Final Rights (22 page)

“My god, what am I doing? Ellie, I’m so
sorry! Please—don’t cry.” Leland moved to console Ellie, who sat hunched up,
hands covering her face. He saw before him a vulnerable girl, not the tough and
distant wife he had grown accustomed to over the years. He kneeled down,
wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in close, cradling her and
rocking gently. Together they wept, finally letting go of the festering
suspicions, regrets and disappointments built up during the course of their
marriage—wounds, big and small, now revealed without naming, and finally
exposed for healing.

The attorney, ready to bolt from the
overwhelming display of emotion, nonetheless held himself in his seat and
waited for it to pass. When it did, Leland gave Ellie a gentle kiss on top of
her bent head, returned to his own chair, blew his nose loudly into his
handkerchief, then addressed the lawyer.

“As I was saying, I’d like to give the house
away myself. How do I go about doing that?”

“Well, you won’t be happy to hear you
can’t.”

“Of course, I can. If I own it, I can do
whatever I want with it.”

“Not in this case, I’m afraid. The trust Mr.
Freeman created will stay in effect for as long as you’re alive. You cannot
sell the house or in any other way convey it out of the trust. You can do
whatever else you want with it, but it belongs to you until you pass. You have
the right to pass it on to whomever you please in your own will.”

“What if it burns down?” Leland blurted out
this possibility even before he became aware of the plan hatching in his mind.

“I must caution you, Mr. Howard, not to make
such suggestions.”

“I’m not . . . no, not suggesting I’d burn
it down. I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” he lied. “I mean, what if something
happens to the house and it’s not there anymore?”

“The property would still belong to you, Mr.
Howard. The terms of the trust are ironclad.”

Indignation and disbelief finally took their
toll on Leland. He sank back into his chair, feeling trapped and helpless.
Ellie, still pulled back into herself, sat staring blankly at the knotted hands
in her lap.

“Maybe I have no choice but to own it, sir,
but I can tell you this,” Leland continued, “I won’t have nothin’ to do with
that house. Not now. Not ever. It can sit there and rot on its foundation for
all I care.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Mr.
Howard, but it won’t rot. Mr. Freeman made arrangements for it to be taken care
of regardless. He left a sizable fortune which also comes to you as his
beneficiary and only surviving relative. Along with the house, the money will
be held in a trust and used to maintain the property. If there is any money
left when you pass, what remains will be part of your estate.”

“There’s no escaping then?”

“No sir. I’m sorry. It’s yours, like it or
not.”

Leland sat in silence, contemplating the
unavoidable impact of his inherited prison, as the lawyer found his own way
out.

Ellie remained quiet, choosing not to
educate the attorney about Harland’s surviving relatives.

Leland
spent the following days secluded in his workshop, trying to make sense of the
vindictive nature of the terms of Harland’s will. He wanted desperately to find
himself innocent, undeserving of such diabolical retribution.
What did I do that was so bad? I should
never have made that door. I said nope then went back on my own word. Maybe I
deserve this after all. I should’ve stood my ground. Maybe Ellie was right.
Ellie was wrong! She made me do the work after I said nope. It’s her fault,
then, not mine.

These thoughts, among
many others, fought their way back and forth through Leland’s mind, sometimes
convincing him he had been wronged by Harland, other times persuading him of
his own culpability in the matter. And throughout it all, Ellie remained a
constant. His attempts to hold her responsible, to hate her for her role in his
misery, always fell apart, rendered impotent by his enduring love for her.

Eventually, Leland resigned himself to his
fate. He owned the wretched house on Chestnut Street. Even if he could not
change that fact, he would do his best to forget about it and continue on with
his life as it had been before his unfortunate change in circumstances. What
made his intention virtually impossible to achieve was the door that greeted
him each time he entered his own humble abode. The door with the carved
fittings and scrolled panels so much like those on his loathsome inheritance,
yet so much finer. The one he had meticulously constructed and installed on the
house he built for Ellie in an act of defiance unlike any he had ever committed
before.

Harland’s words came back in a rush: “You’ll
pay dearly for this Leland, I promise you.” Harland had carried out his threat.
Leland
would
pay dearly, and he could do nothing about
it.

He now cringed at the sight of that door,
intuitively knowing he himself had struck the fatal blow that led to a wintery
end for a cold-hearted man—a man whose death resulted from humiliation much
more than from the bullet which shattered his skull.

From that day forward, Leland never again
entered his own home through the front door.
 

THIRTY-EIGHT

1942

It is often hard to know where the paths we forge will
lead us. Our intentions are usually clear, but every decision, mundane or
monumental, alters our course. At any moment, we may find ourselves lost in
unfamiliar territory with little idea how we ended up there. For Marie Eleanor
Vance Howard that moment occurred after the attorney from Paige & Schmidt
retreated and her husband left her alone in her living room.

She sat there awash in a
flood of emotions she had kept deeply buried her entire adult life. Most
perplexing of all, she found joy romping freely amid the turbulence. A wave of
despair or grief or rage would threaten to pull her under, and then joy would
pop her back to the surface. She would descend into disbelief, fury, guilt—and
then unbidden, irrepressible exuberance would save her again. She was
astonished when she finally realized the source of her elation. Ellie loved her
husband!

Over the course of
almost fifteen years together, Ellie had developed many feelings for Leland.
Originally it was little more than a marriage of convenience, but Ellie had
come to appreciate him; she had grown dependent upon him in many ways. She
couldn’t have asked for a better father for Clayton, especially now as the boy
became harder and harder to manage. Leland’s craftsmanship provided a good
income for them; his even-temperedness contributed to a peaceful home life.

