Read Online Someday Home by Lauraine Snelling - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauraine Snelling
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in front of the mirror that reflected the beauty outside into the room. She took the pins out of her sedate bun and let her hair fall down behind. Two feet long. Nearly three. She ought to cut it now that he who insisted she not cut it was dead. Staring at the gaunt face that looked to have aged ten years, she shook her head. “Is it too late to start a new life?”
That night she sat down in front of the fire, teapot in cozy beside her and a yellow pad on a clipboard. At the top of the page she wrote: “To Do with the Rest of My Life.” She poured herself a cup of chamomile tea so she could go to sleep sometime before 2:00 a.m. and stared at the page.
The grandfather clock out in the hall bonged the hour.
She stared at the page.
And finally wrote: “I can choose to stay here and take care of the place.” That would indeed be the easy way out. But it would no longer be her home. Not that it was now either. She stayed here on sufferance.
“I can go somewhere else, but what will I do?” She stared at the words she had written. Where and what? Two huge words growing more so all the time.
Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and let her mind free float. She saw herself growing into a young woman, dreaming of going away to college. While her two friends were dreaming of boys and marriage, all she wanted was to be an anthropologist or an archaeologist on a dig in some faraway place, like Egypt or Africa.
After one year at the University of Minnesota, she’d not gotten too far away from Rutherford, and she’d been forced to remain at home and take care of her parents. One took care of one’s family, the creed of the Rutherfords through the years. It was supposed to be short-term and then she would return to school. And now twenty-plus years later, she was nothing and she had nothing.
When the phone rang, she thought to ignore it but instead checked the face, a familiar number, at least not a crank call.
“I suppose you are sitting in that big hulk of a house all by yourself,” Melody, her cousin and best friend, announced without even a “Hello and how are you.”
“I finished all the cataloguing and turned the paperwork over to Mr. Odegaard, the executor, today.”
“And now what will you do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, you should have enough money to do pretty much whatever you want.”
“Sometimes life does not work that way.”
“He screwed you again.”
“Not my way of putting it, but in the long run, you are right.”
“Well, that…that…,” she sputtered to a close. “If he weren’t dead and buried, I’d be tempted to take care of him myself.”
Uncle Sebastian had long ago ceased to be even an addendum to Melody’s favorite people list. She made her opinions known with no compunction.
“So he left you with nothing?”
“Pretty much. I have my own personal possessions, my car, my clothes, and the fund that Mother left to me.” She looked around this, her favorite, room. She had chosen and paid for the furnishings in this room. They were hers. The furniture in her bedroom the same, only that had been given to her by her mother. That was it.
“But I thought he promised you would be cared for. I thought the estate was yours.”
“No, he signed the house and furnishings over to the Heritage League with the provision that they turn this into a living history museum of life in the early 1900s. I can remain here as caretaker if I so desire. He expected that was what I would do.”
“Come live with me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? The children are grown and gone; it is just Anselm and I rattling around in this big old house. You could have you own quarters. Be as free as you like. We want to do some traveling, so you could go with us or stay here. Surely if you want to find a job, that would be easier closer to the cities like we are.”
“What would I do?”
“Well, you pretty much ran your father’s business these last years.”
“True, but I
That night she sat down in front of the fire, teapot in cozy beside her and a yellow pad on a clipboard. At the top of the page she wrote: “To Do with the Rest of My Life.” She poured herself a cup of chamomile tea so she could go to sleep sometime before 2:00 a.m. and stared at the page.
The grandfather clock out in the hall bonged the hour.
She stared at the page.
And finally wrote: “I can choose to stay here and take care of the place.” That would indeed be the easy way out. But it would no longer be her home. Not that it was now either. She stayed here on sufferance.
“I can go somewhere else, but what will I do?” She stared at the words she had written. Where and what? Two huge words growing more so all the time.
Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and let her mind free float. She saw herself growing into a young woman, dreaming of going away to college. While her two friends were dreaming of boys and marriage, all she wanted was to be an anthropologist or an archaeologist on a dig in some faraway place, like Egypt or Africa.
After one year at the University of Minnesota, she’d not gotten too far away from Rutherford, and she’d been forced to remain at home and take care of her parents. One took care of one’s family, the creed of the Rutherfords through the years. It was supposed to be short-term and then she would return to school. And now twenty-plus years later, she was nothing and she had nothing.
When the phone rang, she thought to ignore it but instead checked the face, a familiar number, at least not a crank call.
“I suppose you are sitting in that big hulk of a house all by yourself,” Melody, her cousin and best friend, announced without even a “Hello and how are you.”
“I finished all the cataloguing and turned the paperwork over to Mr. Odegaard, the executor, today.”
“And now what will you do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, you should have enough money to do pretty much whatever you want.”
“Sometimes life does not work that way.”
“He screwed you again.”
“Not my way of putting it, but in the long run, you are right.”
“Well, that…that…,” she sputtered to a close. “If he weren’t dead and buried, I’d be tempted to take care of him myself.”
Uncle Sebastian had long ago ceased to be even an addendum to Melody’s favorite people list. She made her opinions known with no compunction.
“So he left you with nothing?”
“Pretty much. I have my own personal possessions, my car, my clothes, and the fund that Mother left to me.” She looked around this, her favorite, room. She had chosen and paid for the furnishings in this room. They were hers. The furniture in her bedroom the same, only that had been given to her by her mother. That was it.
“But I thought he promised you would be cared for. I thought the estate was yours.”
“No, he signed the house and furnishings over to the Heritage League with the provision that they turn this into a living history museum of life in the early 1900s. I can remain here as caretaker if I so desire. He expected that was what I would do.”
“Come live with me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? The children are grown and gone; it is just Anselm and I rattling around in this big old house. You could have you own quarters. Be as free as you like. We want to do some traveling, so you could go with us or stay here. Surely if you want to find a job, that would be easier closer to the cities like we are.”
“What would I do?”
“Well, you pretty much ran your father’s business these last years.”
“True, but I
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