The Granduncle Inheritance

"No, I'm not yet, but this trip is the perfect excuse to do so when I get back. I'm not going back to my former life, and least of all, not with my soon to be former wife."

"And I married her," he said, following the conversation as if I hadn't interrupted him, "Because of you, to get back at you. You had hurt me, and I wanted to hurt you in the same way. We were so stupid..." and his voice was lost in the silence of the airplane cabin.

I was so astounded, astonished, amazed, shocked, you name it; I couldn't even open my mouth to speak. It was several minutes later that I did react.

"But you didn't say anything about..."

"Of course not, I didn't want to arouse suspicion, I put everything in the hands of a very capable attorney."

"No, I don't mean that; well, yes that too, what I mean is you never, ever told me..."

"What, that I love you?"

"What about your son, are you going to abandon him too"?

"Don't change the subject. No, I will leave his mother, and he has the option of either staying with her or coming with me. He goes to college next year anyway, so he'll leave the nest and just thinking of my being alone in the same house with his mother gives me the creeps."

I couldn't react; hell, how in hell do you react when your brother tells you that he loves you and he has done so for the last twenty or more years. I squeezed his hand again, leaned my head on his shoulder, and with a smile of contentment in the darkness of the cabin, I said to him, "Would you mind if we go to sleep now, Dear, I'm very tired."

E---In Scotland

We arrived at London Heathrow Airport at 07:45 AM. To me, it was the first night in a long time that I had slept and felt rested. How couldn't it be so, if I was sleeping besides a man who loves me and would protect me with his own life? We went to the offices of British Airways at Heathrow after passing passport control and customs to buy two tickets for the 9:50 AM flight to Aberdeen.

At 11:25 AM, we were landing again after a short flight, and went to the rental car company counter in the baggage claim area and were soon on our way to the big northeastern Scottish city of our final destination, the property of our unknown distant relative in the proximity of Alford, almost twenty five miles away.

We ate in an airport restaurant before taking the car and driving on the left-handed side of the country's roads at a leisurely pace. Ian was driving as we talked about the country we were passing by and the uncertainties of the trip may hold for us. We were very careful not to touch any personal issues, although we were going to have to do it at some point, but as with many things in life, there is always the right time and this wasn't it in this case.

We were in the outskirts of the small town in less than an hour I mean 'small' whereas it has only a total resident population of around two thousand. We learned that it was much more important than what at first glance seemed when we investigated the town's characteristics.

Probably due to Alford's relative isolation and large suburban area, there are a large number of services in the village, including three banks, a supermarket, three garages, a bakery, and a wide range of other shops. There is also a dry ski slope, swimming pool, golf course, and public library. Travel to Aberdeen to satisfy other important needs is the usual solution.

We looked for a relatively good place to rest and other service. We found a couple rooms in a four star mixture of a country inn and hotel, near to an old medieval castle, who catered mostly to the numerous tourists who swarm to the place in fair weather. After a good shower, we asked the reception desk for a phone book to get the number of our relative's attorney so we could connect with him. We called to inform him we were in town. He told us he could see us right away, so we asked him for directions to his offices.

It was easy to find his house and we were at his door and ringing his bell fifteen minutes later. He opened the door a few minutes later and effusively greeted us. He invited us to enter to a well-furnished office after the necessary introductions, and we were soon seated in two comfortable armchairs.

He asked if we wanted some refreshments or tea, and when we declined, he took a thick folder that was in front of him, opened it, and said: "As you must know by now, I'm your distant relative's solicitor and sometimes administrator..." He explained to our puzzled faces, "A Solicitor in the UK is the equivalent, mostly, to an attorney at law or Lawyer, as you say in the USA. I'm also his administrator, but only concerning matters of law and legal documents; I'm not an accountant, so I don't keep his money accounts."

We looked at each other, Ian and I; we didn't know how to proceed, but Mr. Hotchkins took the initiative and told us it would be better if we could arrange a visit to our old cousin's home as soon as possible, as he put it, because he wanted to know us before he passed away.

