Little Black Book

Everyone knew he was on his death bed. I knew, they knew and he knew it too. It wasn’t the first time he got sick but it was the first time they cared enough to come to the farm so that’s how I knew.

I lived with my grandpa since I was born. My mother was a teenager when I was born. She was just 16. My grandma and grandpa took care of us both, my mother and me. When my mother was 18 she left to go to college and she never came back. I was 16 now and although, my mother came home for this important moment, I knew it wasn’t to collect me. It was to collect whatever inheritance belonged to her. I fully expected that when she got that, I would never see my mother again.

I sat by my grandpa’s bed and held his hand. His breathing was labored. Often, he wasn’t conscious. My mother and her brothers stood out in the hallway talking too loudly after a whole day of rummaging the house.

“Where do you think he keeps it?” my uncle Geoffrey said.

“I have looked in every closet and cupboard. It is probably hidden all over the farm,” said my mother.

“I searched the whole place and all I found was a couple of toonies in the chicken shed. Next to an empty cup of Timmies.

“Toonies? The guy has more than a few toonies!” Uncle Geoffrey exclaimed.

“You wouldn’t know it by the way he looks after the place. Looks like he is a pauper!” my mother sneered.

“Well he isn’t.” said Nick.

“I know. He is a selfish old coot. He should have taken care of these details years ago. Doesn’t he know we have mortgages to pay?”

My heart hurt when I heard my mother speak like that. This dear old man and his beautiful bride were so kind and loving to me. My grandpa taught me how to live off the land and my grandma would cook what we grew in the garden and harvested from the woods into the most delicious food. We took the vegetables to town and sold them to the people there. My grandpa taught me skills that money could never buy. My grandpa didn’t live high on the hog but I knew he had plenty saved away from his younger years. I honestly didn’t know how it was possible that those three children were the offspring of such a gentle, honorable man. My grandma used to sigh sadly and say, “The city got into them.” They did not appreciate living off the land. They thought education and fancy clothes were more important than a hardworking man’s hearty handshake. When my grandma died 6 years ago, they didn’t even have time to come home. Uncle Geoffrey was in Dominican Republic, Uncle Nick had just got divorced and wasn’t feeling up to it and my mother had meetings she just couldn’t get away from. Grandpa and I stood by the casket and the community came to bid her farewell. We put a picture up of the three children. I pointed out my mother to some of the people who asked. They nodded kindly.

My mother was on the phone with the undertaker, explaining that she only had a few days to stay. So “when it happened” she needed everything to be taken care of quickly.

Uncle Geoffrey was on the phone with the investor. He wanted to know how to get the funds out when my grandfather passed away. He was glad to know that yes, there were documents there with each of their names on them, but the investor could not tell him how much it was. That would be the lawyer’s job. “That’s not right. It is ours, he should be able to tell me,” Uncle Geoffrey pouted all afternoon about that.

“Don’t worry about that,” comforted my mother, “at least we know where it is.

Thankfully, they didn’t spend much time in the bedroom with my grandpa. He came in and out of consciousness. When he became alert, I gave him water and tried to give him a little Red River cereal but he wasn’t very hungry. I hated giving him his pain medicine because it made him go away again. In his alert times, we would chat. He heard his children talking. When they came around, he winked at me and “fell asleep” instantly. I didn’t dare tell them to shut up. Besides, he deserved to know what they are saying.

One time when they were all out of the room, he took me by the arm and said, “My lad.”

“Yes sir,” I replied. I thought he wanted more water.

“My lad,” he croaked. “Listen to me. I might only be able to say this once.”

“Yes sir,” I repeated.

“I sold the farm to the neighbour and I asked her to take you on as a hired hand so you will not have to leave your home. You will have a place to stay.”

“Thank-you sir,” I didn’t like this kind of talk. “I am grateful, sir”

“I emptied the bank accounts, liquefied the whole lot. I changed the money into gold coins. They are in that old boot over there.”

“Good idea sir. They will not think to look in an old boot.”

He chuckled. “Oh, it gets better. They will not think to look in an old man. Bring me the boot.”

Puzzled, I looked at him and then the old boot. I handed him the boot. He proceeded to eat the gold coins! The first 20 went down pretty easily. And then it got harder. I didn’t think he would do it. But he did. And then he closed his eyes for the last time. They say you can’t take your money to the grave, but my grandpa did.

After we buried grandpa in a wide open space near the back of the Lansdowne Cemetery, 1 mile east of the farm, the lawyer came to unveil the will of my grandfather. He opened the little black book that had my grandpa’s signature on the last page. From it, the lawyer read, “This farm and all its contents now belong to my neighbor, Mrs. Gerturde Smith as a repayment for her friendship with my wife and her care when my wife was dying.”

“What?” gasped my Uncle Nick, “That is not fair! We loved this place like it was our own!”

“Your parents invested money for each of you.” The lawyer handed each of them an envelope with their names written on the front. They eagerly ripped open the packages.

“$20,000?” my mother gasped, “but this place is worth much more than that!”

“And,” the lawyer continued, “although the place is to be left fully furnished for Mrs. Smith, the little black book reads that you can each choose one thing from the property.”

They all stood frowning. Silence filled the air under the angry cloud. “There is nothing here worth taking!” Nick finally muttered. “Where is all the money?”

“Ya! Where is all the money?” demanded Uncle Geoffrey.

“And my boy! That selfish old man didn’t even provide for MY boy!” exclaimed my mother. “He gave the farm away and my son didn’t even get an investment!”

The lawyer turned the page. Five $100 bills and a package of forget me not flower seeds fell out. He read the note on the page and it said, “Please give the lad my shovel so he can harvest the garden.”

There it was, leaning against the wall, clay soil still stuck to the base of it. I put my hands on the worn section of the handle.

My mother sniffed and waving her paper, yelling, “you’ll hear from me. This will not be a wasted trip!” She got in her red Camero and drove away. She did not look back. She left me standing there beside my uncles. They were completely in shock. My uncle Geoffrey moved first. He asked me if I wanted a ride to town.

“It’s ok. I need to empty the garden and then I can go,” I said.

My uncle Nick looked at me with pathetic apologetic eyes and said, “I am sorry. I have a daughter. It wouldn’t be appropriate to take you home with me.” He carefully folded the paper that the lawyer had given him and put it in the glove box of his car. Then he opened his wallet and carefully peeled a crisp $20 bill off a big wad. He handed it to me hesitantly said, “Call me if you need anything.”

I stood there, shovel in hand and waved good bye to him. The lawyer handed me the little black book. I looked at the six bills in my hand and smiled as I realized what had just happened. It was the richest I had ever been in my life so far. . . . . . But that’s a story for the next time.