Chatterton Place
The Inheritance
A
Novel
By Patricia Carol Garlitz
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Acknowledgments
Edited by: Joann Crabtree
Cover by: Charlotte
Alire
Published by: Patricia C. Garlitz
All Rights
Reserved.
Copyright © 2009 Patricia C Garlitz
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CHAPTER ONE
THE INHERITANCE
The slow moving figure that rose from the tailgate of the rickety black truck, the moment her tires hit the soft shoulder of the road, carried no resemblance of the eighty-year-old man Mr. Becksted had said would meet them. Praying she hadn't taken the wrong cut off Emma hesitated before rolling down the window. The valley had been so beautiful from the lofty spot at the top of the mountain pass, were she had stopped to overlook her Grandmother great secret, she had lost track of time. If in fact she was lost, the real caretaker may soon give up hope of her coming, and the secret Chatterton Estate will have to wait another day to be found.
"Thought I might have to come up and get you there for a minute." His deep voice rattled recklessly her empty stomach, but her anticipated arrival was soothing to her wondering soul.
"You're Mr. Mason I presume.” Emma felt her voice fell short of hospitable, but after a nearly six-hour drive, during which she had spoken mostly to herself, she felt it understandable. What was not was the way her trembling fingers was unable to snap the seat belt free from across her chest.
"And you must be Mrs. Haager’s daughter." His horse voice fell silent the moment she adjusted to look up at him. “NO” , his heart cried silently.
The black eyes that filled her delicate face lay no resemblance to the fair faced old woman– Mr. Becksted had asked him to show around the property. It was obviously she was not related to Mrs. Haager. His mind was whirling faster than the innocent smile developing beneath her perfect nose. In the background, the first line of an old Steve Lawrence classic spewed from the radio in the cab of the truck– echoing his hearts sentiments– "Go away little girl– I'm not supposed to be alone with you."
"I'm Mrs. Chase." She corrected his misconception, "Mr. Becksted did call, didn't he?" His steely blue eyes shadowed darkly beneath the broad brim of his hat, toyed tantalizingly with her memory, yet she was sure they had never met. Nothing about this man was forgettable, she thought. The heavy sheepherders coat camouflaged him to some extent but even it could not hide his massive shoulders and extreme height. The overwhelming masculinity and power emanating from his dark figure caused the frailty her brothers played upon to become an almost reality.
"Ch - Chase?” The taut voice he repeated her last name with expelled more disbelief than strength. "I - - I mean" He forced himself to shake off her mystical spell sweeping up his spin. Stepped back he made room for her to open the door she seemed to be fumbling with inside.
Clearing her throat, she twisted her feet to the pavement and stood. Closing some of the distance between them she felt less vulnerable and an equal collaborator in the conversation. "Mr. Becksted called, didn't he?” The question still sounded more like a plea to her ears than a question.
"Yes. No.” Realizing he was sounding like a silly schoolgirl, he swallowed hard and grabbed for the upper hand in the conversation. “Damn it Girl! Of course he called, what in the hell do you think I'm doing here if he hadn't?" As usual, he had over done it. The barked demand had her tilting back on her heels, with signs of fear filling her face. "I was just expecting someone older.” Much older he thought, awed by her youthful grace.
"So was I. Mr. Becksted said––"
"He was talking about Dad. He's been gone since last January."
She was so busy searching her memory for an incident to pin the familiarity of his features that she was only half listening to his explanation but the mention of his Father’s death triggered an instinctive reaction for his loss. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose your Father.” Her voice softened, as did the tension on her face.
Since he was unsure how to proceed, he decided to let her take the lead. "It did take me a bit by surprise when Mom called me to the phone and Mr. B. started to ramble on like we were old friends.” Surprise wasn't quite the word he meant but it would have to do, he thought, bending down to brush the red dust clinging to the knees of his black jeans. "So I guess you're anxious to see this place?"
While scanning the lush spring beauty the secluded valley held, she brushed the heavy morning dew from her rosy cheek and pondered the meaning of "Anxious". It slightly described the excitement growing in the pit of her stomach, but more adequately the trembling a bit lower, burning like a virgin's passionate wants - Fear mingling sweetly with lust. Yes, oh Yes, she was anxious to see this place - this land held in secret captivity from her sight - from even her Fathers sight, by a woman she felt could hold no secrets. However, why she had chosen to keep it a secret was the real reason Emma had come for a look.
Owning a piece of land, - any land - was more than she could wish for. It was one of her illusive wants which lay just beyond her grasp, across yet another of Michael’s (her husband) invisible lines. Refusing to think of how many hours she had spent counting her excursions across those lines in the past week, she focused on the many more spent sleeplessly trying to figure out what had caused her Grandmother to keep the inheritance silent. Somehow, somewhere she had to have told someone about it, Emma thought allowing her eye to continue the thorough scan of that portion of the valley exposed to her. It's too large to have just forgotten about it.
"Mrs. Chase.” His deep voice interrupted her thought, had the words actually crossed her lips. "Are you ready to go?” The intense scrutiny he was giving her face sent waves of weakness washing across her spirit. All men are the same, she thought shifting her position to divert his burning gaze from her breasts, and they size you up only to better understand how to pin you down.
"Tell me first, Mr. Mason," she lifted her chin in defiance to meet his harsh stare. "Have you never met a woman from the city before?"
The direct assault caught him off guard, leaving him speechless, "I - A - Like I said! I was expecting someone much older." Somehow, he managed to stutter out his apology, but it was lost among the snickering giggles flowing loudly from the car's interior. Startled he diverted his attention to where the noise came from, so did she. She had nearly forgotten the girls, tucked away in the car awaiting an indication from her that it was safe.
