“Good morning, ladies. I appreciate you coming.” Mr. Davis nodded at each of them. “Thank you for coming here as well, Mr. Roselli and Mr. Beaufort.”
Daniel and John stood behind the chairs where their wives sat.
No one stood behind her chair.
The reality glared at her and made the expanse of the room widen in her mind. She was alone.
She straightened her shoulders. There was nothing wrong with her. She was fine.
“As you know, your grandfather changed his will after each one of you married. To make things clear, the entire estate is divided equally between Chuck Bundrant’s three granddaughters. But to ensure that things cannot be legally tampered with, John Roselli is named as the guardian of the estate. Our district of Alaska’s law concerning women owning land are not completely straightforward. Thus, Chuck entered into the initial contract with John last year, as you know.
“As the guardian,” Mr. Davis cleared his throat, “John owns nothing other than what he owns along with his wife, Havyn. But no other man can lay claim without the guardian’s permission. Chuck put this in place to protect you until each sister is married.”
Whitney swallowed hard. Heat filled her cheeks. Why were women made to feel inadequate if they weren’t married?
Of course, she’d alwayswantedto be married when shewas younger. It’s not that it was a bad thing. But men hadn’t exactly proven themselves trustworthy.
Oh, there were John and Daniel, and she trusted them, but even though they were great husbands to her sisters, they weren’t perfect. Her father hadn’t been trustworthy. Even Granddad had lied to them on multiple occasions. Sure, it was to protect them, but a lie was a lie.
Mr. Davis droned on about her sisters’ rights with their husbands. She shifted in her seat and squashed the desire to simply leave. This would be over soon, and she could go home and take her dogs out for a long run.
The lawyer picked up some papers. “Now, I’ll continue with the reading of the will.”
Just like he’d explained, everything was divided between the three of them. Blah, blah, blah. And more of the same legal verbiage. More blah, blah, blah. None of it mattered. Not really. It couldn’t bring Granddad back. Or Mama.
Everyone went silent. Whitney glanced at her sisters, who both touched hankies to their eyes.
Mr. Davis coughed and picked up another envelope. “Then there’s the letter Chuck asked me to read.” The man picked up a glass of water and drank for several seconds. He caught Whitney’s eye and looked back down at the paper and tugged a bit at his collar. “‘My dear girls...’” Mr. Davis cleared his throat again.
“‘My dear girls, I hoped the good Lord would heal my physical body enough to stay a few more years on this earth, but He healed me in another way. The better way. I’m so sorry to leave you all behind, especially after the loss of your sweet mother, but please do not mourn for me. I am forever with my Savior. Rejoice in that fact.
“‘Sweet, fiery, merciful Maddy: I love you. Ever since theday you were born and placed in my arms, a precious tiny bundle, you grabbed onto my heart and I knew you’d never let go. I know that Daniel will take amazing care of you. Keep loving those sheep, standing up for those less fortunate, and playing the cello. You make that giant violin sing.’”
Maddy laughed through her tears as Daniel wrapped her in his arms.
“‘Havyn: Our secret keeper and violin virtuoso, who for some crazy reason loves to name every one of her chickens. As the middle child, you’ve been referee and more often the glue that held you and your sisters—and all of us—together. You have blessed me immeasurably. John is your perfect match, and I’m so thankful God brought him here. Name a rooster or two after me—especially the ornery ones—just promise me you won’t fry them up.’”
“Oh, Granddad.” Havyn put her face in her hands and cried.
The lawyer glanced at her again. Then went back to the paper. “‘And last, to my eldest grandchild, the ever-unshakable Whitney. I’ve never in my life seen anyone work with dogs the way you do. It’s a special gift—but even more of a gift is your talent at the piano. Your mother and I often sat in awe, tears streaming down our faces, as we listened to you play when you thought no one was around. Keep playing for God’s glory. He will help you find your way. You are strong and beloved.’”
Mr. Davis turned the page.
Granddad’s words were sweet, but instead of letting them in to soothe the raw places, she put them away in her mind. It was easier. Maybe one day...
The lawyer read the rest. Challenging and encouraging words. To stay strong and supportive of one another, to keep playing beautiful music for God, to take care of the farm. All things she expected to hear from Granddad.
Whitney’s heart stung at the poignant words, but none of them explained how to make it through. How to go on after so much loss.
She swallowed and sat taller.
Mr. Davis handed a sealed envelope to Whitney. What was this?
“This envelope contains a letter from your grandfather with the information you will need to find his gold and everything else of value.” Mr. Davis held up both of his hands. “Please, don’t ask me questions about it, because Mr. Bundrant kept it a secret. The information is privileged and I have never seen it. Your grandfather informed me it was in some sort of coded note, for which I do not have any clues or collection of knowledge. He wanted to ensure that you would be the sole ones able to access anything.”
Havyn let out a slight chuckle. “Granddad. He always did distrust banks and everyone else.”
Madysen laughed a bit as well. “He’ll probably send us on some sort of wild goose chase to find it.”
