they were assembled, her curiosity could no longer be suppressed. “You take pleasure in teasing me!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “You have no sympathy for my nerves. What did it say? I’ve been waiting for hours!”
“What did what say, Mama?” asked Kitty, enlivened by the prospect of distraction.
“The letter, my sweet! A letter from a lawyer’s office in Lambtown!”
“Oh, a lawyer. What is there in that to get excited about?”
“What is there to get excited about? Don’t you remember? It was your aunt Evelyn who inherited everything from your second cousin, old Adolphus Bennet. She must be as rich as Croesus, and never a penny of it has she shared. I don’t count her inviting Lizzy to visit in the summers; that’s nothing. But you can count on it, she’s decided to do right by us at last! We’ve waited so long for this day, and suffered with the greatest patience while she enjoyed every luxury in California. Why she took this long, and ignored our needs all these years, I’ll never know; and your father never lifted a finger to get Adolphus’s will overturned, though anyone could see the money was not rightfully hers. But if she’s ready to take care of us now, no word of complaint will pass my lips! In fact, I—”
“What’s the matter, Papa?” Elizabeth interrupted her mother’s raptures without ceremony. “You look angry. Is Aunt Evelyn still crossing swords with you?”
“No, she has laid all the old conflicts to rest,” said Mr. Bennet.
“I knew it! She has provided for us!” Mrs. Bennet crowed.
Mr. Bennet frowned at her. “In fact, she has herself been laid to rest. Messrs. Baldwin and Perry have written to tell me that my sister is dead.”
A short silence ensued. But Mrs. Bennet was made of sterner stuff than to be derailed by unavoidable tragedy. “Well, of course I’m sorry to hear it, but there’s no use crying over spilt milk, I always say. What does the letter say of the will, Mr. B? What does it say of the will?”
Lizzy knew she ought to intervene, but for the moment was unable to do so. Of all the family, she had known Aunt Evelyn the best. Evelyn Bennet, asked to serve in the role of godmother, had taken a strong fancy to the merry infant Elizabeth at her christening, the last time she had visited the Bennets before the quarrel that had caused an irreparable breach between brother and sister. She had remained estranged from Mr. Bennet and the rest of the family for two decades, but when Lizzy was eight years old, Evelyn had petitioned through family intermediaries to be allowed a visit from her eldest niece. Not wishing to close the door entirely on his nearest relation (and seconded by his wife, who already treasured expectations regarding Adolphus’s fortune), Mr. Bennet had agreed to send Lizzy to California for a summer fortnight.
The visit had been a success, and thereafter Lizzy was permitted to spend a part of every summer with her aunt until she was sixteen, when she commenced working during the summers to earn her spending money and save for college. Once she had assured her mother several times that Aunt Evelyn lived in a very modest style, nobody had taken much interest in these visits except her elder brother, John, who had elicited over the years the intelligence that Aunt Evelyn possessed a great many books and had read them all; that Lambtown was a picturesque small town, almost a village, in the Santa Ynez Valley (wherever that might be), a place where the local people for generations had mostly farmed and ranched; and that Lizzy had derived from Aunt Evelyn the love of gardening that eventually became her career.
Not even John knew the strength of Lizzy’s attachment to her aunt. Evelyn Bennet had challenged and expanded her mind, offered her the companionship of intelligent conversation and feminine confidences, and inspired her through the example she embodied of a busy life engaged with the neighborhood she inhabited.
Those summer visits had allowed young Elizabeth to understand that one’s life could be conducted on terms very different from her parents’. It had also afforded her a vision of wealth that bore little relation to the picture of indulgence her mother was now delineating. “Oh! My dears, you can’t imagine how long I’ve dreamed about this moment! No more worrying about where we’ll find the money for the heat! And the clothes we can afford! Only think, Kitty—no more of Lizzy’s castoffs and hand-me-downs for you! Your own gown for the spring dance on the base! And—”
Mary broke in on these effusions. “It would be more to the point to buy Kitty a new Bible, Mother.”
“What would I want with that?” protested Kitty. “At least clothes you can put to some practical use. But Mama, can’t I buy a car?”
Mr. Bennet had listened to them all in gathering wrath. “I must beg all of you not to be spending any fortunes just yet,” said he. He rose from the table. “I’m going back to my office. Lizzy, when you have finished your dinner, please see me there.”
Chapter Two
Lizzy did not delay after the rest of the family had eaten. Consigning the dishes to her younger sisters’ care, she hastened to the garage and knocked on the door of her father’s retreat.
She found him staring at a corner of this comfortless chamber—little more than a closet, with unfinished walls perilously holding up rack upon rack of bookcases, and a space heater under the battered desk fighting a losing battle against the damp. As the family had grown, Mr. Bennet had been pushed out of the main house along with his precious book collection, which in Mrs. Bennet’s view contributed to Kitty’s allergies. But, refusing to yield entirely to the demands of his wife and offspring, he had carved out this space in the garage and declared it his own. Rarely did anyone else enter his office, and it was never cleaned.
Here he pursued a series of business ventures—photography, consulting, a mail-order enterprise doomed from the start by the absence of capital to purchase any goods in advance of orders received—that never seemed to succeed in producing full-time employment or providing for his large family. The well-timed demise of more provident parents had supplied him with a large house and a sufficient income for necessities, but had not stretched to giving his children access to the same quality of education or opportunities for gentility that he had enjoyed. So he diverted himself with the newspaper, the political debates of the day, and (when he could afford them) books on philosophy and current affairs, until he added a well-stocked mind to the tally of his discontents.
Lizzy had always felt that to see her father in his office was to see him for what he was, and she eschewed the experience whenever possible. But she was his favorite child, so inevitably she saw more of him, and more of his retreat, than the others. He had an affection for his eldest, John, but Lizzy was the dearest and the one in whom he most saw himself. Whether Lizzy saw her father in herself, she preferred not to contemplate too closely.
Now she approached him without a word, kissing him on the forehead and moving books off a chair before settling down to await what he had to say.
“I didn’t mention this at dinner because I didn’t want your mother to get the wind up. The letter to me wasn’t the only thing that came in the packet from Lambtown. Most of it was for you.” He sighed and silently handed over some papers: an unfolded missive on the letterhead of Messrs. Baldwin and Perry, attorneys at law, and a sealed envelope.
A quick glance at the envelope showed it to be addressed to herself in the shaky hand of her aunt’s last years, and she pocketed it without comment. The letter from the attorneys she read.
January 5, 1999
Dear Ms. Bennet
