by K S Logan
“Daddy’s aren’t mean like that, Morvin,” Grace said and went to take the girl out of the closet.
“Leave it!” yelled Morvin. “That little girl was bad, and she has to stay in that closet forever!”
“No!” Grace was getting upset. “Please go away, and let me play.”
“You know what? You’re a bad little girl too, arguing with me all day. I think you should go into the closet.”
“No, Morvin. I don’t want to. You can play, do whatever you want. Here.” She tried to hand over the mommy doll, but Morvin batted it out of her hand. It flew to the other side of the room and hit the wall.
Grace started wailing. Morvin forced her to stand by pulling her shirt and forcefully led her into the room next door. She opened up the closet and pushed Grace to the floor. She slammed the door shut and left Grace crying in the darkness.
“Please, Morvin, I’m scared in here. It’s too dark.”
Grace could hear Morvin moving something heavy across the floor. She was moving something in front of the door. Grace tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge.
“You did this to yourself, you whiny little brat. Now you can stay in there forever like your stupid little doll. I’ll tell Mother that I couldn’t find you, and you’ll die in there, all alone, forever.”
Grace was still crying hard. She heard Morvin walk away.
“Oh, and by the way, I think I saw a rat in there.”
Grace started to scream and banged on the door, pleading for Morvin to let her out. It was completely black in the cramped space, and her young imagination created horrors in the darkness. She could feel something scamper across her bare legs. Grace screamed and yelled for so long she began to lose her voice. Exhaustion finally took hold, and she fell asleep in the closet.
Just before their mother got home, Morvin opened the door and nudged Grace awake with her foot. “Get up, lazybones,” she sang in a delighted voice. “Mother will be home soon, and if you’re lucky, I won’t tell her the disgusting things you did with your dolls.”
Grace remembered being too tired to argue and also relieved to be out of her dark prison. It hurt to relive the awful experiences she endured as a child; it was all so unfair and unnecessary. At the time, though, Grace thought she deserved it all. Now she knew it was Morvin’s vile manipulation of her young, naive mind.
Where was the dollhouse now? It had to be somewhere in the house. After all, it was an heirloom.
Grace changed into some warm pajamas and climbed beneath the crisp, cold sheets. She lay for some time, listening to the creaks of the old place. Same old creaks. Same old memories.
Same old Morvin.
CHAPTER TEN
“But that can’t be!” shouted Morvin.
Grace was just as shocked to discover that the entire estate and the fifty million dollar inheritance was to be hers alone. It didn’t make any sense.
Jackson Humbly looked up at Morvin over his reading glasses. Here we go, he thought grimly. Morvin was standing now. “I’m afraid those were your mother’s wishes, Ms. Knowles. The document is quite clear.”
In a few hours, Jackson Humbly would be well on his way to the lake. He and his wife of forty years spent most of the spring and summer months at their cabin. This visit would be their last of the year; time to close it up already for another winter. The Calhoun reading was his last meeting of the day, and he couldn’t wait for it to end.
“Calhoun! My name is Calhoun. How can this be? It’s an utter outrage. Let me see that.” Morvin approached the desk and physically bumped Humbly to the side. “When was this changed?” she asked, scanning through the legal papers.
“Morvin really, compose yourself. We’ll figure this all out. It’s not Mr. Humbly’s fault.” Grace, embarrassed, tried to reason with her hostile sister.
She swallowed hard and shrank back as Morvin’s gaze turned slowly toward her. Morvin’s eyes narrowed into slits, filled with seething hatred; a look Grace remembered all too well. Feelings of insignificance and worthlessness overcame her, and she looked down. She learned very early on in life to never disagree or argue with Morvin.
“Just what the hell do you know?” Morvin said through her teeth. “You show up here and think you’re going to take over? Don’t you even think for a second this money is yours.” She turned again to Jackson. “I asked you a question. When did Mother do this?”
