4 - Fortune
Maeve is singled out again by her grandfather, 1980
Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.
Last week: 1988, The Cartwrights met the storyteller
Part 1 | History is an Angel
4 - Fortune
Maeve Allen
June 30, 1980
Edinburgh, Scotland
Sunday morning found Maeve and Todd mercifully in auto-motion, seated in their usual pew at late Mass. The night before, they had celebrated the life of Todd’s beloved horse with more than a wee dram from an 18-year-old bottle of Balvenie, a wedding gift from Todd’s twin sister Grace, saved for a special occasion. They filled the night with stories of Todd’s many adventures with Grianach, smiling at his courage and devotion to Todd, laughing about the funny things he did. His low nickers of greeting would stay with them always. And he would be fondly remembered by many lucky students.
As Father Anderson began his homily, a message about acceptance and trust, Maeve’s achy mind lit on the potent slip of paper in her sweater pocket. She was sure the certified mail waiting at the post office had to do with her grandfather’s passing several months ago. When her sister, Genny, had called with the news of his death, it had set Maeve to ponder the strange man again, and his profound effect on her life.
Near the end of her senior year in high school, she had received a letter from New Jersey State University informing her that, beyond the grants and scholarship she had won, her entire four years of college, including housing and affiliated programs, were to be paid for by the Dalton Foundation, aka her grandfather, H.G. Dalton, second generation road building tycoon. As the eldest of four siblings, with parents who were both grade school teachers, she had applied for the school’s equine science program on a prayer. Her parents did everything they could. She had no idea how they had managed to pay for her riding lessons, equipment, and horse show entry fees over the years. Even with the scholarship and grants she had won, Maeve knew she would not have been able to attend a university with a quality equine science program without a heavy loan to repay. She certainly wouldn’t have considered attending the affiliated program at Oatridge in Scotland.
The endowment had been a complete surprise; she had no memory of even meeting her grandfather. He only existed in rare conversations between her father and her uncle, and never in a positive light. Neither had chosen to follow him in the family business under penalty of disownment, which her grandfather seemed to have followed through. However, at that time, young and naive Maeve was certain that that letter of endowment meant everything had changed.
The day after she learned of her grandfather’s gift, she marched to his office downtown to the tune of a Hallmark movie, full of gratitude and the twinkling hope that the aging businessman had had some epiphany and wanted to become part of their lives. All it would take was a nudge of acknowledgment for his generosity from his eldest grandchild. He had obviously been keeping track of her accomplishments. Her father tried to talk her out of the visit, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. She was determined to prove her father was wrong about H.G. Dalton. When he told her, “Ok Maeve, do what you want, but don’t expect a warm welcome,” she had not believed him, not at all.
From the pulpit, Father Anderson compared a river, and the surety of its journey to the sea, to faith in God.
She had had too much faith in H.G. Dalton that day. As her mind drifted, the image the priest painted of a wide river’s peaceful current became the cool shine of the jade green floor at the entrance of the Dalton Building, the gleaming brass of the elevator doors, and the receptionist’s heavy cloud of perfume as she pointed her down the hall to H.G. Dalton’s office. Maeve had found her grandfather tucked behind a wide mahogany desk surrounded by a dark cavern of bookcases. There she had stood in the doorway like a maiden peering in on a sleeping dragon, until he finally glanced up. “What do you want?” he said, not particularly friendly.
She had forced her body to straighten, imagining she was saluting a judge in the riding arena, and projected all her courage into a single stream of words, “I’m your granddaughter, sir. Maeve Dalton. You sent me an endowment for school. Thank you so much! I wanted to tell you in person how grateful I am.”
She didn’t remember his response, maybe a grunt, but she couldn’t forget the cool wave of his hand fanning the air above his head as if she was an annoying insect. When he tilted his head to look up at her from under his heavy white eyebrows, it was not with a gleam of pride, as she knew her father would have looked at her, nor was there even a hint of mirth. It was almost a sneer. “Earn it!” he said, like a curse, dismissing her with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, then went back to whatever he was studying on the desk.
