Necessary Evil Read Free Page A

one of her famous omelets,
or - if she was feeling particularly continental - French Toast dipped in
rum-based batter and dripping with butter and real Vermont maple syrup. You could
protest about your waistline all you wanted, but she would have her way. She
had been lively, youthful, and unstoppable in those days. But she was a
different woman now. She was a woman who had quite simply stopped.
    I was too accustomed to this new way of
life to feel more than slight regret. As I put the shaker back on the shelf and
checked my watch, Aunt Susanna turned to me with wide, blue eyes. She looked so
alert and so alive all of a sudden that I was startled.
    “What is it?” I demanded.
    “Did you hear about Professor Maddox?” she
asked.
    My heart jumped and I started, hot coffee
sloshing over my hand and onto the spotlessly clean tiles. I shook the hot
liquid from my hand, then reached for the paper towels, wishing I had better
control of myself. As it was, I was barely able to keep my expression placid
under my aunt’s keen gaze.
    “Something happen?” I asked, as I dabbed
at the floor. I was praying, Please , please,
let it be something normal. Please, please…
    She turned back to her laptop and waved at
the screen.
    “He’s dead,” she said.
    “ Dead? ” I leaped up to stare at the
screen. Relief washed over me, followed quickly by guilt.
    It wasn’t an obituary my aunt had found,
but an article about the funeral. It briefly informed the reader of Professor
Maddox’s accomplishments as an eminent scholar, author, lecturer, father,
husband, and long-time professor of American History at Braeburn College in
California. He died at home, surrounded by his loving family. The eulogy was
read by his colleague, the respected Professor Joseph Tremonti, on loan to a
Massachusetts university for the year.
    My heart beat faster at that line. Joe was
back on the East Coast?
    Not now, Maddie…
    “Such a nice man,” Aunt Susanna said, as I
followed a link to Maddox’s college, where his list of accomplishments was more
thoroughly outlined. “We should send a donation and a card to his wife, don’t
you think?”
    “Mmm hmm…”
    I found what I was looking for in the
second to last paragraph: “Among his significant finds were the 1862 Beaumont
letter and the Carignan diaries, both of which shed light on little-known
aspects of the American Civil War.”
    It was inaccurate – Maddox hadn’t found
the letter, only authenticated it– but the mention was mercifully brief and
unlikely to cause harm. I breathed a sigh of relief as I turned the computer
over to Aunt Susanna. I didn’t know what I was worried about, really. The
matter, so important to us, was unlikely to interest the college or the media
very much, not when compared to Maddox’s other, considerable contributions to
historical knowledge.
    Aunt Susanna was looking at me curiously
and I realized that I hadn’t responded to her question.
    “What did you say, Aunt Susanna?”
    “I was saying, we ought to do something
for Mrs. Maddox. They were both so kind to us about the letter. What do you
think?”
    I picked up my mug again and took a sip as
I tossed the paper towel wad into the trash can. “Yes, we really should. You’re
thinking of a donation to the scholarship fund?”
    Mentally, I brought up the checkbook and estimated
how much we could spare. Even with my income from the veterinary office and the
lessons split between Lindsay and me, we ran the farm on a frayed shoestring,
and the number I was comfortable with contributing was embarrassing compared
with what Maddox’s university colleagues were likely to give.
    There’s no shame in being poor, I reminded myself,
but the twinge remained.
    The Chase family hadn’t been wealthy since
the 1800s; but still, Uncle Michael had been well able to keep both himself and
his wife comfortable while contributing to my college fund. That I was barely
keeping the place open spoke volumes, I thought, of my inability