― Gertrude Stein
It was sad. We never reconciled. It was both of us really—our stubbornness.
Mother demanded I take my place in the family which meant managing the family business and living on the estate.
But I was determined to make it on my own and I did—made millions in Internet marketing before the credit crisis and the economic downturn that followed.
I wasn't expecting the registered letter I received from Thomas Gunn her solicitor and now the executor of her estate.
Mother had died, and already her remains had been disposed of, and now I was being summoned to attend the reading of the will.
It both shocked and saddened me to see how far we had drifted apart.
So, here we both were—interred in our separate limbos—she, possibly at peace, and I pondering whether to rebuild the ancient ruins and restore places long devastated.
As for the legacy of our relationship—well, that boat sailed and burned, and yet, I hope she’s found her own Valhalla.
She chose to be cremated and it sickened me, but I had no say in the matter.
It was Mother’s final wish—as was her hand-written will leaving the run-down estate to me, on condition I agreed, ‘to reside therein a fortnight.’
“What the hell is a fortnight?” I asked Thomas Gunn her executor.
“A two week period, Jonas—literally, fourteen nights.”
“That’s a fine expression—a fortnight,” I blustered, “I’d like to see you spend fourteen bloody nights in a dilapidated ruin.”
“I’d hardly call The Ashes a ruin, Jonas—the estate’s valued at over three million.”
“I ought to bulldoze the entire thing, or sell it off to the highest bidder.”
Gunn tried to be patient—but I could see his eyes had gone hard and his jaw muscles were flexing.
“The estate has been in your family for two hundred years,” he sighed. "I wouldn’t act too hastily. If you need cash, you can take back a mortgage against the equity. The house is fully paid off.”
I glowered at him. “You don’t get it do you? It’s not about money—the place is cursed. It turns everyone to ashes.”
He gave me a tired shrug. “Well Jonas, death levels everything. We are born unequal; we die equal.”
My jaw dropped. His remark took me totally off guard and disarmed me. I wasn’t expecting even a hint of rebuff from him.
He coloured slightly and muttered, “It’s Seneca—my motto you might say—a plumb line to keep things in perspective. A reminder of mortality, I suppose.”
“Ah yes, memento mori—but nevertheless, well said, Mr. Gunn.”
He gave me a kindly smile and clapped me on the back in a fatherly way.
“Whatever you decide, Jonas, just let me know. I’ll be glad to assist."
He looked at me compassionately as if to forgive my youth.
"You can begin your residency whenever you choose, but remember—it must be a continuous, uninterrupted two-week stay, and when completed, the property is yours to administer as you see fit.”
I hated pondering the fate of Mother’s ashes and mused about the problem for a week.
In the end, I decided to have the undertakers inter the urn in a portion of a low field stone wall overlooking the path leading down to the pond. I instructed them to affix a bronze plaque with the inscription:
Alexandra Lennox
Died May 23, 2024. Age: Eighty Years
May she be given beauty for ashes.
I know—it went against all my hurt feelings and bitter sense of entitlement, but as Mother said, I’d always end up doing the right thing—whatever that meant.
The fact was, I hadn’t decided what to do with the property, but until I did, her remains would rest on her beloved estate with a view overlooking the pond.
Lucky her.