Cemetery Silk. E. Joan Sims

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      “And Abigail told Gran that after they married, they lived on William’s salary alone. She put all her salary back into her company’s stock option program. Fifteen years worth of AT&T must be a small fortune!”

      She went on without even pausing.

      “I just know Abigail would have wanted Gran to have whatever she had. I mean, they were the closest thing to sisters. Gran has to have all those lovely blue chips. After all, if William had died first, Gran would have inherited Abigail’s estate. I wonder if she would like to go back to Paris with a companion? A really smart and capable young woman who speaks some French and can carry enormous bags?”

      “Did someone mention my name and Paris in the same sentence, I hope?”

      Mother stood for a moment silhouetted in the last orange and gold rays of the setting sun, and I marveled for the hundredth time at her strength and resilience. I knew that William’s death meant more to her than just the passing of a dear and treasured friend. With William gone she was the last one of her generation left. There were no more ties to a beloved and happy past. She was alone now, a dinosaur, a lovely and elegant white-haired dinosaur.

      I struggled up from the rocker to give her an embrace, but she turned from the sunset and held out a small silver tray with wine for us and a soft drink for Cassie. Mother raised her glass in a toast.

      “Salud, my darlings. The wine has been under the stairs since Christmas, but I think it’s still potable. What a lovely sky. My goodness, look at that gorgeous harvest moon!”

      I could see Cassie opening her mouth to contradict her grandmother. I knew that the harvest moon does not appear until after the last day of summer, and so did she—so did Mother for that matter. I shook my head just a bit. Cass obeyed and backed down from what could have been the beginning of one of their silly disagreements over trivial facts. I sighed in relief as Mother settled comfortably on the rocker next to me.

      We sipped the crisp wine and gazed at the “not yet” harvest moon in peace if not contentment. The crickets and the tiny little croakers down in the pond began their twilight song. The deep blue that immediately follows sunset surrounded us for a brief gorgeous moment and then deepened into true nightfall. The little solar-powered cap lights twinkled along the walkway and confused countless yearning fireflies that blinked back in unrequited love.

      With Cassie at college in Atlanta and me in New York trying to sell my latest children’s book, almost a year had passed since the three of us had been here together. I felt a lump form in my throat as I realized how much this place and being here with these two people meant to me. Tonight was definitely not the time to burst into sentimental tears.

      “Billy has the place looking like a million dollars,” I offered in a scratchy voice.

      “And that’s just about what he charges,” replied Mother shaking her head. “I may have to find somebody else. Maybe I can hire some high school student. I do have the tractor mower you know. It’s hardly been used since your father died. Maybe one of Mavis’s grandsons could help out.”

      “But Gran,” protested Cassie, “Billy has been working for you and Granpapa since I was a little girl. He taught me how to ride a horse and fish and climb trees. You can’t fire him. He’s like one of the family.”

      “It’s not a matter of firing him, darling. It’s a matter of not being able to afford him. After all, he has a family to support. He cannot charge me less than his services are worth.”

      “Mother, I didn’t realize you were in a bind.”

      I felt the lump again, a big guilty lump.

      “I should be getting this last book deal signed by the end of October. Pam will send me the advance. I should have helped out before now.”

      “Nonsense, Paisley, I’m fine, really. For heaven’s sakes, let’s not discuss anything as depressing as money. Hasn’t the day been morbid enough?”

      Cassie cheerfully ignored her grandmother’s request.

      “Speaking of money, Gran, how much do you think William left you? Wouldn’t it be terrific if he left you all of Abigail’s AT&T? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Forget about Paris. This is your home. It comes first. And the house does need a new coat of paint.”

      I could feel Mother’s dilemma. Ordinarily, she loved to speculate on any and all aspects of a given situation, but this was different. Like me, she felt it was improper to discuss wills before the second sun set over the grave. Also, I do believe the thought of a monetary inheritance from her cousin’s husband had never occurred to her. She considered all her options for a moment and then decided to get a little mileage out of Cassie.

      “Cassandra, be a dear and bring the rest of the wine from the table on the porch. There’s a good girl.”

      Mother knew that Cassie hated to be patronized but had to obey or risk missing out on the conversation. Cassie jumped up from the chaise with the agility of youth. It had taken me three tries to get up the last time I sat in it.

      “Paisley, you have raised the devil’s own daughter!” laughed Mother.

      “Ah,” I responded theatrically, “you remember him well!”

      Cassie ran back with the wine.

      “What about Daddy?”

      “Nothing, darling,” Mother and I both answered together.

      The night was too short to begin that discussion.

      Cassie poured the wine in the dark by holding a finger inside the lip of each glass to keep it from spilling over. She sat down on the patio and crossed her long slender legs. Her big brown eyes sparkled impishly in the moonlight as she asked, “Well, Gran? What do you think? Are you an heiress or not?”

      “I have no expectations at all of any money, Cassie, dear,” Mother finally admitted. She ignored the loud disappointed sigh emanating from her grandchild and went on to explain.

      “Joe Tom’s father was William’s first cousin just as I was Abigail’s. Since his father passed away four years ago, Joe Tom will be the sole beneficiary of whatever estate there is. I cannot imagine there is more to it than that miserable little house.”

      She smiled tiredly in Cassie’s direction. Her voice held a note of forced gaiety as she continued, “I do know that William promised me the table that Abigail got from our grandmother. He offered it to me the day of her funeral, but I was too tired and heartsick to try and bring it home. Ernest Dibber told me today that William mentioned me in his will. I’m certain that it’s your great-great-grandmother’s table. Poor William had nothing else to leave to me.”

      Cassie sighed again and patted her grandmother on the knee.

      “Never you mind, Gran. We’ll find a way to take care of the farm. And it is a lovely little table. I saw Mrs. Dibber giving it the once over this morning. She looked like she wanted to take it home with her. I’m glad it’s staying in the family. I would hate for a stranger to have it.”

      Cassie dug a match out of her shorts pocket and lit the fat citronella candle on the little wrought iron table. The pungent orange flame sputtered and hissed away at a few marauding mosquitoes.

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