Casting a look of surprise in her direction, he stepped a bit closer to the car and bowed at the waist for a better view of his unannounced audience.
"Sorry. I should've introduced you before. These are my girls, Shelly and Crystal."
He had been so caught up in a twenty-year-old memory; it had not occurred to him that she might have children and least of all teenage children - girls - who each expelled their Mothers youthful poise.
"Hi.” Responded the shimmering blue-eyed blond shyly, from the far side of the front seat.
"Sorry we laughed at you but Mom has never said anything like that before.” Emma's black-eyed reflection remarked between chuckles from the back seat.
Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, Emma had to agree with the girls. It wasn't like her at all to make such an argumentative statement, but three older brothers and a husband, was where she planned to draw the line for allowing men to tell her what to do.
"Who's who?” He questioned looking from one to the other.
Laying a delicate hand across the back seat, the black-eyed beauty, with hair just as dark falling softly about her shoulders, flashed him a warm smile and said. "I'm Michelle."
Tipping the rim of his hat in response, he looked to the other and understood the purity of her name. “So you must be Crystal?"
A mischievous twinkle in her eye and a brisk smile was his only answer, as she asked, "Are you really a cowboy?"
"What she means, are there still cowboys?” The more mature voice drew his attention to the back again.
"You might say so."
"Of course, there are still cowboys!” Emma imposed, embarrassed by their lack of knowledge about the world at large. "Someone's got to supply Mickey Dee's you know."
"Not me though.” He rose to address her. Squaring his broad shoulders, he removed the daunting hat from his head and ran his long fingers through the thick blue-black mat beneath, causing waves of loose curls to appear. "After all Southern Utah is known as the land of milk and honey - not big Mac's."
"You raise milk cows, don't you?” Crystal's observation interrupted Emma's desperate attempt to place his face among those of the Vision, but it wasn't right. They were different - old. No, she thought turning away from his softened gaze, not old - their clothing was out dated but their faces were young and old alike. Still it wasn't there she had seen him. Too many other questions filled her mind right then, to search through ten years of working with the public for a time and place. If we've met, he probably wouldn't remember me anyway she thought, besides the question sounds too much like a come on, to be coming from my mouth.
I should have listened, she thought kicking at the pink sandstone sand beneath her feet, while the girls covered her retreat with idle chat. She sighed softly feeling the pull of two every different worlds at her heart. The girl’s flood of questions soon blurred into the background, as the previous Sunday billowed into view of her mind’s eye.
Shortly after entering one of Salt Lakes largest flea markets, a flash of light had caught her eye. Side stepped the blinding glare, she considered what she saw behind the blast of sunlight. Unconscious of the growing excitement in her chest, she had impatiently pulled at Mike's arm hoping to get a better view of the glossy object. Shortly the flea market crowd cleared and she saw it. Precariously placed atop an old crate on a flimsy folding table that swayed with an onslaught of people the way her bottom lip had started to quiver, sat a delicate replica of her Grandmother's China. The rapid pace Mike's long legs demanded made absolute identification impossible, but the emotional cords the brief sighting stroked deep within screamed for attention.
Gazing into different faces as Mike continued his lengthy stride toward some undisclosed destination, with her elbow neatly tucked into the crook of his arm. She pondered for a moment what those people knew that made their eyes sing with joy, and she feared she might never find it. When suddenly she recalled the way the sun danced across the china plate's smooth surface, and she stopped immediately. "Wait."
"For what?” Mike responded tugging at her arm– his clear blue eyes glistening impatiently.
Dare she say it knowing full well, how he felt about buying something that belonged personally to someone else? A moment of indecision and once more he towed her on unwillingly. "It’s like Grandma's."
"What is?" He responded coolly not pausing to listen to what she was saying, in his pursuit of something only he knew.
"I want to see that China plate back there. It's like My Grandmother's set."
"So?"
“So! I want to look at it."
"We'll look in a minute. I have to get to the computer guy before he's all sold out."
"Another program," she whispered under her breath. Glancing over her shoulder as he steadily marched her forward. Fear suddenly flooded her senses. It won't be there when we get back and he knows it.
The silly piece of china, as he would call it, would most definitely go against his view of holding onto sentimental family items she thought, but it represented her very roots. If it matched, the odds were against her, not once had she come across a single piece matching her Grandmother's unique set. Several time’s she had found pieces that held the soft crimson rose pattern with its crisp emerald leaves pointing out at the fluted gold trim. Once she even come across a small cup that held the romantic blue ribbons, woven into a braid beneath the fluted gold trim, but never had she found anything that held both within its shimmering boundaries.
"Please Mike!"
"In a minute Em." It was easy enough for him to pay little attention to her childish plea, but her desperate tone had suddenly unlocked years of forgotten pain. Memories of her childhood flooded her thoughts and blurred her vision. Emotions of a frightened child washed over her, dulling her senses to the crowd pushing against her, as he relentlessly leading the way.
Mentally picturing herself as a child climb onto the sweet grandmother's lap, she was filled with warmth and a sense of security that was only to be found there. Hour after hour, she was content to sit listening to the whispering tones of her Grandmother telling the story of the china's great journey, and the people who had brought them to the Promised Land. Lost in the descriptive narration of people and places, made larger than life by her flare for words, Emma would lose herself and the agonizing pain of having her Mother in the hospital again.
Then came the times she shared that broad lap with her younger sister; Beth, during even more hospitalizations, and later stood at the side when her youngest brother- Jake, was cradled there. After his birth, only one additional hospital stay separated them from their Mother and soon her renewed health sliced at the precious time spent in the loving woman's home.