Morvin was towering over the stout, balding lawyer. “Excuse me,” he said sternly and moved Morvin aside as he stood up. He took the file from her and walked to the tall filing cabinet to the side of his desk. He opened a drawer and began rifling through documents. “She called a few months ago and made arrangements to meet. I assure you she was of sound mind, and it is my job as a loyal, trusted friend and legal representative of your family, to see that her final wishes are carried out.”
Jackson Humbly had been the family lawyer and friend of their father as far back as Grace could remember. He was a pleasant man, quiet, with an honest face. He extracted another file and walked to the front of his desk. “Now, I just need a signature here from both of you.” He looked over his glasses at Grace.
“I’m not signing anything,” Morvin said. “Grace doesn’t deserve one damn penny.”
“Yeah,” voiced a young man with fiery red hair. He joined Morvin beside the desk. “She doesn’t deserve nothin’. This is all wrong, man.” He pointed a finger in Grace’s direction. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Grace assumed this must be Morvin’s son, Keaton. He was skinny, quite tall, dressed in a rock concert t-shirt and black jeans. He had striking blue eyes like Grace’s father’s, but the similarities stopped there. You could tell there wasn’t much intelligence; he had a wild, deviant look to him.
“Please,” said Grace, “I’m not here to do anything but bury my mother. This is not my doing.” Grace never wanted any of her family’s money. Even if she lost her bookstore, she would never accept help from the two people that had treated her so horribly. Why would their mother do this? Never a card or a letter but here’s the family fortune? “Mr. Humbly, is there anything in there explaining this, or could there be a mistake?”
“You’re damned right this is a mistake,” Morvin fumed. She banged her fist on the desk. “Jackson, you fix this. Fix this immediately!” Spittle flew from Morvin’s mouth as she enunciated every consonant through her teeth. She glared over at Grace. “You stay the hell out of this. This will not be yours.”
Memories of all the times her sister talked down to her, treated her this way, came rushing back to Grace.
Morvin continued, “You don’t deserve a dime, but, just like always, everything falls into your stupid little lap. Well, not this bloody time.”
“Morvin, please,” Grace tried to reason. “If you calm down we’ll figure all this out, I’m sure. Screaming and yelling will get us nowhere. My goodness, what a spectacle you’re making.” She took a deep breath and tried to stop herself from shaking.
Keaton uttered a grumbling comment. Morvin’s face tightened, shocked by Grace’s sudden and unfamiliar backbone.
“Grace is right, Morvin,” Humbly said, as he pulled at his collar. “Let’s all just calm down and take our seats.” He checked his watch and sighed. He knew this was going to happen. Why was this always the way? The last appointment never failed to be the longest. He motioned to a chair, looking at Morvin.
Morvin jutted out her jaw and straightened her dress. Setting her shoulders, she addressed the lawyer directly. “I’m leaving this with you, Humbly, but know this...I will not let this happen, and if you can’t set it right, I’ll find someone who will. You can bet your damned life on that.” She gave Grace another death glare as she exited the room. Keaton did the same as he followed her and slammed the door behind them.
“Mr. Humbly, I apologize for my sister’s behavior.” Grace stood and approached the desk. She picked up a pen and signed where Jackson was pointing. “Honestly, though, it is very odd. Why would my mothe
r leave everything to me? She hasn’t spoken to me once in all these years.”
“All I can tell you is that she was one sad woman when I went to see her.” Humbly straightened out the papers, tapping them together on his desk. “She was quite frail and weak too. I did run her through the usual questions to check that she knew what she was doing, and she did, no doubt about it. I asked her why she was she wanted the will changed, but she wouldn’t elaborate. She just said that you would understand eventually.” He sat back down behind his desk, his large belly pressed against the drawer handle. “I will say this though, Grace, she was very nervous the whole time I was there. I believe she was frightened of something. Now that I see Morvin’s temper, I can understand why.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grace woke with a start. For a second she didn’t know where she was. Then the fog cleared and her surroundings became familiar once again. She didn’t like sleeping in her old room. It was once a bright, yellow, cheery space but as Grace grew older, it became just another place of torment and stress.
