The old cottage in the Yorkshire village welcomed Ethel with a stale breath and a deep hush. She flung the sash windows wide, letting in the gentle May warmth and the scent of lilac. It had been a month since Grandfather George Whitaker had passed, and only now had she found the strength to travel back and sort through his belongings.
George had been more than a grandfather to her. When her parents died early, he stepped in, raised her, and set her on her feet. In recent years they had met only rarelyhis work in the county town, the rush of everyday life, the perpetual shortage of time. Now, standing in the sittingroom where every object whispered his name, Ethel chastised herself for every day they had not spent together.
The telephone rang, breaking the silence.
Ethel, have you started? asked Aunt Martha, her voice unusually gentle. Arthur and I will be there tomorrow to help with the furniture. Dont touch anything valuable yet, alright?
Of course, Aunt Martha, Ethel replied, eyeing her grandfathers sideboard laden with a collection of sea shells. Im only going through his things, the paperwork.
Good. After the reading of the will theres been a bit of an awkwardness Dont be upset that Grandfather left you only his books and the piano. He merely wanted everything fairly divided.
Ethel pressed her lips together. At the funeral the solicitor had read a will that divided the house and the bulk of the estate between his childrenAunt Martha and Uncle Arthur. Ethel received only the books, an old upright piano and a set of engraved pocket watchesitems dear to her heart but of little monetary worth.
Everythings fine, Aunt Martha. I dont need anything else.
Thats right! You have your own flat, your own life. Arthur and I could use the country house for the summer season. 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 but you, my dear? You alone understand what a family home means. He must have changed his mind at the last moment. It was his right.
The whole day Ethel spent among the books. Each volume held a memorya tattered fairytale collection he had read to her at night, school textbooks in which he, a former teacher, had helped her with maths. Some pages hid dried flowers, old photographs, marginal notes in his neat hand.
By evening she reached his study. The small room with a massive desk and shelves that scraped the ceiling had always seemed special to her. As a child Grandfather had forbidden her entry without a knockthe creative laboratory, he had joked. Here George wrote his memoirs, kept diaries, and sorted archives.
Ethel turned the pages of old manuscripts, yellowed envelopes, and in the lower drawer of the desk found a bundle of letters tied with twineletters from her grandmother, a woman Ethel had never known. Beside them lay a worn leather diary.
Opening it, she saw an entry dated the previous year: Call S.P. about the new will. Destroy the old one.
Her heart lurched. A new will? The solicitor, Samuel Perkins, had presented only one document at the reading.
Methodically, she examined every drawer, every folder. Behind a stack of obsolete newspapers in the old cabinet she discovered an envelope marked Will. Copy. Original with solicitor S.P. The date on the envelope was a month before Grandfathers death.
With trembling hands Ethel drew out the paper and began to read. In this testament George bequeathed the whole house, the land and all valuable items to her, Ethel. His children, Martha and Arthur, were to receive cash settlements.
This decision is not born of favouring one heir over another, the grandfather wrote, but of preserving the integrity of the family nest. Ethel alone values this home not as mere property but as the centre of our family history. I am confident she will keep it for future generations.
Ethel sank into her grandfathers armchair, scarcely believing what she read. Why had the second will never been shown? Did the solicitor know? What now?
The night passed without sleep. She lay on the old bed in what had been her childhood room, weighing options. Presenting the will would spark a scandal. Martha and Arthur had already begun drawing up plans for the house, dividing the plot. They had never been close to their father and, as Ethel knew, visited only sporadically. Did that give them fewer rights?
At dawn, barely having finished her tea, a car rumbled up the drive. Aunt Martha was the first through the door, her voice booming and her steps brisk.
Ethel, Marjorie and I have arrived, she announced, nodding toward her daughter, who shuffled in the hallway with a sour expression. Lets see what we can take right now. Arthur will bring the movers later.
Good morning, Ethel answered with a strained smile. I havent finished sorting
No worries, well help! Martha moved from room to room, eyeing the furniture. Ill take this sideboard and the bedroom chest. Right, Marjorie?
Marjorie shrugged. I dont mind, Mum. Im only here for Grandfathers coin collection, remember?
Of course, of course! Ethel, where is his collection? He kept it all his life, you know. Marjorie will have it as a keepsake.
Ethel felt a surge of indignation. The numismatic collection had been Grandfathers pride. He had shown her each new coin, recounted its history. And now it would go to Marjorie, who had arrived at the funeral looking as if shed rather be elsewhere.
Aunt Martha, Ethel began cautiously, did you speak to the solicitor after the will was read?
Martha froze, turning sharply. With Samuel? No, why?
Its just I think somethings wrong with the will.
What do you mean? the aunt asked, narrowing her eyes.
I found a reference in Grandfathers papers to another, later will.
A heavy silence fell. Marjorie stopped examining the sideboard and turned toward them.
What nonsense is that? Martha finally said, her voice shaking. There was only one will, the one they read.
I think we should call Samuel, Ethel said firmly. I have a copy of another document.
Marthas face went pale. Ethel, listen why stir this up? Father made his choice, everything was divided fairly. You got the things he loved mostbooks, pianohe knew you love music.
Its not about the items, Aunt Martha. Its about Grandfathers final wish. If he changed his mind, we must honour it.
Changed his mind? Martha 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?
Ethel was taken aback by her aunts sudden outburst.
