An Unusual Bequest from a Wife
Veras son-in-law had promised to fetch her from the cottage on Saturday morning. It was a shame to leavethe place held so many memoriesbut by late October, the water had been shut off, and it was time to return home.
“Vee-ra! Vera, are you in?” came the familiar voice of her neighbour, Leo, rapping at the door. “Come in, Leo, Im still here. Just packing my things. My son-in-laws coming the day after tomorrow. Hell grumble about all the bags, no doubt. But what else can I do? Most of it isnt even minejust the harvest. Dried apples, pickles, chutneys, jams. Such a good year for apples. Cant leave it all behind, can I? I did it all for them, really. I dont need much myself.”
“Tell me about it,” Leo sighed. “Im heading back too, though not just yet. Its beautiful this time of year, autumn. Elaine always loved autumn.” He hesitated, turning an envelope over in his hands. “You know, Vera, I was just thinkingremember how we used to close the season all together? When your Reg was still alive, and we were all young? The children were little then. Now the plots are overgrown, but back then, it was bare earth, just saplings. Felt like theyd never grow.” He cleared his throat. “Todays a year since we lost Elaine. I thought well, I dont fancy marking it alone. Fancied some company. Ive fried up some potatoes. We could sit, remember hermaybe talk a bit, too. Got something Id like to ask you. Will you come?”
“Of course, Leo. Here, take these pickled cucumbers. Give me half an hourstill got everything strewn about.”
Theyd been friends for decades, ever since their company had allotted them their six-acre plots. Theyd built their homes side by side, planted gardens, celebrated birthdays under summer skies. Those summers had felt like lifetimes. Now, Veras grandchildren visited her in the warmer months, keeping her busy. But Reg had been gone seven years, and Elainewell, last autumn had taken her too.
Leo had been restless all summer, digging beds for no one to tend, tinkering in the shed, cursing when things wouldnt fit. Veras grandchildren had been scarceoff to camp or the seaside with their parents. Shed tended her garden anyway, watering, weeding, though she hardly knew who it was all for.
With a sigh, she changed her clothes and walked over. Leo was waiting. The table was laidfried potatoes, sliced tomatoes, her pickles, a bit of sausage.
“Sit down, Vera. The children are coming tomorrow, but tonight well, lets remember Elaine.” He poured two small glasses. “To our dearest. To Elaine. And to Reg.” They drank in silence, crunching on pickles. Then Leo pulled out the envelope.
“Dont be startled, just hear me out. Last autumn, Elaine she faded so fast. We left the cottage in August, and by September, she was bedridden. But she was strongnever let it show. We talked through our whole life together, watched old films. Then one day, she made me promisemade me swearto do as she asked. Said it was her bequest to me.” He pushed the envelope across. “Read it.”
“But its for you.”
“Just read.”
Vera unfolded the letter, recognising Elaines handwriting at once:
*My dear Leo, Im going first, but you must live for us both. I bequeath you happiness. Not forgetting menever that. But I cant bear the thought of you breaking down. Dont be afraid to be happy. We loved life too much for that. And if you find someone well, Id want it to be Vera. I always thought you admired her. Shes good, Leo. Shed understand. Ask her to share your lifeit would be better for you both. Live fiercely, my love. Yours always, Elaine.*
Vera read it twice, then looked up.
“I promised her,” Leo said, his voice unsteady. “I swore Id ask. Vera lets try. Weve got years of friendship between us. Theres no shame in happiness. Say youll be my wife.”
Vera was stunned. But as she studied his face, something in her settled. “All right, Leo. Ill think on it. Ill tell my son-in-law I need another week.”
That night, sleep wouldnt come. Her whole life seemed to replay behind her eyelids. Yet just before dawn, she dreamed of Reglaughing, shaking his head. *”Stop fretting, love. Twos easier than one. Marry the old fool. Id be glad to know youre not alone.”*
By the next summer, the fence between their gardens was gone. The grandchildrentwice as many nowran between the plots. Leo built a swing, fashioned bows and arrows for the boys. Vera planted enough vegetables to feed them all. On weekends, their grown children visited, grateful their parents had each other.
Some might judge them. But Elaine and Reg, looking down, would only smile. The bequest had been honoured. And life, against all odds, went on.
