Plantation (62 page)

Rivers of life divine I see,

And trees of paradise!

Mr. Jenkins pulled out his harmonica and played and Millie hummed. It was clear to all of us that Mother wasn’t going to paradise without Millie and Mr. Jenkins helping her make the trip.

Rivers of life
. Wasn’t that our river too? The Ashepoo, the Comba-hee, and, of course, our Edisto?

They sang that first song slowly and then gave us another more lively one to show to the Lord and all of us that going to God’s heaven—and they were sure Mother was there already but still watching us—was a happy and joyous occasion.

Why don’t you sit down?
Mr. Jenkins sang out.

Can’t sit down!
Millie replied, shaking her head.

Then,
Sit down, I told you!

Go ’way don’t bother me,

I can’t sit down

’Cause I just got to heaven

An’ I can’t sit down!

Every one of us clapped along with her and she repeated the lyrics again. On the third round, we joined her, singing with all our hearts, knowing somehow that Mother made it to the other side.

Now, Mother’s wish was to have her ashes spread over the river and that was the next thing on the agenda. The pontoon waited, decorated with white sheer fabric, white lilies tied with gold ribbons, a champagne bucket, and Mother’s finest Lalique goblets.

I got ready to leave and Miss Sweetie tapped me on the shoulder. “Can I say something?”

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“Gosh! Of course!”

She walked to the top of Mother’s marker, a temporary one, but something to mark her place in history that day next to Daddy.

Miss Sweetie cleared her throat and spoke.

“Lavinia Ann Boswell Wimbley was my dearest friend in this world and I shall miss her deeply, as we all will. Lavinia? If you can hear me I just want you to know that I love you and I’m going to pray for you. My life was richer for your friendship in every single way.” Miss Sweetie’s eyes filled with tears and Miss Nancy went to her side, pulling a tissue from her pocket and handing it to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. Poor Miss Sweetie began to sob.

“Lavinia?” Miss Nancy said, looking up at the blue sky. “See here! Do something to let us know you’re not gone! We just
can’t
stand this!
” And then she broke down.

Just then, out of nowhere, came a shower. The rain was short, warm, and if you asked anyone who was there, they would tell you it was Mother’s tears, at having to leave so many people she loved.

The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun and when it did I looked from face to face; all of them were incredulous, mine included.

Millie was the first to speak.

“Devil’s beating his wife behind the kitchen door!”

It was what we said when it rained with the sun out. An old Gullah saying turned sorrow to faith—faith that there was more to life than us: God in His heaven waiting for us when we died.

“All right then,” Millie said, “let’s go make Lavinia Boswell Wimbley happy one more time!”

“Not yet,” I said, “gotta leave a little bit of the Queen of Tall Pines.” I opened the box and let some ash fall on Daddy’s grave. No one said a word. I simply closed it, smiled, and carried the box to the docks. Everyone followed. We walked quietly, thinking our thoughts.

“Where do you think she is?” Eric said to me.

“I think she’s all over and inside of each of us,” I said. “Can’t you feel her spirit?”

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“Yeah,” he said, “you wanna hear something weird?”

“Sure, but you’re gonna have to have a whopper to tell me something that qualifies as weird, sweetheart.”

“No problem,” he said, stopping.

We let the others pass.

“I had a dream last night, only I don’t think it was a dream.”

“Continue,” I said.

“Grandmother was sitting on the end of my bed. She said,
Eric? I love you
. I just stared at her and said,
I love you too
. Then she stared at me and said,
This is your home, son
. I thought,
Shit!
”

“Eric? Do you think it’s appropriate to say that word when I’m standing here with her ashes in my hand?”

“It’s just her ashes, Mom, it ain’t her.”

The breeze picked up and all the leaves of the trees rustled in a song. I looked up to see the others in the distance.

“You’re right, baby, but we have a job.” He looked at me and waited. “Besides letting her ashes fly in the wind, we’ve got to figure out how to pick up where she left off. Come on. They’re waiting.”

