Cemetery Silk. E. Joan Sims
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how much this place and being here with these two people meant to me. Tonight was definitely not the time to burst into sentimental tears.
“Billy has the place looking like a million dollars,” I offered in a scratchy voice.
“And that’s just about what he charges,” replied Mother shaking her head. “I may have to find somebody else. Maybe I can hire some high school student. I do have the tractor mower you know. It’s hardly been used since your father died. Maybe one of Mavis’s grandsons could help out.”
“But Gran,” protested Cassie, “Billy has been working for you and Granpapa since I was a little girl. He taught me how to ride a horse and fish and climb trees. You can’t fire him. He’s like one of the family.”
“It’s not a matter of firing him, darling. It’s a matter of not being able to afford him. After all, he has a family to support. He cannot charge me less than his services are worth.”
“Mother, I didn’t realize you were in a bind.”
I felt the lump again, a big guilty lump.
“I should be getting this last book deal signed by the end of October. Pam will send me the advance. I should have helped out before now.”
“Nonsense, Paisley, I’m fine, really. For heaven’s sakes, let’s not discuss anything as depressing as money. Hasn’t the day been morbid enough?”
Cassie cheerfully ignored her grandmother’s request.
“Speaking of money, Gran, how much do you think William left you? Wouldn’t it be terrific if he left you all of Abigail’s AT&T? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Forget about Paris. This is your home. It comes first. And the house does need a new coat of paint.”
I could feel Mother’s dilemma. Ordinarily, she loved to speculate on any and all aspects of a given situation, but this was different. Like me, she felt it was improper to discuss wills before the second sun set over the grave. Also, I do believe the thought of a monetary inheritance from her cousin’s husband had never occurred to her. She considered all her options for a moment and then decided to get a little mileage out of Cassie.
“Cassandra, be a dear and bring the rest of the wine from the table on the porch. There’s a good girl.”
Mother knew that Cassie hated to be patronized but had to obey or risk missing out on the conversation. Cassie jumped up from the chaise with the agility of youth. It had taken me three tries to get up the last time I sat in it.
“Paisley, you have raised the devil’s own daughter!” laughed Mother.
“Ah,” I responded theatrically, “you remember him well!”
Cassie ran back with the wine.
“What about Daddy?”
“Nothing, darling,” Mother and I both answered together.
The night was too short to begin that discussion.
Cassie poured the wine in the dark by holding a finger inside the lip of each glass to keep it from spilling over. She sat down on the patio and crossed her long slender legs. Her big brown eyes sparkled impishly in the moonlight as she asked, “Well, Gran? What do you think? Are you an heiress or not?”
“I have no expectations at all of any money, Cassie, dear,” Mother finally admitted. She ignored the loud disappointed sigh emanating from her grandchild and went on to explain.
“Joe Tom’s father was William’s first cousin just as I was Abigail’s. Since his father passed away four years ago, Joe Tom will be the sole beneficiary of whatever estate there is. I cannot imagine there is more to it than that miserable little house.”
She smiled tiredly in Cassie’s direction. Her voice held a note of forced gaiety as she continued, “I do know that William promised me the table that Abigail got from our grandmother. He offered it to me the day of her funeral, but I was too tired and heartsick to try and bring it home. Ernest Dibber told me today that William mentioned me in his will. I’m certain that it’s your great-great-grandmother’s table. Poor William had nothing else to leave to me.”
Cassie sighed again and patted her grandmother on the knee.
“Never you mind, Gran. We’ll find a way to take care of the farm. And it is a lovely little table. I saw Mrs. Dibber giving it the once over this morning. She looked like she wanted to take it home with her. I’m glad it’s staying in the family. I would hate for a stranger to have it.”
Cassie dug a match out of her shorts pocket and lit the fat citronella candle on the little wrought iron table. The pungent orange flame sputtered and hissed away at a few marauding mosquitoes.
I felt a niggling little irritation overcome my increasing weariness as I absorbed Mother’s words.
“Ernest Dibber told you about William’s will? What does he have to do with it? Aren’t you William’s executor?”
I saw her force her lips into a smile before she answered me. In the candlelight it looked more like a grimace. Maybe it was.
“No, Paisley. William made Mr. Dibber the administrator of his estate. He also gave him his power of attorney two weeks before he died. I can only assume it was because I was not here. You and I both know William would never have given the task to Joe Tom. The poor boy has no sense of responsibility.”
I was surprised, really surprised. It never occurred to me that Mother would not be settling what little estate William had. That was what I had come for. I told my agent that I would be here at least two weeks. I dreaded the job of helping Mother clean out William’s house and sort through old papers. Now that it was not to be mine, I was angry. Who was this Ernest Dibber after all?
Chapter Three
The heart of my mother’s house was a one hundred and thirty year-old log cabin. It had originally held four large rooms, or “pens” as they were called. There were two rooms down and two up on either side of a wide central hallway. The front door was on one end and the door to the back yard, the kitchen, smokehouse, and apple cellar at the other.
For some inexplicable reason one of the previous owners had cut off the roof and turned the two upper rooms into an attic. The windows had even been boarded over. With the loss of the upstairs, succeeding residents started expanding to the sides and the back. The smokehouse and apple cellar had been torn down to make room for an indoor kitchen and a huge wrap-around screened porch. When my grandfather Sterling and my father purchased the farm they added more bedrooms. It was also thanks to them that we had electricity and indoor plumbing.
To say the result of all these architectural additions was a hodgepodge of style was a great understatement. But somehow, through it all, the house maintained a certain elegance and beauty and I dearly loved every little nook and cranny.
Certainly there were plenty of bedrooms and lots of privacy. It was a good night for privacy. We were all exhausted. Cassie was getting surly, and Mother was enunciating even more clearly. We said our goodnights and went to bed. Cassie went to her room dragging a nighty on the floor like she did when she was three. All she needed, I thought fondly, was her Pooh bear.
I was too tired to shower so I just splashed warm water over my face and brushed my hair back. I ignored the perky little toothbrush standing in my old “Wonder Woman” water glass. My stomach was totally beyond being able to handle anything as minty as toothpaste. I took off my clothes, threw them in the direction of my open suitcase, and pulled on a nightgown.
The big four-poster bed was the same one I had since my sixth birthday. It was still high off the floor but I had not used the little bed step since that first year. When I pulled the bedspread back, I had to smile. Bless Mother’s heart! “Spare no expense where comfort is involved,” is her motto. Underneath, a pretty lace trimmed plissé blanket cover protected a soft, silky Pima cotton summer blanket and luxurious four hundred thread count sheets. Everything was a lovely feminine shade of pink. I felt like I was curling up in cotton candy.