It was Ian who spoke up this time and told him we could go right away if he thought important. Mr. Hotchkins looked at his pocket watch and answered that it was a little late since it was getting dark early because it was winter. We agreed to meet at the hotel entrance after breakfast the next morning, from where we were going to visit the old man.

At ten o'clock on the dot the next morning, Mr. Hotchkins was at the hotel's doorstep with his own car. The weather was very awful, bleak, and stormy.

Ian turned the conversation to the weather and asked Mr. Hotchkins; "Is weather always like this in these parts, so cold and unpleasant?"

The solicitor didn't answer right away; we got into his car while he mulled his response, "I thought it better if I took you there myself, as I know the route and the county roads and you don't. About your question about the weather, Sir; today is a very fair winter day, it's almost sunny and temp is at 46.5 degrees, not so bad."

"Not so bad?" I said.

"No, not so bad for winter. Now with respect to your relative; he is very old. As you know, he is over ninety four and doesn't take well to unknown visitors, so it's my duty to present you to the old rascal. He is very anxious to know his young relatives from America."

We were impressed by Mr. Hotchkins verbiage, and his not so subtle friendliness; we thought nothing of it at the moment; we understood later.

Ian asked, "The lawyer in America told us it was an urgent matter that we come here. Is Mr. McIllroy very sick?"

"Well, your cousin has the problems that come with age. He is in overall good health, but he is as a candle whose wax is running very low and out, and the wick is losing strength in its luminosity and seems to be flicking off at times."

We were silent for a few more miles and when a very large and beautiful house appeared in front of us, the solicitor added, "He is very weak, and it may not be very long before he leaves us."

We got out of the car and went up the stairs to a magnificent oak door. It opened, and there he stood, leaning on the arm of a mature lady, who we later learned was his housekeeper, and was in charge not only the people who worked in the house, but also the expenses and the home finances. We waited till the solicitor spoke.

"Mr. McIllroy, may I introduce you this two young people from America?"

A deep and raspy voice answered him, "Since when, mind you, am I Mr. McIllroy to you instead of Sean?"

"Well, I thought the moment merited a little bit of solemnity," the lawyer answered his apparently old friend undeterred.

"Nonsense, just come in and make the introductions inside. It's too cool outside to be chattering at the front door. Come in, come in. Let's go in front of the fire in the sitting room, Mrs. Murdock."

We followed the old man and his companion to a nice room and once there and all of us were seated in front of the lit fireplace, Mr. Hotchkins made the necessary introductions. "They are the only ones of your American relatives with enough, how I can say it, curiosity...?"

Before the lawyer could continue with his discourse, the raspy old voice, now impatient, cut him off, "That doesn't matter now, that will come later when we get to know ourselves better. Now, ladies first," and turning a little, addressed me, "Whom would you be, my dear."

"She's..." the lawyer was interrupted.

"Be quiet, please; I want to hear the voice of this nice niece," the old man said.

"I'm Moira, Moira Martin..."

"Martin?" a couple of bushy eyebrows rose on his brow.

"Well, I was nee Moira O'Rourke; Martin is my husband's family name."

"Oh, I see, and you would be?" he asked, turning his head around to my brother.

"I'm Ian O'Rourke, and McIllroy is my fourth surname.

"And apart from your parents, who as far as I was I know, didn't come here because your mother is unable to travel, do I have any other kindred?"

"Yes, we have other kin who weren't interested in coming so far; as for my parents', mother has arthritis and it is very difficult for her to travel, especially this far away." I saw that Ian was annoyed by the questioning.

"Bear with me, young man; I'm very old as you can see, and have my own motives in seeing how you answer my questions; I thank you very much for coming, and if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired and would like to rest now."

"Yes, of course, sorry if we..." Ian was trying to be calm.

"No, it's alright, would the both of you be so kind and come to eat with me tomorrow? Would noonish be a good time for you?"

"Yes, of course," we both answered at once, rose from our seats, said good day to him, me with a kiss on his cheek, Ian with a handshake, and we left with the lawyer behind us.

As a comment on our way to town, Mr. Hotchkins said, "Don't mind the old boy; he is a good fellow, and by the way he asked me to tell you to come alone, he wants to talk with you two."

