The Grand Dame of Havenhurst

The Grand Dame of Havenhurst

The Invitation


Nick Russell ducked into his apartment. He was soaked to the skin. April showers may bring May flowers but June showers brought mud puddles in the driveway and leaks in the roof. He shook the water from his yellow poncho and tossed the mail onto the footlocker he used for a coffee table.
Nick didn’t get excited about mail. As a matter of fact, his philosophy was, “An empty mailbox is a good thing.” He reasoned, “No mail. No bills.” He believed nothing good came by mail and as of late it was all too true. His divorce decree came by mail. His pension denial came by mail and the credit rejection of his loan application came by mail. He joked to himself that he should mail in a “change of address” form to the post office using some non-existent address.
The phone rang as he pulled a beer from the fridge. He picked up the phone and flopped on the sofa.
“Nicky, this is Linda.”
“Linda?”
“Linda Willis, your cousin. The one you tortured unmercifully when we spent the summers at Havenhurst.”
“Yes, I knew which Linda.” He lied. “I was just surprised to hear from you.” .
“Grandmere asked me to call. Are you coming to her birthday party?” Nick glanced at the unopened mail on the footlocker. The old lady’s gilded invitation had to be somewhere in the two weeks’ worth of unopened mail. “She is very angry about your missing Christmas dinner. You are coming, aren’t you?”
“To Christmas dinner?”
“No silly, her birthday party. It’s next Wednesday, you know.”
“I guess I forgot. I’ve been pretty busy lately.” Nick leaned over and picked up a fist full of mail, thumbing through the stack as he spoke.

“You can’t miss it, Nicky.” He hated being called Nicky. “Not after missing Christmas. She will cut you out, I swear she will and she’s worth a couple of million at least.”
“Linda, I don’t care about the old lady’s money. Besides, the old bat will probably out live us all, just for spite.” Nick stopped shuffling the mail and tossed it back to the pile.
“Tell her I’ll try to make it, but no promise”
The old lady held two days of the year in high esteem, Christmas and her birthday. Both days brought the entire Willis clan to the dreary old house she called Havenhurst, to honor the Queen Mother. One by one, as if paying homage to the Godfather, each member of the family would come bearing an enormity of gifts and flattery.
Nick had bought into the ritual without much thought in younger days. It was an expected tradition, and besides, should you chose not to participate, the old lady would rant on for hours about family duty and proper gratitude. There was, at one time, reason for gratitude. James and Margaret Willis were generous to their heirs. She gave fat checks in embossed envelopes as Christmas presents and wielded their influence as necessary to the family’s benefit.
Nick sadly recalled how James’ death and the prospect of a dwindling fortune had eaten away the old lady’s soul. She had disowned Nick’s mother for marrying Nick’s father. The old lady was against any marriage that would not bolster the Willis fortune or position and Mike Russell could offer neither. Lucy was a free spirit eager to test her wings and escape the gilded cage of Havenhurst of Willisville. Mike Russell offered her the chance. He was wild and exciting with a boyish grin that Lucy could not resist.
Just as the old lady predicted, Lucy became pregnant and Mike landed in prison. Mike was killed in a prison fight when Nick was eleven and Lucy died of a drug overdose four years later. It was only then that the old lady took pity on her youngest grandson and paid his way into the Hillshire Military Academy in Carrolton, South Carolina. Nick endured three uncomfortable years at the academy and, spent the summers in Willisville with the other grandchildren.
Nick attended family functions for purely selfish reasons. He needed the Christmas money and he wanted his share of the estate when the old lady croaked. Twenty years later, at the age of eighty-eight, the old bag was going stronger than ever and Nick had regained his pride. He had been out of work for three months, he lived in a rundown apartment and drove a twenty-four year old car, but he had his pride and he swore he would soon have his dignity.
“To hell with the old witch, and to hell with her money.” Nick vowed to tell her exactly what he thought of her. “Where were you when my father needed a competent lawyer? Where were you and the money when my mother and I were starving in the tenements? And, where were you when mother asked you help her get into a treatment program?” He would say, “You are a self-absorbed old bag. No one here gives a damn about you. They all cannot wait for you to die. You will die someday, and no one will mourn. Hell, they will all join me as I dance on your grave.”
Nick decided to tell her on her birthday. It would be one hell of a gift. Nick could just picture the shock and horror in the eyes of the adoring court. He wanted to see the face of Margaret Willis when she realized she no longer held any power over one of her grandchildren. Nick marked the day on the Playboy calendar on the kitchen wall. He could have sworn that Miss June gave him a sly wink.
Nick was not alone. No one liked “The Old Lady”, as the family called her behind her back, partly because of her arrogant manor and partly because of her mean spirited disposition. She claimed, “People have to make allowances because I’m old and rich.”
She was the Grand Dame of central Texas in days gone by but her name no longer solicits such recognition or interest. Most of Willisville’s 70,000 residents have no idea of the origin of the town’s name. Margaret Hallsworth Willis is regarded; by those having the misfortune to encountered her, as the bitter and sad eccentric who lives out on Kenton Lane, nothing more. James Morgan Willis may have established his legacy when he established Willisville in nineteen forty-nine but that legacy now rests in yellowing documents buried in a dark and damp courthouse basement.


