Sarah's Legacy (2 page)

“I can't believe it,” she said.

“What is it?” I asked anxiously. Mom looked dazed, which made her face hard to read. I couldn't tell if the news in the rest of the letter was good or bad.

“Wait,” she said in a hushed voice. She was reading the letter again, as if she wasn't sure she'd really understood what it said. When she finished going through it for the second time her fingers loosened and it fluttered to the table. Her hands were trembling.

“Oh, Sarah!” she whispered. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or referring to her great-aunt. Either way I was getting a bit impatient to know what it was all about. Then Mom took a deep breath and looked across the table at me. It seemed as if she was having a hard time focusing her eyes, the way she stared almost without seeing me.

“My aunt,” she began in a faltering voice, “has left us everything. Everything.”

“You mean money?” The first thought that came to me was that Mom wouldn't have to work all those long shifts anymore. Then, I had a vision of us being rich and me being able to have all kinds of things we could never afford now. I felt a twinge of guilt for thinking so quickly about what
I
was going to get out of it.

“It sounds as if there's some money,” Mom answered, “though I don't know how much. But the big thing is her estate. She's left us her home and all its contents. And her pets.”

“Her pets?”

“Apparently there's a variety, though it doesn't say exactly what. Probably a cat and dog or something. One of the conditions of the will is that we take care of them.”

“How will we get them here?” “We won't. That's the other condition.” Mom seemed to be working things out in her head and took a minute to continue. “In order to inherit the property, we have to live in the house at least until you complete your education. After that we're free to sell it if we want to.”

I thought that was kind of weird, then realized there was a lot more at stake than this aunt's oddities. “Where is it?” I asked quickly.

“A small city in New Brunswick called Miramichi.”

“Never heard of it,” I said, as if I could wish the place away like that. “Anyway, I don't want to live in New Brunswick. I like Ontario.”

Mom looked cross then and told me I was being selfish. I could feel a lecture coming and I was right. She told me that this was a chance for us to have a house and for her not to have to kill herself working just to keep us going and there I was complaining at the idea of moving. Still, we'd lived in Ontario my whole life and the thought of going somewhere else made my stomach feel kind of sick.

“But all my friends are here,” I said sullenly. “I don't want to move.”

“I see,” Mom said. Her lips had gone into a thin line, which always means she's really angry. “So, you want me to write to this lawyer and tell her we don't want the house?”

“I didn't mean that,” I said, though I could see how it sounded as if that was exactly what I'd meant. “But I don't understand why we can't find a way around that part. If she left the place to us we should be allowed to do what we want with it.”

“As I've already told you, there are two conditions to the inheritance. One is that we live there, the other is that we take care of Sarah's pets. If we aren't prepared to do that, the house is to be sold and the money from the sale will be used to provide for the pets. When
none of them are living, the remaining funds will go to a charity.”

“That's stupid. It sounds like she cares more about her dumb animals than she does about us. Why'd she bother leaving us anything if that's how she felt?”

“Well, Sarah, I imagine she loved her pets. Perhaps they were her only companions. But she obviously cared about us, too, or she wouldn't have left us her house. Do you think we were ever going to have a home of our own on the money I make as a waitress?”

“I guess not.” It was starting to sink in. We were going to be moving, all right. I can't say I was happy about it.

“Our own house,” Mom said. She had a faraway look on her face and seemed to be talking to herself again. “I wonder what it's like.”

“You've never been there?”

“I've never even met my great-aunt,” Mom answered. “I remember seeing pictures of her at my grandfather's house, though. It seems she was something of a recluse.”

“What's that?”

“A recluse? Someone who doesn't like to be around other people. I vaguely recall hearing the story of how she went to New Brunswick when she was around twenty, which was quite a thing for a woman on her own in those days. I don't think anyone ever saw her again after that. The only contact was an occasional letter.”

This aunt was sounding more and more like a weirdo, if you ask me. I could picture her, old and alone, petting her stupid animals and talking to herself.

“I don't care where she went or what she did,” I said, “she doesn't have the right to force people to live somewhere they don't want to go.”

“Now, Sarah. This is hardly the worst thing in the world, you know. You might even like living in New Brunswick.”

“I'll hate it,” I said firmly. I added “and I hate her” to that, but only in my head.

“I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to the idea, and fast.” Mom sighed and stood up. “I'll be calling the lawyer tomorrow and making arrangements. If everything goes well, we should be moving by the end of next week.”

It hadn't occurred to me that we'd be leaving so soon. I mumbled something about waiting until the end of the school year, which was a few months away, but Mom just gave me a look. It was one of those looks that tell you there's not going to be any more discussion on the matter.

I stomped off to my room and lay on the bed sulking. The more I thought about the whole thing, the angrier I got. What gave this old woman we'd never even met the right to decide where we were going to live? It wasn't fair!

Mom came in later to say good night but I pretended I was already asleep.

Itried to keep sulking over the weekend but it was just about impossible. Mom was all excited and happy and some of her attitude started rubbing off on me. She'd quit her job as soon as she'd talked to the lawyer and was flitting around packing and singing little snatches of songs. After hearing her talk about our move as some kind of fun adventure, I was starting to feel a bit differently about it.

I found I was looking at our apartment a lot differently, too. It had seemed okay before, but now it was starting to look pretty shabby. My room, with its worn carpet and its yellow rose–patterned wallpaper that was cracked in several places, suddenly seemed uglier than I'd ever noticed.

