Chapter Three #2
“‘As the attorney for Ms. Meadows’s estate, it’s my duty to comply with her last wishes, which included locating you, her only living relative, whom she has named as her primary heir.
’” Kit looked up at Abby. “No mention of Beth. Strange. ‘While you are of the understanding that your mother, Barbara Lee Meadows Clark, was an only child, I must assure you, she was not. She and Maxine were definitely sisters, the daughters of Thomas and Annalee Meadows. I believe this misunderstanding is the result of the sisters’ estrangement, of which I am aware, however, the details of which are not mine to disclose. Ms. Meadows did not wish those issues to be addressed nor any conversation thereof to be initiated by me, and I will respect her wishes.’”
Kit looked up from the letter once more. “This is the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard. Mom had a sister she kept secret? All these years?”
“Did she ever go back to Maine after she and Gramps moved to Pennsylvania?” Abby appeared just as confused.
Kit shook her head slowly. “Not that she ever mentioned.” She thought about it for a moment, then said, “No. I’m pretty sure she did not, at least not that I can recall.
The only times my parents went on vacation were to the beach when Beth and I were really little.
Then they bought the lake house in the Poconos when I was in middle school, and we vacationed there for years. ”
“Were her parents still living in Maine when you were growing up?”
“I never knew my grandparents. They died before I was born.”
“Maybe that’s why she never went back.”
“But that doesn’t explain the rest of . . . this.” Kit held up the letter.
“He said they were estranged.” Abby got off the hassock and sat next to her mother on the sofa. “I wonder what happened?”
Kit couldn’t imagine what could have happened that would have been so terrible that her mother—her sweet, kind, thoughtful, wonderful mother—would have turned her back on her sister and denied her very existence, especially after their parents died.
She couldn’t think of anything that could drive so deep a wedge between her and Beth. “This is all so unlike my mother.”
Abby nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t sound like the Nana I knew at all. But keep going. What else does he say?”
“‘Please read through the enclosed documents carefully. Copies of the deed to the camp and the grounds are enclosed. The deed to the house is separate, as is the deed to the wooded acres behind the cabins and the rights to the lake. As I feel certain you will wish to view the aforementioned properties directly, please call me once you’ve completed your review of the enclosures in order that we might make arrangements for your visit.’”
Kit held up the letter. “I feel as if I just fell down the rabbit hole. My head is spinning.”
“Mom, this is nuts. An aunt you didn’t know you had has left you a house and a camp and acres of land in Maine!
And a lake! It’s like a novel.” Abby’s eyes sparkled for the first time since she’d arrived at her parents’ home.
Kit knew it wouldn’t last, but for those few seconds, it gave her hope that the old Abby, the happy-go-lucky Abby, was still there.
“Of course, if this were a novel, you’d be in your late twenties, unmarried, and when you went to Maine you’d meet a handsome stud who wore flannel shirts, jeans, and L.L.Bean boots. ”
Kit smiled. “Sounds more like a Hallmark movie. And you forgot I already married a guy who does, in fact, occasionally wear flannel. Plus, alas, I’ll never see the good side of my twenties—late or otherwise—again.”
She held up the letter. “But I agree. This is just . . . too much to take in.”
“What else is in the box?”
Kit placed the packet of paper on the coffee table, then thumbed through the contents. “Deeds, as Mr. Banks mentioned.” She set them aside. “No death certificate, though.”
“It probably isn’t available yet. What else is there?”
“Oh, a photograph.” Kit studied the black-and-white image of a house with a high A-frame in the front, a smaller one in what appeared to be an addition off to one side, and a long, wide porch. Next to that was an attached stone structure, smaller still. Was this her mother’s family home?
“Let me see.” Abby hung over her mother’s shoulder. “Is that the house Nana grew up in? It looks really old. Is that a swing there on the front porch?”
Kit looked closer. “Maybe.” She pictured her mother as a girl sitting there—with her sister? She wondered when this feud—this estrangement—between sisters had begun.
“It’s a very cool house. I wonder if it’s haunted. I wonder how she died. Maxine.” Abby stood and removed an ink pen from Benny’s fingers. “Where’d you find this, Ben?” He pointed to the top drawer of an end table. She took the pen, closed the drawer, and told him, “Off-limits, okay?”
“I guess the lawyer would have the details.” Kit picked up the letter she’d set aside. “He does say to call him anytime so we can discuss what comes next.”
“You’re going to have to go there. Don’t you want to see where your mother grew up?
And the name of the town? Tolerance? It sounds Quaker.
I bet there’s a story there. And the camp?
The Camp in the Meadows—play on the family name, for sure.
A lake, and wooded acres and that old house?
When do you think you’re going to go? See the house and the—”
“I don’t know,” Kit cut her off. “I don’t know if I will.”
“What? Why wouldn’t you?”
Kit picked up the photo and studied the three chimneys that stared down each other from three corners of the house, the fish-scale siding that peeked from under the roofline in the front, the wraparound porch.
Because there must be something there that hurt my mother deeply, something so terribly painful that she left and never went back, disclaimed her own sister, and I don’t know that I was ever supposed to know about that. She certainly didn’t want me to know when she was alive.
I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want me to know now that she’s gone.
And yet . . .