The Inheritance

When an old aristocrat dies, he gives his money to a once freind. His sons decide that they are more deserving.

The Inheritance

By Chaz Hemsworth

                Lester Hammons viciously coughed; a small amount of blood spattered over the table he sat at.

“George, bring me a glass of water,” he said. He attempted to yell, but his voice was a feeble whimper. He coughed again. George, Lester’s butler, arrived a few minutes later. 

“There you go, Mr. Hammons.”  Lester took a deep drink, and then slowly put the glass down.  Age and disease had made him feeble.  Consumption was stealing the last of his strength.  His hands trembled as he was shaken by another violent coughing fit. 

“Get Sarah for me please,” Lester told George, “this is important.”  George left the room.  Lester grabbed a quill, and slowly unrolled the paper in front of him.  He sighed, looking at the paper.  His will.  His final action on this Earth would be to sign it.  George returned accompanied by Sarah.  Lester turned to them.  His two closest friends, the last two people he had left.  Both of his sons had left him, and only one other person had much meaning to him.

“Sarah, did you find him?” he asked. Sarah nodded her head in affirmation.

“Yes.  He lives with his wife in Goldfield,” she told him. 

“Very well,” Lester responded. 

For the next several minutes nothing was heard but the sound of the quill scratching on the paper, and Lester’s frequent cough.  Lester finished writing.  He motioned for the two to sign as witnesses of the will.  In total silence, Sarah and George complied.

                “Excellent,” Lester said, ending the silence.  He broke into another fit of coughing this worse than any before. He grabbed the pen and signed his name hurriedly and wrote, Signed December 12^th 1910.  Lester was wrecked by another coughing fit. 

                “Sarah, George, you have been a great help,” Lester whispered.  He fell into one more fit, and slumped into his chair. Sarah rolled up the parchment and left the room. Sarah walked up out of the manor house, and toward the lawyer's office to have the will verified.  George moved to the telephone, and arranged Lester’s funeral.   On December 21st^th Lester’s funeral would be held.

***

The sun shone brightly just outside the door of Roger Markalis’s Goldfield, Virginia house. The date was December 14^th, 1910.  The air was surprisingly warm and prompted Roger to step outside.  His wife, Helen was on the grass, which was for the first time since November was free of snow. 

"It's beautiful outside today," Roger began.  Helen turned and looked him in the eyes. 

The two stood in the sun's rays, which were weakened by the winter, yet still brought just enough warmth. Roger's face still showed some of its youth, as he was only 34, but hardened from working the farm; a faint scar from a childhood accident ran down the left side of his cheek. Helen also appeared far older than her 32 years.

 Roger and Helen eventually went inside to prepare breakfast.  The two idly chatted, until Roger brought up the topic of the newspaper.  Roger left the table and went to the mail box.   Inside there was one unusual, purple envelope.  Roger read the writing on the outside: Greenwood Place.  Roger hurried inside.  He called out to his wife, "We got something".  He rushed into the kitchen, where Helen was waiting.

"Greenwood Place.  I wonder what it's about," he said to Helen. She did not respond, so Roger began to open the envelope, with great care. His hands were thickened from working and the delicate task did not come easy. Roger ripped the envelope apart.  Like the seeds of a maple tree, a paper fell to the ground.  A note was attached.  Roger removed the note and began to read:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Markalis,

Thank you for your kind actions and friendship with me during my worst years. Your kindness has been an indispensable resource following the death of my wife, departure of my two sons, and my illness.  I have no one left; I feel no one else is worthy of anything from my will.  I hereby grant you and your wife fifty thousand dollars, for all of your kindness.

Your friend,

Lester Hammons

Roger stared with a blank expression at the letter.  He turned to Helen and slowly made a smile.  His vision blurred, as he and Helen hugged.

“I…I…can't believe it.  Fifty thousand…  Fifty thousand dollars,” Roger stammered. 

Helen’s head swirled with visions of fancy houses.  She saw herself attending operas, fancy dinners, having personal attendants.  She would be free of the hard work of the farm.  The money would be enough for life. 

Roger broke away from Helen; walking to stare out the window.  The small farm houses spread out in the distance.  A faint smile crossed his face.

***

                Frederick and Thomas Hammons’s faces turned into stone the instant they saw each other approaching Greenwood Place.  Thomas ran up to Fredrick and began yelling, "Why are you here, brother?”

                "Same reason you are," Frederick retorted.  "I want to get a slice of the old man's money."

                "Our father's money," Thomas corrected.

                "Brother, father. Well those are two words I didn't expect to hear for a long time.  Let's face it Thomas, you're not my brother and Lester was never my father!” 

                Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the manor.  It was a beautiful sight, resting at the top of a hill. The shutters were all closed, little light escaped the house.  It was powerful, prideful; a symbol of upper echelons. And that house was what tore the family apart.  Maybe Fredric will cool off, thought Thomas as he walked up to the door. Frederick grew into a fuming rage and charged toward Thomas.

                "This house is MINE!" he roared at Thomas. "As the oldest son it is mine".  He moved to strike Thomas.  The blow landed squarely in Thomas's jaw.  Thomas got up, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.   Frederick delivered another blow, knocking Thomas back to the ground.

                "The money is mine," he spat at Thomas.  Frederick moved inside the house, where a dim fire was burning.  A maid greeted him, interrupting her general tidying of the house.

                "Master Fredrick, it has been long since you returned to the house," she began.  Frederick waved his hand and silenced her.  He began to look around the house.  The maid grabbed the bellows and began to enlarge the fire, as the opening of the door had chilled the house. Finally, Fredrick asked, "Where's Lester's will?”