Grace got up and went to one of the tall, skinny windows to draw the heavy curtains, with the hope that some daylight might lift the room’s dismal atmosphere. No such luck. It was raining again. On days like this, there was never any sense of morning or afternoon, it always looked like six or seven in the evening, like the day couldn’t wait to end.
There was no trace in the room that a child ever lived here at all. All of Grace’s trinkets and toys were gone, even the numbered teddy bear picture her grandmother had bought for her fifth birthday was missing, only the square gray memory of it remained on the wall. The bed was the same, but with a different coverlet, the wallpaper was also the same, but the yellow swirls and bright orange blossoms were faded and dull, adding to the sense of sorrow and gloom. A perfect room for dealing with the grief of losing her mother, Grace thought. She couldn’t shake the despair of not making peace or saying goodbye.
After Grace dressed, she decided to tour the old house and get an idea of what it would take to get it ready for sale, if that was the plan. Morvin certainly didn’t need all this immense space and twelve plus rooms. It was evident that she wasn’t able to keep up with the general maintenance, never mind the hours and hours of dusting and cleaning it required. With no servants in service any longer and Morvin the only one taking care of the grounds, the once enchanting estate was dilapidated.
Grace made her way down the main stairs to the foyer. How many times had she run her hands down the oak banister as she jumped down two or three stairs at a time? She recalled sitting on the carpeted steps, peeking through the wrought iron balusters with their unique Scottish thistle design, waiting for her father to walk through the door—most of the time in vain, for he was a busy man with his political work during the week and his favorite fly-fishing hobby almost every weekend.
The dark oak foyer gave entrance to the sitting room on the right, Father’s library to the left, and the kitchen straight down the back hall.
“Okay, Grace, tea before all else,” she said to herself.
The kitchen in Craigrook House was smaller than one would expect in such a grand mansion. It was homey and comfortable, not cold or sterile, like many other period houses. She filled the kettle with water and lit the gas. She still knew where everything was. The tea bags, spoons, and sugar were all in the same spots. While her tea steeped, Grace gazed out the kitchen window at the grounds beyond. She had visions of herself as a girl running through the tall field grass, Morvin chasing her, her chasing Morvin. A grin spread on her face but faded as her memories continued. She could now see Morvin tripping her and then busting a gut as Grace cried, holding her scraped and bloody knee.
Grace was brought back to the present by the whistling kettle. She prepared her cup and took it with her back to the foyer, following the threadbare, hand-painted floor cloth into the large, oak-paneled sitting room.
It was like stepping back in time. All the same furniture in all the same places. Why had they kept this room like a mausoleum but threw out everything from Grace’s room?
She walked over to the wood-burning fireplace, ran her fingers along the Adam-style mantel. She tried to bring forth memories of a warm fire burning and crackling, her family gathered together for Christmas morning or someone’s birthday celebration. Some pleasant memories were there, but they never ended well, not for her; most of them marred by Morvin’s incessant taunting or pinching or hurtful comments.
Grace took in the heaviness of the room. The dark, plush fabrics and sunless, shadowy corners. It was painful to be back here. The faster she got the arrangements made, and the will settled, the faster she could put this behind her once more.
Grace heard someone busying themselves with dishes in the kitchen. She wasn’t ready to deal with Morvin yet this morning, so she dashed across the grand foyer to her father’s library, where there were some good memories.
She entered the spacious study slowly, giving each recollection a chance to be savored. The handsome den housed an expansive library of all genres. Gooseflesh prickled Grace’s arm as she stood in the center of her father’s most treasured space that just happened to be Grace’s favorite room in the house as well. Her love of books, literature, and ancient architecture began right here.
