Plantation

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  I turned to Trip and said, “Come on, do this with me.”

  We stood at the back of the boat with the small urn in our hands and let Mother’s ashes fly in the wind.

  Oh, Jordan stream will never run dry,

  Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.

  Dere’s a hill on my left and he catch on my right,

  Dere ain’t but one more river to cross!

  It was a grand ceremony. A fitting tribute to a great woman. Mother had crossed the River Jordan by way of the Edisto and we all knew she was never going to really be gone.

  I was deep in thought, thinking about the nature of eternity, as we walked from the dock back to the house. It was close to the time that guests would arrive.

  “Do you think that shower messed up the grass?” Frances Mae said. “I mean, a lot of people will be on the grass, you know? Not just under the tent.”

  It was actually a good point, but the sun was climbing in the sky and it would surely be dry by one o’clock when guests were due to arrive.

  “I don’t think so, but if you want to check, I’d appreciate it.”

  She looked at me, eyes filled with confusion. “I don’t know why I said that about the pearls, Caroline. I know she would have wanted you to have them. Sometimes my mouth just has a mind of its own.”

  That was as close to an apology as I’d ever heard from her. I looked at her, trying to find a comeback that wasn’t hostile.

  “Frances Mae, just forget it, okay? Mother asked me to get them and then she said please take them; she didn’t need them anymore. You can’t imagine how hard it was for me to do that.”

  “Oh! I’m sure it was!”

  Okay, the bitch’s voice dripped sarcasm and even though I wore Mother’s pearls, and even though everything, I was going to skewer her. I stared at her hard and let Mother come through.

  Lavinia and I said, “You just can’t help it, can you? That Litchfield genome just cannot be denied.”

  I turned away and even though I knew it was a crummy thing to say, it felt good.

  Millie and I went to the kitchen to make sure the caterers had everything under control. Eric ran off to play with the girls, Richard and Trip were somewhere, and guests started to arrive early. I rushed out to greet them.

  When I got to the tent, I passed Mother’s roses. Every bush held full fragrant blooms. Another gift from the other side. Until three o’clock, we drank champagne, mint juleps, mint iced tea, and punch. Waiters passed trays of petit fours, smoked salmon, marinated shrimp on skewers, lobster in puff pastry, and Sonny’s Barbecue on tiny hamburger rolls—in Mother’s honor. People told the same stories we had loved all of our lives, children ran around, shirttails and hair flying, until their faces turned red, adults offered sympathy and promised to visit.

  When the last guest pulled away, it was time to read the will. We gathered in Daddy’s study with the attorney—Richard excused himself on the pretense of taking a walk with Eric. We all found a seat and waited.

  Mother’s lawyer, Frederick Babbit, cleared his throat and began.

  “Mrs. Wimbley made some changes to her will in her final days. What I’d like to do is read the division of properties and then ask you to meet me downtown sometime in a few days if there are questions.”

  “That sounds fine,” Trip said, throwing his hands in the air. He was drunk again.

  “Yes, please, that’s fine,” I said.

  “Well, first to Mr. Jenkins, she has given him his cottage for the rest of his days and his salary with a five percent increase each year, all the books in her library, and the sum of two hundred thousand dollars in cash. She also asks that you spend two hours a week reading to her grandson.”

  Mr. Jenkins stood up and clapped his hands together. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Miss Lavinia! Thank you so! Thank you so! Yes, God, thank you!”

  We all smiled. Mr. Jenkins was thrilled. Millie reached over and patted his shoulder.

  Mr. Babbit continued. “Mrs. Smoak? Mrs. Wimbley has left you your cottage and five acres around it, your salary with a five percent increase annually, her silver tea service that she knew you loved so dearly, and the sum of three hundred thousand dollars in cash.”

  “That’s Tiffany!” Frances Mae said, a little too loud.

  “Shut up, Frances Mae!” Trip said.