Soon she was off to school and an expanding world to discover. And all too soon, the grace was taken from them altogether. Only in that loss, had she discovered her Mother's lap held just as much warmth and understanding.
It was with her blessing and support that she stood against her Father after his Mother's death, and demanded to keep the partial china set. He wished nothing except his memories, and her Aunt's wanted only the best. The un-chipped remains of her family’s prized possessions were placed in a tattered box, marked Goodwill. She could have had anything within the old home, but to her they meant more than the house itself. They represented the old woman at her best. Her lap full of children, their heads filled with her stories.
The question of it being a match, should have been the only one left to respond too. Yet Mike’s reaction to such an inquiry, kept forcing inlets into her thoughts, clouding the decision at hand.
She and Mike, Her emotions and his logic, like oil and water they found little ground in common, and yet against all adversity together they had stood through eighteen years of marriage. Of those who knew them, some called it a miracle, but most referred to it as compromise. It was only she, who knew the full cost. Beyond his many invisible lines, logically drawn in the sands of time, lay some of her most treasured wants. The china plate fit into those categories.
Recalling again, the warmth shared on her Grandmother's lap, she unconsciously began to smile. It was an acknowledging smile. For if the plate matched it would not be for herself, she would buy it. It would not even be for her children, which someday may inherit it. This she would do, for her Grandmother and a memory she refused to let be swept beneath his logical indifference.
Life itself
seemed stacked against her. She had not traveled but a few steps
after breaking free from his grasp. When the barrowed bow clip of
Shelly's holding her long black hair close to the back of her
graceful neck, snapped free and crashed to the asphalt drive, she
knew she had to stop and retrieve it– It wasn’t hers to
lose. Sweat beaded beneath her arms. A mixture of anticipation and a
coat, he had required everyone to put on before leaving home that
morning - even though she carefully had chosen her dark blue sweat
suit for that purpose of warmth, giving little thought to the fact it
hide her girlish figure.
His stinging words of reprimand attacked her self-worth, even before his soft penny loafers appeared where the bow had lain. "Christ Em, sometimes I think the kids have more sense."
Swallowing the yearning to be treated as a grown-up, she pushed back the soft strands of hair that had fallen gently about her porcelain complexion and gazed up at him, with those big black wanting eyes of a child on Christmas. Tiny droplets appearing beneath her thick lashes was her only form of telling him how much she disliked being talked down too, under the inquisitive gaze of strangers?
Standing up she squared her shoulders for the lecture. She knew she must take responsibility for the tossed appearance of his naturally well-kept golden hair and the square appearance the deep breaths of cool air had added to his already broad chest, but the glowing pink hue slowly appearing beneath his slicing blue eyes, she could blame on the unexpected warmth of the day.
"Oh Mike PLEASE! I have to see it!" When his square jaw softened, she knew she had won - at least the ability to examine the supposed replica. The minute the mournful sigh creased his emotionless lips, "Oh all right," she refused to hear the reluctance of its tone and shot off again in pursuit of the treasured item, leaving his remaining words of caution to fall ineffectively upon the ears of the unconcerned crowd.
Reaching the table at last, breathless in fear someone may have already snatched it up, her heart rejoiced, "It does match" then fluttered with resolution. "It does," pressed across her bow shaped ruby lips, drawing the attention of the white haired man standing at the far end of the wobbly table, talking a rather plump woman into buying an iron skillet. His smile was inviting as she reached to stroke the plate's glossy surface, wondering what the remaining items still wearing their crisp newspaper coats beneath it looked like.
Mike's watchful words snapped her hand back with a gentle slap. "Careful!" He was reminding her of the broken coffee mug earlier in the day, but she had already fallen deep into the plate's enticing spell. There was no turning back she had to have it.
Standing silently at his side, she forced her free hand into the coat pocket and toyed with the weathered bill hidden there. It was the last of her smaller than usual paycheck. The rest had been surrendered to him the day before to meet their obligations. Guilt trickled from her conscious mind - she knew it wasn't right skimming money from the top before turning it over to him, but it was her sanity money, the change required to send the kids to the show, or steal a chocolate bar when he wasn't watching. Yet if she pulled it out now, he may never trust her to cash her check alone again.
From the corner of her eye, she watches as the elderly man carefully folded the tendered bills and slipped it into his breast pocket before strolling their way. "Nice isn't it?" His voice was jagged. "It's China you know?"
"Could be." Mike's skeptical tone sent shivers down her spine, but he was right, they were looking at only one piece.
"Why haven't you un-wrapped the rest?" Her question clarified Mike's but what she really wished was to know if the singular ten-dollar bill in her pocket was going to be enough.
"Well– To tell you the truth, I'm all thumbs." He responded holding up his hands, like that really was the case. "Afraid I may break them." He finished.
"Is it a set?" Mike spoke up wishing to impress the point more for Emma's sake then the salesmen.
"I don't know." The gentleman's voice smoothed with practice. "The wife picked them up outside an old house, in the avenues." Emma knew he meant perhaps the oldest portion of Salt Lake, and that alone made her want the china even more–– it increased the chance of it being about the same age as her Grandmothers set. "She ain't here but if you'd like to look, have at it." Again, Emma reached for the delicate plate and again Mike's voice stopped her.
"What do you want for the box?"
The round face of the fat man grew even broader as he pinched his lips together tightly, considering his cost.
"As you can see its real china." He answered, stroking his chin.
"Might be Real china." Mike said reminding him once more, they were only looking at one plate.