She couldn’t remember if she had said, “I will,” out loud, but she did remember standing there, shoulders still set square, watching her grandfather ignore her until her heart sank in the awkwardness and she retreated. To this day, Maeve remained in conflict over the horrible man and his generous gift to her. How do you respond to, or get back at, such a man?
In the end, she had decided that to get back at him in the best possible way, she would ensure that all her siblings, and even her cousin, Veronica, who despised her for reasons she never understood, must “Earn it!”, too. After all, she had no reason not to believe that every one of H.G. Dalton’s grandchildren would be treated to a full ride at the school of their choice, as long as they put in the same effort she did. Surely, he could afford it, and he couldn’t have singled her out because he didn’t know her any better than he knew any of his grandchildren.
She made such a point of preaching to her younger brothers to excel in their studies that they both learned to avoid her like a bad smell—but they did work hard. She was so proud when Steven got into Stanford. Yet no subsidy letter came for him. Her letters to H.G. Dalton went unanswered. In fact, not one of the other Dalton grandchildren ever got a dime for school, no matter how hard they studied, or how hard Maeve tried to get their grandfather’s attention.
The rift was subtle between her and her brothers. Steven went on to become a lawyer and Samuel would soon be a full-fledged engineer, but they both seemed to avoid her calls, maybe out of habit, or maybe they were just too busy, as Todd seemed to think. She never ran into Veronica; that wall was topped with concertina wire.
Genny, on the other hand, ten years younger than Maeve, was born to be her biggest fan and vice versa. She did well in school without any pressure from Maeve, since they all knew by now that there would be no money coming from the Dalton Foundation. Her little sister was intent on becoming a grade school teacher like their parents, a position to be highly respected in Maeve’s book.
Todd nudged Maeve to share the hymnal he held open, and they sang together, “Peace is flowing like a river . . .”
It was true, what Todd had pointed out to her last night, “Yer grandfather’s endowment, however unfair, did bring ye to Scotland—to me. Whatever is in that letter, mo ghràdh, d’nae fash.”
She wished she could be like that, to have that kind of faith, to just let the current take her and go along peacefully with whatever turns life took. But she did worry. Would she be singled out again with an inheritance? Would she lose Genny too, this time?
The hymn wound down, “ . . . Flowing out into the desert . . . Setting all the captives free.”
Maeve’s tired mind clung to the words, as if the answers were right there. She and Todd dreamed of setting young people free from their own perceived limitations—through their shared passion for horsemanship. Was it wrong to hope that whatever was in that letter could bring them closer to achieving their goal?
July 1, 1980
Grieving for the loss of an animal is so different from grieving for the loss of any human friend or family member. Few people feel an obligation to acknowledge the loss, if they even know about it, but Grianach had a lot of fans. There were many kind calls of condolences. Francis even showed up with flowers and tried to give them both the day off. Todd found more comfort in working, but Maeve had no riding lessons that day, so she took Francis up on the offer.
After Todd left for work she felt restless, so she took a morning jog through Holyrood Park. She thought to stop at the post office on her way back, pretending nonchalance to herself as she moved along the trail, though her mind was never a moment away from that letter waiting for her like an unlit firecracker. Her jog was faster than usual. Even after taking a second loop past the chapel ruins, she arrived at the post office several minutes before it opened. She paced and stretched nearby until the door was unlocked for business.
“Looks important,” said the postman, when he handed her the fat envelope.
“Could be,” she said, waving the package coolly as she let herself out. Maeve was no longer sweating from her run, yet she could feel her fingers dampening waves into the paper of the heavy envelope as she turned the corner toward their tenement row.
She sliced the envelope open with a knife at the kitchen counter, as she would any ordinary piece of mail, reminding herself there was nothing to rush over. She unfolded the fat stack of paper, smoothing it flat onto the countertop.
