the family had grown, Mr. Bennet had been pushed out of the main house along with his precious book collection, which in Mrs. Bennet’s view contributed to Kitty’s allergies. But, refusing to yield entirely to the demands of his wife and offspring, he had carved out this space in the garage and declared it his own. Rarely did anyone else enter his office, and it was never cleaned.

Here he pursued a series of business ventures—photography, consulting, a mail-order enterprise doomed from the start by the absence of capital to purchase any goods in advance of orders received—that never seemed to succeed in producing full-time employment or providing for his large family. The well-timed demise of more provident parents had supplied him with a large house and a sufficient income for necessities, but had not stretched to giving his children access to the same quality of education or opportunities for gentility that he had enjoyed. So he diverted himself with the newspaper, the political debates of the day, and (when he could afford them) books on philosophy and current affairs, until he added a well-stocked mind to the tally of his discontents.

Lizzy had always felt that to see her father in his office was to see him for what he was, and she eschewed the experience whenever possible. But she was his favorite child, so inevitably she saw more of him, and more of his retreat, than the others. He had an affection for his eldest, John, but Lizzy was the dearest and the one in whom he most saw himself. Whether Lizzy saw her father in herself, she preferred not to contemplate too closely.

Now she approached him without a word, kissing him on the forehead and moving books off a chair before settling down to await what he had to say.

“I didn’t mention this at dinner because I didn’t want your mother to get the wind up. The letter to me wasn’t the only thing that came in the packet from Lambtown. Most of it was for you.” He sighed and silently handed over some papers: an unfolded missive on the letterhead of Messrs. Baldwin and Perry, attorneys at law, and a sealed envelope.

A quick glance at the envelope showed it to be addressed to herself in the shaky hand of her aunt’s last years, and she pocketed it without comment. The letter from the attorneys she read.

January 5, 1999

Dear Ms. Bennet [it said]:

It is our sad duty to inform you of the decease of your aunt, Evelyn Elizabeth Bennet, on December 26, 1998. In accordance with her wishes, she has been cremated and her ashes interred at the Cemetery of All Saints’ Episcopalian Church here in Lambtown. A local social organization of which she was a member for many years, the Live Poets Reading Society, plans to hold a memorial reading in her honor in February; we hope you and your family will be able to attend.

She had entrusted to us her legal and financial affairs for several decades, and it is by her wish that we write to you today.

First, she asked that we arrange for a member of her family to visit Lambtown and make arrangements for the disposal of her personal effects. While she did not stipulate that the family member be yourself, on several occasions she expressed the hope that it would be.

Secondly, she has named you the principal executor of her estate, with the request that you employ the services of our firm to assist you in the performance of these duties. If it is not convenient for you to spend much time in Lambtown, we can conduct the necessary business long distance; but under the circumstances, it would facilitate the execution of the Will and the realization of her wishes if you were able to stay here for a period of some months. The enclosed letter in Evelyn Bennet’s hand provides details about what she wants you to do.

A copy of her Last Will and Testament is also enclosed, along with the papers you will need to sign if you accept the responsibilities your aunt has asked you to take on. Execution of these documents will allow us to open probate and take some initial steps in furtherance of her wishes. Please note that certain of the enclosed documents require notarization.

My partner and I look forward to meeting you in person and working with you to realize your aunt’s vision. She was beloved and respected by all of us in the community of Lambtown.

Sincerely,

Melvin G. Perry, Esq.

Messrs. Baldwin and Perry, Attorneys-at-Law

Lizzy laid down the letter and looked up at her father. Gesturing at the other papers before him he said, “The will leaves you a small stipend, my dear: not enough to live on, but enough to smooth out bumps in the road. The bulk of her money is going to form the principal assets of a charitable foundation she has created and wishes you to administer. Her house and land also become the property of the foundation. Do you know what purpose she wants this foundation to serve?”