"Twenty" the fat man finally responded.
Emma's heart plummeted and she felt Mike twinge beside her. She was sure he was about to walk away. If that was to be the case, she had to touch the plate just once. Teetering forward, at last she was able to stroke its smooth surface, but it was anything except her Grandmother's warmth in that touch. She felt as if she had been struck by lightning. Energy surged up her out stretched arm and exploded before her eyes. A picture flashed in her head, and then it was gone.
She jerked her arm back with such force her elbow was thrust into Mike's firm rib cage. "Ten!" blurted from his red face and he grabbed his stomach. "Sold" Briskly flew from the fat mans thin lips immediately. Whirling around Emma looked into Mike's shocked face. She wanted to tell him not to buy the dishes but stopped short recalling the picture she had seen.
It wasn't very clear, nor a place she could recall ever seeing before but amongst the large well lit home and the numerous people wondering about, she found familiarity. Blankly she was left staring into Mike's clean-shaven face. "It's YOURS,” he proclaimed still rubbing his chest "All you had to do was ask."
Quickly the round faced gentleman wrapped the single plate and snugly secured it back into the wooden box, as their rather one-sided conversation continued.
"You know I can never tell you No."
Emma was sure his last statement, was added for the benefit of the salesman, more then her. "Thank you.” She responded anyway, throwing her arms around his neck and tugging him down for a grateful kiss. When he pulled her even closer and smothered her mouth with his, she understood his generosity. When sex had became a game of reward, she couldn't remember but it had managed to get her many things she otherwise would have never received.
She could tell the wooden crate wasn't exactly light, still she offered to carry it. Of course, Mike declined, if he would allow her to do so he would have to admit she was capable of doing something, anything, by herself, and that was most unlikely to occur. However, there may have been another reason for his decline. Kit, Christopher their oldest son, was headed straight toward them. His cheery disposition would always be a light in her heart. His arms contained the bulk his father's were lacking to muscle the wooden crate to the car's trunk nearly two blocks away. His sandy colored hair and deep dark brown eyes, in addition to his nearly six-foot height, had more than a few girls throwing themselves at him. The large BYU parka loosely draped across his shoulders spoke of his slight rebellion toward his Father's opinion, but that was more credit, than the other three children offered when they happened upon them at the taco stand, awaiting the arrival of their ordered sodas.
Jason her youngest, saw them first and quickly grabbed his coat from the bench next to him. It was too late though, Dad had already seen the only thing being warmed by the coats were the booth. While he proceeded to lecture them on the stack of Dr. Bills sitting on his desk. She pulled the hidden bill from her pocket nonchalantly and bought three additional large Coke's, for them to drink on the way to the car.
The haunting picture that kept filling her mind was tantalizingly familiar, yet just beyond recognition. Abstract faces, clothing of an era gone by, a brilliantly lit home larger than any she had ever known. It built a kaleidoscope of pieces, nicely framed with the outline of the china's woven blue ribbons and gold edging.
Taking a soda from her hand, Mike asked staring into her absent face. "Ok, what is it this time?"
Shaking off the clouded air about her head, she gave him a look of bewilderment. "What?"
"I know that look- You’re worried about something. I'm not mad about the elbowing."
"No" she corrected his misconception "I - I'm worried they might be broken." There was no way she was going to mention the flash and picture. He'd never understood before, she couldn't see how he would this time. Especially since she– herself didn't understand, where it had came from. Beth; her sister, always called it a gift, but this was different from anything she had ever experienced before. Sure, she could tell when something wasn't exactly going right, but never before had she ever actually witnessed something. It was not as if she had asked for the gift or had she ever sought to use it but it was a part of her. A part she couldn't deny, and when it warned her of danger she had learned to listen and gave thanks to God for it. But what was there to fear from a big house, brightly lit and open, with fiddle music and laughter flooding out?
Looking over his shoulder to catch a fading glimpse of Kit, weaving his way through the crowd, Mike offered, "I'm sure they'll be fine. Kit's pretty careful about your things.” Then turning to look back at her, he added, "Now tell me why you felt you had to do that."
She had just raised the large straw to her lips, so instead of swallowing right away she simply raised her narrow eyebrows and shrugged her petite shoulders. Maybe if she played dumb, she thought, he would drop the subject.
"None of this bull shit! Em, tell me what's going on here."
Swallowing hard, she uttered just above a breath. "You don't want to know."
Quickly pulling the cup from his mouth, he exclaimed, "Shit! Em, will you just say it."
"I can't explain it." She fought for an explanation but it was like grasping at air. The kids had trailed off after Kit, so at least she was not afraid of them over hearing one of her strange stories, as he referred to them. "When I touched that plate, it felt like I was hit by lightening." She had decided the truth would be the less bothersome. She needed him to listen but figured he would just shrug it off, the way he did all of her emotional based stories.
"Lightening Hah?" he questioned looking up at the beautiful blue sky.
"I said it felt like lightening!" She exclaimed, storming off toward the car. Why do I try? . . . He never listens anyway. The large soda splashed onto the arm of her coat, then dripped to the ground. And why in the hell, am I wearing this stupid thing. It must be 60 degrees out here . . . I must look like a fool. She continued cursing herself under her breath, as she marched off.
"Wait!" Mike called after her, but she wasn't about to let him get his digs in again. Instead, she quickened her pace wishing to put more space between them.
"Emma, Wait!" He called from her heels. A minute later, she felt his nimble fingers slide beneath her moist underarm, yanking her to a stop. The coke splashed so violently in her hand, she had trouble holding on to it, and again it covered her sleeve.
