CHAPTER XXXCOLONEL PRESTON'S WILL
Mrs. Preston was a cold woman, and was far from being a devoted wife.She was too selfish for that supreme love which some women bestow upontheir husbands. Still, when Colonel Preston's lifeless form wasbrought into the house, she did experience a violent shock. To havethe companion of nearly twenty years so unexpectedly taken away mightwell touch the most callous, and so, for a few minutes, Mrs. Prestonforgot herself and thought of her husband.
But this was not for long. The thought of her own selfish interestscame back, and in the midst of her apparent grief the question forceditself upon her consideration, "Did my husband make a will?"
Of course, she did not give utterance to this query. She knew what wasexpected of her, and she was prudent enough to keep up appearancesbefore the neighbors, who poured into the house to offer theirsympathy. She received them with her cambric handkerchief pressed toher eyes, from which, by dint of effort, she succeeded in squeezing afew formal tears, and, while her bosom appeared to heave with emotion,she was mentally calculating how much Colonel Preston had probablyleft.
"Shan't I stay with you, my dear Mrs. Preston?" said worthy Mrs.Cameron, in a tone full of warm interest and sympathy.
"Thank you," said Mrs. Preston, in a low voice; "you are very kind,but I would rather be left alone."
"But it must be so sad for you to be alone in your sorrow," said herneighbor.
"No. I can bear sorrow better alone," said the newly made widow."Perhaps I am peculiar, but I would prefer it."
"If you really wish it," said the other, reluctantly.
"Yes, I wish it. Thank you for your kind offer, but I know my ownfeelings, and the presence of others would only increase my pain."
This was what she said to others who made the same offer. It did notexcite great surprise, for Mrs. Preston had never leaned upon anyonefor sympathy, nor was she ready with her sympathy when others were introuble. She was self-poised and self-contained, and, in fact, forthis reason was not popular with her neighbors. Still, in this herdistress they were ready to forget all this and extend the samecordial sympathy which they would have done in other cases. There wasbut one person whose company she did crave at this time and this washer son, Godfrey. So, when Alfred Turner offered to go for him thenext morning, she accepted his offer with thanks.
At last she was left alone. The servant had gone to bed, and there wasno one but herself and her dead husband in the lower part of thehouse. She no longer sat with her handkerchief pressed before hereyes. Her face wore its usual look of calm composure. She was busilythinking, not of her husband's fate, but of her own future.
"Did he leave a will? And, if so, how much did he leave me?" shethought.
If there was a will, it was probably in the house, and Mrs. Prestondetermined to find it, if possible.
"Of course, all ought to come to me and Godfrey," she soliloquized. "Idon't think it is right to leave money to charitable institutions aslong as a wife and child are living. Fortunately, my husband had nobrothers or sisters, or perhaps he would have divided the property. Ifthere is no will, I shall have my thirds, and shall have the controlof Godfrey's property till he comes of age. I think I will go toBoston to live. My friend, Mrs. Boynton, has a very pleasant house onWorcester Street. I should like to settle down somewhere near her. Idon't know how much Mr. Preston was worth, but I am sure we shall haveenough for that. I always wanted to live in the city. This village isintolerably stupid, and so are the people. I shall be glad to getaway."
Could the good women, whose kind hearts had prompted them to proffertheir sympathy, have heard these words they would not have been likelyto obtrude any more on the hard, cold woman who held them in such lowestimation.
Mrs. Preston took the lamp in her hand, and began to explore herhusband's desk. She had often thought of doing so, but, as his deathwas not supposed to be so near, she had not thought that there was anyimmediate cause of doing so. Besides, it had almost been her beliefthat he had made no will. Now she began to open drawers and untieparcels of papers, but it was some time before she came to what shesought. At length, however, her diligence was rewarded. In the middleof a pile of papers, she found one labeled on the outside:
MY WILL.
Her heart beat as she opened it, and, though there was no need, for itwas now past ten o'clock, and there was not likely to be a caller atthat late hour, she looked cautiously about her, and even peered outof the window into the darkness, but could find no one whoseobservation she might fear.
I am not about to recite at length the items in the will, whichcovered a page of foolscap. It is enough to quote two items, whichMrs. Preston read with anger and dissatisfaction. They are as follows:
"Item.--To my young friend, Andy Burke, son of the widow Burke, of this village, in consideration of a valuable service rendered to me on one occasion, and as a mark of my regard and interest, I give and bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars; and to his mother, as a token of gratitude for her faithful nursing when I was dangerously sick with the smallpox, I give and bequeath, free of all incumbrance, the cottage in which she at present resides.
"Item.--To the town I give five thousand dollars, the interest to be annually appropriated to the purchase of books for a public library, for the benefit of all the citizens, provided the town will provide some suitable place in which to keep them."
All the balance of the property was left to his wife and son, in equalproportions, his wife to be the guardian of Godfrey till he shouldhave attained his majority. As Colonel Preston was well known to berich, this seemed to be an adequate provision, but Mrs. Preston didnot look upon it in that light. On the contrary, she was deeplyincensed at the two legacies of which mention has been made above.
"Was ever anything more absurd than to waste five thousand dollars anda house upon that Irish boy and his mother?" she said to herself. "Idon't suppose it was so much my husband's fault. That artful woman gotaround him, and wheedled him into it. I know now why she was sowilling to come here and take care of him when he was sick. She wantedto wheedle him into leaving money to her low-lived boy. She is anartful and designing hussy, and I should like to tell her so to herface."
The cold and usually impassible woman was deeply excited. Her selfishnature made her grudge any of her husband's estate to others, except,indeed, to Godfrey, who was the only person she cared for. As shethought over the unjust disposition, as she regarded it, which herhusband had made of his property, a red spot glowed in her usuallypale cheek.
Then it was another grievance that money should have been left to thetown.
"What claim had the town on my husband," she thought, "that he shouldgive it five thousand dollars? In doing it, he was robbing Godfrey andme. It was wrong. He had no right to do it. What do I care for thesepeople? They are a set of common farmers and mechanics, with whom Icondescend to associate because I have no one else here, except theminister's and the doctor's family, to speak to. Soon I shall be inthe city, and then I don't care if I never set eyes on any of themagain. In Boston I can find suitable society."
The more Mrs. Preston thought of it, the more she felt aggravated bythe thought that so large a share of her husband's property was to goto others. She fixed her eyes thoughtfully on the document which sheheld in her hand, and a strong temptation came to her.
"If this should disappear," she said to herself, "the money would beall mine and Godfrey's, and no one would be the wiser. That Irish boyand his mother would stay where they belonged, and my Godfrey wouldhave his own. Why should I not burn it? It would only be just."
Deluding herself by this false view, she persuaded herself that it wasright to suppress the will. With steady hand she held it to the flameof the lamp, and watched it as it was slowly consumed. Then, gatheringup the fragments, she threw them away.
"It is all ours now," she whispered, triumphantly, as she prepared togo to bed. "It was lucky I found the will."
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Only an Irish Boy; Or, Andy Burke's Fortunes Page 30