Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything

by Nancy Martin

  She laughed. “If I’d known it was you coming today, I’da made beignets.”

  “I’m a last-minute substitution.” Ten took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as if she were a great lady. “Let’s go set for a minute. Do you still keep a pot of hot coffee for yourself?”

  “I never was the sweet tea type.”

  He laughed and held the door for us both. “Me neither.” Before stepping inside, he glanced around the porch. “Where’s your boot jack? I’ve been out at the barn.”

  “Those boots are clean enough for me, and I’m the one who washes the floors. You come right on inside.”

  Miss Ruffles dashed ahead of us, skittering on the linoleum. The kitchen was a throwback to the day when red-and-white checkerboard floors matched the calico curtains and the Aunt Jemima cookie jar on the counter. Recent upgrades were the new stainless appliances and spanking white marble countertops where Mae Mae rolled biscuit and pie dough. But an overlay of less tidy cooking habits gave the kitchen its personality. She kept pots of herbs on the sunny windowsill where I stored the vitamins for Miss Ruffles. Ropes of garlic and a basket of onions hung over the sink alongside a rosary. A special wooden spoon reserved for making roux held a place of honor in its own cup, and Mae Mae’s black iron pot sat on the back of the stove at all times, ready at a moment’s notice. She made gelatin salads in antique copper molds, but her new rice cooker had been the result of a long and detailed online search I’d helped with.

  Today, Mae Mae had pretty tea sandwiches and cream puffs arranged on the silver trays. The food waited on the sideboard with plastic wrap on it, ready to be whisked to the buffet at a moment’s notice.

  Mae Mae pulled out a chair for Ten and bustled to pour him a cup of hot coffee. She swiped a cream puff from the tray and arranged it on a lunch plate with a sprig of mint she pinched from a pot on the windowsill. Proudly, she slid the plate and the cup in front of him.

  Like a man accustomed to being waited on by indulgent women—after his remark about having no household help at home, I assumed he had a sweet-tempered mother—Ten sat, took off his hat, and set it on the table. Underneath it, his head was covered with a bristle of fair hair, crew cut. The back of his neck was suntanned, as if he spent more than his Saturdays on a horse.

  I went into Honeybelle’s private parlor and returned with the stack of mail that had arrived for her since her death. “I guess you’re in charge of this now?”

  He automatically stood up from the table at my return—the Texas gentleman—making me think he must have a very nice mother indeed. He said, “What is it?”

  “Please, sit. Mostly bills. A few checks from people who owe her money.”

  Studying the top envelope, he sat back down. “Not Hensley Oil and Gas business?”

  “No,” I said, “that mail goes directly to her office. Over there, she had help from Hut Junior and someone else, a secretary, so I wasn’t part of that. This was her private banking and household matters. She kept them separate.”

  “Good thinking. The Hensley secretary is Angela. I went to high school with her. I met with her already. She and Hut Junior have things under control at the office. But after today, you should send all the personal mail over to me.” He flipped through the unopened envelopes to note the return addresses and found one that had been slit open. He showed it to me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Honeybelle opened that the morning she died. It’s a thank-you note from someone she sold a rosebush to. I put it back in the envelope.”

  “Honeybelle sold roses?”

  “It wasn’t a real business. Just something she did now and then. Look, the problem is that the day Honeybelle died, Miss Ruffles got into her office and chewed up some of her mail. There wasn’t much left but little tiny pieces of paper. I think she ate some bills or letters or something.” I was ashamed of myself for allowing that to happen. But when I’d first heard the news about Honeybelle, I’d been incapable of doing my job for a bit. “I know the electric bill was due to come soon.”

  Ten used one of the envelopes to tap my shoulder, a strangely comforting gesture. “Whoever sent the bills will send them again, so don’t worry about that. The electric company won’t go out of business if Honeybelle’s account is a little late.”

  “But if they were personal letters?”

  “She’s not here to read them anyway,” he said kindly. “Don’t let it worry you. Tell me. You helped Honeybelle with her personal finances?”

