The old cottage greeted Blythe with a musty chill and an eerie stillness. She flung the windows open, letting in the warm May sunshine and the scent of lilacs that drifted from the garden. It had been a month since Grandfather James Whitaker passed, and only now had she found the strength to travel back and sort through his belongings.
James had been more than a grandfather to her. When her parents died early, he became her family, raised her, and gave her a foothold in the world. In recent years their meetings had become rarework in the city, the bustle of everyday life, and a perpetual shortage of time. Now, standing in the living room where every object whispered his name, Blythe chided herself for every day theyd missed together.
The telephone rang, cutting the silence.
Blythe, have you started? asked Aunt Margarets voice, unusually gentle. Edward and I will be there tomorrow to help with the furniture. Dont touch anything valuable until we arrive, alright?
Of course, Aunt Margaret, Blythe replied, eyes flicking to her grandfathers sideboard lined with seashells. Im only sorting through his things and the paperwork.
Good, good. After the will was read, things got a bit awkward Dont be upset that Granddad left you just his books and the piano. He wanted everything divided fairly.
Blythe pressed her lips together. At the funeral, the solicitor had read a will that split the house and the bulk of the estate between his childrenAunt Margaret and Uncle Edward. Blythe received only the books, an old piano, and a set of engraved pocket watchesprecious to her, but of little monetary worth.
Its fine, Aunt Margaret. I dont need anything more, she said.
Exactly! You have your own flat, your own life. Edward and I could use the country house for the summer season. See you tomorrow, Margaret replied.
Blythe hung up and let out a heavy sigh. Grandfather had always said the house would be hers. Who else would I leave it to, love? Youre the only one who knows what a family home means, he had told her. Perhaps at the last moment he changed his mind. That was his right.
The whole day Blythe spent among the books. Each volume held a memorythe battered fairytale collection hed read to her at bedtime, the textbooks hed used to tutor her in maths when he was still a teacher. Some books hid dried flowers, old photographs, and notes in his neat hand.
By evening she reached his study. The small room with a massive oak desk and floortoceiling shelves had always felt special. As a child, Grandfather wouldnt let anyone enter without knockinghe called it his creative laboratory. Here James wrote his memoirs, kept diaries, and sorted archives.
She carefully turned the pages of old notebooks, yellowed envelopes, and, in the lower drawer, a bundle of letters tied with twinecorrespondence from her grandmother, a woman Blythe never met. Beside them lay a worn leather diary. Opening it, she found an entry dated the previous year: Call S.P. about new will. Destroy the old one.
Her heart skipped. A new will? At the probate hearing, Solicitor Simon Peters had presented only one document.
Blythe continued her search, methodically checking every drawer. Behind a stack of dated newspapers she discovered an envelope stamped: Will. Copy. Original with solicitor S.P. The date on the envelope was a month before Grandfathers death.
Trembling, she pulled the paper out and began to read. In this testament James left the entire cottage, the grounds, and all valuable items to her, Blythe. His children, Margaret and Edward, were to receive monetary compensation.
This decision isnt about favouring one heir over another, the will read, but about keeping the family nest intact. Blythe is the only one who values this house not for its market price but as the heart of our family history. I trust she will preserve it for future generations.
Blythe sank into the old armchair, unable to believe what shed just read. Why hadnt the second will been presented? Did the solicitor know about it? What now?
She spent a sleepless night tossing on the creaky bed in her former bedroom, weighing options. Presenting the will would spark a huge scandal. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Edward had already begun planning what to do with the property; they never were especially close to Grandfather and visited only on occasion. Did that give them less right?
The next morning, just as she was sipping coffee, a car pulled up. Aunt Margaret burst in first, her voice booming and her movements brisk.
Blythe, weve arrived with my daughter, Marina, she announced, nodding toward a teenage girl who stomped into the hallway with a sour expression. Lets see what we can take right now. Edward will be back later with the movers.
Good morning, Blythe managed a strained smile. I havent finished sorting yet
No worries, well help! Margaret began inspecting the furniture. Ill take that sideboard and the bedroom chest. Right, Marina?
Marina shrugged. Whatever, Mum. I only came for Granddads coin collection, remember?
Yes, of course! Blythe, wheres the coin collection? He spent his life gathering those, you know. Itll be a keepsake for Marina.
Blythe felt anger rise. The numismatic collection had been Grandfathers pride; hed shown her each new coin, explained its history. Now it was to go to Marina, whod shown up at the funeral looking as detached as if shed been ripped from something important.
Aunt Margaret, Blythe began cautiously, did you speak with Solicitor Peters after the will was read?
Margaret froze, turning sharply. Simon Peters? No, why?
I just have a feeling somethings off with the will, Blythe said.
What do you mean? Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes.
I found a reference to another, later will in Grandfathers papers.
A heavy silence fell. Marina stopped examining the sideboard and turned to them.
What nonsense is that? Margaret finally snapped, though her voice trembled. There was only one will, and thats what was read.
I think we should call Simon Peters, Blythe said firmly. I have a copy of the other document.
Margarets face went pale. Blythe, listen why stir this up? Father made his choice; everything was divided fairly. You got the things he loved mostbooks, pianohe knew you loved music.