The whole place was dingy and badly decorated. It was easy to see that the landlord had bought whatever
was on sale when he was choosing flooring and wall coverings, regardless of whether anything matched or not. I wasn't sorry to be moving out of the dreary place we'd called home for the last three years.

Saying goodbye to my friends was going to be the hardest thing. Mom pointed out that we could probably afford a computer once we got settled into our new place, and then I could keep in touch with everyone by email. It was a small consolation, but at least it was something.

It was all happening so fast that I hardly had time to think. We had a lot to do, deciding what to take and what to sell or give away before we left. Mom made up handwritten signs advertising everything that was too big to take along, and before I knew it our beds were sold. We slept on the floor the last few nights, which wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I'd expected.

There were a few things left by Wednesday of the next week and Mom called a goodwill organization that sent a truck around to pick it all up. We spent that night in a hotel since we no longer even had blankets or pillows and the power had been turned off in our apartment.

I'd been hoping we might fly to New Brunswick, since I've never been on a plane. Money was too tight, though, and the cost of tickets was more than we could afford. Instead we boarded the train early Thursday afternoon and settled in for the overnight ride.

“It was a lucky thing that this came along so close to the end of the month,” Mom said as we ate a light meal in the dining car late in the day. “I don't know how we'd have managed the trip if I didn't have the rent money for April put aside. As it is, we're going to have to watch every cent until things are settled.”

“Can't we move right into the house?”

“I don't know. But I'm sure we'll manage until the legal business is all taken care of.”

That got me thinking. What if something went wrong and we were left without anywhere to go for a while? Even with the rent money and what we'd made from selling our furniture, we only had a few hundred dollars left after we'd paid for the hotel and train tickets.

Mom seemed optimistic, though, so I decided not to worry about it. Back in our seats, I soon found that the darkness outside and the steady rocking motion of the train made me sleepy.

The next thing I knew I was waking up, startled to see a man in a blue uniform standing beside me. It took a few seconds before I remembered where we were. Mom was already awake and she smiled as I blinked and looked around.

“Almost there,” she said cheerfully. “I have your toiletry bag ready so you can tidy up before we get to Miramichi.”

It's not easy to brush your teeth while the train is swaying back and forth but I managed it. I washed my face and combed my hair, too, scowling at what I saw in the mirror. I've never been too happy with the way I look. Mom says that's normal for girls my age. She insists that I'm pretty, but then, she
is
my mom.

I don't look much like my mother. Sometimes someone will say we look alike, but I don't see it. My hair is dark brown while hers is fawn coloured, and her skin is lighter than mine. My lips are a lot fuller than hers, too. Sometimes she jokes that I was born pouting, because my bottom lip is so full it seems to stick out.

I guess I look more like my father, though it's a bit hard to tell from looking at the few pictures we have of him. Mom always says he was the most handsome man she ever saw. His name was Shane Gilmore and he'd come to Canada from Ireland three years before Mom met him.

She was working in a coffee shop and he started dropping in on his way home from his job with a construction company. After he'd been going there for a few months he asked her out and she broke her rule of never dating customers.

“I was so taken with him, his good looks and charm,” she told me often, reliving the happy time in her life when she'd been in love. “Shane loved excitement
and we went to a lot of places that I'd never gone before. It was a whole new world for me.”

When they'd been seeing each other for about half a year, he asked her to marry him. Mom says that was the happiest day of her life, up until I was born.

“Your grandparents didn't approve of Shane.” She'd frown, remembering. “They thought he was a bit too wild. But they were wrong. It's true that he liked to have fun but he was a good man.”

Then, only seventeen short days after their wedding, there was an accident. I never got a lot of details because Mom didn't like to talk about it. All I know is that my father was hit by a driver who was high on something. He died three days later.

Mom still gets upset when she talks about that. It must have been so horrible. One day she was a brand new bride and the next thing she knew she was standing beside her husband's coffin.

A few weeks later Mom found out that she was going to have a baby. Me. It really makes me sad that my dad never knew anything about me. Not even that I was going to be born.

As a young child, I used to pretend that my father might come to the door one day and explain that it had somehow all been a terrible mistake. Of course I knew that was never really going to happen. I'd given up that fantasy years ago.

Well, there was no sense dwelling on any of this now. I made my way back to our seats just as the train was pulling into the station.

My first impression of Miramichi wasn't all that great. Mom had told me it was a city, so I was expecting something a lot different than the small town we'd just left in Ontario. But from the train station, which was on a hill overlooking the place, I could see right off that it wasn't very big. There were no skyscrapers to be seen, just a bunch of houses on either side of the tracks.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Mom. “It sure doesn't look like a city.” We'd been to Toronto a few times and I'd imagined our new home would look something like that, only on a smaller scale.

“This is it, all right.” Mom took my hand then, as if I were going to get lost in the big crowd of about twenty people. “Let's get our luggage.”

I followed along, trying unsuccessfully to tug my hand away from her. It's kind of embarrassing to have your mom holding your hand when you're twelve years old.

The luggage she'd referred to was an old set of four battered suitcases that stood out among the others on the cart. Once we'd picked them up Mom went to call a taxi.

The driver was a small old man who looked bored. He asked, “Where to?” without any sign of interest and seemed annoyed when Mom didn't answer right away.

“We'd like an inexpensive place to stay for the night,” she said at last.

“Yeah? There's a hotel not far from here, pretty cheap.” He glanced in the rear-view mirror questioningly. “Wanna go there?”

“That will be fine.”

A few minutes later we were deposited at a hotel and Mom arranged for a room.