“This
will do. I can make this work,” said Olivia. She brushed her calloused hands,
along the brick wall and splintered door frame.
“It’s
yours if you want it, Miss Jenkins. This parcel was in her will, left for you,
free and clear. You can tear it down and build something better. Whatever you
want,” said Hank.
As
the oldest son, Hank had been chosen the executor of Gert’s will. The ranch had
been left to the family. This broken down house and old paddock had been
ignored for years. He didn’t know Gert’s reasons for leaving it to Olivia Hart
Jenkins, but of course there had been rumors.
“That’ll
be fine,” said Olivia, her voice breaking. She looked away to hide her tears. She
gazed out at the good green earth of scrub and acacia that reminded her of
Gert. Their long days in the heat of the sun. The smell of the soil as they
sowed corn and sweet peas. Her Gert. What would she do without her?
“All
right then. They’ll just have some papers for you to sign down at Tom Horn’s
office,” Hank said.
“As
soon as you’d like.” Olivia would sign her name as Gert had taught her, in her
careful handwriting. Gert, who read to her in the evenings as they lay in bed.
A bed that was now too big for just one person.
Olivia
took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She had known love in her life and for
that she was grateful. She would re-build this house. In the garden she would
plant corn and sweet peas.