Beads of Doubt Read Free Page A

all the family members, and everyone showed up as if it were a funeral. There were canapés and drinks for all, until it was time to call the gathering to order. Mother did that, proud and as tall as she could stand at the head of the table. She explained that she could no longer care for the house and she was ready to turn it over to someone else. There was no self-pity; I was the one feeling teary eyed. As I looked around the room, several others seemed sad, too, although one or two seemed eager.
    Then Mother pulled out a stack of bound presentation folders and passed them around for all of us to see. It was an inventory of the contents of the house, and the results of an inspection. I skimmed through the papers, as did the others. Muttering started and expressions turned to surprise. Even I was stunned.
    Oh, I knew the house needed a coat of paint and some other things, but I was so used to seeing it that I just didn’t notice. That inspection brought reality crashing down on all our heads.
    According to the report there was a serious foundation problem that had caused cracks in the walls and had jammed many of the windows. The plumbing was rotting. The water was not up to drinkable standards, and there were leaks inside some walls. The leaks had caused mold, and the old aluminum wiring was considered a fire hazard.
    Those were just the major problems.
    All in all, the cost for repairs was so high that the corporation didn’t have the funds to cover it. People started muttering. Uncle Larry, the senator, said, “How reliable is the company that did the inspection?”
    “Very reliable,” my mother responded. She sighed but her head remained unbowed. “I’ve been fighting these problems for years, but there’s never been enough time or money to get it all done. I’m afraid one of you has some work in your future.”
    Except one by one they all declined. No one wanted to spend that much of their own funds on the Manse. Some didn’t have the money, and others didn’t want to part with it. Some lived away from Austin, and the remaining few didn’t want the responsibility. In the end it came down to my brother and me. Stephen was rubbing his forehead, thinking hard. At that point in his life he was going through a divorce, his second, and I knew that money was tight.
    He dropped his shoulders in defeat. “I decline.” He looked at my mother. “I’m sorry, Mom, I just can’t.”
    She nodded, then turned to me. A quote, I think from Dale Carnegie, kept running through my head: “If it’s to be done, you are the one.”
    I loved the Manse, but I had my own house that I’d recently remodeled after my kids had gone off to college. It was fresh and sparkling, with the peace and tranquility that comes when the workmen finally leave.
    I had looked at my mother and seen the hopeful expression on her face.
    “Lillian,” my uncle asked, “where will you go if you leave the Manse?”
    She hesitated and finally said, “I’ve been looking at houses, but I’ve finally come to the conclusion that an apartment might be best. Or a duplex.”
    That had been the deciding factor. My mother had dedicated her entire life to others, and I was not going to let her spend her senior years in an apartment with a sea of asphalt parking lot around her and some rapper upstairs blowing out his speakers.
    “I’ll take over the Manse,” I said, stepping toward the conference table. “You can move into the gatehouse, Mother. We’ll remodel it first, so you have somewhere nice to live.”
    Everyone cheered, grateful that they hadn’t gotten stuck with the job. Or the Manse. The bar was reopened, and I was toasted repeatedly.
    Within days I was hard at work, selling my house, finding a contractor, making up plans for modernizing, all the while letting my training business slip because of all the time it took.
    I wrangled with carpenters, plumbers, and electricians to keep it architecturally authentic, while making sure it was sound