Red Clover (8 page)

He climbed the stairs to the second floor. The atmosphere wasn’t much different up there except for the one back bedroom that had been recently emptied for painting and carpeting. He hunkered down on the hard sub-flooring, drew up his knees, and buried his face in his arms, thinking about his brothers’ perfect lives and wondering what was wrong with him.

* * *

A warm streak of sunlight created a bright path from the bedroom window to the hallway door, blinding Lee for a brief moment. His body ached after spending the night on the hard floor, and his stomach growled from not having eaten anything substantial since breakfast the day before. He sat there for a minute thinking about how stupid it had been to sleep on the floor when he was steps away from a number of soft beds in lavishly furnished bedrooms.

He found Shaneta, the cook who his mother had sent from their Evanston home, in the kitchen cooking breakfast—one more servant he didn't want to deal with but probably needed. Even though he had watched his family members deal with “the help” his entire life, he had never gotten the hang of it. Being terse with them seemed cold and condescending, but treating them in a friendly way didn’t seem right either.

The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. Sonya came in and announced his mother on the phone.

When he picked it up, he immediately detected the distress in her voice. Uncle Nelson had died of a massive heart attack. The funeral was in three days. While Lee had met his mother’s favorite uncle only a few times when he was very young, he was well aware of her fondness for him and felt he had an obligation to be there for her.

Uncle Nelson had always been somewhat of an enigma to Lee. His mother had always talked about him as though he was a close relative, but the man never came to family get-togethers nor had the Winekoops ever gone to his home in Indiana. Lee didn’t even know if he had a family—somehow he had never thought to ask. Lee’s mother spoke of him as a generous and loving man, but Lee had no evidence of that other than the coin collection the man had given him when he was born.

While driving to Evanston the day before the funeral, Lee agonized over what to tell his parents about his future plans. Of course, he had no plans, and the closer he got to home, the closer he came to the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to come up with one.

When he walked into the house, his parents were in the middle of an argument.

“I don’t see why I have to go,” his father said.

This seemed insensitive, even for him.

“For appearance’s sake, Henry.”

“You’re asking too much this time. And for God’s sake, you’re acting like you’re still—”

“Just one more time won’t—”

When Lee entered the room, his mother turned to greet him. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“Mother, is everything all right?”

She reached out to him, pulling him into her arms so quickly and solidly, it stunned him. She hugged him for several seconds, something Lee didn’t remember her ever having done before. Her perfume overwhelmed him, causing a momentary wave of nausea, “Level Four” as he had referred to it his whole life, precursor to a panic attack. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before she let go of him.

His father left the room without saying anything more.

“Are you okay, Mother?”

Her hunched shoulders made her appear much shorter than she actually was. She shook her head. “No, not really.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“It's your loss too,” she sobbed.

“Yes, of course,” he said, not knowing why it was a loss for him. He hadn’t known the man. “What’s with Father?”

His mother didn’t answer.

“Will he be going to the funeral?”

“He’ll go,” she whispered.

The next morning, two limos transported everyone to Uncle Nelson’s hometown of Valparaiso, Indiana, for the funeral. Lee, his parents, and his two brothers rode in one car and his brothers’ families in the other.

His mother was painfully quiet in the car, staring out the window for long periods, appearing to be in some other place. After a half hour of silence, she turned to Lee and asked, “So what have you decided to do now, Lee?”

Even though he was expecting the question, he was surprised at the timing of it. “I’m thinking about going on for my PhD.” He had come up with that one right out of the air. He had no intention of doing that.

“In gardening?” his father asked.

Lee didn’t respond.

“Horticulture, Henry.”

“Right. Horticulture.”

Lee was tempted to say
No, I thought I’d take up home economics this time and specialize in sewing
. “I could do some very important research with a PhD. Maybe make a difference.”

“A difference in what? Flowers and vegetables?” his father snapped.

His brothers turned their gazes out their respective windows, not uttering a word.

Lee took a few seconds to compose himself before responding. “A difference in medical science. They are starting to do unbelievable things in genetic modification these days.”

“And...so what?” Henry asked.

“So...if we can figure out a way to manipulate DNA molecules to produce modified plants, maybe we can do the same in animals and humans.”

“I’ll ask it again. So what? Where’s the money in it?”

“We’re here,” his mother said, putting an end to the conversation.

Mourners streamed into the funeral home. Lee’s father opened his door to exit the car.

“Wait,” Lee’s mother said.

“What?”

“We’re not going in.”

“Why?” his father asked. Lee could tell he was annoyed.

“I just can’t.”

“Abigale, we drove all this—”

“I know. But I just can’t go in. Please. Let’s go home.”

“We’re going in.”

“No. We’re not.” Her voice was soft, but her statement was resolute.

Lee and his brothers looked at each other in disbelief.

“Shall I tell the other driver to turn around, Mother?” Bennett finally asked.

“Yes,” his mother said.

No one uttered another word on the never-ending ride back to the Winekoop household. Once there, everyone went their separate ways.

Lee went into his bedroom. Propped up against the desk lamp was a sealed envelope with his name on it. Inside was a letter written on crème-colored stationery with the insignia NOS printed in gold-embossed lettering at the top. He scanned to the bottom of the page—it had been signed “Nelson.”

My Dear Lee,

For reasons you may never appreciate, I have asked your mother not to tell you about my health issues until after I’m gone. If you are reading this letter, that time must have arrived.

I didn’t want you to hear about your inheritance from someone who was completely unfamiliar to you, so I am telling you about it in this letter. That said, I regret not having been closer to you. Someday you’ll understand why.