So that was all, we talked about the cold, the weather, and other mundane topics on the way.

The weather was worse the next day. It had snowed lightly during the night, temperatures had fallen to 38 degrees, and a fine drizzle was falling with a humidity of almost 100%. What the hell did I expect? It was December and we weren't in Palms Spring; we were on the northeast coast of Scotland by the North Sea. It was good weather to catch a cold or something worse, and in a foreign country.

Trying to read a map and drive at the same time is not recommended, especially in the tight lanes of rural England. Trying to drive with a female, even if she is your dear sister, reading a map and giving you snap directions to bear right at the junction isn't recommended either, although the idea would have seemed to have been the right one for a short while. The road was well maintained, with clipped hedges lining the steep banks that were only relieved where a gate into fields appeared.

Ian was driving the rental car, and I was now quietly looking out the window and thinking; I was mad because after my last, "Wait a minute I think we should turn at...," Ian had stopped the car, taken the map from my hands, closed it, and kept driving. The car was moving along a single lane road in an extremely rural area of Alford Valley. The late afternoon sun shined on the trees and distant farms, cows, sheep, and barns.

We went to see our old relative almost all week; he was old, but very sharp, and his questions were always to the point. He mostly wanted to know about our family and how we had fared since his cousins migrated to America, and we told him all we knew about our ancestors. While taking tea and sherry after dinner one day, he surprised us asking about our own families and lives.

We looked at each other, surprised, and didn't know what to tell the old buzzard. He had a sly smile and said, "Don't worry; your secrets are safe with me. I have my own reasons to hear from you about your actual lives."

So, Ian and I gave the old boy the sanitized version of our lives; he laughed at some anecdotes, and when we were saying goodbye to go back to the hotel, he took two manila envelopes and gave them to us to read at the hotel, then told us not to come the next day because he was going to be very busy with his administrator, Mr. Hotchkins.

Once in the hotel, I told Ian that I wasn't sleepy and would he have a drink with me; we did and while seated in the sofas, we opened the envelopes to read their contents. Our surprise was huge; the results of two researches on our lives commissioned by the old codger two weeks prior were in the envelopes. We had to laugh, because except for our activities in the bedroom (which were none on my part and as I later knew it was the same for Ian), everything else was included. Yes, he was a pretty smart fellow.

F---The burial

We never saw our old cousin alive anymore. I assume he died a death of old age; he was 94 years old, going on 95, after all. His administrator told us he was in bed with a bad cold and that it would be a few days before he could see us again; it never happened. He died in his sleep five days after he gave us the manila envelopes with the results of an investigation of our lives.

As his only relatives in Scotland, tradition dictates that we take care of all matters relating to the funeral rites and burial. It was something unexpected that we had not thought of; my brother was not a religious man to begin with, and hadn't entered a church since his marriage, and that was only because his wife's family had insisted on a religious ceremony. It was the same with me; everybody in my family was, or is, Catholic on the Irish side, and confessed Presbyterians on the Scottish side. I had a lax religious education; it had been a mixture of both, in fact, so I didn't practice either one.

And there we were. Old McIllroy had been an institution in the region, not only for his age, but for his vast fortune. As in most old and backwoods Europe people of all backgrounds went to pay their respects to the family. To us, Ian and me, the Catholic funeral was a kind of a nightmare, not because there was nothing to be afraid of, but as that part of the country are mostly affiliated with the Protestant Church of Scotland, the little Catholic Church has no permanent priest. There is an itinerant priest, almost like in the Middle Ages, who serves several parishes on a rotating schedule, unless there is a specific event that can't take place without his presence, such as weddings, baptisms, or funerals.

We were respectfully informed by the people of the area that this was going to be a burial as in the old days. The old McIllroy housekeeper took care to send for the priest first thing. The Archdiocese told her they would send for Father O'Reilly who was two days away, and wouldn't be able to get to Alford before the third day, so in the interim, we would be able to get to know most people who came to the house to pay their respects to the deceased's kinfolks, meaning us, the two cousins from America.

