Jeff nodded again and saw the Professor’s head going up and down at the opposite end of the table.
“That’s by way of introduction. Preamble you might say. Because you see, young man, you are her heir.”
“Her heir?” Jeff echoed, and the Professor at the same time sighed, “Oh no.”
Mr. Jacobs chuckled at their reactions. “She did tell me you were an unusual pair, Miss Melody — I think I’ll believe her.”
“But what about Melody?” Jeff asked. “I thought she was going to inherit.”
“Mrs. Melville has left her an heirloom ring, jade, and a portrait — not a valuable portrait, but it had sentimental value to Mrs. Melville. She decided, however, that the male descendent should inherit the estate.”
Jeff didn’t know what to say. “But Melody thought — ”
“She has had a hard time of it, you might say,” Mr. Jacobs agreed. “Mrs. Melville had a hard decision to make. But she decided that it was better for the family if the property went through the male line. That was Mrs. Melville’s choice. Miss Melody knew about it. She’s had time to get used to the idea. Mrs. Melville told her after she’d drawn up the will.”
But it wasn’t fair. Even Gambo didn’t like it.
“We ought to get the facts straight first,” the Professor said. “Don’t you think so, Jeff?”
“The facts, I must say, Dr. Greene, are going to be difficult to keep straight. Which is why I came up here myself, rather than trying to communicate to you by letter.”
“But I didn’t even go to the funeral,” Jeff said.
“Miss Melody particularly asked that you not be told,” Mr. Jacobs answered, but he looked at the Professor as he spoke. “You had, shall we say, protested for so long, Dr. Greene, all these years and so hard, she felt that it would be more of an emotional strain than she had strength for. She did say that since you finally agreed to a divorce and it has gone through, she hoped your bitterness has faded.”
The Professor didn’t say anything.
“He’s not bitter,” Jeff told the lawyer.
“Yes, well,” Mr. Jacobs said. He cleared his throat, drained his mug of coffee, leaned down to open his attaché case and remove papers. He spread the papers around in front of him. “The estate consists of personal property (jewelry and household effects), the one piece of real estate, as well as some stocks. Much of the personal property can be sold at auction and the appraisers have given me an estimate of what they think it will bring. The real estate is, of course, the house, which is quite valuable in today’s market. The investments represent only about fifty thousand dollars in capital. The difficulty is that much of the estate has outstanding loans against it. After taxes, depending on the markets, you should realize from twenty to thirty thousand dollars.”
“I thought Gambo was rich.”
“She had expenses.”
Jeff thought about the big house down in Charleston and the proud woman with her black change purse and her rings and the sun-filled dining room in which they ate breakfast. “What about the aunts?” he asked.
“Fortunately, she had purchased annuities for them, several years ago, so they will move into a nursing home together. She has specified to each the furniture from her own room in the house. Miss Aurelia and Miss Belle will be able to end their lives peacefully.”
“Had she mortgaged the house?” the Professor said.
“I’m afraid so, mortgaged it heavily. She also borrowed against the investments. Whatever real legacy there is will come from the personal possessions. She did make one specific bequest to you, which is the best single piece. I brought it with me. I’ve had it appraised so there should be no difficulty about giving it over to you now.” He reached down and brought out a small black box, which he passed to Jeff. Jeff knew what it would be: Gambo’s diamond ring.
He passed the open box to his father.
“Is that the one?” the Professor asked him.
“That’s it.”
The Professor stared at the diamond, glittering white in its black velvet setting. “It certainly is big,” he said finally.
“It’s worth — oh — you could probably get twenty thousand dollars for it. Her silver also is worth a fair amount, some of the china pieces, some of the furniture.”
The Professor passed the ring back to Jeff. Jeff looked at it. Twenty thousand dollars, two or three years of college, Jeff thought; and it was his own. He couldn’t imagine a hand that the ring would suit, but he could imagine the difference that much money would make to some people. The Tillermans, for example; if it was a question of paying for college. “Thank you,” he said to Mr. Jacobs.
