Морган Лливелин - Drop by Drop

“Mr. Staunton, you’re a strong man. We have every confidence that you will still be with us by the time Miss Fontaine is located and arrives here.”

“I’d better be,” Staunton growled.

Life gurgled in his throat.

Later—he had lost all sense of time—he heard her step in the hallway. Another moment and she was in the room, pushing aside the curtain that encircled his bed.

“You’re here.” His voice was unrecognizable.

“I came as soon as I could. I was in the—”

“Doesn’t matter. You came.”

“Of course I did.” She pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down beside him.

Through failing eyes he tried to keep his vision fixed on her. “Miz Bea.”

“Yes.” She managed a tremulous smile. “Miz Bea.”

“Bea,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Remember?”

“Remember what, Oliver?” She stood up and leaned over him, placing her warm hand on one of the cold, liver-spotted hands lying on the sheet.

“You remember what to do?” he asked again with the last of his strength.

“Everything.”

“Good.” The Old Man gave a satisfied sigh. And was gone.

When she returned to the bank she took the safe deposit box from his desk and opened it again.

The death of Oliver Morse Staunton was announced to a stunned town by The Sycamore Seed . Death had become shockingly routine, but his funeral would be the largest in local memory. The River Valley Transportation Service draped its newest vehicle in black crepe and conveyed the coffin to Sunnyslope behind a team of black horses purchased from a breeder in Nolan’s Falls.

Shay Mulligan handled the reins himself, with his son, Evan, sitting beside him. Both wore black.

So did Lila Ragland, who walked alone just behind the hearse.

Dwayne Nyeberger was furious once again. “That’s crazy; my wife was his daughter, I should have been the principal mourner!”

In a signed and legally witnessed codicil added to Staunton’s will a few weeks before his death every detail of the funeral had been specified, including the horse-drawn hearse “to be followed by my granddaughter Lila.”

Everything was done as the Old Man wanted.

Bea Fontaine had authorized the loan with which the transport service had bought their latest carriage and horses. The church where the funeral was held, as well as the hearse and grave, were spectacularly heaped with flowers from Gold’s Court Florist.

Jack escorted Bea to the services. He noticed that her eyes were red, but she was not crying. “You were fond of the old tyrant, weren’t you?”

“He wasn’t a tyrant. He hated sentimentality, but you always knew where you stood with him. Oliver was a rock; the last of the bedrock this town was built on. There’s hardly a family here today that didn’t have reason to be grateful to the Stauntons at one time or another.” She shook her head. “There’s been an awful lot of changes, Jack; I’m afraid this might be one too many.”

“I doubt it, Aunt Bea. You’re a rock yourself, that’s why he left you in charge.”

“No, he left me in charge because I could keep a secret.”

“Lila Ragland?”

“Her mother was Oliver’s illegitimate daughter. He’d lost track of her—maybe he’d wanted to, he wasn’t what you’d call tolerant. But when we opened her safety deposit box it contained papers identifying her, together with Lila’s birth certificate. No father’s name on it, of course. I almost thought the shock would kill Oliver then, but it didn’t.”

Once Staunton was in his grave, Dwayne Nyeberger set out to wage war. He had been robbed. Robbed! Under the terms of Staunton’s will, half of his estate would go to his granddaughter. His five grandsons would share the rest, as well as the family home or proceeds from it. Nothing had been allotted to his son-in-law.

Obviously the will must be set aside.

Bea tried to reason with him. “Oliver provided for his blood kin, he was that kind of man. He wanted you to stand on your own feet, Dwayne, the way a man should. You’re a bank executive with a good salary; what more do you want?”

“Recognition! That old snake recognized his bastard granddaughter, and I demand what’s rightfully mine!”

Bea and Staunton had discussed this. His wishes had been specific and she remembered them to the smallest detail. She presented Dwayne with a large cardboard carton containing all of his clothes, toiletries and golf clubs. The label read “Rightfully Yours.”

Frank Auerbach put a black border—or as near black as his ink substitute would allow—around the front page of The Sycamore Seed .

“The funeral of Oliver Morse Staunton was a tragic milestone in the history of Sycamore River. His death followed a tragic anniversary; it has now been over a year since the onset of the Change. O. M. Staunton represented all that was solid and constructive about our town. The Change, which has damaged modern technology and mechanization around the globe, is a force for destruction. In this badly crippled world the Change goes on, but O. M. Staunton is no longer with us.

“May he rest in peace.”

At the next gathering of the Wednesday Club Jack asked, “Anything around here dissolved lately?”

“Nothing I can name offhand,” said Bill, “but not a day goes by that my customers aren’t bellyaching about something.”

“Out of curiosity, when was the last complaint?”

“I dunno; yesterday maybe. Folks love complaining to a bartender. They pound my ear about everything under the sun—except the Change. Not so much about that anymore.”

“Maybe it’s become the new normal,” Gerry suggested.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “The Change the new normal? Not likely.”

“You think things will get better?”

“I don’t go in for wishful thinking.”

Nell turned toward him. “If you did, what would you wish for?”

Jack smiled. “I plead the fifth amendment.”

She smiled too. “One of my wishes has been granted: my children have agreed to move back into our old house. It won’t be easy, not for any of us, but it’s for the best. Since your car’s still running I was hoping you’d lend a hand. We have a lot to move over; I hadn’t realized the kids had so much stuff.”

When he took her back to her mother’s apartment later Jack could feel a change in the atmosphere. Instead of getting out of the car immediately Nell sat still. They both leaned in at the same time, resulting in a tender collision.

When the kiss finally ended he said, “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she said.

And that was that.

Before the Bennett family could return to their former home Nell hired a contractor to replace every damaged article in it, from the light switches to the chandeliers. “I can’t give you a guarantee on any of these,” he warned. “If the Change destroys them you’ll have to buy more.”

She also purchased new appliances and had the rooms repainted. “This will cost you a fortune, dear,” her mother fretted. “And it’s so unnecessary.”

“Exorcism can be expensive, Mom. But in this case it’s very necessary.”

When the work was finished Jack drove her to the gated community west of town to inspect the results. The mock-Normandy château stood like a silent sentinel in the midst of a vast, freshly mowed lawn. Larger, more lavish, more conspicuously expensive than any of its neighbors.

Nell sat in the car gazing at it, recalling how impressed she was the first time she saw it. How proud of himself Rob had been.

“Do you want me to go in with you?”