The Four Seasons

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Jilly took a seat at one end of the table, directly across from Mr. Collins, who was busy laying out papers. Her hands were folded neatly and she sat straight, her green eyes wide and alert, as though on stage. They waited patiently for Rose to take her seat. Her face stilled pensively when she caught sight of Mrs. Kasparov’s real estate portfolio on the table.

  When at last they were all settled, Mr. Collins folded his hands on the table and smiled benignly at them. He was a tall, dignified gentleman who had been their father’s best friend. “Uncle George,” they’d once called him, though only Merry continued calling him that into adulthood. Today was a formal setting, however, and as he was acting as their legal adviser, he maintained a respectful reserve. Adjusting his eyeglasses, he proceeded.

  “Your sister was a very special person to me, and your father was a dear friend. It was my pleasure, and my honor, to act as the co-executor of your father’s will and Meredith’s trust fund, as it has been to serve the interests of the entire Season family throughout the years.” He glanced briefly at Jilly, who met his eyes with equal reserve.

  “You are all well aware of how your father wished his property handled and distributed after his death?”

  The three sisters nodded to indicate their understanding.

  “At the time he wrote his will, back in August of 1977, his chief concern was for the care and welfare of his youngest daughter, Meredith, once it became established that she would not be capable of providing for herself after he and your mother were gone. Your mother willingly chose to accept one-third of the estate for her own support, thus leaving the bulk of their joint estate in a trust fund in Meredith’s name. If you recall, after her death in 1990, what little was left of your mother’s estate was distributed equally to all four daughters. I believe the amount was forty thousand dollars?”

  Jilly’s face remained impassive as she nodded. Birdie recalled her phone call from Europe, full of doubt and disappointment to learn how little was left from their mother’s estate. Birdie had been filled with resentment and her attitude toward her sister had changed that day.

  Mr. Collins adjusted his glasses as he checked a figure on the paper. “It was also stipulated that, upon the occasion of Meredith’s death, the residue of the estate should be distributed equally among the remaining Season issue. As of this date, that would be Jillian, Beatrice and Rose Season. The estate includes all remaining monies, assets and real property, or in this case, this house, the summer home in Indiana having been sold in 1984. I’ve frozen the bank accounts and sold the few remaining stocks, and after the estimated taxes and funeral expenses, excluding the sale of the house, of course, I’m calculating approximately twenty thousand dollars will be left in the trust fund to be dispersed.”

  “Is that all?” Jilly asked, sitting straighter. “I thought my father had left a considerable estate.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Birdie muttered, furious that Jilly was disappointed again.

  “Your father left a fair-size estate,” Mr. Collins replied calmly. “One that diminished over time, considering the expense of upkeep for a house and property of this size, not to mention Merry’s considerable medical and educational expenses. If you wish, I can give you a detailed accounting afterward.”

  “We were very careful with the spending,” Rose interjected, worried.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Jilly replied to Mr. Collins. “I’m sure everything is in order, I’m just…surprised. How much would you say the house is worth?”

  Birdie promptly opened the portfolio and sifted through the papers. “According to Mrs. Kasparov, the fair market value would be somewhere around five hundred fifty thousand dollars. Less the real estate commission, transfer taxes and such.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Jilly looked devastated. “In this area? That can’t be right. It seems very low.”

  Here we go again, Birdie thought. She cast a quick glance at Rose, not wanting to offend her with what she was about to say. “Mrs. Kasparov believes the house and property need quite a bit of work. Things she itemized in particular include the porch, which is rotting in places, pipes that have broken, and the walls haven’t been properly repaired. The paint and wallpaper need to be freshened. The grounds are completely overgrown and the filled-in pool detracts from the land value. And of course the kitchen and bathrooms are terribly outdated and would need to be totally redone. The bottom line is, the place is architecturally lovely and in a great location, but it’s what’s known as a handyman’s special.” She set down the papers and folded her hands over them. “I quite agree with the estimate. Under the circumstances, we can’t expect top dollar.”