Lizzy was all amazement. “No, she never spoke of it to me. I can only assume her instructions are in the letter she has sent. There is nothing for the rest of the family?”

“Nothing, which is about as much as we all deserve.”

“Still, Mama will not be happy. How are we to tell her?”

“She will have to be told, I suppose,” said Mr. Bennet vaguely. “Do you think you will want to do as your aunt asks? It’s a lot of responsibility for someone your age—and I don’t like to think of you going off across the country and living on your own.”

Lizzy struggled to conceal how eager she was to do that very thing, and to undertake whatever project her aunt had set for her. She knew how much her father relied on her for rational companionship, and dreaded the jealousy Kitty and Lydon, not to mention her mother, would not hesitate to express upon learning that she was being singled out for preferment. And she would hate to leave her beloved brother John, even for a few months. If she accepted this challenge, she did not doubt, the immediate future would be rife with vexation and distress. She replied cautiously, “Let me take a little time to read what she asks of me, and to consider the consequences. I’m leaning toward honoring her wishes—I don’t know who will do so if I don’t—but I promise to study all aspects of the question before making up my mind.”

With this, her father had to be satisfied, and he let her go off to bed.

She gained the privacy of her bedchamber without being waylaid by inquisitive family members and curled up in a sagging armchair to read her aunt’s letter. The opening words immediately transported her back to those summers of her childhood, and when it was borne in on her that one of the closest companions of her mind was truly gone forever, she had to stop reading and cry for a time. Her aunt wrote of that closeness in terms that mirrored and sharpened her own memories, and Lizzy momentarily resented her parents’ self-imposed poverty, which had kept her in recent years from spending time with such a beloved friend. But Lizzy was not by nature bitter, and she quickly resolved to recognize no obstacle that would keep her from remaining close to Aunt Evelyn in spirit.

The letter addressed various practical matters of personal belongings and small gifts to friends, and then embarked on a description of her charitable foundation, which she named the Live Poets Foundation of Lambtown, and its aims. As she read on, Lizzy became increasingly mystified and not a little dismayed. The task before her seemed straightforward enough—quite pleasant, in fact—so she could not understand why Aunt Evelyn was insistent that all of her work be conducted in the strictest secrecy. She was not to tell family or friends what she was doing; she was not to confide any part of the project to residents of Lambtown until it was complete. Thinking back on the town as she had known it in her childhood, she could imagine no reason why secrecy should be called for. But her aunt was clear and emphatic: no one in the area must be told, no local people aside from the attorneys could be consulted for advice or assistance.

This requirement certainly posed some dilemmas for Lizzy. She knew her family well enough to realize that some of them at least would be certain that she was keeping the money to herself, money that she could share with them if she chose. She would have to endure their recriminations and resentment without justifying herself. Though she had grown up in a city, she understood enough about small-town life to realize that the residents of Lambtown would be just as curious about the project as her relatives, and perhaps even less scrupulous in trying to uncover the mystery. Although the mission of the foundation was plain enough, bringing it to fruition would require expertise that she did not possess; she would need advice that she could not seek openly. It all seemed more difficult than it had to be. Lizzy wondered whether it would be appropriate to pursue her aunt’s goals without honoring her stipulations: it seemed so unnecessary to put this strain on her relationships with family and neighbors. She read her aunt’s last paragraph several times, trying to puzzle it out:

My reasons may be unclear to you now, my dear, but I am persuaded that as you spend some time in Lambtown, you will see what I have seen: that the town has fallen ill in spirit. With my body equally ill, I have neither the time nor the energy to try to heal it; the only thing that makes me feel better is to think of you the way I knew you as a child—your joyousness, your wit untinged by cruelty, your quick mind and generous heart. I believe you are the cure for what ails my beloved community, and I hope that in healing it you will find the joy you deserve. Perhaps it is selfish: I like to think of you here, and I like to think of you furthering my heart’s desire when I am gone. But what is youth for, if not the pursuit of quixotic goals? I hope you will trust me and be inspired by the vision I see—at least enough to give a few months or years to it, my dearest niece.