I never asked for special treatment
Exactly, you didnt ask! You were simply there, always. We have our own lives, our own concerns. We couldnt be with him all the time.
Mother, calm down, Marjorie interjected. Whats the point of a fuss? If theres another will, let the lawyers sort it out.
The front door opened and Uncle Arthur entered, a stout man with a face uncannily reminiscent of Grandfathers.
What are you arguing about? he asked, taking in the tense faces.
Ethel says shes found another will, Martha blurted. She says Grandfather left everything to her.
Arthur walked slowly to a chair and sat down. Is that true?
His voice carried no surprise, only fatigue. Ethel looked at him directly. Did you know about it?
Arthur sighed. Father mentioned he wanted to amend the will. He said the house should stay whole, not split. He thought only you truly loved it.
And you kept quiet? Martha shouted, the words spilling like a curse. Traitor!
Dont yell, Martha, Arthur replied wearily. I didnt know whether he had actually drawn up a new document or merely intended to. And what does it matter? The house is old, needs constant upkeep. Wed use it as an asset to sell, while for Ethel its memory.
So youre on her side? Martha flailed her arms. Marvelous! Well give everything to the girl and be left with nothing!
Mother, stop, Marjorie rolled her eyes. Uncles right. Why would we want the house? You said youd sell it and buy a flat in the city.
Ethel listened to the exchange, feeling oddly detached. To them the house was a piece of property, a plot of land. To her it was an entire worldits smells, sounds, memories.
I propose this, Ethel finally said. We call Samuel and clarify the situation. If Grandfathers last wish truly was to leave the house to me, I, as the rightful heir, will pay you both compensation for your shares, over time.
What compensation? Martha retorted. On your librarians salary?
I could take a loan. Or sell my flat.
Enough, Mother, Marjorie intervened. Lets just phone the solicitor.
Samuel Perkins agreed to come at once. Within an hour the elderly solicitor, briefcase in hand, was seated in the living room, eyes flicking anxiously among the gathered family.
So youve discovered a second will, he said after hearing Ethels account. May I see the copy?
Ethel handed him the paper. He examined it, checking dates and signatures.
Yes, this is a genuine copy, he concluded. George Whitaker did draw up a new will shortly before his death.
Why wasnt it presented? Martha demanded.
Samuel pushed his glasses up his nose, looking weary. A week before he died Grandfather called me and said he wanted to cancel the earlier will. He arranged a meeting, but he didnt live to attend.
So his final wish was to revert to the first version? Arthur asked.
I cant say for certain, Samuel replied cautiously. He gave no reason over the phone, only that he didnt wish to cause a family rift.
Ethel felt tears well up. Grandfather had thought of them even to his last breath, sacrificing his own desires.
Legally, Samuel continued, the last will that was executed and not formally revoked is the valid oneso the one leaving the house to you, Ethel. But
What but? Martha pressed.
But if you challenge it, citing the phone call, the dispute could drag on for years. No one wins except the lawyers.
A heavy silence settled. Ethel gazed out the window at the ancient apple tree Grandfather had planted before she was born. Each spring it burst into white blossoms, filling the garden with perfume. He used to say, As long as the apple tree blooms, the house lives.
I will not force the second will upon you, Ethel said suddenly, turning toward her relatives. Let things stay as they are.
Youre giving up the house? Marjorie asked, startled.
No, Ethel shook her head. I propose another solution. The house remains in joint ownership. No one sells it. I will live here and keep it in order. You are welcome to visit any timesummer, weekends, holidaysjust as a true family home.
But why would you do that? Martha asked, puzzled. You could have it all to yourself.
Because Grandfather wanted us to be a family, Ethel answered simply. He feared inheritance would split us, and was ready to change his final wish for that reason. I want to honour his desire.
Arthur stared at his niece a long moment, then nodded slowly. I agree. Thats the right thing.
Martha hesitated, her face a battle between greed and a vague sense that Ethel offered something more valuable.
What about the upkeep? Repairs?
Ill cover the main expenses, Ethel replied. Youll have a tidy, readymade house to come to. The only condition is that nobody ever pushes for a sale.
What if I need money urgently? Martha pressed.
Then Ill buy out your share, gradually if needed. The house will stay the house.
Marjorie laughed softly. Grandfather would have liked this. He always said Ethel was the wisest of us.
Samuel watched the discussion with interest. I can draw up the necessary agreement if you all decide to proceed. It will be legally clean and in keeping with Georges wishes.
By evening, after the paperwork was signed and the initial tension eased, they sat on the porch with tea, unexpectedly recalling old stories. Arthur spoke of building the porch with his father, Martha reminisced about her mothers pies, Marjorie giggled at anecdotes from Grandfathers childhood.
Ethel watched them and felt she had found far more than she had lost. Not merely a house or possessions, but a restored family. If compromise was required, so be it.
When the relatives finally left, she stepped into the garden. The apple tree was in full bloom, petals drifting like soft snow. Birds sang above. The house breathed.
Thank you, Grandfather, she whispered to the sky. I understand your lesson now. True inheritance isnt in walls or objects; it lives in the people who remember and love each other.
She slipped a folded piece of paper from her pocketthe copy of the second will. Perhaps one day she would show it to her children and tell them this tale. But not now. What mattered most was preserving what truly held value: the family home, the shared memory, and the peace among kin.