“Thank your great-grandmother. I was only glad to have some good news to bring, so to speak. Now, you’ll have to instruct me. Unless you prefer your own lawyer to handle your interests? No? It’s just as well. I think I really do understand just what needs to be done, to realize as much as possible from the estate. I’m not, Dr. Greene, the lawyer who handled the divorce. So we can work together without being hindered by whatever has gone on in the past.”
“Fine,” the Professor said.
Mr. Jacobs studied him for a long time. Then he put his pencil neatly across the top of his yellow pad and said, “I’ve known Miss Melody for years, of course. And I consider myself in a sense her lawyer now. But you aren’t at all what I’d been led to expect.”
“I can only hope the surprise is not unpleasant,” the Professor answered.
“No, sir, it isn’t.”
Jeff liked this lawyer, the way he wanted everything set out clearly.
“But what about Miss Opal?” Jeff interrupted.
“Mrs. Opal Carter, yes. She wasn’t specifically mentioned in the will. Miss Melody tells me that she can remain in the house until it is sold, but after that — she herself is in no position to pay Mrs. Carter’s salary, much less support her. It is legally your house, so to speak; do you object to Mrs. Carter living there free?” Jeff shook his head. “There were only the four specific bequests, that ring to you, the items to your mother, the furniture to the two elderly women. The rest comes to you as single heir.”
“Why didn’t Gambo leave Miss Opal anything?”
“Perhaps she felt it would be possible for Mrs. Carter to find work. I would expect that is what she had in mind. Mrs. Carter will have social security.”
Jeff got up from the table. The whole thing was wrong. He shouldn’t inherit. It wasn’t because Gambo liked him or anything. It was just because he was a boy. Miss Opal shouldn’t be left with no pension, not after all those years of work. It should have been Melody’s estate, or even her mother’s, and there were other grandchildren as well, weren’t there? He walked to the window and looked out, thinking.
“Jeff?” his father asked, after a while.
“If there are mortgages against the house, and she borrowed against the investments, where did all the money go?”
“As I said, she purchased annuities for her cousins. For that she sold a great deal of stock. Then, Miss Melody had an allowance of ten thousand dollars a year. There were taxes. Old loans came due and she would borrow again to pay them off. The maintenance on the house is costly.”
“If,” Jeff asked, watching the Professor’s face, “if she borrowed against stocks, the bank wouldn’t have given her their full value, would it? I mean, you have to put a deposit down when you buy a house even with a mortgage, so isn’t there some money left on the stocks?”
“That’s true, but it’s only a small part of the value.”
“But if the auction went well, would it be possible to pay off what’s owing just against the stocks?”
“I think so. Once the house itself is sold.”
“Then the stocks could be given to Miss Opal. Even if it wouldn’t give her enough income to live on, it would give her some security, wouldn’t it?”
The Professor agreed with Jeff, Jeff could see that. He turned his attention to the lawyer. He came back to the tab
le.
“You’re declining the legacy?” Mr. Jacobs asked.
“No. I don’t mean to. I mean, I’ll keep the ring, I’d like to.”
“Have you considered what Mrs. Melville wanted?” the lawyer asked. “It is her will, her intention, that you receive it.”
“But she did leave it to me, didn’t she?” Jeff argued. “So it’s mine to do as I want with, isn’t it? I don’t see really why she left it to me, but she did. Didn’t she? I mean I see why, but I don’t agree. But it is mine, isn’t it?”
They argued for two hours, first over what Jeff wanted to do, then about how to do it. At the end, they invited Mr. Jacobs to stay for dinner, but he declined. They all shook hands. Mr. Jacobs said he would be in touch, would be sending all kinds of papers for Jeff to sign. Jeff thanked him, the Professor thanked him, and he left.
They had sandwiches for dinner. Neither of them felt like cooking or talking. Finally Jeff said, “It is hard on Melody.”
