At Wick's End - Tim Myers [3]
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “Okay, what did Belle have to say?”
Young reached across his desk and handed me a letter. I felt a chill sweep over me as I recognized the precise, spiderweb writing. “Your great-aunt wanted you to read this. I’ll give you some privacy,” he added as he stood and excused himself from his office.
My hands trembled as I tore open the envelope, somehow uneasy with this missive from the grave.
I needn’t have worried. Though Belle herself was gone, in this letter, at least, she was still with me, full of every bit of spit and vinegar as she’d ever been.
Harrison, my boy, if you’re reading this, I’ve finally kicked the bucket. What a run I had! Don’t mourn me, young man, and that’s an order. I had more joy than sorrow, more smiles than frowns. It was a good solid life, one well worth living, but it’s time for me to shuffle off.
You, on the other hand, are just getting started. I know, you don’t feel all that young, but from where I’m sitting, you’re still in short pants. Let’s cut to the chase, you know I never really liked all that sentimental mush. I’m giving you At Wick’s End, and more importantly, all of River’s Edge. You didn’t know I owned the whole building, did you? The old girl still has a few surprises up her sleeve.
I put the letter down for a moment, astounded that Belle had been a property owner and landlord. So that was why she’d taken me on such an extensive tour of the converted factory and warehouse when she’d first told me of her plans to open a candle shop there. What had once been a huge expansive workspace on the banks of the Gunpowder River was now divided into stores, shops, offices and even an apartment where Belle lived. At Wick’s End was in one comer of the downstairs space. I hadn’t really understood her fascination with candles and had passed it off as some kind of hobby to keep her active in her later years. I picked up the letter again and continued reading.
Now don’t get too excited. River’s Edge barely brings in enough to cover the taxes and monthly expenses, and you’ll need to work hard to make a go of it. But that’s exactly what I want you to do. At Wick’s End is a wonderful place, and I want you to quit whatever dead-end job you’re currently in and run my shop. Your shop now, actually. Candles bring light into the world, my boy, and we need all the illumination we can get.
Allow an old woman the last word. Throw yourself into this, Harrison, and make me proud!
I leaned back in my chair, clutching the letter tightly in my hands. Reading my great-aunt’s words on paper brought her back to me, if only for a few moments, and I promised myself that I’d do my utmost to grant her last request. She didn’t want me mourning her death. The best thing I could do was respect her wishes and get on with the business of living. But it appeared Belle was going to shake my life up more in her departure than she ever had when she’d been alive.
I called Mr. Young back in after I finished reading Belle’s message for the third time.
He gestured to the letter. “I’m hoping she explained it all to you in there.”
I shrugged. “I own River’s Edge now, and she wants me to run the candle shop myself.”
The attorney said, “That’s the gist of it.” He tapped a paper on his desk and added, “I’m afraid selling the property is out of the question. She’s locked up the right to do that until you’ve operated the shop for five years.”
“I had no intention of putting the place on the market,” I said stiffly.
Mr. Young nodded. “I’m sure that’s the case, but I wanted to clear that up from the outset. You should know what will happen if you decide candlemaking isn’t for you. If you relinquish your rights before the five years are up, the property will be auctioned off to the highest bidder, with the proceeds going to your great-aunt’s favorite charity. The same thing will happen if you should die before the deadline. So, are you ready?”
“For what? You said yourself there’s not going to be a funeral.”
The attorney shook his head. “I’m talking about the tour