My estate will be divided ten ways, and you are among the beneficiaries.

There is a piece of land in Harvard, Illinois I own, 684 acres to be exact, that I want you to have. Now, that may not seem like a lot to you right now, but I predict, after an appropriate length of time, you will know just what to do with it to make it worthy. And I want to help you with that, too, so I have put $500,000 in a trustee-managed account for you.

I have significant faith in you, Lee. I know you won’t let down your mother, yourself, or me.

Sincerely,

Nelson

Lee curled up on the bed, and finding the letter’s content too overwhelming to fully digest, he fell asleep, fully clothed.

7 | No Trespassing

Lee awoke the next morning temporarily immobilized by an intense headache. He lay in bed, occupying himself with mindless thoughts, until the headache gradually subsided.

He was even more bewildered by the content of Uncle Nelson’s letter after sleeping on it. The most troubling aspect of it was the line, “I know you won’t let down your mother, yourself, or me.” Lee had spent his entire life letting people down. After rereading the letter and not understanding it any better, he shoved it into a pocket of his backpack.

The thought of going downstairs to his family made the situation even more unsettling. He had no idea whether his parents were aware of what the letter said. Lee took his time showering and getting dressed. Then he drew in a deep breath and prepared himself for the worst.

As he descended the stairs, he heard his mother say, “Stop. We don’t know that for sure, Henry.”

His parents and brothers, all sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee, stopped talking when he entered the room.

“It’s about time,” Henry said.

“Sorry. I must have overslept.”

“So you read Uncle Nelson’s letter?” Henry asked.

“Henry, give him a chance to get settled,” his mother said. “What would you like for breakfast, dear?”

“I’m not very hungry, thank you.” He glanced at his father.

“So?” Henry asked.

“He writes a nice letter.”

“I mean what did you think of what he had to say?”

Now Lee was sorry he had been the last to come down. They probably all knew what each other had inherited.

Lee turned to his brothers. “I assume we got the same letter,” he said as he nervously tapped his fingers together under the table. They shrugged. “So what did you two think?”

Nelson spoke first. “We always knew he was wealthy, but half a million each?”

Lee tried not to let his sigh of relief be heard. “Right. That’s how I felt too.”

He didn’t know why his brothers were looking at him so strangely but figured it had something to do with the conversation that had transpired prior to his joining them. He felt left out—but that was nothing unusual.

Henry grunted. “Well, I can predict how you and Bennett will handle your inheritance,” he said to Nelson, “but how about you, Lee? What will be—”

“Henry, can’t you give him time to—”

Henry got up from his chair. “I’m going to the office,” he said, leaving everyone else speechless.

“What is he so angry about?” Lee asked.

No one answered.

“Did I miss something this morning?”

“No, dear. You didn’t miss anything,” his mother responded. She looked tired, her face more pallid than usual. “Are you going back to Lake Geneva, Lee? Or will you be staying here for a while?”

He was convinced they all knew something he didn’t, and suddenly he felt like an intruder in his own home. “I’m going back, Mother. I just need to gather my things.”

“I wish you’d stay.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I could use the company.”

“Let him go, Mother,” Nelson said with little emotion.

That was all Lee needed to hear. He got up from the table and faced his mother. “I’m going to be on my way now. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. I’m very sorry about Uncle Nelson. I know you were very close to him. I’ll call you in a few days.”

No one else said a word.

Lee felt bad about not staying. His mother had never reached out to him like that, making him feel that much worse.

He wondered whether he would have learned how his brothers’ inheritances were structured if he had stuck around longer, but the likelihood they may have received theirs in cash, while his had to be managed by a trustee, was probably better left uncertain. He was curious what they had gotten in addition to the money but figured maybe that too was better left unexplained.

He thought about the most puzzling aspects of the letter on his drive home.

“For reasons you may never appreciate, I have asked your mother not to tell you about my health issues until after I’m gone.”

What reasons would I not appreciate? What does that even mean?

“I regret not having been closer to you, and someday you’ll understand why.”

Did he say the same thing to Nelson and Bennett in their letters?

“I predict that after an appropriate length of time, you will know just what to do with it to make it worthy.”

An advanced degree in horticulture aside, what can I possibly do with 684 acres of land? Apparently, Uncle Nelson was able to predict I would know what to do with it to make it worthy. How does one make land worthy? And where is Harvey anyway? Or was it Harvard?

“I have put $500,000 in a trustee-managed account.”

If that means what I think it means, a trustee will have control over how I use the money. Is the money somehow tied to making the land worthy?

“I know you won’t let down your mother, yourself, or me.”

How about letting Father down? Maybe Uncle Nelson knew I already had that one covered.

The more he thought about it, the more he surmised the man was rather brazen to be putting such pressure on someone he hardly knew.

* * *

The next morning, Lee received a call from his late uncle’s attorney. The man advised him of the exact location of the property he had inherited and gave him contact information for Basil Stonebugger, the trustee assigned to his account.

As soon as Lee got off the phone, he got in his car and drove twenty miles to Harvard. On the outskirts of town, there was a sign that read:

Welcome to Harvard, Illinois

Milk Center of the World

Population 5,279

It soon became apparent where the town had gotten its moniker—there were dairy cows everywhere.

His uncle’s attorney had told him it was a large piece of fenced land on the east side of town, easy to find because of the license-plate-sized signs displaying his uncle’s initials, NOS, that were clipped all along the fence line.