An Obstinate Headstrong Girl. Abigail Bok
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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