The house staff had rearranged most of the furniture from the parlor and dining room in order to accommodate chairs and a couple tables where mourners and visitors in general placed the meals they brought when they came to pay their respects to the deceased and family. Our old cousin was taken to the funeral home, where he was to be dressed in his best clothes after his body had been embalmed.

As is usual in those cases, the family stays at the home of deceased to receive condolences most of the time. This was a part of the process we could never have imagined. It was a brutal sacrifice for us both in that we were forced to spend ten hours a day kind of meeting people we didn't know or know of us. When the day's visitors had left, which happened at about six o'clock, the rooms were closed, the employees went to their rooms, and we went back to the hotel, cold and tired, to take off the dark clothes we wore by tradition, take a hot bath, eat something, and go to bed.

The next day was a repeat of the previous one, and when Father O'Reilly arrived on the third day, along with the employees of the undertaker from Aberdeen to prepare the funeral with the guidance and support offered by the priest.

Catholic funeral, burial, or cremation arrangements cannot be finalized until the deceased's family has had an opportunity to coordinate the desired rite pertaining to a Catholic funeral and burial with the priest. It could be a full Mass, a visit to the funeral home to offer prayers, or a simple graveside service. The priest then asked us if there were any special requirements on our part. We admitted to our absolute ignorance about the deceased's wishes, and suggested that his lawyer, Mr. Hotchkins, should know.

We sent for him so he could clarify whether or not Mr. McIllroy had left any testamentary instructions about his final disposition. While the Catholic Church accepts cremation, the body of the cremains must be present in the church at a Mass of Christian Burial. In this case, Mr. Hotchkins informed us all that there was a clause in the will concerning the final disposition of the body. In the lawyer's words, his client had said, "I don't want to be cremated; I prefer to wait and see what happens as I maybe able to dodge the flames of hell." Despite the conditions, that caused everyone present to laugh.

We then followed the priest's directions with regard to the Catholic funeral ritual, which generally consists of carrying the body or cremains of the deceased into the Church, the celebration of a Mass of Christian Burial, followed by the interment, with a graveside commitment preferably in consecrated ground of a Catholic cemetery.

The day before the funeral, usually in the afternoon or evening, the body is viewed at a wake or prayer service where friends pay their last respects to the family and prayers may be offered for the deceased and for the bereaved,. The whole Christian community offers its prayers for God's mercy for the deceased and His strength for the bereaved.

It was raining hard in the small cemetery after the Mass, when we went to bury our cousin and I was soaked to the bones. I wasn't feeling so well, in fact, and I thought I could get the flu. The week had been very cold and rainy and we were all drenched to the skin, umbrellas being insufficient to shield us from the gusts of wind and the rain that fell. We returned to the hotel when the funeral was over, and I noticed that my temperature was very high, but I thought that a hot bath and a good night's sleep would fix everything. I was wrong.

2--- Ian

G---The sickness.

I had been hearing her cough all night and the door between the rooms of the suite wasn't opening. I went out to the corridor and knocked on her door. At dawn, Moira wasn't sure if she had imagined it or if someone had actually knocked on her bedroom door during the night. She couldn't think clearly and she thought she heard someone say, 'Come in' but wasn't sure it had been her. The doorknob rattled several times, but the door stayed closed and she vaguely remembered that she had locked the door when they came back from the cemetery.

Fearing for my sister's well-being, I went to the hotel reception and asked the night clerk for a master key. I walked in once the clerk opened the door and just stared at my baby sister. After touching her forehead to see if she had a fever and feeling that she was burning, I went to the bathroom took, a towel from the rack, soaked it in cold water, went back to the room put it on my sister's forehead, and asked the concierge to call a doctor for her as a matter of urgency.

"Oh, Ian, "Moira said, in between coughs, "I feel like crap, I've been up most of the night coughing my head off."

"I know, I heard you, now be quiet. A doctor will be here soon."

I touched her forehead and she was feverish, delirious, and babbled nonsense such as "Let me die, Ian. If I'm lucky I'll die once and for all so I wouldn't feel anything anymore."