  “I’ve only been here a couple of months, but yes. I balanced her checkbook once, helped her set up online banking to pay bills, went to the bank to make deposits, that kind of thing. She made small loans to people, and sometimes I delivered those checks. I was hired to be her personal secretary, so I kept her calendar, too, made appointments, took notes sometimes. Mostly, I was taking care of Miss Ruffles, though.”

  “And you did a fine job with that,” Ten said. “Didn’t she, Mae Mae?”

  Mae Mae didn’t answer for a second. “That dog hasn’t been such a nuisance lately, no.”

  He grinned at me over that high praise and asked me to go find Mr. Carver.

  The four of us were soon seated at the kitchen table with cups of scalding hot coffee in front of the other three and sweet tea for me. I still didn’t understand the Texas preference for hot beverages when the thermometer hit 100. I wanted to grab a handful of ice cubes and tuck them in my bra.

  Miss Ruffles frisked around us on the floor, paying particular attention to Ten and his boots. After giving her a swift, businesslike pat, he opened his leather portfolio and removed a sheaf of papers.

  “Now, then,” Ten said. He had polished off his cream puff and used his thumb to wipe a spot of whipped cream from his upper lip. “I can’t seem to put my hand on any death certificate, but the directions in her estate file says the will is to be read a week after her death, so here I am. Before the family comes, I want to talk to y’all about some of Honeybelle’s final wishes.”

  “Oh,” said Mae Mae, and she put one hand to her bosom.

  Mr. Carver looked more grave than ever. “How soon do we have to leave?”

  I said, “Get it over with quick.”

  Ten shook his head. “Let’s not get worked up, everybody. Honeybelle thought kindly of each of you, and she has provided for your futures.”

  Mae Mae let out a wavering sigh. “Praise the Lord.”

  “She’s been real generous,” Ten went on carefully, “but her largesse comes with strings attached. Strings, I’m sorry to say, that a lot of other people are not going to be happy about. Y’all are to receive pensions—considerable money that should ensure comfortable living for the rest of your lives. Miss McKillip, you’re included because Honeybelle wanted you to be an important part of her plan.”

  “How considerable?” Mae Mae asked.

  “What plan?” I asked, startled.

  Ten said, “The three of you are to remain here at Honeybelle’s house for the next year—”

  “A year!” Mae Mae cried.

  “At least,” Ten continued steadily, “maybe longer, depending on what agreement can be reached about Miss Ruffles.”

  The three of us sat in confusion for a moment before Carver said, “What does Miss Ruffles have to do with anything?”

  Having heard her name, the dog wriggled herself between my chair and Ten’s. She sat and looked attentively from him to me and back again, head tipped alertly to one side as if to ask for more specifics.

  Ten said, “Honeybelle wanted to be sure Miss Ruffles lived a good, long life, so she has tied your pensions to the dog’s survival. You’re to stay here in this house for one year, at which time you three and the family must reach an agreement about Miss Ruffles and her future. Only after that, when she has a suitably safe and comfortable long-term home where she’s happy, will you receive your full pensions. It’s your shared responsibility to look after Miss Ruffles now, just as Honeybelle would have done if she were alive.”

/>   “Hold your horses.” Mae Mae’s voice climbed to another scale. “You mean the dog inherits everything?”

  “Well, not exactly—”

  “Now it’s my job to take care of that animal?”

  “It’s Miss McKillip’s job to see to the dog’s daily routine. You and Mr. Carver are to keep the house as you always have. Except instead of Honeybelle, you’re maintaining the property for Miss Ruffles.”

  “So she does inherit everything!”

  Ten continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Someone from our office will stop by every week to make sure everything’s up to snuff. The house, the yard, the pool—”

  “I won’t do it!” Mae Mae burst out. “Nobody can force me to stay here and work for a dog! Surely I get something if I pack my suitcase and leave right now?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Ten said. “You can walk out the door this afternoon, Mae Mae, and I’ll write you a check for fifty thousand dollars—the amount Honeybelle listed right here in her will. It’s a generous sum.”

  “But,” Mr. Carver said hesitantly, “if we stay for a year? And find Miss Ruffles a good home? How much do we get?”

  “If Miss Ruffles is happily settled after a year, you’ll get a million dollars each.”

