Heiress

“Sell it, if Mother agrees. I have no intention of marrying now, and even if I did, I wouldn’t wear that dress.”

“Maybe I could wear it at my wedding.”

“I doubt it—not without a lot of alterations.”

Allison and her sister were alike in many ways, but lanky, large-framed Cleta had already grown several inches taller than Allison, who had a light, trim figure that moved without effort. The siblings had thick chestnut hair, but Cleta’s eyes were a dark brown, while Allison’s amber eyes beneath dark lashes turned warm as liquid gold when she smiled—a trait she had exhibited rarely since her romance had ended.

Cleta lounged on the floor beside Allison. “What put you in such a mood anyway? Pictures in the album?”

“Since I haven’t been busy chaperoning you and Tim while Mother and Dad have been gone, I decided to clear out this room, for I didn’t take time to do it when I moved into the apartment. I found too many things that reminded me of the past.” She turned several pages in the album. “You’ve seen most of these pictures.”

“I’ve not seen this one,” Cleta said, pointing to a photo. “Who’s this handsome guy standing between you and Donald? Looks like you’re in a football stadium.”

“When we were sophomores, Donald and I and several other teenagers from our church went to a Young Believers Crusade in Indianapolis, which was held in Market Square Arena—a combination sports and entertainment center. There were young people from all over the world witnessing to their faith. It was a wonderful experience and one that broadened my concept of how to live a life pleasing to God.”

“But who is this?” Cleta said, tapping the photo of the golden-haired Apollo who had excited her interest.

“That’s Benton Lockhart, a plenary presenter at the crusade. He was a college freshman, and one of the most vibrant, motivating speakers I’ve ever heard. All the girls were crazy about him.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” Allison acknowledged with a laugh. “But of course he didn’t know I existed. I was just a face in the crowd to him. I haven’t seen him since that time, or even heard of him, although judging from his charisma, I fully expected him to become a well-known evangelist.”

“Too bad you don’t know where he is—maybe you could still use that dress,” Cleta said as she stood up and ran her hand over the shiny fabric. “I hate to see you unhappy. Why did Donald have to marry someone else?”

Noting the distress in Cleta’s eyes, and to cover up her own unhappiness, Allison joked, “Oh, you bring Benton Lockhart around, and I’ll put on that wedding dress in a hurry.”

The telephone rang, and Tim called from the living room, “It’s for you, Cleta,”

Cleta scuttled across the hall into her bedroom, leaving Allison with her memories. She knew she should be happy that Donald had had the courage to tell her the truth rather than marry her when he loved another woman, but two years hadn’t made her pain any easier. Donald was her past, and she had to stop mourning for him. Remembering the words of the Greek philosopher Epictetus, Allison opened her Bible and wrote on the frontispiece: “He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.”

She had many reasons to rejoice. Charles and Beatrice Sayre had been good and understanding parents, and she got along well with her siblings. Since graduating from college Allison had worked for a religious book publisher in Chicago, and although there wasn’t much room for advancement at that firm, she had received good training, which would be helpful in finding another job.

“I’ll stop grieving and rejoice,” she said solemnly, and the words were a vow.

Bowing her head, Allison prayed, God, I claim a verse from Proverbs for direction. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” Lord, I do claim You for my guide. If You will direct my decisions, I can throw off the unhappiness that has gnawed at my heart for two years. Direct me into new paths.

With a lighter heart, Allison ran downstairs and found eighteen-year-old Tim lying on the couch watching television. A midterm high-school graduate, Tim would begin classes soon at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

“What do you say to eating out tonight at the Pizza Shop and taking in a movie? I’ll pay.”

Tim hesitated and glanced at the phone. “Aw, Sis, can’t we eat here at home?”

In mock concern, Allison went over and rubbed his forehead. “Are you sick? I’ve never known you to turn down free pizza before. Mother placed you in my care this weekend, I can’t have you getting sick.”

Tim pushed her hand away. “If you want pizza, have it delivered.”

Cleta entered the room. “Now, Allison, don’t annoy Mr. Millionaire, or when he comes into his riches he won’t share with you.”