"You have to learn to control these things." He demanded, breathing heavily through his clinched white teeth.
Control it hell! He can't even control his reaction to it. How am I supposed to control the real thing? "How?" She shouted into his face "Just how do I do that?"
Jerking her arm free, again she turned and started off, leaving him to contemplate the question. She'd never asked for the gift, so just how did he expect her to shut it off. Turning to look back at him, she shouted. "It's not like I got a damn switch, you know."
Silently he stood there looking longingly at her. "I don't know, but you can't let these things run your life."
"I don't!” She shouted back, even though he was no longer demanding. He looked like a child afraid to move. The pained expression on his face led her to believe that somehow she had opened an old wound. The moment he realized, she can see it. He shifted his feet and walked around her, looking only at the ground. Not another word was spoken by either, until they were home.
She would have been pleased to slide the old crate into the bottom of the closet. Satisfied with the knowledge that she had found a plate that matched her Grandmother's set, had it not been for his open dare.
Beth and Rob: her sister and brother-in-law whom, the share the oversized home with, were busy packing groceries in the front door, as Kit retrieves the wooden crate from the trunk.
"Whatcha got there?" Beth called, coming out the front door for another armload.
"Dishes." Emma explained as they passed on the walk.
"Yeah, if we're to believe her." Mike spoke up and Emma shrunk in her shoes, hoping he would not tell the story in front of the kids.” They'll match your Grandmother's set."
Forcing a sigh of relief through her whistle shaped lips that he hadn’t mentioned the lightening, she had continued into the house and down the back steps to Beth's apartment. Stopping at the bottom, she called a hardy hello, to who ever was there. Rob, responded with a husky. "Come in."
Once they made eye contact, she explained she needed to look through the closet holding her storage, and then proceeded to unpack the crowded space. After removing, an old box of clothing and having Mike's discarded bowling ball nearly crush her toes. She collected the tattered cardboard box from beneath everything else, and paraded back up the steps, where she placed it next to the wooden crate on the kitchen table.
"So what's in it?" Shelly asked, reaching for the wooden box.
"Shelly" Mike shouted from the doorway, "Don't." Immediately she jerked her hand back to her side, with a shocked expression sweeping rapidly across her face.
Emma wondered if he actually believed her story. His frantic tone left nothing to desire. Shelly had obviously heard it too. Stepping back from the table, she demanded, "So what's so important about those dishes?” She may have carried Emma's coloration and structure, but she certainly had Mike's temperament.
"Your Mother would have us believe, they'll match her Grandmother's set."
"They will match!" Emma exclaimed, flared by his tone of disbelief, before Shelly could force a sound through her round shaped lips, forming the word “So?”
Carefully she un-wrapped a dish from her Grandmother's set and placed it on the table. Then cautiously, fearful of receiving another shock, Emma chose what appeared to be a cup from the new set. Holding onto the newspaper more than anything else, she un-wrapped it too.
"IT MATCHES!" Jason exclaimed with an air of self-accomplishment.
"It seems to." Mike still didn't sound so sure. So setting the cup - still holding the newspaper - on the table, she reached for another item, a plate this time. Again holding firmly to the paper, she un-wrapped it as well. As soon as the delicate blue ribbon and gold edge appeared, Mike exclaimed, "Well, I'll be."
Emma could only smile. The two plates matched so perfectly, it sent a chill up her back. Turning each over carefully she examined their creator's initials imprinted on the back. They matched, as did the little fire pot marks just below them. Musing how this could be possible, she stared down at the two plates, and started to recite the story her Grandmother told of the dishes. "Grandma Lizzy, my Father's Mother. Used to tell me the story of these dishes, when I was younger than you." She paused and looked up to insure the children were still there. "You see they were given to her by her Grandma Emme."
"Is that where you got your name?" Crystal interrupted.
"Yeah, you might say so." She said shaking her head, unconsciously in agreement. Crystal smiled with contentment and took a seat at the far end of the table. The other's soon followed suit, except Mike who was busy at the sink drawing water for coffee. "And her Grandmother had received them as a wedding gift, from her Grandma Emma."
"Wait a Minute, Em" Mike interrupted, joining them at the table with his empty coffee cup. "Let me get this straight. Your Grandmother Lizzy got them from her Grandmother Emme. Who got them as a wedding gift from her Grandmother Emma?"
"Yeah" She responded, hoping he wasn't going to stop her from telling the story, or at least the portion of it she had long ago determined to be the shred of truth, buried beneath her Grandmother's spun tales. "Now remember, Grandma's given name was Emma too. She just always went be Lizzy. You know its short for Elizabeth?"
"Wow!" Shelly, blurted out, "Four generations named Emma. Why didn't you name one of us Emma?"
"It's more generations than that; remember I said Grandma every time the dishes changed hands."
"I get it." Crystal spoke up. "One of us would have to name our daughter Emma, right?"
Mike's face filled with shock and something else, something that moved like a shadow across his strong face, but she did not recognize the emotion. On the other hand Kit looked like she was forcing him to listen against his will and Jason sat motionless.
Realizing his mother was looking at him; Jason leaned forward placing his elbow on the table and said. "That makes those dishes nearly 200 years old."
"Shit Em, why didn't you tell me how old those dishes were?” Mike said jumping to his feet.
"I'd never thought about it.” She tried to explain, watching the shadow grow darker inside of him. "To me there were just pieces of Grandma, besides the set is not complete. I only have a few of the pieces."
"Like what?" He demanded sternly and her stomach churned with regret for not just putting the dishes in the closet, but flustered as she was, she managed to recite off the pieces of her Grandmother's set, forgetting only the round bellied tea pot.