The Party

The day was perfect. A bright morning sun and a fresh breeze adorned the Willis house. Mother nature would not dare bring anything but a beautiful day for the Queen’s birthday. Nick was the only family member to arrive without an arm full of Saks Fifth Avenue and Tiffany’s gift boxes and he chose to wear jeans and a T-shirt instead of the required coat and tie.
Nick actually looked forward to the “soul cleansing”. He hoped to be first in line when the gifting moment arrived. However, he did not look forward to the barrage of questions he would undoubtedly receive from the rest of the family. Questions like, “So Nicky, what have you been up to?” and “Why isn’t you wife with you?” or, “Where are you working?” and “Where are you living?” As uncomfortable as the thought of the family’s third degree made him, he was willing to endure the embarrassment just to have his say at the perfect moment.
There were none of the embarrassing questions, only disapproving looks and uncomfortable stares. He chatted briefly with his cousin Linda and spent the rest of the time leaning against the wall in the back of the room, waiting for his cue. He knew Justin would be the last one to arrive. He loved to “make an entrance” and you could bet he would be carrying the biggest package.
Justin, the old lady’s favorite among the grandchildren, finally arrived. The moment was near. The old lady stepped two or three steps onto the staircase. “My, dear, dear family, it is absolutely heartwarming to have you all here with me today for what may be my last birthday.” This solicited predicted response. “Oh, Grandmere, don’t talk like that. We will have you around for many more birthdays.” All the time, thinking, “Die you old bitch, die.”
“Before I get ready to accept your generosities, I have a little generosity to share with each of you.” The room silenced. Barely a breath was taken. “I am getting old. You can’t deny it and neither can I. Therefore, I have decided to sell my shares of Willis Industries stock and distribute my estate, except for sustenance for myself, of course.” The room gasped. “Rather than have my will read to a room of mourners, I have decided to make this a happy occasion.” Nick looked around the room. Some were smiling, some were stunned and some were out-and-out laughing.

Nick did not move. The determined look he had once displayed turned to a blank stare. The old lady continued. “They tell me that my holdings are worth some seventy-two million dollars.” This time the room gasped. “I have decided to split the money five ways. Twenty percent to each of my children and in the case of Lucy . . .” Nick’s heart was pounding in his chest. “…Her share will, of course, go to Nicky.”

Nick’s knees went limp and he had to catch himself to keep from falling to the floor. He managed to sit in a chair until his strength returned. He helped himself to a glass and a crystal decanter containing an amber liquid. It did not mater what kind. Nick needed a good stiff drink. He wiped is lips on his bare forearm and approached her majesty. He bent down to speak.
“Grandmere,…”his face hardened, he drew a deep slow breath” …I love you so very, very much.”