Dear Maeve Diane (Dalton) Allen,
We would like to extend our condolences in the loss of your grandfather, Mr. Howard George Dalton.
This letter is to inform you of the inheritance you are due to receive based on Mr. Dalton’s last will and testament (copy enclosed) . . .
It was just as she had feared and hoped, God help her. So much to think about.
After showering, she went out to the garden where a sunny day was shimmering green over the park. She sat, listened to the leaves rustle, and watched a neighbor throw a tennis ball for a hefty Labrador as tourists in the distance climbed the trail to Arthur’s Seat. Would Todd possibly want to leave this beautiful place? Did she?
She faintly heard the front door unlock and click shut, then feet shuffling. Todd was home early. She stayed where she was. He would see the letter open on the counter. It would be best to let him read it in peace without the pressure of her peering over his shoulder. He would find her soon enough and they could talk about what came next.
Several minutes passed. Her resolve to wait had nearly dissipated when the garden door opened behind her. Maeve said, “Is that you, my lover?” Before looking over her shoulder. It was not Todd. She felt her cheeks flush.
“Well, not so far,” said Todd’s twin sister, Grace, blue eyes glinting under black fringe, “But I’m willing to give it a try if you are!” She was laughing.
“Grace!” Maeve rose to hug her sister-in-law.
She said, “Mam told me about Todd’s sweet horse. I was already on my way to Glasgow, so I took a wee detour.”
“Thank you. He’ll be so happy to see you!”
“Aye. I peeped at yer mail,” Grace confessed. “It was open on the counter and well . . . Last Will and Testament? . . . impossible to pass by.”
Maeve sighed. That was definitely not ideal. Todd should have been the only other person to read that letter. Grace was not one for subtlety, privacy, or personal space for that matter. She technically shared the lease on the flat, but that arrangement only worked because Grace was almost never there. Most of the time she was out touring with her band. The few days of the year she stayed with them were worth enduring to afford the rent for the beautiful flat.
“Looks like ye’ve got some money and some land coming in California?” Grace said, pulling up the other garden chair, “An’ a hoose?”
“Yes, an old house.” Maeve paused. “Possibly.” She didn’t want to assume a decision without Todd.
“Possibly? Och! What are ye gonna do, refuse it? Looks like ye cannae sell it, can ye? Not for fifty years or until ye die. Is that right?”
Maeve could no longer hide her exasperation, “Did you read everything?”
“Aye.” Grace said, “I could no’ stop. An’ I’m a fast reader when the plot is good.”
Maeve shook her head, “Todd should have read it first.”
Grace’s eyebrows raised. “Och, oh! I did no’ ken he had no’ read it yet.” She put a hand on Maeve’s shoulder, “Keep yer head, Sis. He’ll forgive us.”
Maeve lowered her hands palm up in her lap and took a deep breath, trying to conjure a slow river. “Do you think he will want to live in California?” She asked. Grace was the only person who might know her husband better than herself.
Grace pulled a cigarette pack out of her jacket pocket. “Be a fool not to, don’ ye think?”
“He won’t want to leave you, or your parents,” Maeve said.
“Yer bum’s oot the window! Of course he’ll go!”
My what is where? Thought Maeve, but it was clear enough.
Grace lit a cigarette and took a short drag. “It’s enough land for a horse farm, nae? It’s his dream an’ yours as well, an’ ye know he loves ye like the devil. Ye have to go!” She took a longer drag and blew a hefty waft of smoke. “Yer a long time dead, Sis. Just go.”
Maeve’s heart was beating too fast. She said, “Todd and I have a lot to discuss.”
Grace shook her head vigorously. “Our parents are doin’ fine. An’ if he balks cos’a me, I’ll skin him!”
Next
Part 1 | History is an Angel
5 - The Neighbor
1988, Dani meets the next-door neighbor, and they have something in common
You’re writing amazes me! We were just at the Blarney Castle and saw Arthur seat. We also went to Glasgow and Edinburgh.