  “A…?” I was sure I’d heard wrong. Mae Mae’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Mr. Carver looked as if he’d been struck by lightning.

  “For the year, you’ll continue to receive your current salary, and you’ll be allowed to live here in this house as you always have. After a year, you get a million dollars. Each.”

  Nobody breathed. A million dollars. A million.

  I was glad to be sitting down. My insides were doing the same thing they had when I was a child and my mother roughly pushed me off onto a jungle zip line. Flying weightless over a bottomless chasm, I was terrified—clutching the harness and panic-stricken to be so alone and out of control, but strangely, wildly ecstatic by the time I landed.

  Mr. Carver gave a funny little squeak, and with one glance at his slack face I knew he was ill. I found myself on my feet and gently pressing his head down to his knees. “Steady there, Mr. Carver.” I knelt beside him and patted his back. “You okay?”

  “A million. A million dollars,” he wheezed.

  Ten stood up to help me steady Mr. Carver in his chair. In a moment, the old man struggled up, looking stunned. Ten sat back down, but kept a wary eye on Mr. Carver.

  We all stayed like that while the news sank in. Mae Mae was breathing like a locomotive. For once, she wasn’t angry, just flabbergasted. We had all known Honeybelle was rich. But we hadn’t realized exactly how rich until that moment.

  Mr. Carver swayed dizzily his chair. And I stayed on the floor so I wouldn’t have so far to go if I fell over from the shock.

  The stillness was broken by Miss Ruffles herself. She scampered across the kitchen and came back to me. She dropped something on the floor and yipped. Her face was covered with flour, and I saw she had managed to open a cupboard again. It had been one of her favorite tricks while Honeybelle was alive—stealing things from kitchen cupboards. The package on the floor in front of me was a bag of semisweet chocolate chips. She yipped again, then sat down, wagging her stub and smiling as if she’d been in on the joke all along.

  With sudden concern for Miss Ruffles, Mr. Carver cried, “Chocolate’s poison for dogs! Sunny, grab that away from her!”

  Miss Ruffles had already surrendered the chocolate, but I picked it up anyway. “You’re going to make this as hard as possible,” I said to her, “aren’t you?”

  Miss Ruffles gave me a panting smile. Her eyes sparkled as if she approved of what Honeybelle had in mind for us. To her, it was all one big, fun shenanigan.

  To Ten, I said, “You said something about the death certificate? It’s missing?”

  “I don’t think it’s missing. I’m just not experienced enough to find it yet.”

  “When you find it, will that change anything?”

  “Not a thing. Y’all take care of Miss Ruffles, y’all get a million dollars each.”

  “I don’t have to do this,” Mae Mae said flatly. “I don’t have to look after no dog, no sir. I’ll take my share this minute, Ten. You can write me that check right now.” She slapped her hand on the table as if she expected the money to materialize on the spot.

  “Yes, ma’am. No problem,” Ten replied easily. “But a million dollars is a lot to walk away from. If you stick around, you won’t have to make any more fancy lunches and tea parties for Honeybelle. Just make your own meals and keep the place tidy. Take it easy for a year, and you’ll be a rich woman.”

  “I’ve got my dignity,” she shot back. “People will laugh at me. Already the man that delivers barbecue from the Bum Steer makes fun of me for working in a kitchen.”

  “At least your kitchen has a roof over it,” Ten said, “and you’re not breathing hickory smoke all day. You’re tough enough to handle a little ribbing. For a million dollars, you can handle a lot. What about you, Carver?”

  Mr. Carver still looked shell-shocked. “I don’t know,” he said faintly. “This isn’t what I expected. I thought if we were lucky Honeybelle would give me enough to maybe move to Austin or Nashville. Somewhere I can listen to music.”

  “Wait a year,” Ten counseled, “and you can have a whole band to yourself, anywhere you want.”

  “What happens if something goes wrong?” I asked. “What if Miss Ruffles chokes on a bone?”

  “Or gets into those pills of hers,” Mae Mae said. “There was the day she ate too many of her vitamins and had to go to the vet to get her stomach pumped.”

