He grinned. “But God knows you’re an ornery bitch under it all.”
“That’s better,” she said.
On good days they would go out in the garden together. He would sit in a canvas chair with a glass in his hand while she readied the flower beds for winter, pulling the late weeds, cutting back roses and perennials, spreading a mulch of peat moss. Often they would go for hours without either of them speaking a word.
On other days, when the weather was bad or when he was not feeling well enough to go downstairs, she spent long hours in the bedroom with him. Sometimes she read poetry to him. He liked to sit with his eyes closed and hear her read poems he had read long ago. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they merely sat together.
Just before dawn on November’s first Thursday she awoke to hear him coughing beside her. She switched on the light. He was lying on his side and his pillow was dark with blood.
He said, “This is it, kid. No, don’t call anyone. They can’t do anything now and if they could I wouldn’t go through all of that again. Just give me your hand.”
“Oh, my darling.”
“What a good month this was. Best one of my life. I wanted to last until Halloween. Always liked Halloween. Never cared much about Christmas but I always liked Halloween. Wonder why that is... ‘It’s coming along nicely.’ First words you ever said to me.”
“I remember.”
“ ‘It’s coming along nicely. Is it for sale?’ I thought, by God, that’s a woman, and I never met one before... It hurts but not so bad now... I never gave you enough.”
“You gave me everything.”
“Took and took and gave you nothing. Always loved you, though. Hope you get a better one next time round... I want to hold your hand. I can’t feel your hand, I want to hold it...”
But she was holding his hand.
The funeral was far better attended than she had thought it would be. She hadn’t realized how many friends Clem had had. She remained dry-eyed throughout the service and the burial, accepting sympathy gracefully however awkwardly it was extended. After the service was concluded she managed to get rid of the minster’s company without offending him. She went home and sat in the living room until it was late enough o go to bed.
Three days after the funeral she called Henry Biedemeyer. She had seen him at the services and he had said then what a good man Clem had been. Now he made the same little speech. It was tiresome enough hearing that sort of thing once, but she heard him out politely.
“I’ll want to have a new will drawn,” she said. “Do you think you could see me today?”
He said that he could, and offered to come to her house.
“No, I’d as soon get out of the house myself. An hour from now? Will that be all right?”
An hour later she was sitting in his office. Her will was a simple one, essentially the same document Oscar Biedemeyer had drawn shortly after her marriage. All of her estate was to be placed in trust, with the entire income payable to her husband. Upon his decease the principal was to be divided among various charitable institutions. The only changes she had seen fit to make over the years had been related to the ultimate bequests.
“This should be simple enough,” Henry said. “We’ll just eliminate the trust and make the dispersal immediate. Unless you had other changes in mind?”
“Nothing earthshaking. Just let me look at that list now and see who I’m mad at. I used to drive your father crazy. There was a time when I was in this office every few months cutting off one outfit and adding another. Let’s see now. These look all right. Doylestown General. How do I feel about Doylestown General? Oh, I guess we can leave them in. Hold on, now. Why in pure hell is the March of Dimes still here? Didn’t Salk put them out of business?”
“They’re working on other crippling diseases now.”
“Might have known they wouldn’t put a going operation like that on the shelf. No, let’s cross them out of there. Now there’s an organization dedicated to saving wild horses and ponies from extinction, here’s a circular I got from them, and they can have the March of Dimes share.”
“You seriously want to give that much money to wild horses and ponies?”
“If I didn’t know some fool would contest it, I’d be strongly tempted to give the whole shooting match to wild horses and ponies.”
“Well, you’re the boss.”
And don’t forget it, she thought. She said, “One other thing. There’s a young girl who works for me, Linda Robshaw. She’s been a great help to me all year and I know she’s at loose ends. I think it would do her good to have the shop, and I’d like to see the Lemon Tree stay in operation after I’m gone. God knows it’s little enough in the way of a monument. Can you add a codicil to that effect?”
“That’s easy enough. I can also make it contingent upon her operating the business for a specified length of time.”
“Oh, the hell with that. I don’t put strings on things, Henry. She won’t have a problem with inheritance tax, will she?”
“On the shop and the inventory? You rent the store, so all that’s involved is fixtures and stock. What’s that worth?”
“Damn near nothing.”
“Under fifty thousand dollars?”
“So far under you couldn’t see it from there.”
“Then you can forget inheritance taxes.”
“She might need money for cash flow, though. I wonder if I shouldn’t give her a few thousand dollars free and clear?”
“You could,” he said. “There’s an easier way. Just set a higher balance in the Lemon Tree checking account You’ll lose a few dollars’ interest every year but that’s no hardship in your position. And it simplifies things.”
“I should have thought of that myself.” They went over a few details and were finished. She got to her feet “When can you have that for me, Henry?”
“Let me see. Today is Wednesday. How would Monday be?”
“Monday?”
“Monday, Tuesday at the latest. I’ll give you a call.”
“I’m certainly glad we simplified things.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I think you’re stalling me, Henry, and I think I know why you’re stalling me. And I don’t think I like it”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“These things take time, Olive. Even a relatively simple matter—”
“You could dictate the whole damned document in fifteen minutes and we both know it, and even in this day and age it shouldn’t take your girl the better part of a week to type it. You’re implying something and I do not care for it.”
He sighed heavily. “Force of habit,” he said.
“I still don’t like it”
“It’s not what you think. I know you well enough, I know you wouldn’t — we do this frequently, Olive. People can change their minds. And signing a will is a depressing thing, and—”
“It’s a sight more depressing to know you have a will in force that’s not as you want it. I expect to live a good many years, Henry, and I’ll get off to a better start when I know my property will go where I want it to go. It’s eleven o’clock. I’ll be back at four this afternoon to sign it. I hope it will be ready.”
“Oh, it’ll be ready.”
“Is something funny?”
“I was just thinking of something my dad used to say. Excuse the language, but he said you’ve got more balls than a bowling alley.”
“He told me as much to my face once. I always took it a compliment.”
“You were right to. That’s how he meant it.”
She crossed the street to the bank. Standing in line she thought about Oscar Biedemeyer. How long had it been since she’d gone to his funeral? Ten years in the spring, and it didn’t seem that long. He had been a good man. Well, Henry was a good man himself. A decent lawyer always tried to tug you along on a leash. You couldn’t hold it against him. But you had to know how to stand up to him.