Lizzy sat up late mulling over the letter and her memories, now and then smiling or rubbing the mist out of her eyes, or rereading a passage of the long letter. It must have required a tremendous effort for her aunt to write it out by hand; the script was shaky and trailed away unevenly in places, and Lizzy realized that most of her recent letters had been typed, with only the signature in this spidery hand. Such extraordinary exertion bespoke great seriousness on Aunt Evelyn’s part: this must have been among the most important undertakings of her final weeks of life, what she chose to do when she knew she had little time or strength left for anything. It behooved Lizzy therefore not to take it lightly—to do so would be to take her aunt lightly, to dismiss as insignificant a life well lived and a treasured relationship. It could not be done.

A soft tap on the door interrupted her reflections, and looking up she realized that it was already eleven-thirty and John must be home from Starbucks. He came in hard on the heels of his knock and hurried over to kiss her cheek and give her a quick squeeze about the shoulders. “Mama said that Aunt Evelyn has died!” he cried. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. You loved her so much. Tell me.” He curled up at her feet, resting his chin and arm on her knees.

Lizzy smiled at the “Tell me” which had been the opening for so many comfortable exchanges with her favorite sibling. He always knew when she needed him to be the big brother. She stroked his hair, still cold from the bus ride home. “I’m so glad you’re here, John. We got a letter from a lawyer saying that she died just after Christmas. They enclosed a letter she wrote for me, too.”

She paused, realizing that for the first time in her life, she could not tell even John about her dilemma. To do as her aunt asked would mean leaving her dearest remaining friend in the dark. But while she was making up her mind, she could still talk to John about things that mattered. “The moment I knew she was gone I saw how much I’ve missed her. I guess she was always in my mind, and it had become such a habit for me to hold mental conversations with her that I didn’t fully realize how long it’s been since I really saw her, or had an actual conversation with her. I could see from the signatures on her letters that she was getting shaky, but it never really occurred to me that she could be seriously ill! She never said anything!”

“I suppose she didn’t want you to worry about her when you couldn’t do anything to help. She probably realized that no normal girl in her twenties would leap to the conclusion that someone was going to die—you just wouldn’t think that way.”

“And now I’ll never see her again!”

John smiled. “You can still have those mental conversations.”

“But somehow it’s different—they would seem less real.”

“That you’ll have to work on,” John agreed.

“It’s just—I learned so much from her—not so much facts as ways to understand the world—ways to be in the world. She lived with a kind of grace that I always wanted to imitate. And she had a gift for being friends, real friends, with people. I wish you’d known her too.”

“Oh, I think I knew her a little bit—at least through the ways you changed each time you came back from visiting her. She always brought out the best in you, you know.”

After a bit Lizzy said, “She wants me to go to Lambtown. She wants me to do some work for her there. It would take months, maybe a year or more.”

John thought about that for a moment. “No doubt she had her reasons. If you want my advice, I think you should do as she says. She was good for you, Lizzy, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t continue to be. And getting away couldn’t do you any harm. I know you’ve got your business going here, but you could garden for people in California, too—and all year round, not just seasonally! Do you really see yourself staying in Columbus all your life? In this house all your life? You could do so much more.”

“But I’d be away from you! And Dad, and all the family, of course.”

“Well, and what of it?” John said cheerfully. “This isn’t the nineteenth century—we’ve got phones, and e-mail, and I’ve even heard of these devices called airplanes! We wouldn’t forget about you. And you’d let me come visit you out there on the western frontier, I hope.”

“Try to keep me from sending you a ticket!”

“In fact, Mama may be so curious about Aunt Evelyn’s life that she might insist on us all going out there.”

Lizzy grimaced. “You mean, she’s so curious about Aunt Evelyn’s supposed fortune. Oh, goodness, you don’t think so, do you?”

But as usual, John was right.