Eleanor Pembroke received the envelope with such a thud that every fork clanged against its plate and the silverware went clinking. The giltrimmed, glossy red tops of the cutlery seemed about to melt into the paper. Yet the solicitor placed his hand flat on the envelope with a firmness that could have stopped a bulldog.
Sorry, madam, he said coolly, that isnt yours to claim.
The sitting room fell dead quiet. Only the old mantel clock ticked, while the distant ruckus of children at play drifted in from the garden. Oliver huddled on his chair as if trying to become invisible; his new wife watched with a tight, curious stare, clearly baffled by the seriousness of it all.
I stood still. Ten years earlier I would have been trembling, begging them not to ruin me. Now I knew they no longer held any power over me.
The solicitor slit the envelope open and pulled out a few sheets. The first bore the signature of my late fatherinlaw, Victor Whitaker. His voice cut through the room:
The will was drawn up three months before his death. The sole heir Molly Whitfield.
A ripple of disbelief ran through the relatives. The aunts glanced at one another, the uncles swayed, and a youngster burst into giggles because he didnt understand a word of it.
This is absurd! Eleanor shrieked. A lie! He would never have done that!
It is written plain as day, the solicitor continued. I leave all my estate, house and land, to my sons wife, who was driven out of the family not by her own fault but by those who cast her out. Theres even a note explaining why.
Oliver let out a whimper. His new wife recoiled, as if suddenly she were an alien in his own home.
I took a deep breath. Id known of the will before, but hearing it shouted out in public felt entirely different.
So this is it, my motherinlaw hissed. You always felt sorry for him! And now you want to snatch the house from us?
I rose. My voice was calm, but as hard as a forged steel bar:
Im not taking anything. You stole ten years from me when you threw me out. Your husband saw it all. And hed have decided differently.
Dont you dare! she roared. Youre nobody!
From now on I am the owner of this house, I declared, firm as a courtroom gavel.
A fresh hush settled over the room. Every eye was glued to me.
But I paused a beat, then went on, Im not going to evict you. I have my own home, my own business. All I want is a bit of justice.
Oliver lifted his head, stunned.
So we can stay?
You may, I nodded. But legally the house is mine. That means you have no right to humiliate me any longer.
Eleanors voice cracked, dropping to a whisper:
You want to ruin
I stared straight into her eyes.
No. I want you to feel what its like to depend on someone elses goodwill.
The solicitor slammed the file shut and stood.
All the paperwork is in order. From today onward, the official owner is Molly Whitfield.
I gave a short nod and stepped out onto the verandah. Outside the air was crisp, the sun slipping behind the ancient oak that guarded the garden. I walked toward the gate on light feet, as if I were floating.
Baxter, the old terrier, had long since passed, yet I could almost hear his faint whine, the way he used to accompany me. Only now he was not following a banished lady but a victor.
I smiled and kept walking. No one could ever call me nobody again. I was me, and that was enough to win back my dignity and my life.