“She won’t be pleased,” the Professor agreed.
“Boy, won’t she,” Jeff said.
“I think we may know now why she came by last summer,” the Professor said.
“Yeah.” Then Jeff grinned. “You said once you never knew what she’d do. Boy.”
“What will she do now, I wonder,” the Professor said.
“It’s not right,” Jeff said. “I mean, she really did think Gambo would leave her everything; she must have had some reason for thinking that; and she is the one who lived there, who stayed with Gambo. How could Gambo have done that to her? Except she did leave Melody the ring she really loved. She told me so, the first summer, she told me about that ring. It was jade, Professor, milky green, set around with little diamonds, like stars. It had the initials of the woman it was first made for worked into the setting. The jeweler had been in love with her. She died young, in childbirth. Gambo was left the ring by her mother. This one” — he indicated the closed box on the tablet — “was her engagement ring. It didn’t mean that much to her. So she must have loved Melody.”
“Oh, I think so. But you are the male descendent.”
“Gambo couldn’t have thought that Melody wanted the ring more than the inheritance, could she?”
“It depends on what Melody led her to think. She must have thought that Melody would cherish it.”
“It was passed from mother to daughter, so she must have thought of Melody as a daughter.”
“Yes, probably. I’m sure Melody tried to be what her grandmother wanted her to be. Or at least tried to appear to be. Don’t you think?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jeff agreed. “So it serves her right, I guess. But it’s funny, Professor. Gambo loved Melody, so she gave her what Melody didn’t want. She didn’t love me, but — ”
“It strikes me that love is just the beginning. If you think about it, Jeff. I think we can’t help loving, but what matters is what we do about it. What we do with love. Do for it. What love does with us.”
Jeff knew what his father was talking about. He could see what his father was looking at: the Professor was looking at his own love for Melody and for Jeff; the Professor was sitting up and away from them, studying them and trying to understand how they worked. The Professor was doing what he always did, using his knowledge and experience to try to understand things as they really were.
Jeff could do that too. He could look at what he’d done. In his imagination, he sat himself down in the Professor’s seat and laid the facts out in front of him. He had been deliberately cruel to Melody, but — he saw — she had foreed that on him, by her cruelty to the Professor. By the way she had taken advantage of Jeff’s love for her and destroyed it. She had set him free from her, and as a free agent he had decided to hurt her so that she wouldn’t be able to do damage to the Professor. Also, Jeff admitted to himself, because he wanted to get even for what she had done to him, Jeff. That wasn’t all of his reason, but it was part of it, and it wasn’t a pretty part.
Still sitting in the Professor’s chair, Jeff looked around him, at himself: he had to make the choice he had, it was right for him and right for the Professor. It was just too bad that what he gave up, or gave away, in that choosing was hard on Melody. Not like Gambo’s estate, which Miss Opal would be glad to have; that was an equally right decision, and one that hurt nobody.
The real problem with choosing the Professor over Melody came from Melody. She said she loved him, and he knew better; but maybe she believed herself. But that was her problem, not Jeff’s. Jeff’s problem was to accept what he’d done, and why. He could do that, he found: he could sit in the Professor’s chair and see how he had to do it, and how he had to not like himself for doing it. He liked himself for not liking himself, he thought — swiveling up and around out of the Professor’s chair. He looked at his father and had to stop himself from singing the song that was rising up inside him.
“I’m proud of you, Jeff,” the Professor said.
Jeff didn’t disagree, although he didn’t think he’d done anything much. It was pleasant to make the right decision, just simply doing the right thing.
“Does this ring have sentimental value to you?” the Professor asked him.
Jeff laughed, partly from a sense of release, partly because it was over, really over. This inheritance, Gambo’s will, was like bringing the whole question before the law. Like Gambo he had — under a different kind of law than Mr. Jacobs knew — decided against Melody. “No, none. I just thought — you asked me once if there was anything I wanted to buy and there isn’t — but there are some years for college in here.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. You aren’t worrying about paying for college, are you?”