We walked in the very back of our procession, reaching the dock. Mr. Jenkins had started the motor, Trip had opened and poured the champagne—Dom Perignon, of course. Millie began to hum again and soon she was singing as we made our way down the Edisto.

Oh, Jordan bank was a great old bank!

Dere ain’t but one more river to cross!

We toasted each other and said, “To Lavinia, Queen of Tall Pines! Queen of the Edisto! We love you, Lavinia!”

“These glasses were an anniversary gift to Mother from Senator Hollings, you know,” I said. “I remember the day she received them. Mother was so thrilled!”

“Caroline?” Trip said. “She got them from the Ross-Simons catalog.”

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“Whatever,” I said and laughed. And then Trip looked at me, his face all funny. I gave him the “Miss Lavinia twinkle” and he shook his head in disbelief, laughing.

Then I opened the box and Millie continued.

We have some valiant soldier here,

Dere ain’t but one more river to cross!

I turned to Trip and said, “Come on, do this with me.”

We stood at the back of the boat with the small urn in our hands and let Mother’s ashes fly in the wind.

Oh, Jordan stream will never run dry,
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross.

Dere’s a hill on my left and he catch on my right,
Dere ain’t but one more river to cross!

It was a grand ceremony. A fitting tribute to a great woman.

Mother had crossed the River Jordan by way of the Edisto and we all knew she was never going to really be gone.

I was deep in thought, thinking about the nature of eternity, as we walked from the dock back to the house. It was close to the time that guests would arrive.

“Do you think that shower messed up the grass?” Frances Mae said. “I mean, a lot of people will be on the grass, you know? Not just under the tent.”

It was actually a good point, but the sun was climbing in the sky and it would surely be dry by one o’clock when guests were due to arrive.

“I don’t think so, but if you want to check, I’d appreciate it.”

She looked at me, eyes filled with confusion. “I don’t know why I said that about the pearls, Caroline. I know she would have wanted you to have them. Sometimes my mouth just has a mind of its own.”

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That was as close to an apology as I’d ever heard from her. I looked at her, trying to find a comeback that wasn’t hostile.

“Frances Mae, just forget it, okay? Mother asked me to get them and then she said please take them; she didn’t need them anymore. You can’t imagine how hard it was for me to do that.”

“Oh! I’m sure it was!”

Okay, the bitch’s voice dripped sarcasm and even though I wore Mother’s pearls, and even though everything, I was going to skewer her. I stared at her hard and let Mother come through.

Lavinia and I said, “You just can’t help it, can you? That Litchfield genome just cannot be denied.”

I turned away and even though I knew it was a crummy thing to say, it felt good.

Millie and I went to the kitchen to make sure the caterers had everything under control. Eric ran off to play with the girls, Richard and Trip were somewhere, and guests started to arrive early. I rushed out to greet them.

When I got to the tent, I passed Mother’s roses. Every bush held full fragrant blooms. Another gift from the other side. Until three o’clock, we drank champagne, mint juleps, mint iced tea, and punch. Waiters passed trays of petit fours, smoked salmon, marinated shrimp on skewers, lobster in puff pastry, and Sonny’s Barbecue on tiny hamburger rolls—in Mother’s honor. People told the same stories we had loved all of our lives, children ran around, shirttails and hair flying, until their faces turned red, adults offered sympathy and promised to visit.

When the last guest pulled away, it was time to read the will.

We gathered in Daddy’s study with the attorney—Richard excused himself on the pretense of taking a walk with Eric. We all found a seat and waited.

Mother’s lawyer, Frederick Babbit, cleared his throat and began.

“Mrs. Wimbley made some changes to her will in her final days. What I’d like to do is read the division of properties and then 5 0 8

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k ask you to meet me downtown sometime in a few days if there are questions.”

“That sounds fine,” Trip said, throwing his hands in the air. He was drunk again.

“Yes, please, that’s fine,” I said.

“Well, first to Mr. Jenkins, she has given him his cottage for the rest of his days and his salary with a five percent increase each year, all the books in her library, and the sum of two hundred thousand dollars in cash. She also asks that you spend two hours a week reading to her grandson.”