Tim raked his long brown hair back from his face and revealed dark, serious eyes. “All right, poke fun at me if you want to, but I’ll bet you’re just as curious as I am. I wish Mother and Dad would call.”

Allison sat down in a chair opposite the couch. It had been four days now since their parents had gone to Columbus to attend the funeral of Beatrice’s only brother, Harrison Page. They hadn’t returned at the expected time, nor had they telephoned. Beatrice had called when they arrived in Ohio, but no word had come since then.

Allison knew very little about her uncle. His wife had been an invalid several years before she died and the couple had no children, so the disposition of his considerable wealth was often a matter of family speculation.

When Allison went into the kitchen to prepare their evening meal, Tim turned off the television and followed her.

“Surely he left us something. He must have had lots of money, and after all, I’m the only nephew Uncle Harrison has, and you and Cleta are his only nieces. What else would he do with his money if he didn’t pass it on to us?”

“I don’t know,” Allison said, “but I can’t believe that he would remember us in his will when he didn’t have anything to do with us when he was living. I’ve seen him only two times—when our grandparents died.”

“But Mother heard from him,” Tim argued.

“A card at Christmas with a hundred-dollar bill in it. The rest of the time she didn’t know if he was living or dead.”

“Surely I’ll get enough to buy a new car.”

“Only a car?” Cleta taunted him. “I thought you were expecting his whole publishing company.”

Tim went out to the backyard and slammed the door, but he rushed back in when the telephone rang and slumped into a chair when he found Cleta talking to one of her friends.

“I wish I’d paid more attention to Uncle Harrison when he was alive,” Tim moaned.

Allison was rummaging in the refrigerator to see what leftovers were available. “Have you considered that Aunt Sarah may have had relatives he knew better than he knew us? Maybe they’ll inherit.”

Tim groaned, dropped his head on the table and wrapped his arms around his head. Cleta hung up the phone in record time for her, shoved Tim away from the table and laid out the plates and silver.

“I’ll admit I’d be pleased if we did get some of his money,” she said. “It would ease Dad’s load. I know he dreads the expense of sending Tim and me to college.”

“Don’t spend the money until you get it,” Allison warned, although she knew that her sister’s observation was true.

Since Allison’s plans of taking the family out for dinner had been foiled, she settled on food that her mother had prepared before leaving. She sliced some roast beef, browned boiled potatoes and tossed a garden salad. They could eat the rest of the apple pie for dessert.

Allison had just gotten the dinner dishes rinsed and put in the dishwasher when they heard a car entering the garage. Tim rushed to the door between the kitchen and the garage, and the girls were right behind him.

Charles was opening the car door for Beatrice, and he said, “Your mother has had a rough time, so don’t pester her. You can help me unload, Tim.” He put his arms around Cleta and Allison and gave them a hug. “We’ve missed you. Has everything been all right here?”

“Yes,” Allison said in her low, melodious voice, “but we’re happy you’re home.” Charles Sayre was a brawny man, jovial and friendly, always ready to listen to his children’s problems. Allison had missed him.

Beatrice greeted her children with a slight, sad-faced smile. “Mother,” Allison said. “I’m sorry it’s been a sad experience for you.” She put an arm around her mother, who was standing as rigid as a statue.

“He was my only brother. What else would you expect?”

Allison gasped, for never before had her mother been so curt with her. It was almost as if Allison had done something to annoy Beatrice. How could that be? She hadn’t seen her for a week.

Beatrice turned abruptly and walked into the house, passed through the kitchen and into the living room. Again Allison was stunned. It wasn’t like her mother not to comment on the tidiness of the house. The three siblings had always worked hard to earn their mother’s praise, and the house looked as neat as it had when their parents had left. Beatrice Sayre was the dominant personality of the family, and although she could be tender and understanding in times of distress, she exerted a rigid discipline over her children. Charles made the money, but Beatrice managed their finances so that the family lived comfortably.

Charles was laughing when he followed Cleta and Tim into the living room. They struggled with the luggage, and he carried a large plastic bag, out of which he pulled three teddy bears. “Here, I brought you some presents from Columbus.”