Inheritance

Wrote the backstory for my high school thesis film a long LONG time ago, which I suppose I'll share now to keep my profile from drying up.

Part I

     The echoes of labored breath bounced off the walls of the stark, spotless room. On occasion her spotted, bony talon-like hand would twitch; a sign to the periodically visiting nurse that she was still there. At the very most, she could turn her weary head to the large glass panes, her only glimpse of the outside world. The sun was presumably shining-not that you could tell through the dense winter clouds that blocked its rays. The sky a bleak grey, the wind; progressively gaining strength; tossed the crisp, curled brown leaves through the air and fumbled the branches of trees and blew through womens’ skirts. A hat or two would succumb to the force. Snow would soon crowd the streets and powder the rooftops. It was a shame she wouldn’t see it.

     Margaret Hermann, now in her old age, was renowned in her day for her glamorous and oh-so-forward fashions and lifestyle subsidized by her reputed genius husband; and favored politician; William Hermann II. In accommodation to fragile superiority and maintenance of the status quo, they thought it more palatable that the public simply trust that he was knowledgeable and she a mere badge; though the true political mastermind was hers. Despite most everyone with half a mind and the gift of sight having arrived at this unspoken agreement, it was nonetheless taboo to credit a woman of intelligence. With her pomp and pageantry of fur coats and pearl necklaces, always styled and prim auburn hair and dark red lips, fine dining and exorbitantly furnished home, William; who she regarded more as a pet; and heirs to whom she could confidently relinquish her estate when the time came, she had everything she could ever want; so she assumed. 

     Part II

     Many years prior, in the spring of 1918 her poor William passed. The sweltering August heat paired with a heavy indulgence of substances proved to be too much for him to handle. Were it not for what would come after the funeral, summer might not leave such distaste with Mrs. Hermann. 

    Margaret’s two sons; only one of which she now concerns herself with; behold as overt a contrast as any brothers could. George, the elder, always followed in his mother’s strides- adopting her values of opulence, indulgence and strategy. Though not inclined to engage in political affairs as Margaret had, he aspired to numbers. Accounting, trade, the stock market; the life of a fat cat prowling the shadowy corners of Wall Street called to him; any man, woman, child or beast would agree there was never one better suited than the sizably statuesque, dark eyed George with his candy-cane dreams promised through a venomous grin. 

    Edward, the younger and less-spoken-of, had his own dreams; however they weren’t malicious in nature. Thus, he was discounted and received no blessings. While attending a university of prestige; one he did earn his way to by merit, though his father had also relinquished his pocketbook to win their hearts, minds, or bank accounts; he, quickly lost interest as he just didn’t hold the same craving to hoard wealth or declare superiority for his class like his peers-and George. For many a year he kept these thoughts private, along with personal savings earnestly obtained by his own hard work that he meant to put forward to his very own dining establishment. He had a true, unwavering appetite to serve others, not to expect and not to take. It was for this he left his studies, wealth, status and family behind. 

     We return to that fateful summer, only a short while after the death of William. George assumed his position as head of the family, being the eldest son he thought it best to relieve Margaret of making funeral arrangements in her state of miserable grief. This should not be mistaken for compassion; he merely wanted to test the waters of patriarchy. Edward, meanwhile, was biding his time. His patience wearing thin, he had been carefully searching for the right time to announce his departure from this loathsome life. For weeks he’d been holding back this news; even after William’s memorial; the mere words he swallowed each time he would dare to speak them like a poison that left a pit in his stomach, unwavering nausea and loss of appetite, horrible enough to cause an ulcer. He knew that he must depart before it would be too late. 

     It was in the mid-morning, just after Margaret and George had begun breakfast; a dazzling ensemble of scones, toast, clotted cream, butter, marmalade and jams, and of course one’s choice of coffee or tea meticulously prepared by Margaret’s cook and housekeeper of nigh 12 years, Adeline. 

