The old Whitmore manor greeted Emily with a musty draught and a heavy silence. She flung the windows open, letting the May sunshine and the perfume of lilacs spill in. It had been a month since Grandfather George had passed, and only now had she found the strength to travel back and sort through his belongings.
George Whitmore had been more than a grandfather to her. When her parents died young he stepped in, raised her, taught her to stand on her own two feet. In recent years they had met only fleetinglyhis work at the county council kept him busy, the endless bustle of daily life left little time. Now, standing in the drawingroom where every piece whispered his name, Emily chided herself for every day they had not spent together.
A ring of the telephone shattered the hush.
Emily, have you started? asked Aunt Margarets voice, oddly tender. Edward and I will be down tomorrow to help with the furniture. Dont touch anything valuable, okay?
Of course, Aunt Margaret, Emily replied, eyes drifting to the grandfathers sideboard lined with seashell collections. Im only sorting the papers and the things.
Good. After the reading of the will theres always a bit of awkwardness Dont be upset that Grandfather left you only his books and the piano. He simply wanted everything divided fairly.
Emily 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 Margaret and Uncle Edward. Emily received only the books, an old piano and a pocketwatch engraved with his initialsprecious to her heart but of little market worth.
Its all right, Aunt Margaret. I dont need anything else.
Exactly! You have your own flat now. Edward and I will need the country house for the summer holidaysgardening season is about to start. See you tomorrow.
Emily hung up and let out a heavy sigh. Grandfather had always said the house would be hers. Who else will I leave it to, my dear? You alone understand what a family home means, he had said. Perhaps at the last moment he altered his decision. That was his right.
The whole day she spent among the books. Each volume held a memorya battered fairytale collection he had read to her at bedtime, school textbooks where he, a former teacher, had helped her with arithmetic. Some pages hid dried flowers, old photographs, marginal notes in his neat hand.
By evening she entered his study. The modest room, with its massive oak desk and shelves that reached the ceiling, had always felt special to Emily. As a child, Grandfather had forbidden her entry without a knockmy little laboratory, hed joked. Here George penned his memoirs, kept diaries and sorted archives.
She gently rifled through folders of manuscripts, yellowed envelopes and old notebooks. In the lower drawer she uncovered a stack of letters bound with twineletters from her grandmother, a woman Emily had never met. Beside them lay a wellworn leather diary.
Opening it, she read an entry dated the previous year: Call S.P. about the new will. Destroy the old one.
Her heart lurched. A new will? At the solicitors reading, Mr. Simon Clarke had presented only one document.
She kept searching, checking each drawer and folder. Behind a pile of old newspapers she found an envelope stamped: Will. Copy. Original with solicitor S.P. The date on the envelope was a month before Grandfathers death.
With trembling hands Emily drew out the paper and began to read. In this document George bequeathed the entire house, the land and all valuable items to Emily. His children, Margaret and Edward, were to receive monetary compensation.
This decision is not born of favouring one heir over another, the will read, but of preserving the unity of the family nest. Emily is the only one who values this house not as a commodity but as the heart of our lineage. I trust she will keep it for future generations.
Emily sank into Grandfathers highback chair, unable to digest the words. Why had this second will never been shown? Had the solicitor known? What now?
She lay awake that night, tossing on the old bed in her former bedroom, weighing possibilities. Presenting the will would surely spark a scandal. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Edward had already begun planning the division of the estate. They had never been particularly close to Grandfather, visiting only on occasion, yet they believed they held equal claim.
At dawn, the sound of a cars engine announced their arrival. Aunt Margaret was the first through the door, her voice booming, her movements brisk.
Emily, Clara and I are here, she said, nodding toward her daughter, who scowled as she shuffled in the hallway. Well see what can be taken straight away. Edward will join later with the movers.
Good morning, Emily managed a strained smile. I havent finished sorting
No worries, well lend a hand! Margaret began inspecting the furniture. Ill take that sideboard and the bedroom chest. You dont mind, Clara?
Clara shrugged. Its fine, Mum. Im only here for Grandfathers coin collection, remember?
Of course, of course! Emily, where is his numismatic collection? He treasured those coins all his life. Clara will keep them as a keepsake.
A surge of indignation rose in Emily. The coin collection had been Grandfathers pride; he had shown her each new piece, recounted its history. And now it would go to Clara, who had arrived at the funeral with a sour expression, as if something essential had been snatched from her.
Aunt Margaret, Emily began cautiously, did you speak to the solicitor after the will was read?
Margaret froze, turning sharply. Simon Clarke? No, why?
Because I think somethings off about the will.
What do you mean? Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes.
I found a reference to another, later will in Grandfathers papers.
A heavy silence fell. Clara stopped examining the sideboard and turned toward them.
What nonsense is that? Margaret finally said, her voice trembling. There was only one will, the one they read.
I think we should call Mr. Clarke, Emily said firmly. I have a copy of the other document.
Margarets face went pale. Emily, listenwhy stir this up? Father made his choice, he divided everything fairly. You got the things he loved mostbooks, pianohe knew how you adored music.