"Still" Mike spoke up "It's nearly 200 years old. You have to take that in to consideration."
She was sure she could see dollar signs twinkling in his eyes but she really didn't care. He had just given her permission to finish the tale of their journey. "To say the least, some of it was probably lost when the ship that brought my Great Great Grandparents to the U.S., ran into trouble off the east coast, with a Man of War from France."
"What kind of man of War?" Jason ears suddenly perked up.
"It's a name for an old ship, Jason." His father answered, in an impatient tone, from behind her.
"Or when the steam boat, they took up the Mississippi river, blew up." She forged on, fearful he was going to change his mind and shut her up at any minute.
"Blew up?" Crystal exclaimed, her shimmering blue eyes the size of half dollars.
"Damn Em, What a story." Mike again put his two sense in, but allowed her to continue.
"Did that really happen?" Jason questioned.
"Of course it did, or Mom wouldn't have said so." Kit's judgmental tone struck blood, her blood. More than once her older brother's had spoken to her with that tone, even recently they had condemned her for not owning the home that now housed her extended family.
"Kit, that's no way to talk to your brother." Her voice was stern. She would not allow Kit to dominate Jason the way her brothers had her, but she knew better than to dwell on the subject for more than a passing moment either. Addressing Jason, she continued the story, "It was a steam boat, Jason. Sometimes they would build up to much pressure or at least it did and blew up. I’m sure it doesn’t happen often. Anyway, Grandma said that's what happened to my Great Great Grandparents boat. Of course, it didn’t sink or the dishes would have been lost. Anyway, if all that wasn’t enough" she plowed on, casting a glance at Mike's stunned expression.
"They ended up having to push a hand cart across the plains, to join Brigham Young here in the Valley of the mountains." At last taking a deep breath she was done, and Mike still had not replied negatively. She was sure the minute she added the prophet’s name he would have something to say, but uncharacteristically he had not even opened his mouth.
Shelly was the first to speak. "Can you imagine? Believing in something so much, as to endure all that and not be turned back?"
Emma thought her heart was going to explode with pride. Shelly understood it. She really understands, Emma thought, it's more than the age of the dishes. It's the journey and the people that brought them.
Shelly's comment left everyone as speechless as she was, undoubtedly touching Mike's heart as well. The dollar signs she thought she had seen in his eyes were gone, replaced with a soft glow and perhaps even a slight dampness. "She's right." He finally spoke, noticing Emma watching him. "Those dishes have been to hell and back. Don't mix them up." He instructed, "After all you know the history of your set. Guess I need to get you that china hutch I've been promising." He added as he headed for the counter top.
Emma shifted her attention back to the two sets sitting before her, but his reactions were so out of character that she could not shake the questions from her mind. Why had he not stopped her from telling the story? He hated her stories of her family. She knew his childhood had not been the joy she had known, and she avoided the subject when ever possible, but he generally stopped her from finishing the stories anyway. He had not even objected when she mentioned the prophet, which was truly crossing his invisible lines, but it was his last suggestion that had thrown her off balance. The thought of him offering to buy her a hutch to put silly sentimental items in, was not at all like him.
She continued anyway to open and examine every piece of the new set, as she thought about his bewildering reactions. Before she knew it, she had a well-dressed table of fine china. Shelly's calming voice calling out the name of every piece as she un-wrapped it, had disturbed her thoughts little. Carefully peeling the crisp paper from the last piece, she was drawn back into the circle.
"It's a salt shaker." Shelly concluded, suggesting a spot for it in the relish dish, but it did not fit.
"Great, now we have two incomplete sets." Mike proclaimed playing with the coffee maker, his cup still empty. Emma wasn't really listening though– she had noticed a large Manila envelope at the bottom of the box quite sometime ago. At first she thought it was there for support but realizing the wooden crate needed little support, she finally picked it up. The flap was stuck down and the clasp folded flat. Turning it over she discovered, RETURN TO MR. BECKSTED AT 555-8726 FOR A REWARD printed in bold lettering.
"Em!” Mike's trumpeting voice had caught her attention. "Look at this!"
"What?” She asked since all she could see was a small paper laying on the table in front of Jason.
"Jason's figured it out." Shelly proclaimed, sounding as excited as her father does.
"But we helped him remember all the pieces.” Crystal interjected.
"Explain it, Jason.” Mike commanded, as Emma stepped a little closer, so she could see what her genius son had discovered this time.
"It's a set of twelve.” He proclaimed waving the paper in front of her face.
"Indeed." She said laying the envelope down, to capture his computations from the air. After a quick glance at the figures, she determined her young son was right as usual. By combining the two sets, it was a complete set of twelve, plus an odd amount of canisters– if that was what they called back then. Her Grandmother had so cherished the few pieces she owned, that it made Emma ponder if she might be proud of her for finding the rest of them.
She was about to tell the others of the envelope when out of the corner of her eye, she could see it lying in a puddle of coffee on the counter. Quickly turning she grabbed it with one hand and with the other hand; she grabbed the dishtowel to blot it dry. Mike fumbled with the drawer, and then pulled a few more to assist her in drying the counter.
"What is it?" he asked out of breath.
"I don't know. I found it in the bottom of the box."
Taking it from her, he turned it over and red the message on the other side. She watched him mouth the word REWARD. Fearful he might open it she hurried to the phone and asked the number. After reading it off to her, he laid it on the table with a small grunt and attended to the broken coffee maker.