  “She was real trouble before Miss McKillip came,” Mr. Carver said to Ten. “Once she ran away from Honeybelle and was almost run over by a car. What if that happens again? What if she dies by accident and it’s not our fault?”

  “Then you all lose everything,” Ten said solemnly.

  The doorbell chimed in the front of the house. The sound rolled back to the kitchen, and Miss Ruffles let out her threatening bark. She dashed to the swinging door. She scratched it and then began to dig at the floor as if she could excavate her way out of the kitchen. I reached over and grabbed her collar. She fought me as I dragged her back to the table. I held her fast, but she wriggled in my arms.

  “That’ll be Hut Junior and the family.” Mae Mae seemed unable to stand up yet. “Do they know about this? About us?”

  “No, ma’am,” Ten said. “I figured I’d tell y’all first so you’d be prepared when they hear the news.”

  “They’re not getting anything from Honeybelle?” I asked.

  “A little something,” Ten said. “A big something, actually, because Honeybelle was a wealthy woman. Wealthier than most of us knew. But they won’t get this house, not now, anyway, and not as big a share of her money as they expected. Hut Junior doesn’t even get the oil and gas company—not yet. A lot of other people in town will eventually receive bequests or have their loans forgiven. Just not until Miss Ruffles is settled. And some were hoping for their money a lot sooner.”

  “The university,” Mr. Carver guessed. “They want that new stadium something terrible.”

  Ten nodded. “There’s a lot of money at stake for a lot of people, but Honeybelle has tied it all up in Miss Ruffles for the moment. I can’t lie. It could get ugly around here. There might even be a lawsuit. Or several. But the three of you don’t have to do a thing except look after Miss Ruffles and keep up the house like you’ve been doing.”

  He tried to sound soothing, but I could see Mae Mae and Mr. Carver were unsettled—bordering on semihysterical. The doorbell chimed again, prompting Mr. Carver to scramble up from the table. He reached for his blue coat and put it on.

  “I’ll get the door.” He tried to regain his professional composure, but his hands were shaking too hard for him to fasten his buttons, so he gave up. “Mae Mae, put the refreshments out. Sunny, take that dog outside and keep her occupied until the family is
gone.”

  We got busy doing as he said. I pulled the leash from my pocket and made a grab for the dog’s collar. Mr. Carver disappeared out of the kitchen, unsteadily heading for the front door. Muttering to herself, Mae Mae lumbered to the refrigerator and pulled out a decorative plate with a bright green molded salad jiggling on it, surrounded by a garnish of grapes and lemon peel. She pushed through the swinging door and carried it out to the dining room.

  I snapped the leash on Miss Ruffles and dampened a paper towel at the sink to wipe the flour from her face.

  As I bent over the dog, Ten said, “You seem pretty calm about this windfall, Jane Eyre.”

  “The shock hasn’t set in yet,” I replied, noting that my hands weren’t exactly steady.

  “Aren’t you surprised? To be getting a million dollars from a woman you barely knew?”

  “I’m completely stunned,” I admitted, dropping the paper towel into the trash.

  “To be honest,” Ten drawled, “we’re a mite surprised ourselves, down at the office. Tell me, how did you get this job in the first place?”

  “I interviewed, and Honeybelle hired me.”

  He shook his head, not believing. “How come Honeybelle hired you and not one of the local girls who applied for the job? Girls she already knew?”

  “Because I was better qualified, I guess. I’ve worked as an assistant for many people at colleges.”

  He met my gaze steadily, his face less friendly than before. Probably taking in the cheap thrift-shop dress and the butterfly locket my mother had given me ages ago—nothing valuable, really, but it reminded me of her, and how the wings of a butterfly could be the beginning of a hurricane. Next to the young ladies he had grown up with, I was probably colorless, shapeless. A sunburned nose in the land of beautiful southern belles.

  He said, “You came all the way to Texas to be a governess for a dog.”

  “That’s not exactly how it happened. I was already here. I had a job at the university, but my boss was fired. And I was hired to be Honeybelle’s personal secretary, not just to look after Miss Ruffles. The job happened to evolve that way. Honeybelle had no complaints about my work while she was alive.”