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Authors: Maureen McMahon
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underlined the looming white walls.
I loosed the rope and let the sail flap, drifting on gentle
swells. I never failed to be amazed at the magnificence of this view. Often,
larger yachts and schooners strayed from the crowded shores further south to
sidle by for a glimpse of the house or to train their zoom lenses on it, hoping
for some exclusive photos of Leopold Dirkston’s private life. It now occurred
to me that if I let the estate go, those same greedy sensationalists could snap
it up and turn it into anything they desired—a tourist trap, a public landmark,
a museum. I frowned, imagining the unmarred beach strewn with gaudy umbrellas
and sun worshipers with their coolers of beer and blaring radios. I shuddered
and was swept by a sudden possessiveness.
I pulled the rope tight again. The swells were getting
larger and the skiff fairly skimmed the surface. I leaned far out over the side
for ballast. The wind whipped my hair and cleared my head. I was suddenly aware
my decision was made. The realization flooded me with relief, as though all my
concerns had blown away with the wind.
For what it was worth, I loved Beacon more than I despised
it. I knew that, despite my reservations, the place was my home and to let it
go would be like abandoning an ailing pet. This reasoning allowed me to
shoulder the burden my father had placed on me without submitting to him.
The game wasn’t over. He merely had me in a temporary
stalemate. After the year was out, we’d see who’d win.
Chapter Four
For we are strangers before thee and sojourners,
as were all our fathers:
our days on the earth are as shadow,
and there is none abiding.
King James Bible, 1 Chronicles 29:14–15
The funeral was a monstrous affair. Leo had requested that
his body be cremated and his ashes buried at Beacon. The estate already held my
mother’s remains. How could I allow the estate to go to strangers while my
parents were buried here? There really was no decision to be made. I knew
without doubt I must do everything in my power to prevent Beacon from being put
up for sale. The more I thought of the will, the more I accepted it, telling
myself again and again that a year wasn’t long. In Colin’s words, “No one’s
life need really change”. He was right and I was prepared to go along with the
condition. But on my own terms. And Leo couldn’t force me to like it.
There was a memorial service the whole family attended,
along with hordes of well-wishers, acquaintances and gossipmongers who’d heard
of Leopold Dirkston and wanted to see who remained to inherit the fortune.
There were also reporters from dozens of newspapers, as well as television
camera crews and journalists. These people weren’t allowed inside the church
but swarmed around the steps and entrances like maggots.
For appearance’s sake, Grant enlisted the services of two
limousines to transport the Dirkston clan. At the church itself, police and
security guards held back the crush of onlookers and media until we were all
safely inside and seated at the front in black-draped pews.
Alicia was primed for an Academy Award performance. She
leaned delicately on Colin’s arm, pressing a lace-edged handkerchief to her
nose with a black-gloved hand and sniffing pathetically. She was dressed in
black chiffon that flowed like mist about her fragile frame. Her head was
hidden by a wide-brimmed black hat with a snood to contain and cover her golden
hair in the back, a demi-veil in the front. She wore stiletto heels and seamed
black stockings that displayed her slender legs to perfection.
David escorted me at my request. I felt I needed his stolid
support to get me through this ordeal. I wore a black tailored jacket and
skirt, devoid of frills and decorations, with a modest velvet pillbox hat. I
despised hats but, not wishing to create discord, bowed to Martha’s and Alicia’s
advice.
Grant followed us into the church. He seemed out of place
and uncomfortable. It was an
I loosed the rope and let the sail flap, drifting on gentle
swells. I never failed to be amazed at the magnificence of this view. Often,
larger yachts and schooners strayed from the crowded shores further south to
sidle by for a glimpse of the house or to train their zoom lenses on it, hoping
for some exclusive photos of Leopold Dirkston’s private life. It now occurred
to me that if I let the estate go, those same greedy sensationalists could snap
it up and turn it into anything they desired—a tourist trap, a public landmark,
a museum. I frowned, imagining the unmarred beach strewn with gaudy umbrellas
and sun worshipers with their coolers of beer and blaring radios. I shuddered
and was swept by a sudden possessiveness.
I pulled the rope tight again. The swells were getting
larger and the skiff fairly skimmed the surface. I leaned far out over the side
for ballast. The wind whipped my hair and cleared my head. I was suddenly aware
my decision was made. The realization flooded me with relief, as though all my
concerns had blown away with the wind.
For what it was worth, I loved Beacon more than I despised
it. I knew that, despite my reservations, the place was my home and to let it
go would be like abandoning an ailing pet. This reasoning allowed me to
shoulder the burden my father had placed on me without submitting to him.
The game wasn’t over. He merely had me in a temporary
stalemate. After the year was out, we’d see who’d win.
Chapter Four
For we are strangers before thee and sojourners,
as were all our fathers:
our days on the earth are as shadow,
and there is none abiding.
King James Bible, 1 Chronicles 29:14–15
The funeral was a monstrous affair. Leo had requested that
his body be cremated and his ashes buried at Beacon. The estate already held my
mother’s remains. How could I allow the estate to go to strangers while my
parents were buried here? There really was no decision to be made. I knew
without doubt I must do everything in my power to prevent Beacon from being put
up for sale. The more I thought of the will, the more I accepted it, telling
myself again and again that a year wasn’t long. In Colin’s words, “No one’s
life need really change”. He was right and I was prepared to go along with the
condition. But on my own terms. And Leo couldn’t force me to like it.
There was a memorial service the whole family attended,
along with hordes of well-wishers, acquaintances and gossipmongers who’d heard
of Leopold Dirkston and wanted to see who remained to inherit the fortune.
There were also reporters from dozens of newspapers, as well as television
camera crews and journalists. These people weren’t allowed inside the church
but swarmed around the steps and entrances like maggots.
For appearance’s sake, Grant enlisted the services of two
limousines to transport the Dirkston clan. At the church itself, police and
security guards held back the crush of onlookers and media until we were all
safely inside and seated at the front in black-draped pews.
Alicia was primed for an Academy Award performance. She
leaned delicately on Colin’s arm, pressing a lace-edged handkerchief to her
nose with a black-gloved hand and sniffing pathetically. She was dressed in
black chiffon that flowed like mist about her fragile frame. Her head was
hidden by a wide-brimmed black hat with a snood to contain and cover her golden
hair in the back, a demi-veil in the front. She wore stiletto heels and seamed
black stockings that displayed her slender legs to perfection.
David escorted me at my request. I felt I needed his stolid
support to get me through this ordeal. I wore a black tailored jacket and
skirt, devoid of frills and decorations, with a modest velvet pillbox hat. I
despised hats but, not wishing to create discord, bowed to Martha’s and Alicia’s
advice.
Grant followed us into the church. He seemed out of place
and uncomfortable. It was an
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