Its not about the objects, Aunt Margaret, Emily replied. Its about Grandfathers final 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 died, tragedy enough. But why did he always put you above his own children? Were we strangers to him?
Emily was taken aback by the sudden accusation. I never asked for special treatment
Of course you didnt! You were always there, always. We have our own lives, our own concerns. We couldnt stay with him forever.
Mother, calm down, Clara interjected. Whats all this fuss? If theres another will, let the lawyers sort it out.
The front door opened again and Uncle Edward stepped in, a broadshouldered man whose features reminded Emily of Grandfathers.
What are you all arguing about? he asked, surveying the tense faces.
Emily says she found another will, Margaret blurted. She claims Grandfather left everything to her.
Edward walked slowly to a chair and sat down. Is that so?
His tone was weary, not surprised. Did you know about it?
He told us he wanted to change the will, Edward said after a sigh. Said the house should stay whole, not be split. Said only you truly loved it.
And you kept quiet? Margaret snapped. Traitor!
Dont shout, Margaret, Edward replied, exhausted. I didnt know if he had actually made a new will or was just thinking about it. Besides, the house is old, needs constant upkeep. Wed only use it as an asset to sell. For Emily its a memory.
So youre on her side? Margaret gasped, waving her hands. Wonderful! Well give it all to the girl and be left with nothing!
Mother, stop, Clara rolled her eyes. Uncles right. We dont need that house. You said youd sell it and buy a flat in the city anyway.
Emily listened, feeling detached from the argument. To them the house was a piece of property, a chunk of land. To her it was an entire worldits smells, its sounds, its recollections.
I propose this, she said finally. Well call Mr. Clarke and verify the wills. If Grandfathers last wish really was to leave the house to me, Ill offer you a fair monetary payment for your shares, gradually, over time.
What payment? Margaret asked, scoffing. Your librarian salary?
I can take out a loan, or sell my flat.
Enough, Clara said. Let the solicitor decide.
Within the hour the solicitor arrived, briefcase in hand, and took a seat in the drawingroom.
So youve uncovered a second will, he observed after Emily explained. He examined the copy, checked dates and signatures.
Yes, it is authentic, he concluded. George Whitmore did draw up a new will shortly before his death.
Why wasnt it presented? Margaret demanded.
He removed his spectacles, rubbed his nose. A week before he died he called me, said he wanted to cancel the earlier document. He arranged a meeting, but he never made it.
So his final intention was to revert to the first version? Edward asked.
I cant say for certain, the solicitor answered cautiously. He didnt give reasons, only that he didnt wish to cause family strife.
Emily felt tears well up. Grandfather had thought of them all, even as his own wishes waned.
Legally, the solicitor continued, the most recent valid will that was not formally revoked is the one that standsso the one leaving the house to you, Emily. But if you pursue a challenge based on his phone call, the case could drag on for years, and no one wins except the lawyers.
A heavy silence settled. Emily looked out at the ancient apple tree that Grandfather had planted before she was born, its blossoms spilling white petals each spring. He used to say, As long as the apple tree blooms, the house lives.
I will not press the second will, Emily said suddenly, turning to the others. Let things stay as they are.
What? Clara asked, startled. Youre giving up the house?
No, Emily shook her head. I propose another solution. The house remains in joint ownership. No one sells it. I will stay here, maintain it, and you may visit whenever you wishsummer, weekends, holidaysjust as a true family home should be.
Why would you do that? Margaret asked, bewildered. You could have it all to yourself.
Because Grandfather wanted us to be a family, Emily replied simply. He feared inheritance would tear us apart and 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 the right thing.
Margaret hesitated, her face reflecting the conflict between greed and the faint sense that Emily offered something more valuable.
But who will pay for upkeep? she finally asked.
Ill cover the main costs, Emily answered. Youll have a ready, comfortable home to return to. The only condition is that no one ever forces a sale.
What if I need money urgently? Margaret pressed.
Then Ill buy your share, gradually, over time. The house will stay the house.
Clara laughed softly. Grandfather would have liked that. He always said Emily was the wisest of us.
Mr. Clarke observed, I can draft a proper agreement if you all decide to proceed. It will be legally sound and reflect George Whitmores wishes.
By evening the paperwork was settled, the initial tension eased, and they gathered on the veranda with tea, swapping stories of days gone by. Edward recounted building the very veranda with his father, Margaret talked of her mothers pies, Clara giggled over Grandfathers childhood antics.
Emily watched them and realised she had recovered far more than a house or a few heirlooms. She had reclaimed a family. If compromise was required, so be it.
When the relatives departed, she stepped into the garden. The apple tree burst into bloom, its petals dusting the ground. Birds sang overhead, and the old house seemed to breathe.
Thank you, Grandfather, she whispered, eyes lifted to the sky. I understand nowtrue inheritance is not in walls or things, but in the people who remember and love each other.
She slipped the copy of the second will into her pocket, intending perhaps one day to show it to her own children and tell them the tale. But not now. For the moment, her duty was to preserve what truly mattered: the family home, the shared memory, and the peace between those she loved.