  “To each of her granddaughters, she has left the sum of two hundred thousand dollars and the desire that it be placed in trust until their thirtieth birthday, using the interest from the principal for education. That trust will be managed by an appointed manager employed by Merrill Lynch.”

  “She never did trust us, Trip! Did you hear that?”

  “Will you please, for the love of God, shut the hell up?” Trip said.

  “To her son, James Nevil Wimbley III, she leaves the sum of three million dollars in cash, stocks, and bonds. This will all be held in trust by Merrill Lynch with an appointed manager, principal to be untouched unless he is free of all alcohol and refrains from gambling for a period of five years.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Trip said, yelling.

  “We’ll hire us a lawyer and contest this, Trip. Trip? Trip?”

  “Anything else?” Trip said, ignoring Frances Mae.

  “Yes. Invested conservatively at seven percent, this fund will yield an average income of two hundred and ten thousand dollars. She also leaves you your father’s watch and all his personal effects, including their letters to each other. In addition, she grants you lifelong use of the docks here at Tall Pines.”

  Trip got up to leave and then Frances Mae got up as well.

  “I suppose the rest goes to my sister?”

  “Yes, but only if she remains in residence here. If Caroline leaves the plantation for a period of more than three years, the property is immediately given to the Nature Conservacy. In addition, Mrs. Levine, the contents of the house, your mother’s jewelry, and all her personal belongings are yours. Your mother also set up an endowment fund of sorts to provide for the care of the house and all the outbuildings, that upkeep to be overseen by Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Smoak. She also leaves you the sum of one million dollars in cash, and two hundred thousand dollars for your son, Eric.”

  It knocked the wind from me. I mean, Mother must have made a killing in the stock market! I knew she wasn’t broke, but God’s holy word, I had no idea! I was speechless!

  “In trust with a manager from Merrill?” Trip said.

  “Actually, no. Mrs. Levine is free to use the money as she wishes.”

  “I’m getting out of this house and away from this family for once and for all!” Frances Mae said. She stomped out of the room, hissing and muttering as she went. All of us, including Trip, were quiet as we listened for the front door to slam. Bam! She was gone. Forgive me, but it was the sweet sound I’d waited years to hear.

  “You know what?” Trip said.

  “What?” I said.

  “Mother was a smart cookie.”

  “Yes, she was,” I said, “and a rich one too. I had no idea.”

  “Me either. Helluva lot more than I expected!” Trip said and smiled at me. “Guess I better go get Miss Litchfield and take her home.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I reckon so.”

  I walked him to the door, said good-bye, offering my sympathies for what was surely waiting for him, and went to the kitchen to make some hot tea. I was exhausted. Richard was there with Eric. Richard’s suitcase was packed and on the floor by the back door.

  “Well? How did that go?” he said.

  “Better than expected,” I said, telling him nothing.

  “Eric? Why don’t you run along for a few minutes and let me talk to your mother, all right?”

  “Sure,” Eric said and ran out the back door.

  He stood up and came close to me, putting his hands on my shoulders.

  “I have an eight o’clock flight to Newark,” he said.

  “Well, I appreciate you coming, Richard.” His eyes were searching mine and the
old Caroline was still there, just fortified. “I truly do.”

  “I guess that means you’d rather I go?”

  “I think we’ll be fine,” I said. “This has been so difficult; I think I’d just like to have a good swoon for a week or so.”

  He picked up his bag. “All right then. I understand. Do you want to proceed with the divorce?”

  “Is that a fair question on a day like this?”

  How the hell should I know? Jesus. Hadn’t I been through enough for one day? The day I scattered Mother’s ashes would be remembered as the day I gave my husband permission to file final papers? The day I inherited Tall Pines? How insensitive could he be? In fact, maybe this would be the time to cut him loose. Let him remember that it was his insensitivity and his proclivities that ruined what we had!

  “Just want to keep a tidy life, that’s all,” he said and sort of smirked.

  I opened the back door for him to leave—his rental car was in the yard. I just stood there.

  “If you want to say good-bye to Eric, just call for him.”

  “Okay,” he said and opened the screen door. “Well?”