However, not all her
opinions about Leland were favorable. She also saw him as meek and
compliant—always the follower, never the leader. This left her in charge, a
state of affairs she simultaneously nurtured and resented. If he had not been
so willing to do whatever she asked, he would never have taken the job for
Harland, no matter how she had tried to convince him. Maybe none of this would
have happened if he had stuck to his refusal to work on that damnable house.
He just
had
to put that same
door on our house! I told him not to. I knew it would lead to trouble. If only
. . . no, this is not his fault. I shouldn’t have made him do it.
Back into guilt and
resentment and then, again, her heart flew open and love rushed in!
I truly love him!

Ellie had wanted to be in love for as long
as she could remember. Bits and pieces of her girlhood dreams floated back to
her, and she pictured herself singing on a Broadway stage, or traveling the
world with a dashing partner, or swimming in silky Caribbean waters under a
full moon—all versions of the exotic life she once imagined. But regardless of
where she found herself or who accompanied her in these fantasies, she was
always in love.

Her unexpected pregnancy shackled her, and
long ago she had turned to romance novels to assuage her longing. She kept her
“books in brown” hidden away in the back of the closet, along with her shame.
Eventually the routine of her daily life subdued the yearning, and she convinced
herself she was content.

But now the force of Leland’s rage had
shaken her to the core and obliterated her pretensions. She saw his hidden
strength for the first time. Not just his stubbornness—yes, he could be
stubborn—but also strong and vital, with dignity and character. A truly good
man, an honorable man. And she had done him a wrong he might never excuse. The
thought of losing Leland struck a debilitating fear in Ellie, and she prayed
fervently for his forgiveness.

Three
days later, Ellie found the chance she had been hoping for. She called Leland
to the house for lunch, and he actually emerged from the workshop, taking off
his work apron and dropping it on the chair outside the back door before
entering the kitchen—just like always. Ellie breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
She put a bowl of steaming, beef vegetable soup on the table for him along with
butter and freshly baked bread. She sat down opposite him with her own meal.

“Leland, we need to talk. Can we please
talk?”

“What’s to say, Ellie? I’m not changing my
mind.”

“I know, Leland. I’m
done trying to get you to do things my way. I’ve been bossing you around for
much too long.”

Leland looked up in surprise but said
nothing.

“I realize what a burden I’ve been to you
all these years, Leland. Having to take care of me and the boy, when you’re not
. . .”

“Don’t say it, Ellie . . .”

“You know when we married I was already . .
.”

“Hush, woman! Don’t say it! Don’t ever say
it out loud. It don’t need to be said.”

“But that’s how Harland . . .”

“I knew, Ellie, but I didn’t know who. I
guessed it was him when you insisted on me doing that work for him. But it
never mattered to me then, and it don’t matter now. The boy is mine, for better
or for worse, just like the promise I made to you in your mother’s back yard.”

“He’s been so vexing to us, to you . . . and
you’ve never complained.”

“Why would I complain, Ellie? I love the boy
and I love you beyond words. I loved you long before you ever asked me to go
with you to Woolworth’s for that Coca-Cola. How could you not know that?”

“But I dragged you into this marriage and
you . . .”

“I what? Went along blindly? Unwillingly? Is
that what you think?”

“I . . . yes . . . I thought you married me
because I wrangled you into it, not because you . . .”

“I married you because
from the first time I laid eyes on you, you were all I ever wanted. That’s
never changed, Ellie. If you loved me even one iota as much as I . . .”

“I love you, Leland.”

He stared at her while she continued. She
had never said those words to him before. In fact, they had never talked like
this before—openly, honestly and about things that truly mattered.

Ellie sighed deeply. “I’ve been so afraid
these last few days you would leave me, and it made me come to my senses. I’ve
always thought I could do without you if I really wanted to. But now I know how
wrong I was about that.”

“I . . . I wish I could believe you mean
that . . .”

“I love you, Leland Howard. I didn’t know it
myself until a few days ago. I mean I had come to love you, but I’d never allowed
myself to see the real you, your strength, and when I did, I thought it was too
late, that I’d lost you. You were so angry.”

“I lost control . . . I’m sorry, Ellie.”

“Don’t apologize for that, Leland. Harland
did a terrible thing, and my part in it was horrid, too. But it woke me up. And
I realized I’m in love with you. I don’t just love you, like I love this soup
or my favorite pair of slippers. I’m in love with you. I never felt this
before, and I always wanted it, always missed it. And it’s been right here in
front of me all these years. Only I couldn’t let it in. I couldn’t let myself
be in love with you because then you could . . .”

“I’d never hurt you, Ellie. Never abandon
you.”

Soft tears fell from
Ellie’s eyes as she took in the man sitting across from her. She felt passion
for him building inside her, an unremitting desire to fall into his arms and
meld with him.
But can I do that? Can I let myself go like I did that one time, like
I’ve always dreamed of doing?

Leland stepped around the table and pulled
her into his arms. She relaxed into his embrace, buried her face in his
shoulder and breathed in his enticing scent—the earthiness of the wood from his
shop and the staleness of dried sweat on his work shirt, mixed in with his
personal aroma, reminiscent of a fresh spring breeze—his own unique fragrance,
which she had never let herself enjoy before.

“I’m so tired, Leland. These last days have
been terribly trying.”

“For me, too, Ellie.”

They walked into their bedroom and lay down
on the bed. Had they been young, had they felt this way about each other on
their wedding night, their eagerness would have taken over. Instead, they
wrapped themselves up in each other’s arms and cried themselves to sleep. Both
now trusted that passion would be there when they awoke.