  “Regardless of the condition, it’s a double lot,” Jilly argued. “Within walking distance of the lake! The land alone is worth that much. Why, the house down the block is up for over a million.”

  “Walk through the house, Jilly. You can’t compare the two.” Birdie hesitated. “There’s some question as to whether the house should be torn down.”

  “No,” Rose gasped.

  Jilly was indignant. “I want another opinion.”

  “You can look at the comps,” Birdie said, handing the folder to Jilly. “We have to consider if we really want to do the work ourselves to fix the place up, or just sell it as is as quickly as possible. Frankly, I vote for the latter.”

  Rose was shifting in her seat, wringing her hands. She stared at Mr. Collins in silence, then glanced at her sisters, cringing under the question shining in their eyes.

  Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “Well, now, that is an issue that should be discussed between the three of you, privately. I wouldn’t presume to interfere, but I am at your service should you need my professional advice or—” he ventured a smile that revealed the affection accrued from a lifetime of association “—if you just want the advice of an old friend.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Birdie said.

  Jilly echoed this but Rose remained silent, seemingly distracted.

  “Is that everything, then?” Birdie was deeply flustered by Jilly’s disappointment. She began tucking back papers and closing up the real estate portfolio. She couldn’t imagine why Mr. Collins requested this meeting after the funeral when everything was perfunctory. They could have just as readily handled it between a phone call and a FedEx. Dear man, he was probably being thoughtful. She really didn’t know what she would have done without him all these years.

  “There is one more rather delicate matter to discuss,” he replied.

  Birdie looked up, surprised. Mr. Collins’s tone altered and he appeared to be treading on softer ground. “Oh? And what would that be?”

  He slowly removed his glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “I called this meeting today because I wanted to discuss something with you while all of you were still together, under this roof. This is a unique situation.” He cleared his throat and began again, glancing briefly at Rose.

  “I’ve known Merry from the time she was born. She would, from time to time, come down the street to visit Mrs. Collins and me. As you know, your sister was not legally competent, but during this last illness, she had a remarkable intuition that her time was limited.” He looked at Rose for confirmation. She was sitting straighter in her chair, pale and still.

  “We had several long conversations. Merry was quite concerned about one issue in particular.” He cleared his throat again and pulled from under the sheaf of papers a videotape. On top, taped to it, was a small envelope, a young girl’s blue stationery adorned with pastel flowers.

  Birdie narrowed her eyes, noticing that the writing on the envelope was large and childlike—Merry’s.

  Rose stood and, in the manner of one who had anticipated this event, took the videotape from Mr. Collins’s hand and carried it to the living room television, which was set up and ready to receive the tape.

  “Won’t you make yourselves comfortable on the sofa?” he said, indicating that th
ey should all move to the other room.

  Birdie and Jilly rose without exchanging glances and followed him to the living room. The mood was uneasy; no one knew quite what to expect. They sat opposite each other in the two wing chairs. Rose fiddled with the television and Mr. Collins remained standing, apparently eager to begin.

  “What’s this all about?” Birdie asked.

  “Be patient,” he replied. “It will all become perfectly clear.”

  “All set.” At his nod, Rose pushed the play button, then seated herself in front of the television.

  The room settled into silence as the video ran, beginning with a short strip of blank tape. Suddenly, there was Merry, full of life. There were gasps from the sisters at the shock of seeing her beautiful face fill the screen, smiling, giggling and covering her mouth when she laughed.

  “Oh, my God,” Birdie gasped, bringing her fist to her lips. “Merry…”

  It was almost too much to bear. Merry was a breathtakingly beautiful woman, without any outward sign of mental disability. Beyond her delicate bones, her tiny waist, her brilliant blue eyes that lit up her face when she smiled, there was another, more elusive quality to her charm. For all that she was thirty-two years old, Merry still possessed the coquettish, utterly beguiling innocence of a child.