     Edward, with shallow stride and gaze fixed on his glistening brown loafers, entered the refectory nearly unnoticed. Had it not been for Adeline giving away his position, Margaret and George would have never bat an eye in his general direction. 

     “Come, come to the table, luv’!” she beckoned to the visibly uncomfortable Edward. Her kind blue eyes glowed in the morning sunshine that peeked through the grey curtains, and her smile was so sweet he thought he might get a cavity.

     “I’ve made scones an’ lots a’ toppings to choose from, and yes, tea o’ course and coffee.” She guided him to the table, giving him a small push on the back and shuffling behind him. “Tuck in, eat what you want, luv’! Lots a’ flavors for ya. If you’ve got yaself a bigga’ appetite, there’s more where all that came from.”

     Feeling a bit more assured, he adjusted his position. No longer looking so small in his seat he cleared his throat and looked at an indifferent mother and brother across the table. 

     “That Adeline is certainly a gem, yes?” he attempted to make conversation.

     “She performs her duties well.” Margaret replied, smearing cream onto her scone. Her eyes were squinted, but her sharp ice-blue irises were still exposed by the sunlight. Her discomfort was nearly visible; the mask was slipping a bit. 

      “Adeline!” She called.

      She quickly came shuffling into the room, prepared to meet her task. Her cheeks were rosy, pale blonde hair a bit frazzled from chorework, and still her smile was genuine and eyes bright  despite facing the bitter Margaret Hermann. 

     “Yes, ma’am?”

     “Close the curtains, that sunlight is repulsive.”

     Her smile disappeared and with a gentle nod, she drew the curtains closed. The room turned a solemn grey, the only joy in sight was Margaret basking in the misery of everyone else’s discomfort. 

     “Why so cordial, Ed?” George spoke into his cup of coffee before downing a significant glup. 

     Taken aback, he replied “How do you mean? I’m just trying to make conversation..”

He shifted in his seat, hoping not to be put on the spot again- and eye contact please, keep your eyes to yourselves!

     “Is there something you need to say?” George pressed.

     “I honestly don’t-”

    Margaret grew quickly exhausted and thundered “For the love of God in heaven, I’ve told you to cease that foolish timidness Edward. It’s time to progress past childhood.” The whole house fell silent for what felt like an eternity. 

     “Out with it, already!”

     Edward shuttered but kept his composure-barely. He squeezed his eyes shut, looked down at the sweaty hands that lay in his lap and stuttered “I-I’m l-l-leaving-g.” He drew a deep breath and held it. 

     George and Margaret exchanged glances, and both turned to watch the timid, trembling man sitting across the table from them; the Edward they’d never seen before. 

     “Leaving where? And for how long?” George inquired. 

     After a couple breaths, Edward gained enough confidence to look them head on. “I am leaving. I am pursuing the life I want. Indefinitely. I won’t be returning.”

     “What is the life you want?” George squinted, his sharp grimace piercing Edward’s very soul. 

     “I need my independence, George. Mother, I need to work by my own merit. I must earn my own keep. I want to serve, not be served! I want to give, not take!”

     “Where exactly you learned this is unbeknownst to me, but I am absolutely certain you did not learn it from our family.” Margaret, now visibly outraged, grasped the arms of her chair and pushed herself up on her feet. 

     “Ma’am! Ma’am, please let me assist ye-” Adeline rushed to her aid, clasping her aged hand in an attempt to support her as she rose. 

     “T-Thank you Adeline.” She was slightly out of breath- her body’s capability no longer matched her young spirit. “I can rest assured, there is someone here who cares for me..”

     Edward jumped to his feet and protested “Mother, I do! I swear to you-” George interrupted, voice booming and eyes sharper than ever before. 

     “Swear on what, your life? Seeing as how you’re perfectly willing to toss it aside insignificantly it’s fair to assume any and all promises made on it are null and void. I believe I speak for all present when I say you must leave this house at once!”

     “Mother, you couldn’t possibly allow him to..”