An answering machine took her call after the fourth ring. There is probably nothing more irritating she thought than an answering machine, except of course when she reaches a Doctor or a Lawyer's machine, as in this case. "MR. BECKSTED is an ATTORNEY," she proclaimed hanging up the phone, and placing the envelope on the refrigerator.
"Well, perhaps it will be enough to buy you a hutch." Mike added stiffly, making his way down the narrow hallway to the bedroom where she knew he meant her to follow.
Teetering dangerously close to crossing Mike's most prominent taboo of their marriage, becoming emotionally attached to a ridiculous piece of land. Emma's heart volleyed, with the mighty pull of two worlds. Her mind reeled over the beauty of the valley spread before her, as the girls continued their discussion of cowboys with Mr. Mason but Mike's harsh words of disapproval gnawed at her conscious. "It's in the middle of nowhere. Nothing will grow in that desert, not even kids. You couldn't pay people to visit you, least of all expect them to pay you for staying there."
A brief twenty-four hours was all the time she had been given, to examine the china before Mr. Becksted returned her call. In which time she had determined the vision, as Beth chose to call it, was meant for someone else- perhaps the owner of the envelope, but there was no way she could have foresaw what was to take place in Mr. Becksted’s office the following afternoon.
She was up to her elbows in a sink full of dishes when the phone rang. Mr. Becksted sounding extremely excited was on the other end. After agreeing to meet with him around one, she hung up the phone and informed Mike of the appointment. At first, he was excited about the REWARD, but then he decided not to go with her. Working graveyards meant by noon, he would be sound asleep, so he asked Beth to go with her instead. Like Beth was going to protect her or something. The thought made Emma laugh, poor Beth could not weigh more than one hundred pounds, wringing wet. Of course, her short butch cut hair did make her look a bit like a boy, but only if you stood a distance away. One close look at her giant greenish-blue eyes and rosy checks, and even the bulky sweater she had chosen to wear could not hide her very feminine aspects.
The address turned out to be one of the exclusive high raise buildings downtown. The decor of the front office was expensive and plush. As she stood in the hallway gazing apprehensively through the large glass door, she would have chickened out– had it not been for Beth's nudge. She may have never smoothed the wrinkles from her soft blue sweater suit and pushed the door open.
Beth had chosen to sit to her left but Emma was too busy agonizing over what to say when presenting the envelope to the attorney, without tipping him off to the china. It was not until she felt the small nudge in her ribs that she looked into Beth's darkening eyes. In that single glance she knew Beth was just as intimidate as she, it was only under stress that Beth's eyes shaded that dark, but before she could reassure her an older gentleman with white hair neatly combed and a full white beard stepped into the room calling her name. "Mrs. Chase,” when she looked up he immediately stepped closer and thrust a welcoming hand in her direction. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Now if you'll just follow me."
Although his hand was as warm and friendly as the smile peeking out from beneath his blanketed lip she figured that right there, was as good a place as any to make her intentions known. "Mr. Becksted, I just came to return the envelope. I know you must be busy, so."
"Non-sense! You are my only guess this afternoon." He quickly cut her off before she could hand him the plundered item, and escape without telling a lie about the china. Then with a slight tug of her hand he continued, "I'm sure you'll feel more comfortable in my office. Perhaps you would like a cup of tea?" Before she could open her mouth to decline his generous offer, he loosely draped his arm across her shoulder and declared, "We'll all have tea, Sue." addressing the young woman now standing at attention. "In my office."
She knew the minute she met him she liked this man, although he displayed the typical male dominance all men did when she was near by. It often amazed her how they could so rapidly place her under their wings and she seldom fought for the right to stand-alone. He led them back to another office equally as nice. His, she presumed. Offering them a seat, he took his place behind the large desk and proceeded to open the envelope.
"This really isn't necessary," She took a seat with opposition. "I just wanted to see to it that you got the envelope."
He paid her little attention; instead, he continued to read the legal paper he had pulled from the envelope. She was just about to get up and leave, when a broad smile developed under his white beard and his eyes began to twinkle. "Mrs. Chase" he spoke up "I guess I should explain."
"Really it's not necessary." She interrupted, standing up, "I just wanted to see the rightful owner received the envelope." She went on to add, since he appeared to be listening. "There's really no need for a REWARD."
She couldn't believe she had said it Mike would kill her. Beth had joined her standing before the desk, but Mr. Becksted simply sat there grinning. Even before she had finished her speech, he was handing her the envelope.
“What?” She looked puzzled at him, but he merely thrust the envelope at her again.
"You mean?" she stuttered.
"You bought the china didn't you?" He asked.
How had he known about the china? Emma wondered, but shook her head in acknowledgement anyway, unable to lie.
"Well then this belongs to you." He went on, waving the legal papers at her.
Emma lowered herself back into the chair, again Beth followed suit like a puppet taking a seat next to her. His facial expression never changed, perhaps it was his gray white beard and hair, but Emma felt he would make a great Santa Clause.
"Perhaps, we should listen." Beth uttered, barely above a whisper. Emma only nodded her head in agreement, laying the envelope down on his desk.
"You see Mrs. Haager, apparently decided that the burden had become too much for her." He started by picking up the envelope. "By placing those dishes and this letter in the box, she turned the task over to God, and quietly slipped away."
Emma gasped, thinking the awesome responsibility must have worn her to death. She felt sorrow, as if she had known the poor woman personally.
"If you have the time, I'll gladly go over the history of the Chatterton Estate, with you." He went on.
"Chatterton?" Emma questioned the name.
Shaking his head yes, he asked. "Do you know someone with that last name?"
"My Grandmother" she and Beth answered in unison, as they did often. Emma knew she was smiling, because she could not think of her loving Grandma Lizzy without smiling.