  As the camera zoomed in, Birdie saw signs of Merry’s illness in the dark smudges of fatigue under her eyes, the whiteness of her skin and the blue cast to her lips. And she looked so much like Rose. The younger two Seasons were both small with delicate frames and the same red-gold hair worn long and straight. Except that Merry was obviously frail and weak, where Rose was physically strong. The invalid and the caretaker.

  Mr. Collins’s voice could be heard on the screen. “Hello, Merry, how are you today?”

  Merry grew suddenly coy, turning and lifting one shoulder. “Fine.” Then tilting her head, she asked, “Are you making pictures now?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Like the ones of Jack and Ali?”

  “Your picture will look just the same,” the off-camera voice of Mr. Collins assured her.

  Merry nodded, accepting this, seemingly distracted by something over his shoulder.

  “What do you want to tell us today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” He chuckled. “I thought you had something you wanted to say.” When Merry frowned and shook her head, apparently confused, he prodded, “To your sisters? Rose and Birdie and…”

  “Jilly!” she exclaimed, sitting up in her chair. He had her full attention now. “Will Jilly see this?”

  “Yes, I’ll make certain she does. Now, tell Jilly and Birdie and Rose what you told me.”

  Merry’s face went blank as she stared back at the camera.

  Birdie leaned forward, her heart aching as she watched intently. Here were the sure signs of Merry’s brain damage.

  “When I show your sisters this movie,” Mr. Collins’s voice continued with admirable calmness, “what do you want them to know?”

  “They’ll see me?”

  “Yes.”

  Her face grew serious, pouty. Then she wagged her finger at the camera and said in all seriousness, “I want you to find Spring. I want you to go get her, okay? And tell her—”

  She paused to think, looking upward, then, with inexpressible sweetness, she smiled straight into the camera like a pro and said, “Tell her I love her. Please?”

  “Who is Spring?” he asked.

  Merry’s face clouded and she shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

  “Who said you cannot?”

  “Rose said not to talk about that.”

  “I see. Well, is there anything else you want to say?”

  Merry grew distracted again and appeared to fatigue. She slumped her shoulders and shook her head no. “Will you give the picture to Rose and Birdie? And Jilly?” She brightened briefly. “We’re the Four Seasons,” she said with obvious pride, raising four fingers up to the camera. Her hand dropped to her mouth as she began coughing, mildly at first, then hard and gasping.

  The camera was cast aside, the picture tilting wildly, settling on an angled shot of the carpet and Merry’s slender legs, then a man’s trousers hurrying toward her. All the while the hacking cough continued in the background, then the video went blank.

  No one spoke. Rose moved to turn off the television. Jilly continued staring at the black screen. Birdie sniffed and rose to collect a box of tissues. She blew her nose, then dabbed at her eyes as she returned to her seat.

  “What about the letter?” Rose asked after a moment.

  “Oh, yes,” Mr. Collins said. He held the letter in his hand. “It’s sealed. Who would like to open it?”

  “I would,” Rose said, reaching out across the floor for it. Mr. Collins delivered it into her hand. She held the envelope reverently, smoothing one palm over it in a tender stroke. “I knew she had gone to Mr. Collins’s house, of course, just as I knew what was troubling her, though I hadn’t seen the video before.” She smiled sadly. “Merry could be very secretive when she wanted to be. Thank you, Mr. Collins. It was very moving. We’re not much of a family for taking videotapes and I believe this is the only record we have of Merry. It was so powerful to see her and hear her speak.” She paused, collecting herself.

  “But I know what is in this letter,” she continued after a moment. “It’s in her own handwriting. She worked quite hard at it.” A faint smile crossed Rose’s face. “She tossed out quite a few until she was satisfied.”

  “Why don’t you read it?” Birdie said.

  Rose opened the envelope with her finger and tugged out a piece of stationery of matching print. Smoothing out the paper, she glanced briefly at Jilly, then cleared her throat. “It’s dated March 5, 1999.”

  “That was a month before she died,” Birdie said.