                "Sarah delivered it to the lawyer's office on Monday, the day he died.  It will be discussed after the funeral, which is on the 21st," the maid who had greeted him replied.  Thomas walked in at this moment, observing Frederick begin to explode. 

                "What!" he yelled. " I come all the way back here to this blasted house, just to find out I have to wait six whole days to even get anything!". Thomas timidly approached his enraged brother.  He could still taste the blood in his mouth, a powerful reminder of Frederick's temper.

                "What is it?" he inquired.

                "Well Thomas, it turns out that the old man decided to let anyone deal with his money until the 21st, after his funeral," Frederick answered.  Thomas took a step back.  He walked out the door, wondering what had happened to the money.  He knew that in his later years, during a prolonged fight with consumption, Lester had grown philanthropic.  Thomas believed Lester probably only held about fifty thousand dollars in actual cash, but the items in the house probably were worth just as much if put together.  He walked to his horse, which took him to a small inn, where he would wait out the six days, and try to avoid Fredrick.  Fredrick decided that since the money was his, so was Greenwood Place, and he stayed there.

***

                Roger looked at his new house.  It was the largest house in town. Roger and Helen made sure of this.  The house was a dull yellow, with faint blue accents.  It had taken several days to finish.  It was now the 20^th.

                Helen walked nervously up to Roger.  

                “Roger, don’t you think we've ignoring people,” been she began, “since the inheritance.”

Roger shot her a look of animosity.   “We don’t need people to like us, do we?” he asked her back. “We've got all the money we need.”

“Still… There’s some distance…,” Helen mumbled to herself.

 Suddenly, a smashing noise echoed through the house.  The far window in the upstairs was shattered.  The two raced up, and faintly saw a man try to grab the stack of money.  It probably amounted to $100.  Roger’s face sunk to a frown.  He understood Helen’s argument.  “We need to leave,” he gravely intoned, “to protect our wealth.”

***

                Thomas and Frederick met at Fairman and Smith Law firm. The two shot each other glares of disgust; which forced Thomas to back away from the door. The two shuffled down the hall into the main office. 

                “We’re here to see Mr. Fairman,” Thomas stated.  The door man understood and got Fairman from his office.  “So you must be Thomas and Fredrick Hammons,” he began.  Frederick brutally told him, “Yes that’s us.  We want to see Lester’s will now!”

                “Of course,” muttered Fairman.   He led Thomas and Frederick into his office, where the will was.  Fairman unrolled the paper.  He gave a distressed look to the brothers. 

                “Neither of you get the money, it appears,” he nervously began.  “It has been given to Roger and Helen Markalis of Goldfield, Virginia.”  Frederick’s eyes dilated, his hands clenched.

“What!?” he roared. Thomas worriedly reached for Frederick’s hand. 

“Just calm down,” he said.  Frederick didn’t hear it. “The blasted fool!  Just giving away his money! To some stranger! Who does he think he is!?”

Fredrick reached for the attorney.  Thomas tried to grab Frederick’s arm, but he was easily shoved away.  Fairman ducked behind the desk, a branch against the tempest of Fredrick’s rage.  Frederick grabbed Fairman and began tossing him around.  Fredrick delivered blows to Fairman’s jaw until the lawyer fell limp, broken.  “I’m going to find them.”

***

                Goldfield was frigid on the 21st.  But the sky was nearly all blue, and snow fell.  Lester’s funeral had taken place earlier, but the Markalises didn’t attend because of the quickly piling snow.  Over the day though, various windows had been broken.  Roger looked out the window of the manor.  The snow was falling in heavy drifts now, growing higher and higher.  The snow could have buried a small child now; soon it could crush an adult with its uncaring pressure.  If it continued at this rate for another two days, houses would buckle and snap. 

“We have to leave Helen,” he called.  Helen walked over to Roger.

“I’m not going, Roger,” she spoke up, with a rush of confidence. “You might fall into some trap of greed, but I won’t!  Take the money and see how it works for you!”  Roger walked away with anger toward the door.  He grabbed the bag of money and a pistol. The money was less heavy than before, thanks to buying the new house.  Roger got onto the horse he also bought with the money from Lester.  The snow made it difficult for his horse to move, but he tried to put as much distance between himself and the small town as possible.  Helen watched him go, with only the slightest bit of regret.

***

                Thomas yelled to Frederick, “Why could you possibly think this was a good idea?”

                Frederick glared back, replying, “You want the money or not?”  Thomas dropped his head, and walked in silence.  The snow had dragged their progress to a halt.  Worse, the two decided to walk.   The whole world was white with the snow.  Thomas called back to Fredrick, “I give up with this.  I don’t even think the money is real anymore!”  Fredrick looked with wild eyes on Thomas.  The younger brother understood.  He cast a shameful glance at Frederick, and walked into the grey.

***

               

               Roger counted the days on his fingers.  The sky had cleared since the snow storm.  Now the rays shone painfully in Roger’s eyes.  He looked down to the ground, but the snow was a mirror.  The white burned in Roger’s eyes.  The world slowly faded into a blur around him.  Roger spun dizzily, finally falling to the snow.  A vague figure approached.  He saw the man and stood up.  He saw a blazing beam of light from the snow, and the world went black.  The man, Fredrick Hammons delivered a blow to the back of Roger’s head.  Roger fell over unconscious.  Fredrick grabbed the money and left the scene.  The snow covered Roger, slowly choking and crushing him.            

                 

               

 

                 

               

 

 

Reviews

[a schizophrenic writer]

you have a great style of writing, great read!

[Average person]

Good description through out the story :) This one may be my favorite of what ive read from you

[pianotm]

Very much enjoyed this. You made Frederick quite a despicable character.

[max_vonnegut]

Overall this is a good read, your prose is very fine stuff. Good job!