Mr. Jenkins stood up and clapped his hands together. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Miss Lavinia! Thank you so! Thank you so! Yes, God, thank you!”

We all smiled. Mr. Jenkins was thrilled. Millie reached over and patted his shoulder.

Mr. Babbit continued. “Mrs. Smoak? Mrs. Wimbley has left you your cottage and five acres around it, your salary with a five percent increase annually, her silver tea service that she knew you loved so dearly, and the sum of three hundred thousand dollars in cash.”

“That’s Tiffany!” Frances Mae said, a little too loud.

“Shut up, Frances Mae!” Trip said.

“To each of her granddaughters, she has left the sum of two hundred thousand dollars and the desire that it be placed in trust until their thirtieth birthday, using the interest from the principal for education. That trust will be managed by an appointed manager employed by Merrill Lynch.”

“She never did trust us, Trip! Did you hear that?”

“Will you please, for the love of God, shut the hell up?” Trip said.

“To her son, James Nevil Wimbley III, she leaves the sum of three million dollars in cash, stocks, and bonds. This will all be held in trust by Merrill Lynch with an appointed manager, principal to be untouched unless he is free of all alcohol and refrains from gambling for a period of five years.”

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“Son of a bitch!” Trip said, yelling.

“We’ll hire us a lawyer and contest this, Trip. Trip? Trip?”

“Anything else?” Trip said, ignoring Frances Mae.

“Yes. Invested conservatively at seven percent, this fund will yield an average income of two hundred and ten thousand dollars.

She also leaves you your father’s watch and all his personal effects, including their letters to each other. In addition, she grants you lifelong use of the docks here at Tall Pines.”

Trip got up to leave and then Frances Mae got up as well.

“I suppose the rest goes to my sister?”

“Yes, but only if she remains in residence here. If Caroline leaves the plantation for a period of more than three years, the property is immediately given to the Nature Conservacy. In addition, Mrs. Levine, the contents of the house, your mother’s jewelry, and all her personal belongings are yours. Your mother also set up an endowment fund of sorts to provide for the care of the house and all the outbuildings, that upkeep to be overseen by Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Smoak. She also leaves you the sum of one million dollars in cash, and two hundred thousand dollars for your son, Eric.”

It knocked the wind from me. I mean, Mother must have made a killing in the stock market! I knew she wasn’t broke, but God’s holy word, I had no idea! I was speechless!

“In trust with a manager from Merrill?” Trip said.

“Actually, no. Mrs. Levine is free to use the money as she wishes.”

“I’m getting out of this house and away from this family for once and for all!” Frances Mae said. She stomped out of the room, hissing and muttering as she went. All of us, including Trip, were quiet as we listened for the front door to slam.
Bam!
She was gone.

Forgive me, but it was the sweet sound I’d waited years to hear.

“You know what?” Trip said.

“What?” I said.

“Mother was a smart cookie.”

“Yes, she was,” I said, “and a rich one too. I had no idea.”

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“Me either. Helluva lot more than I expected!” Trip said and smiled at me. “Guess I better go get Miss Litchfield and take her home.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I reckon so.”

I walked him to the door, said good-bye, offering my sympathies for what was surely waiting for him, and went to the kitchen to make some hot tea. I was exhausted. Richard was there with Eric.

Richard’s suitcase was packed and on the floor by the back door.

“Well? How did that go?” he said.

“Better than expected,” I said, telling him nothing.

“Eric? Why don’t you run along for a few minutes and let me talk to your mother, all right?”

“Sure,” Eric said and ran out the back door.

He stood up and came close to me, putting his hands on my shoulders.

“I have an eight o’clock flight to Newark,” he said.

“Well, I appreciate you coming, Richard.” His eyes were searching mine and the old Caroline was still there, just fortified. “I truly do.”

“I guess that means you’d rather I go?”

“I think we’ll be fine,” I said. “This has been so difficult; I think I’d just like to have a good swoon for a week or so.”

He picked up his bag. “All right then. I understand. Do you want to proceed with the divorce?”