  “That’s right,” Rose replied, then raised the letter. “There isn’t much….”

  Dear Jilly, Birdie and Rose,

  Under my bed is the time capsule. You gave it to me. Please give it to Spring. Please give all my money to her, too. She needs a nice house.

  Your sister,

  Merry

  P.S. You have to find her first.

  “That’s it,” she said, folding the letter back.

  Jilly rubbed her temples, then leaned forward and said, “Excuse me, but am I the only one missing something here? There’s that name again. She used to ask me about her. Who or what is Spring?”

  “Isn’t that the name of her doll?” asked Birdie. “The one that she’s had forever. Oh, you know the one, the baby doll with the red hair? She used to carry it around with her wherever she went.”

  “Yes,” replied Rose. “The doll’s name is Spring. But that’s not who she’s referring to.”

  “Why keep us in suspense? Is she some friend? Real or imaginary or what?”

  Rose looked to Mr. Collins for support. He nodded, indicating she should continue. Rose wiped her palms on her thighs. “Jilly,” she began in earnest, then stopped.

  Jilly sat still and frozen, as though posing for a photograph.

  Birdie searched Rose’s face, so intent and yet fearful. She looked finally at Mr. Collins, whose gaze was all-knowing.

  “Well, surely it can’t be all that serious,” Jilly said in a glib manner. “Dolls and time capsules are hardly earth-shattering.”

  “Please believe that this is not meant to hurt you or invade your privacy in any way, shape or form,” Rose said. “Merry loved you, in some ways I believe more than she loved any of us. You were always someone, well, exotic. Special. She talked about you all the time, and oh, she loved your movies. She didn’t understand the Italian, but she watched them two or three times a week just to see you.”

  “That’s very nice, but what does this have to do with Spring? Am I Spring? She wanted me to come home? Is that it?”

  “Not exactly.” Rose sighed, resigned. “This is so hard.”

  “Ros
e…” Birdie urged.

  Rose nodded. “I’ll just tell you everything straight out and then we can talk, okay? That’s the trouble, actually,” she said as an aside. “No one ever talks in our family. If we had…Well, never mind.”

  Rose looked directly at Jilly. “The fact is, even though no one ever talked about it openly, Jilly, we all knew where you went in 1973. We didn’t know the details back then, of course. Mother made up all those stories and we were in a fog. But we knew you went somewhere to have a baby.”

  Jilly went ashen, her only movement the rising of her hand to her throat.

  Birdie put her fingers to her lips, stunned, and furtively studied Jilly’s reaction.

  Rose took a breath, then pushed on. “Even Merry knew. I don’t know how she figured it out, but she always did have a knack for ferreting out the truth. This is a big house, but not so big that whispers at night are not heard, or crying behind closed doors, or angry fights between you and Mom and Dad.”

  Jilly clutched at the arms of her chair, digging her nails into the soft, worn upholstery. Her voice was cold and demanding. “What do you know? Exactly.”

  Rose looked into her eyes with sympathy and spoke clearly. “Back then, not much. I was only eleven and Merry was six, so we weren’t in on the details. Birdie wouldn’t talk to us about it. Later we did, naturally, but not then. And, of course, Mom explained things to me, many years later.”

  She paused to give Jilly a chance to speak, but when she didn’t Rose pushed on.

  “The point is, Merry never truly understood what really happened. All she knew was that you went away to have a baby. She latched on to this, though none of us knew it at the time. If we did, I’m sure Mom would have tried to explain things to her right away. So when you came home without the baby, she was confused. Actually, she was really upset. She cried night after night for that baby. Do you remember?”

  Jilly said nothing.

  “I remember vaguely,” Birdie commented. “There was a lot going on and everything was tense. I guess we all thought Merry was crying in response to that.”

  “When Mom finally figured out that she knew about the baby,” Rose continued, “she was thoroughly flustered. She gathered all of us for a family meeting and put the fear of God into us, telling us never to talk about it. Not even to one another. She told us that’s how reputations are ruined and so on.”