It isnt about the objects, Aunt Margaret. Its about Grandfathers last wishes. If he changed his mind, we must honour that.
Changed his mind? Margaret sneered. He spent his whole life thinking of you! Your parents diedtragic, yesbut why did he always put you above his own children? Were we strangers to him?
Blythe was taken aback by the sudden outburst.
I never asked for special treatment
Of course you didnt! You were always there. We have our own lives, our own worries. We cant sit around with him forever.
Mom, calm down, Marina interjected. Whats 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 similar to Grandfathers.
Whats all this about? he asked, looking around at the tense faces.
Blythe found another will, Margaret blurted. She says Father left everything to her.
Edward walked slowly to the armchair and sat down. Is that so?
His voice carried no surprise, only fatigue. Blythe met his eyes. Did you know about it?
Edward sighed. Grandfather mentioned wanting to amend the will. He said the house should stay whole, not be split. He thought you were the only one who truly loved it.
And you kept quiet? Margaret shouted. Traitor!
Dont shout, Margaret, Edward replied wearily. I didnt know if hed formalise it or just was thinking. Either way, the house is old, needs constant care. We need it as an asset we can sell, not as a memory for Blythe.
So youre on her side? Margaret flared. Great! Well hand it over to the girl and be left with nothing!
Enough, Mum, Marina rolled her eyes. Uncles right. Why would we want this house? You said youd sell it and buy a flat in the city anyway.
Blythe listened, feeling a strange detachment. To them the cottage was a piece of property, a plot of land. To her it was an entire world of smells, sounds, and memories.
I propose this, she said finally. We call Simon Peters and clarify the situation. If Grandfathers last wish really was to leave the house to me, Ill compensate you for your sharesmaybe over time.
What compensation? Margaret scoffed. Your librarians salary?
I could take a loan. Or sell my flat.
Enough, Mum, Marina interjected. Lets just call the solicitor.
Simon Peters arrived within the hour, briefcase in hand, and took a seat in the living room, his eyes scanning the gathered family.
So youve uncovered a second will, he began after Blythe explained. May I see the copy?
Blythe handed it over. He examined it, checking dates and signatures.
Yes, this is a genuine copy, he concluded. James Whitaker did draft a new will shortly before his death.
Why wasnt it presented? Margaret demanded.
Simon removed his spectacles, rubbed his nose wearily. A week before he died, Grandfather called me and said he wanted to revoke the earlier will. He set a meeting, but he passed before it could happen.
So his final desire was to revert to the first version? 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.
Blythe felt tears well up. Even to the end, Grandfather thought of them, of his relationships, sacrificing his own wishes.
Legally, Simon continued, the valid document is the most recent one that hasnt been formally revoked. Thats the one leaving the cottage to Blythe. But
But what? Margaret prompted.
But if you contest it, citing the phone call, the case could drag on for years. No one wins except the lawyers.
A heavy silence settled. Blythe stared out the window at the ancient apple tree Grandfather had planted before she was born. Each spring it blossomed in a profuse white, filling the garden with a gentle perfume. Hed often said, As long as the apple tree blooms, the house lives.
I wont force the second will, Blythe said suddenly, turning to her relatives. Let things stay as they are.
What? Youre giving up the house? Marina asked, surprised.
No, Blythe shook her head. I have another idea. The house stays in joint ownership. Nobody sells it. Ill continue living here, keeping it in order. Youre welcome to visit any timesummer, weekends, holidaysjust like a true family home.
But why would you do that? Margaret asked, conflicted. Legally it could all be yours.
Because Grandfather wanted us to be a family, Blythe replied simply. He feared inheritance would split us, and he was ready to change his final wish for that reason. I want to honour his intention.
Edward looked at his niece for a long moment, then nodded slowly. I agree. Thats the right thing.
Margaret hesitated, her face reflecting an inner battle between material gain and the vague feeling that Blythe offered something more valuable.
So who will pay for upkeep? Repairs? she asked finally.
Ill cover the main expenses, Blythe answered. Youll have a tidy, ready home when you visit. The only condition is that nobody ever pushes for a sale.
What if I need money urgently? Margaret pressed.
Ill buy your share, Blythe said calmly. Possibly in installments. The house will remain the house.
Marina laughed softly. Granddad would have liked that. He always said Blythe was the wisest of us.
Simon Peters watched the discussion with interest. I can draft an agreement to formalise this arrangement, making it legally clean and in line with James Whitakers wishes.
By evening, after the paperwork was signed and the initial tension eased, they all sat on the veranda with tea, unexpectedly sharing memories. Edward recounted how he and Grandfather had built that very veranda; Margaret recalled her mothers pies; Marina giggled at stories of Grandfathers mischievous youth.
Blythe watched them and felt she had found far more than she had lost. Not just a house or possessions, 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 bloom, its white petals dusting the ground. Birds sang overhead. The cottage breathed.
Thank you, Grandfather, she whispered to the sky. I understand now. The true inheritance isnt in walls or things. It lives in the people who remember and love each other.
She slipped a folded sheet from her pocketthe copy of the second will. Perhaps one day shed show it to her own children and tell them this tale. Not now. For now, what mattered was preserving what truly held value: the family home, the shared memories, and the peace among those she loved.