     Margaret, still supported by Adeline; insisting she lie down and rest from this aggravation; turned and faced him with the coldest, most indifferent expression he’d ever seen a person wear.

     “Your time here is finished. You have by the end of the day to collect your things and vacate my home.”

      With clenched fists, Edward watched as Adeline walked her out of the room and presumably, up to her bedroom. The last glimpse he ever saw of Margaret was her backside, coiled and greying hair piled high atop her head, regal black housecoat trailing behind her. He glanced back at George who was packing away scones and was nose deep in the business section. His eyes did not even deviate from the paper as he reached for his coffee cup. It was business as usual. Insouciant, detached, emotionless business. Clearly, nothing else needed to be said or done- this was it. The Hermann Family had disbanded. 

     That morning, young Edward left with the clothes on his back and a suitcase containing a single change of clothes, the money he’d saved, his journal and a half-read book. He walked miles downhill from the house until he saw the first traces of the neighborhoods bordering the city. He’d stop for a minute’s rest here and there on the occasional bench he saw along the way. It was quite the hike when you were travelling by foot instead of motor or carriage. When he arrived in the city he hadn’t the slightest idea what hardship awaited him. 

     Upon arrival, he spent many weeks in and out of boarding houses-the ones with the lowest rent he could manage with his personal savings and scraps earned from menial jobs. Some nights; when he was in between houses; were spent freezing on a park bench or working until dawn, when he had an hour before he would be off to his next shift elsewhere. He sought any job he could get his hands on, working in the Laundry, sweeping barber shop floors, and bagging groceries for pennies on the dollar. When he was hired as a dishwasher at Le Corbeau Solitaire, a French cafe nearly as degraded and withered as he was. Edward saw this seemingly simple gig as an opportunity to rise through the ranks and take ownership of it one day- and that he did. 

     First a dishwasher, then a busboy, a waiter, a cashier, a porter, sous chef and eventually after much hard work, he achieved the position of head chef. He’d spent years learning the tricks of the trade, following instruction of the senior staff. After spending nearly seven years ascending the ladder, helping to foster the once dilapidated structure into a blooming estaminet. Coming at quite the shock, the passionate young fellow was chosen to be personally trained by the owner, who considered retirement imminent. Through this mentorship he gained the required tenacity and ability to keep pace with a growing business; this knowledge was administered after the earlier-than-anticipated passing of the owner- who’d caught consumption. 

     His years as a restaurateur brought great fortune to the establishment and its staff, improving conditions enough that everyone could now afford three square meals a day. However, the upgrades of Le Corbeau Solitaire and its personnel would be short lived. 

     

    

Part III

          She took her final breath in the small hours of the morning. The hospital staff knew her time was nigh when a nurse checked in and found her weak as ever, her inhales raspy and irregular. Doctor Philbin, head of the terminal ward kept a steady hand on her wrist and a watchful eye on the watch wrapped around his own. When she passed and no pulse could be felt, he gently placed her hand upon the bed and turned to the nurses and the coroner standing by. 

         “Time of death, 4:17 a.m. Ms. Kilian please notify her surviving relatives.” he said.

         “Yes, sir.” She bowed her head and left, shoes clicking on the floor at deafening volume for the hour. 

          The letters were sent to priority mail and arrived to the brothers the next day. George received it straight away from the postman though Edward had been working when it arrived. He received the news the very same evening the market crashed and learned he was doomed to lose everything.

          George wouldn’t have noticed anything had happened if it were not for an increasing number of people on the streets with their belongings in hand and eyes behind which all light had died. They prompted no pity from him, as to be expected. Seeing the impoverished did remind him to draft a letter to the estate and his old lawyer friend, Mr. Steiner, to help him with the legalities regarding his inheritance; to put it more accurately, how he would take everything. 

          Within days of the crash, Edward had been forced to close the restaurant. Having close to no money left, he wouldn’t be able to make rent and faced eviction. He instead packed up what little he had and made his way back to the source of it all, The Hermann Estate.