"Really" he said pulling him self-closer to the desk, "What was her name?"
"Lizzy." Beth responded.
"Emma Elizabeth!" Emma corrected her, but only because, it was she who actually carried her Grandmother's first name and no one ever recognized the fact because Beth had been given her middle name, the name they both had shortened to fit their lifestyles.
Mr. Becksted’s reaction was anything but predictable, suddenly the color drained from his cheeks and he toppled over backwards in his chair, exclaiming at the top of his horse voice, "My God! It can't be true."
His raised voice brought the young women, tea tray in hand, rushing in from the outer office. "MR. Becksted! What is it? Are you OK? Do you need the Doctor?"
"Yes, No, Yes," he tried desperately to keep up with her questions, but his hands waving in a frantic motion seemed to be a contradiction to what was coming from his blue lips.
Emma feared she had said something wrong, but what? Before the young woman could assist him, he was up dancing about the room commanding this file and that file. Hastily the young woman meet his ever command, racing in and out more times then she could keep track. Only to be followed by several other people, every time she re-entered the office.
After several minutes of watching the circus perform she considered slipping away, but the confusion was so great, she feared they might be trampled in their retreat, so she just sat still hoping the ringmaster would return quickly. Alas, he took his place behind the large desk and commanded the others to be gone.
"Ok, Emma." He started with a renewed strength in his tone, "Emma, Elizabeth, Chatterton, West, had two sons. One died around the age of"
"Four" she interrupted "By falling in to a tub of hot water."
"I don't know how he died," He replied with an intense look about his face. "Her other son, disappeared sometime before the age of eight."
"NO!" Emma found her voice had risen as she interrupted again. "He took the name of his stepfather about that time. Reed was the name he was baptized under, as well as married, and it was the name he gave to each of us."
"Woe, Woe, Stop." He jumped up and she feared the place was going to be turned up side down again. Instead, he calmly walked to the door and invited the young woman, to join them with her note pad.
Before returning to his chair, he pulled up another one for his secretary, and then he went on. "Your Father's name is Robert?"
She had never heard anyone ever call him that but that was the name on his head stone. Of course, Arthur was underlined, indicating the name he went by.
"Yes. But no one ever called him that. He used his middle name Arthur, Art for short."
"And my Grandma had four children." Beth added “Not two. She had the two boys from Grandpa West but then she had two girls from Grandpa Reed." Emma had not realized he had not mentioned her Aunts.
"Really?" He said, running his fingers through his beard that appeared to be soft, unlike any Mike had ever grown.
"Yes. But what does my Father have to do with that envelope" Emma responded.
He looked puzzled for a moment, like she should have understood what he was talking about, then looking directly into her eyes he asked. "How old are your Aunts?"
The world she sat in was strange, its heavy scent of paper and ink weighing on her mind, but the male constitution was unchanged; he figured he could brush her request aside with little regard. "I don't understand what this has to do with my Father or for that matter any of his family. So before we tell you anything else, I think I need an explanation." She forced a stern tone to her voice but it never seemed adequate in pinning down the male ego.
His response was delivered with more regard to her feelings however. "Look Emma if I'm not wrong, everything in YOUR future." By the way, he tipped his head aside first weighing the response, it was obvious he wanted to tell her something but chose not to reveal it quite yet. "But I need you to answer a few more questions." The way his bushy eyebrows peeked delivering, the last demand made her hand start to quiver in her lap. A bit confused with his mystical response, she looked to Beth for help.
"What's it going to hurt?" Was Beth’s only response, she had already admitted to not legally carrying the Reed name what else, was left to be discovered.
"OK, fire away." she responded with a deep sigh.
"How many children did your Aunt's have and what are their sexes, and how old are they?" She almost regretted agreeing. "Before we start Emma, I want you to know this really has more to do with my own curiosity then the legal matters of Chatterton Place." She didn't understand what he meant by Chatterton Place, but went on to answer all of his questions anyway, even confirming three times that she and Beth were her Grandmothers only granddaughters.
She also had to explain the great difference in age between her, and her older brothers. As if she could really find an explanation for the twenty-year gap in child rearing, her parents had experienced.
With each answer, Mr. Becksted seemed to get more and more excited. Finally, the questions came down to who was the oldest, she or Beth. Shyly raising her hand, she said "Me"
He collapsed into his chair like a puppet with a broken string, declaring, “How did I know that?"
"She looks older!" Beth responded with a chuckle. Emma could not help but reach over and tap her on the arm.
Leaning forward on the desk almost as if for support he said, "Mrs. Haager obviously, knew what she was doing when she turned it over to God. For believe it or not, Emma . . . you not only purchased the Chatterton ESTATE." The word stuck in her head. "You’re also the one person everyone has been looking 50 years for. IT'S YOUR INHERITANCE."
“Girl,” His deep voice had drawn her back to the present, “You sure you’re it?”
It had been ages since anyone had called her a girl, it made her smile. "Yah, I'm it." she could hardly control the laugh that followed.
If it were possible his face somehow seemed to soften, and he chuckled with her. "Well, then let's get this show on the road.” Was his response, as he started towards the cab of the truck? "Just follow me."
The girl's were filled with questions, as she slid back into the car and refastened her belt. "Doesn't he think you’re old enough to own the land?" Crystal asked.
"He's really a cowboy isn't he Mom?" Shelly asked. Emma had to admit, that he filled his boots well.
"He sure looks like a cowboy to me.” She answered Shelly's question first.
"Isn't he going to let you have your land?" Crystal seemed concerned, that this tall cowboy could somehow keep it from them.