"The Empty Heirloom"

A man stands before a mountain of ash and burnt timber. His head bobs.

“It’s a sad day for those who knew the Livingstone family. Recently, Gertrude Livingstone died, and now, behind me, is what’s left. The mansion went up in flames during the night, the cause? A misplaced cigarette. Numerous bodies have been found and identified. The investigation continues as the whereabouts of Natalia Livingstone remains a mystery.”

---

Ever since Gertrude’s death, the air was laced with anticipation. It seemed the stages of grief were completely forgotten. Everyone’s on pins and needles in the pews. Possibilities of Gertrude’s mysterious heirloom are whispered in low voices. Their attention diverted from the funeral.

I saw no one shed a tear at the service or gravesite. My mother and father brought eye drops to make their eyes look misted over. My older brother, Philip, continuously dabbed his dry cheeks. My baby sister, Amelia, stuck her fingers in her mouth. Her three-year-old mind was scared of the people dressed in black.

Those who “strayed” from the Livingstone path earned nasty comments at family gatherings. Like those prodigals, I’m not interested in finances. That never stops them from mentioning how I should desperately reconsider.

“Natalia, darling, why did you choose to be a librarian?”

“Dear, why go against tradition?”

“Sweetie, following your parents is always an excellent choice.”

Simple.

It wasn’t about the money.

You should see their faces, an eye roll, and a sip of wine. My words were simply those of an immature child who doesn’t know the ways of the world. Gertrude was the only person who believed in my unusual career. She supported my love for books and hypothetical ideas of “other worlds”.

The service was over, the casket lowered. Those present threw bunches of violet amaranth, the immortal flower. Normally, it would be roses, but this family enjoys going the extra mile (out of sincerity or not).

The bunches grew and the crowd became few. I was one of the last in line. I couldn’t accept it. That entire day felt like a warped nightmare. Hazy, a part of my vivid imagination. Gertrude, my grandmother, was in the casket. Arms folded over her chest, her eyes closed by the fingers of angels, in her favorite blue summer dress, the color of a cloudless day. It took everything within me not to run my fingers over those buttons I mended many times.

I swallowed the boulder-sized lump, knelt on the ground, and let go of the final bundle.

The elderly pastor mouthed, “God bless you”. I nodded my head and walked towards my car. I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket, kicking loose gravel. I unlocked my car and reached for the handle, something in me stirred.

“Wait”.

I turned to see Oliver, Gertrude’s butler. His circular bifocals were placed on his nose with a golden chain. A past conversation came to me when we were laughing about the idea of adding diamonds to those chains.

“Miss Natalia, how wonderful of you to come.” Unlike my family, his eyes are strained from crying.

“It was the least I could do…” I mumbled. He smiled, his face strangely smooth for a gentleman his age.

“Unlike your statement, you were mistress’ most frequent and favorite visitor. You have done more than you could imagine.” Oliver bowed.

I had no idea how to answer. My lips tumbled as I tried to come up with a response. Oliver folded his hands together and chuckled.

“You’re lost for words, Miss?”

I let out a sigh. “I am.”

He pats my shoulder. “That is quite alright. It is now time for us to return the favor.”

---

Oliver stands in front of the fireplace, his face seems to rapidly age by the minute. I’m squished between my parents and older brother. Amelia is tucked in Gertrude’s private study, taking her nap. Our immediate family is sitting on the couches. Our extended family, including those overseas, “graced” us with their presence.

With a considerable group, one would think words of comfort and tears would be shared. None. Everyone is separated by family. Their faces are haunting and motionless, like oil paintings. No matter the angle, their eyes would follow you.

If Gertrude were here, she would have cried tears of joy.

She always wanted everyone together. “Her loving family”. Though it’s more like a circling band of bloodthirsty vultures.

“Thank you for coming,” Oliver greets us. He wrings his wrinkling hands together. “My mistress’ heirloom, I know that is why you are here-”

“Give it to us already!”

“I want my inheritance!”

“Show us the will!”

I watch Oliver’s eyes shift between speakers. Even though time has worn him down, he listens to each complaint. I commend his patience.

He weakly bows. “I shall bring the will.” He leaves us, shoes squeaking.

One of my aunts speaks from under her umbrella-wide hat.

“I knew working outside wasn’t a good idea.” Her husband consoles her.

“There’s nothing you could have done, my love. Your mother was quite a stubborn hag when it came to that garden.”

Snide remarks circle the room, but I know none of them have ever seen her garden. I keep my eyes from rolling. Trying to be courteous around those who disrespect the dead is a nuisance. Especially if it’s their grandmother. You don’t talk ill of those who have passed. Everyone knows that.

Philip smirks. “Who would try climbing a ladder at her age?” Mother’s head rises behind her cup of wine.

“Your grandmother was...determined. That is how she kept the Livingstone legacy alive.”

“Her mind was prime, but her body couldn’t keep up. One miscalculated step, Philip, remember that.”

“Don’t worry, father. I will stay away from ladders.” Father tossels Philip’s hair. Their cruel jokes send shivers throughout my spine as if a breeze snuck through a window.

One of my overseas uncles tosses his butt into the fireplace. He loudly coughs.

“Where is that useless butler? We’ve waited years for this!” his fingers find themselves curving around another cigarette. He struggles with his lighter. “Damn thing,” he mutters. The tiny flame leaps into the air, matching the size of the fireplace’s pyre.