“Not for me, I was thinking of the Tillermans. And Dicey. Just in case. I don’t know if I could convince them, only for college, but — ”
“I think, after this afternoon, you’d probably find a way. I didn’t know that about you.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Jeff said.
“I think you are. There’s a lot of your mother in you.”
Jeff looked at his father.
“That’s a compliment,” the Professor said.
Jeff knew what his father meant. “And a lot of my father,” he said. “And that’s a compliment, too.”
Dicey worked from nine to twelve on Saturday mornings, Jeff knew. The Saturday after Mr. Jacobs’s visit, he stopped by the grocery store a little before twelve. Dicey’s bike leaned up against the front window. Inside, he stood in line to buy a half gallon of milk and a package of English muffins. They were out of both, and Jeff had decided to drive past the supermarket and on into town, to kill two birds with one stone. When Dicey came out, wearing jeans and a boy’s shirt, she was surprised to see him waiting. “I thought you might like a lift home,” Jeff said.
She studied him for a minute before agreeing. She looked as if she was curious about him, as if he was unusually interesting. “OK,” she said. They loaded her bike into the back of the car. They pulled silently away from the curb.
“I wondered,” Jeff said, keeping his eyes on the road, “if it would be OK for me to come over this afternoon.”
“No,” Dicey said quickly. “Gram’s got some stuff she wants us to do.”
“Oh, well,” Jeff said.
“But after supper. We’d like it,” Dicey said. “If you wanted to.”
“I want to,” Jeff said. They left the town streets, turning onto the long, winding road. He cleared his throat. “Actually, I really wanted you to come meet the Professor now. I thought we’d get a sandwich and pick up the guitar and you could meet him.”
Dicey didn’t answer right away. He looked over at her. She was turned so she could look at his face. She was getting ready to say no, he could see it behind her eyes.
“Look, he wants to meet you. I mean, does your grandmother plan to get you to work before lunch? I’ll take you right home after, honest.”
“I don’t think so, Jeff.”
&nbs
p; “He won’t complicate your life. He’s not that kind of person, not at all.”
Dicey laughed. “Then you are all right again,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. Yeah, I think I am.”
“Maybeth will be glad. Are you going to tell me about it?” It wasn’t like Dicey to ask questions, so Jeff told her the exact truth.
“Sometime, maybe.”
She didn’t crowd him, either. “Why do I need to meet your father?” she asked.
Jeff thought about this. “If I want to know you, I have to know your family too. I think families are like that, when they’re real families. It doesn’t have anything to do with being happy. I’ve been thinking about it.”
The thing about Dicey, one of the things about her, was that she really listened. Jeff could hear her listening to him.
“You’re right about me, if there’s someone I’m going to know I always want them to meet my family.”
“The Professor’s my family.”
After a while, Dicey asked, “What about your mother?”
“You’ve met my mother,” Jeff reminded her. “Besides, she’s not my family. I know that sounds strange.” Although it didn’t sound so strange to him, now he thought of it.
“Nothing much sounds strange to me,” Dicey pointed out. She turned around again to look forward. “And I’d like to meet your father, I guess.”
She sounded so doubtful that Jeff grinned.
“And Gram would tell me to do it. She likes you.”
“Really?” That did surprise him.
“Really. She says you’ve got staying power and a gentle spirit. She says you’re a rare bird.”
Jeff didn’t bother to try to hide his pleasure. “Wow,” he said. Then, “She could be wrong.” Then he didn’t ask what he wanted to — what Dicey thought of him. If she thought anything, he guessed she’d tell him, sooner or later. He guessed she was telling him right now. He felt, turning off the road onto the shelled driveway that ran up to his house, as if he’d just gotten a letter, out of the blue, from somebody wise enough to know the truth, from everybody, or at least everybody who mattered.