Grace inhaled deeply through her nose and reveled in the smell of must, dust and ancient ink, pulp and paper. She smiled as she took in the familiar sights and aromas she still cherished. She ran her hand along the deep brown, walnut siding and felt a wave of nostalgia when she saw the rose-colored gas lamps on each corner of her father’s magnificent mahogany and oak pedestal desk. The windows, draped in heavy, coffee-colored, velvet curtains, stretched from floor to ceiling. Grace pushed one aside, amazed at the weight of it and repelled by the thick cloud of dust it emitted. She coughed into her hand and moved toward the massive book collection on three shelved walls.
Her father took immense pride in his books, Grace remembered. He’d had a deep love of reading and instilled in Grace respect for the written word at a young age.
Grace’s father had disappeared suddenly while on one of his weekend fishing trips when she was only fourteen. He just never came home again. Speculation was that he had fallen into a rapidly flowing river and drowned. He was seen by a fellow fisherman early that morning. They had waved at each other, and went on their way and that was the last time anyone saw him.
After that, Grace’s mother became miserable and gave up on life. Morvin’s abusive behavior toward Grace worsened, and as Grace got older, she did begin to fight back somewhat, but so many years of torment had severely damaged her self-esteem. The verbal abuse continued to beat Grace down until she finally went away to boarding school.
Thick dust and cobwebs shrouded the books and shelves. When was the last time anyone visited this room or held one of the books? It was sad really that no one cared about all the hidden gems in this vast storehouse of knowledge and literature. As Grace made her way from one wall to the other, she noticed something out of place. In all this dust and oose, one book was curiously dust-free. Someone had looked at this one recently. She picked it off the shelf. Botanical Poisons. Grace flipped through some pages as she took a seat behind the desk. One was slightly dog-eared. It was a section about the water hemlock plant.
“I’ve made some eggs, seeing as you’re still here,” announced a deep, loud voice rather abruptly from the doorway. It was Morvin. “Why are you snooping about in this graveyard?”
“Oh my goodness, Morvin,” Grace gasped and covered the book with her hand. “You gave me a fright. I’m just reminiscing a little. I’ve missed the old house.” She stood and moved to the front of the desk. “I used to love sitting behind this desk pretending to be important like Father.”
“Pretending is right,” Morvin chided. “You better come get your breakfast before the eggs get cold. I abhor food waste above all else.” Morvin waited in the doorway for Grace to follow.
“I’ll be right there.
I’m just a little teary-eyed. Give me two seconds?”
As soon as Morvin harrumphed and left, Grace whipped out her cell phone and quickly took a snap of the picture and article. She had the distinct feeling the book might mysteriously ‘disappear’ after she replaced it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cold, rubbery eggs on soggy, butter-drenched toast; breakfast of champions. Grace knew she shouldn’t complain, Morvin did make it for her. She scraped most of the breakfast into the garbage and noticed a gold shine reflecting off the steel lid. Is that? No, it couldn’t be...sun!
Back home, Grace was a regular morning runner and rarely missed a day. Thinking she’d better take advantage of the rare break in the weather, she bounded upstairs and laced up her old sneakers. Grace whipped her hair into a ponytail and grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand.
Maybe a run would help her make sense of all this madness with the will. She had to admit, the money would solve a lot of problems and allow her to keep her bookstore but would also go against her principles. And there was still the question of why? Why had her mother left the inheritance to her and not Morvin, the daughter who looked after her?
She jogged down the country road that ran alongside the thousand-acre estate and soon felt her mood brighten with every step. She inhaled deeply, devouring the earthy, herb-like scent of the heather-clad moors, something she had sorely missed since moving away from Scotland.
The tremendous property boasted a remarkable diversity of landscape, from enchanting woodland to pretty lochs with jumping sea and brown trout and, in the distance, gentle contours amongst the rolling hills and farmland. Grace spotted a red grouse in a heather field and heard its distinct call that sounded like, “Goway, goway, goway.”