You could have heard a pin drop. The eerie silence causes my body to go numb. This is the first time no one has spoken. Everyone shares the same frightened eyes, like animals who heard a gunshot.

Squeaky shoes break the silence.

Oliver approaches the mantle, package in hand.

“Mistress has enclosed her heirloom.” I spot the stamp “GL” in scarlet ink. But what baffles me is the parcel itself.

One of the older children springs to their feet. I don’t recall their name.

“Liar! I saw the final testament!”

“This is no joke. Mistress Gertrude’s life lies here.”

Oliver opens the package, pulls out a little black notebook, and plucks a piece of aged paper.

“Let the stars guide you to my twin,

where my secret dwells within.

Discover the water-bearer

Swim with the sea goat

And glorious fish

Rise with the crab

Then the virgin will appear

Take bow in hand

Who will you face

Horns? Hooves? Fangs? Poison?

Don’t let this weigh your mind

Then know my truth.”

“That cunning, old shrew!”

Anger rises in me. I squeeze my hands into fists, heart racing at their vulgar comments.

Breathe.

I stand up, smooth my suit, and clear my throat. Everyone turns towards me.

“In Gertrude’s last days, her love for riddles grew. I would spend hours with her tricky words.” Eyes start to gloss over. “Her riddle states we must find an identical journal. That journal will locate the heirloom-”

Family members rise and race to the rows of bookshelves. Men take off their jackets and women remove their accessories. The children hurl their precious phones to the ground.

The speed at which volumes are thrown is unimaginable. Expensive collections, limited editions, and signed copies scattered, flopping onto the floor. Generations of passionate texts tarnished by greedy hands.

“Oliver,” I gasp.

I take a step towards the havoc in the library. Oliver stops me.

“I know, miss...” his face continues to age right before my eyes. “Now is your time, Natalia.”

“My time?”

“Yes. It is time for us to return the favor.” He motions in the direction of the veranda. “If you would, please.”

We find ourselves immersed in the green, luscious terrace. Instead of taking our casual spot, Oliver escorts me to Gertrude’s loveseat. I sit down, violet amaranth is draped above us. I remember from one of my first visits saying this was her Elven throne. She had smiled and said, “The woodland Elven King should beware. I can hold my ambrosia. And please, call me Gertrude.”

Oliver watches as I squirm uncomfortably.

“Is something wrong, Miss Natalia?”

“Yes, I can’t seem to---relax,” I mutter, shifting the decor pillows. “How could Gertrude sit here?”

“Mistress was quite peculiar with things. She had to have it her way.”

My fingers caress a cushion and it feels like a piece of wood. Out of curiosity, I undo the zipper. I push the stuffing aside and pull out what I thought was a harmless piece of wood.

It’s the second notebook.

My face pales over. “Oliver?”

“You must leave. Mistress trusts you.”

“But-”

“To the garden, quickly!”

I scamper outside. The wet grass clings to my feet. I push branch after branch until I find familiar ground.

The rich soil and fragrant blossoms fill the air, fireflies and luna moths flutter. Flowers are in full bloom, even those that worship moonlight. I follow the cobblestone path to the centerpiece. A glorious white marble sculpture with rings and a lone crystal.

I lay my hand upon the structure. I had questioned Gertrude about this piece.

“What type of stone is this?”

Gertrude answered. “It’s from the stars, my dear.”

“Who could carve a star?”

“Oh, one of my dearest friends, Natalia. Reality tends to be stranger than dreams.”

I turn to the first page. In Gertrude’s sleek script she writes,

Natalia,

Live as you’ve always dreamed of.

Enjoy the adventure we call life.

Love, Gertrude

I peek down, a sigil is covered in grime. I scrape off the residue, the marking glows like silver fire. A low vibration resonates beneath my feet. I push the notebook to my chest.

The rings of marble begin to shift until the crystal is exposed to the moon. The crystal glows; I shield my eyes and back away. A cyclone of air besieges me. The sound of cracking rings in my ears, the crystal shatters. The wind dies down. The flowers no longer bend. My feet are on solid ground.

I catch my breath, hair plastered on my face.

What just happened?

“Natalia.” A voice booms in the hushed night.

My eyes gaze upon a figure who’s dressed in white silk, a golden circlet upon their head. Around them shines like a halo.

I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“I have been sent to retrieve you from this world.” Their hand waves above the sculpture, the arches come together. Revealing foreign runes I’ve seen in Gertrude’s books.

This doesn’t make any sense, my frantic eyes bounce between the portal and the stranger. “Is this a dream?”

“Reality tends to be stranger than dreams.”

“What did you say?”

“I have come to retrieve you, Natalia. The woodland king seeks your audience.”

“The woodland king wants to see if I can hold my ambrosia?”

The stranger smirks. My stomach drops.

“Yes, he does.”

“...and I’ll see his hoard of jewels?”

“Of course.”

They don't correct my foolishness.

“I was joking.”

“This is no joke, Natalia.” They hold their hand out. “Your heirloom awaits.”

My eyes begin to water.

“Natalia.” The sincerity in their voice silences my doubt.

“Yes?”

“Believe.”

Without hesitating, I accept their hand. We venture through the portal; to an inheritance inconceivable by all human measure.