The crumbling Hawthorne manor welcomed Eleanor with a musty breath and a heavy silence. She flung the sash windows wide, letting the lateMay sunshine flood the rooms and the scent of lilac drift in. It had been a month since Grandfather Michael had passed, and only now had she summoned the strength to travel back and sort through his belongings.
Michael Hawthorne had been more than a grandfather to her. When her parents died early, he stepped in, raised her, and put her on her feet. In recent years their meetings had been fewhis work at the county council, the rush of everyday life, the perpetual shortage of time. Now, standing in the drawingroom where every object whispered his name, Eleanor chastised herself for every day they had not spent together.
A ringing phone sliced the hush.
Eleanor, have you started yet? Aunt Maggies voice sounded unusually gentle. Edward and I will be there tomorrow to help with the furniture. Dont touch anything valuable, alright?
Of course, Aunt Maggie, Eleanor replied, her eyes falling on the old sideboard laden with sea shells. Im just going through the things, the papers.
Good. After the reading of the will theres always a bit of awkwardness Dont be upset that Granddad left you only his books and the piano. He just wanted everything divided fairly.
Eleanor pressed her lips together. At the funeral the solicitor read the will, which left the house and the bulk of the estate to Maggie and Edward. Eleanor received only the books, a battered upright piano and a set of engraved pocket watchesprecious to her heart but of little market value.
Thats all right, Aunt Maggie. I dont need anything else.
Exactly! You have your own flat. Edward and I could use the country housegarden season is starting. See you tomorrow!
She hung up and let out a heavy sigh. Grandfather had always said the house would be hers. Who else will I leave it to, if not you, my dear? Only you understand the feel of these walls, he had told her. Perhaps, in his final moments, he had altered his decision. It was his right.
All day Eleanor sifted through the books. Each volume held a memorya battered fairytale collection he used to read to her at night, school textbooks he had once helped her with as a former teacher. Between pages she found pressed flowers, old photographs, marginal notes in his immaculate hand.
By evening she reached his studya cramped room with a massive oak desk and shelves that climbed to the ceiling. As a child she had never been allowed in without knocking; Grandfather called it his creative laboratory. Here Michael had penned his memoirs, kept diaries, sorted archives.
She turned the papers over with care, old notebooks, yellowed envelopes. In the lower drawer a stack of letters tied with twine emergedletters from a grandmother Eleanor had never known. Beside them lay a wellworn leather diary.
Opening it, she read a note dated the previous year: Call S.P. about the new will. Destroy the old one.
Her heart skipped. A new will? At the solicitors reading only one document had been presented.
She kept searching, methodically checking each drawer, each file. Behind a pile of dated newspapers in the side cabinet she uncovered an envelope labelled Will. Copy. Original with solicitor S.P. The date on the envelope was a month before Grandfathers death.
With trembling hands Eleanor slipped the paper out and began to read. In this document Michael bequeathed the entire house, the land and all valuables to her, Eleanor. Maggie and Edward were to receive monetary compensation instead.
This decision is not born of favouring one heir over another, the grandfather wrote, but of preserving the integrity of the family nest. Eleanor alone values this house not as mere property but as the heart of our history. I trust she will keep it for future generations.
Eleanor sank into the old armchair, unable to grasp the words. Why had the second will never been shown? Did the solicitor know? What now?
The night passed without sleep. Eleanor tossed in the old bed of her former bedroom, weighing options. Presenting the will would spark a massive scandal. Maggie and Edward had already drawn up plans for the house, dividing the plot. They had never been particularly close to their father and, as Eleanor knew, visited him only sporadically. Did that give them fewer rights?
At dawn, barely having sipped her tea, she heard a car pull up. Aunt Maggie entered first, filling the hallway with her booming voice and brisk movements.
Eleanor, were here with Marion, she said, nodding toward her daughter, who shuffled in with a sour expression. Lets see what we can take right now. Edward will bring the movers later.
Hello, Eleanor forced a smile. I havent finished sorting
No worries, well help! Maggie was already roaming the rooms, eyeing the furniture. Ill take that sideboard and the bedroom chest. You alright with that, Marion?
Marion shrugged. Its fine, mum. Im only here for Granddads coin collection, you promised.
Of course, of course! Eleanor, wheres the coin collection? He collected them all his life, you know. Marions keepsake.
Eleanor felt a surge of anger. The numismatic collection had been Grandfathers pride. He had shown her each new coin, told the story behind it. And now it would go to Marion, who had shown up at the funeral with a scowl, as if something precious had been ripped away.
Aunt Maggie, Eleanor began cautiously, did you speak with the solicitor after the will was read?
Maggie froze midway, turning sharply. With Mr. Patel? No, why?
Its just I think somethings off with the will.
What do you mean? she asked, narrowing her eyes.
I found a reference to another, later will in Granddads papers.
A heavy silence settled. Marion stopped examining the sideboard and turned toward them, curiosity flickering.
What nonsense? Maggie finally said, her voice trembling. There was only one will, the one they read.
I think we should call Mr. Patel, Eleanor said firmly. I have a copy of another document.
Maggies face went pallid. Eleanor, listen why stir this up? Father made his choice, he divided everything fairly. You got the things he loved mostbooks, pianohe knew you love music.
Its not about the objects, Aunt Maggie. Its about Granddads final wish. If he changed his mind, we must honor it.