  “File’em, Richard,” I said, “and keep things tidy. After all, tidiness is next to cleanliness is next to godliness. Right?”

  He looked surprised and I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why. “I enjoyed meeting your friends—that Tantric fellow, Josh? He’s quite something. Very talkative. And Jack? Seems nice. Certainly thinks you’re special, Caroline.”

  “Is this some kind of a threat, Richard?”

  “No, Caroline. I just thought you’d like to know they gave me an earful at the wake.” Suddenly his face looked mean.

  I held the palm of my hand in front of me and worked my fingers up and down the way a child does. “Bye-bye, Richard. Thanks for coming.”

  “Caroline? Know what? Looking at you is like looking at your mother.”

  I said nothing but watched him go. Seeming to be like her was the highest compliment I could imagine. And, he surely meant it as an insult.

  He didn’t call Eric to say Good-bye, son. He just got in his little tin can car, the smallest, cheapest, ugliest rental car I’d ever seen, and drove away. I watched his dust and said out loud to no one, “Y’all come back now, yanh?” Right.

  About eight-thirty that night, I was tucking Eric in bed.

  “Is Daddy coming back soon?” he said.

  “If you want him to, I’m sure he will. Or I could take you to New York to see him too, you know.”

  “Nah, let him come here. It’s more fun here. The city sucks.”

  “Eric!” I said in mock horror. I scratched his back, smiling. It was true.

  “Think Grandmother’s in heaven?” he said.

  “I know it! Honey, she did so many good things in her life, don’t you know the Lord was happy to have her? And, you know, I think that in her last days, she had an honest conversion.”

  “What do you mean?” He rolled over and looked at me.

  I wasn’t sure either what I had meant by that, but in retrospect, she had asked forgiveness, she had shown remorse, and she had tried to mend her fences. In addition to all that, she was somehow changed, in that she had reconciled her soul.

  “Well, I’m no expert on this, son, but I guess you could say she came to terms with God.”

  “How come we don’t go to church?”

  “Because there was always a question of bringing you up Jewish or Christian.”

  “So you brought me up nothing? Am I agnostic?”

  I could see this was not going to be a simple tuck-in so I stretched out on the bed next to him. Every bone in my body screamed at me to rest.

  “No, I have tried to bring you up aware of all religions and thought that when you expressed an interest or a preference, then Daddy and I would guide you.”

  “Well, I’m picking Christian.”

  I rolled over and looked at him. This child never ceased to amaze me. “How come?” I said.

  “Better action,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, see? I found this Bible next to my bed—”

  “Oh! Here we go! Young man, you go to sleep tonight! There will be plenty of time to discuss it tomorrow, okay?” I got up and pulled the sheet up over his shoulders and he settled into his pillows. “Love you, Eric.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  We were all turning in early as it had been an impossibly emotional day. I thought of calling Jack. I had seen his face in the crowd and we had spoken for a minute or two. I was just too tired to dial the phone. I’d call him in the morning.

  I went downstairs to turn out the lights and saw headlights coming up the driveway. I squinted in the light, trying to make out the car, and saw it was Trip’s. He pulled up to the front door, got out, and went around to the back and lifted the door. His SUV was packed to the roof with stuff. When he saw me, he stopped, put his hand on his hip, and called out.

  “Hey! You got a room for a nondrinking, nongambling man?”

  What in the world? “Want your old room back?” I called out.

  “That’d be good,” he hollered to me, “gimme a hand!”

  “Forget it! We’ll do it tomorrow!”

  He thought for a minute, then slammed down the door and came up the steps.

  “I couldn’t stand her another minute,” he said.

  “We’re even,” I said, “Richard couldn’t stand me another minute either.”

  “Do you have a boy in this house who needs a full-time uncle?”

  “Yep, and a woman who needs a good brother!”

  He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. I threw my arm around his waist and squeezed back. The lights in the house blinked off and on again.

  “Good night, Mother!” I said and laughed.

  “What a woman,” Trip said.

