Alma's Will Read Free

couldn't have gone anyway. We have to get back to work."
    "I suppose they took her cats to the shelter. How many did she have?"
    "Eight, I think. They all went to the shelter except the one she called Ronnie, the black one. She was her favorite, so we adopted her. Alma would have been crushed if they'd put Ronnie down."
    "Thank you for that too. The ceremony won't last long. A hymn or two, a short prayer, Psalm 23, a word or two from the pastor, then we say goodbye to her. Would you believe that Reverend Jenkins didn't know her? It seems she didn't go to his church anymore."
    She was about to ask why his wife hadn't come—he'd said "we"—but the funeral service was about to start. No doubt she had stayed home with their children.
    Reverend Jenkins' eulogy described Alma as a decent Christian woman who had brought up her daughter to fear God, and a loving grandmother, who would now rest beside the man with whom she had lived as a faithful wife for the many years of their marriage. Then he asked them to join him in a hymn. That only he, Liv and the colored man knew the words—the children didn't even know the tune—must have made him realize that Alma had not raised her daughter to be as God-fearing a woman as he had claimed.

    * * * *

    "Did you like Mama's eulogy?" Liv asked on the way back to the hotel.
    Eric gave the most noncommittal answer he could think of. "I suppose it was all right, considering he didn't know her."
    "I thought it had some lovely turns of phrase."
    "No surprise there—eulogies are his job. But the whole thing was somehow generic; Alma didn't come across as a unique individual. I don't think those neighbors of hers recognized her in it either."
    "You're right. I thought about asking Baron—Mr. Christ—to tell me something about what her life was like now. I just didn't have the time."
    "The pastor didn't even mention her cats. Except for her name and ours, that little speech would have done as well for almost anybody. And why didn't he say anything about your brother? That was a serious omission on his part."
    "I didn't tell him about Ronnie. What could I have said about him, really? I was so young when he died. I don't even know where he's buried."
    Eric was shocked. "You don't?"
    It suddenly hit him that there had been no headstone for her brother. Before he could ask about it, she went on: "Besides, that was a tragic moment in her life. I wanted the eulogy to tell about the good things."
    Eric felt he ought to say something. "It was very wrong of you to leave him out like that. I'm sure Alma would have wanted him to be remembered."
    "You're right, and I'm sorry for it now. But what's done is done, and we can't do it over, can we?" she said, smiling, and patted his thigh.

Evan Marker

    Alma's attorney, Evan Marker, had expected that reading the will would go without a hitch. Her daughter might expect to inherit everything as sole surviving heir, and the house did make up about one third the value of the estate, but the remaining assets all went to her—its contents, the car, stocks, savings, etc. As he understood it, she and her husband were fairly well off, and he doubted she would make a fuss over a charitable contribution, even one as sizable as her mother's house. It was a touching gesture on the old woman's part, really.
    The meeting started off well enough. The only possible annoyance he foresaw was that Mrs. Enslik's daughter and her husband had brought the grandchildren with them, as was only natural under the circumstances Their grandmother's funeral must have been hard on them, and it wouldn't be a good idea to leave them in a strange place with a babysitter they didn't know. Still, they looked very young—the boy couldn't have been much more than kindergarten age—and Marker feared they'd get bored listening to the will and become fidgety.
    "You're Mrs. Livia Redding, I assume?" he asked.
    "Liv, please." She introduced her husband and the children.
    Marker had his secretary bring