Changed his mind? Maggie sneered. He spent his whole life thinking of you! Your parents died, thats tragic, but why did he always put you above his own children? Were we strangers to him?
Eleanor was taken aback by the sudden accusation. I never asked for special treatment
Of course you didnt! You were just always there. We have our own lives, our own worries. We cant sit with him forever.
Mother, calm down, Marion interjected. Whats all this fuss about? If theres another will, let the lawyers sort it out.
The front door opened and Uncle Edward stepped ina stout man with a face uncannily like Grandfathers.
Whats the argument about? he asked, scanning the tense faces.
Eleanor found another will, Maggie blurted. She says Granddad left everything to her.
Edward walked slowly to the sofa and sat down. Is that true?
His voice held only fatigue, no surprise. Eleanor looked at him. Did you know about it?
Edward sighed. Father mentioned wanting to change the will. He said the house should stay whole, not be split. He said only you truly loved it.
And you kept quiet? Maggie shouted. Traitor!
Dont shout, Maggie, Edward said wearily. I didnt know whether hed actually signed a new will or was just thinking about it. Besides, the house is old, needs constant upkeep. We need it as an asset we can sell, not as a memory for Eleanor.
So youre on her side? Maggie flailed her arms. Wonderful! Well just give it all to the girl and be left with nothing!
Mother, enough, Marion rolled her eyes. Uncles right. We dont need that house. You said youd sell it and buy a flat in the city anyway.
Eleanor listened, feeling an odd detachment. They spoke of the house as if it were a piece of land, a financial instrument. To her it was an entire worldits smells, its sounds, its recollections.
I propose this, she said at last. We call Mr. Patel and sort out the wills. If Granddads last intention was indeed to give me the house, Ill pay you both a fair compensation for your shares, gradually if needed. The house will stay, but Ill cover the main expenses.
What compensation? Maggie snorted. From your librarians salary?
I could take a loan. Or sell my flat.
Mother, stop, Marion urged. Lets just call the solicitor.
Mr. Patel agreed to come immediately. Within the hour the elderly solicitor, briefcase in hand, sat in the drawingroom, eyes flicking between the gathered relatives.
So youve discovered a second will, he said after Eleanor explained. He took the document, examined the dates and signatures.
Yes, this is a genuine copy, he concluded. Michael Hawthorne did draft a new will shortly before his death.
Why wasnt it presented? Maggie demanded.
Mr. Patel removed his glasses, rubbing his nose. A week before he died, he called me and said he wanted to revoke the earlier will. He set a meeting, but never made it.
So his final wish was to revert to the original? Edward asked.
I cant say for certain, the solicitor replied cautiously. He didnt explain his reasons over the phone, only that he didnt want family strife.
Eleanor felt tears sting her eyes. Grandfather had thought of them all to the very end, even at the cost of his own desires.
Legally, Patel continued, the most recent valid will that has not been officially revoked is the one that stands. In this case, it is the one leaving the house to you, Eleanor. However
What however? Maggie interrupted.
But if you contest it on the basis of his phone call, the case could drag on for years. No one wins except the lawyers.
Silence settled over the room. Eleanor looked out the window at the old apple tree Grandfather had planted long before she was born, its white blossoms filling the garden with a faint perfume. He used to say, As long as the apple tree blooms, the house lives.
I wont press the second will, Eleanor said suddenly, turning to her relatives. Let it stay as it is.
Youre giving up the house? Marion asked, bewildered.
No, Eleanor shook her head. I propose another solution. The house remains jointly owned. No one sells it. Ill live here and keep it in order. Youre welcome to visit any timesummer, weekends, holidaysjust like a real family home.
But why would you do that? Maggie asked, torn between greed and a vague sense that Eleanor offered something more valuable.
Because Grandfather wanted us to be a family, Eleanor replied simply. He feared inheritance would split us, and he was ready to change his last wish for that reason. I want to honour his desire.
Edward stared at his niece a long moment, then nodded slowly. I agree. Thats right.
Maggie hesitated, her face a battlefield of avarice and conscience. Who will pay for the upkeep? Repairs?
Ill take the main costs, Eleanor said. Youll have a tidy, readymade home to return to. The only condition: no one ever forces a sale, ever.
What if I urgently need money? Maggie pressed.
Ill buy your share, gradually, Eleanor answered calmly. But the house will stay a house.
Marion laughed unexpectedly. Granddad would have liked that. He always said Eleanor was the wisest of us.
Mr. Patel watched, intrigued. I can draft the appropriate agreement if you all wish to proceed. It will be legally clean and reflect Michael Hawthornes intentions.
By evening, after papers were signed and the initial tension eased, they sat on the porch sipping tea, unexpectedly recalling old stories. Edward spoke of building the porch with his father, Maggie reminisced about her mothers pies, Marion giggled over tales of Granddads childhood antics.
Eleanor watched them, realizing she had found far more than she had lost. Not just a house or belongings, but a restored family. If compromise was required, so be it.
When the relatives left, she stepped into the garden. The apple tree was in full blossom, petals scattering like soft snow. Above, birds sang. The house breathed.
Thank you, Granddad, she whispered to the sky. I understand now. True inheritance isnt in walls or things. It lives in the people who remember and love each other.
She slipped a folded copy of the second will from her pocket. Perhaps one day shed show it to her own children, tell them this tale. Not now. Now the priority was to preserve what truly mattered: the family home, the shared memory, the peace between loved ones.