  He followed me around, turning out lights.

  “I’ll sleep well tonight,” I said, “yes, I will.”

  I climbed the stairs with my brother, never feeling more protected or happier in my entire life. Even though Mother was technically dead, everything was right with my world.

  Epilogue

  WITH Rusty’s support, Eric began public school in Jacksonboro right before Labor Day. He finished the first marking period and brought home a report card of all A’s. I was so proud of him I thought I would burst. He was playing junior varsity football, loving it and leaving whatever frustrations he had on the ball field. Yes, there was a woman in his life, a very young woman of thirteen named Tracey, with freckles and transparent braces on her teeth. She did nothing but giggle and turn cartwheels whenever he intercepted the ball. She was a cheer-leader. Rusty continued as his tutor in all subjects, twice a week. Between Tracey and Rusty, my young man’s confidence was a spiral of sure and steady growth.

  Once the ink was dry on his separation papers, Trip and Rusty were inseparable. She adored Trip and Eric. Their feelings were the same.

  By October, I decided that the house was too small for Trip, Eric, and me. It wasn’t just Trip; it was Trip, his romance, his dogs, and visitation from his brood that was doing us in. Frances Mae’s frequent calls, the dogs yelping under my window with every sunrise or rabbit that ran across the yard—it was too much of Animal/ Frat House for me. Eric and I needed a steady quiet environment. Trip realized it and was sorry for it but with Mother only gone a few months and all of our lives turned upside down, it was just one issue too many for him to solve.

  I took that horse by the reins and called Mother’s lawyer. We had a great discussion and together we studied a land survey of the entire plantation. I had him draw up some papers for me.

  I told Eric about my plans and he all but jumped in happiness.

  “If he says yes, can I have my own dog? I mean, not a giant Lab, but maybe a Lab puppy?”

  “Lab puppies grow to become big Labs, Eric,” I said, but when his face fell I said, “Let’s see what Uncle Trip says first, okay? But no dogs in t
he house! Remember the Aubusson!”

  When Trip came in from the river that afternoon, Eric and I met him at the dock.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this greeting committee?” he asked with good nature.

  “Well, brother, I thought we would have drinks on the verandah and discuss the future of the world. Catch anything?”

  “Didn’t catch anything but the breeze,” he said. “Here, Eric, grab this line like a good fellow, okay? Wanna help me wash down the boat?”

  “Sure!”

  “I’ll meet y’all up at the house in an hour, all right?” I said.

  “Fine,” they both said.

  Eric was helping his uncle put up the boat for the night. I loved it. In the few short months we’d been at Tall Pines, so many things had occurred—most of them wonderful, the kind of changes that made you look forward to each new day. We were clearly taking root.

  I watched Eric and Trip for a moment and then turned to go back to the house, filled with satisfaction. Their relationship had given both of them something neither one had—understanding, devotion, and loyalty. Pretty darn key to happiness, if you asked me. All these they gave each other and more, as naturally as day turns to night and then day again. Trip never missed a ball game of Eric’s and Eric never failed to meet Trip at the door or the dock. Eric was fast becoming Trip’s surrogate son and Trip, Eric’s surrogate father.

  I had finally cleaned out Mother’s closets, donating a lot of what she had to the Costume Collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. For all her zanyisms, Mother had been a serious collector and preserver of fashion history. Her collection of Worth, Chanel, and Balenciaga from the fifties gave the estate a whopping tax deduction when combined with unworn shoes and barely used handbags, not to mention boxes of handmade hats and trunks of costume jewelry.

  I had kept some things—a few robes, some sweaters—mainly because they smelled like her. When melancholy took over, I’d throw her sweater over my shoulders or nap in her robe.

  In any case, that fall afternoon, I was wearing my own clothes again, black trousers, a tan sweater, and loafers, and walking toward the house, thinking of the new role I had assumed—that of mistress of Tall Pines. Soon, I would change her history, as Mother had when she deeded Millie and Mr. Jenkins’s property to them.