COLONEL PRESTON'S WILL
Mrs. Preston was a cold woman, and was far from being a devoted wife.
She was too selfish for that supreme love which some women bestow upon
their husbands. Still, when Colonel Preston's lifeless form was
brought into the house, she did experience a violent shock. To have
the companion of nearly twenty years so unexpectedly taken away might
well touch the most callous, and so, for a few minutes, Mrs. Preston
forgot herself and thought of her husband.
But this was not for long. The thought of her own selfish interests
came back, and in the midst of her apparent grief the question forced
itself upon her consideration, "Did my husband make a will?"
Of course, she did not give utterance to this query. She knew what was
expected of her, and she was prudent enough to keep up appearances
before the neighbors, who poured into the house to offer their
sympathy. She received them with her cambric handkerchief pressed to
her eyes, from which, by dint of effort, she succeeded in squeezing a
few formal tears, and, while her bosom appeared to heave with emotion,
she was mentally calculating how much Colonel Preston had probably
left.
"Shan't I stay with you, my dear Mrs. Preston?" said worthy Mrs.
Cameron, in a tone full of warm interest and sympathy.
"Thank you," said Mrs. Preston, in a low voice; "you are very kind,
but I would rather be left alone."
"But it must be so sad for you to be alone in your sorrow," said her
neighbor.
"No. I can bear sorrow better alone," said the newly made widow.
"Perhaps I am peculiar, but I would prefer it."
"If you really wish it," said the other, reluctantly.
"Yes, I wish it. Thank you for your kind offer, but I know my own
feelings, and the presence of others would only increase my pain."
This was what she said to others who made the same offer. It did not
excite great surprise, for Mrs. Preston had never leaned upon anyone
for sympathy, nor was she ready with her sympathy when others were in
trouble. She was self-poised and self-contained, and, in fact, for
this reason was not popular with her neighbors. Still, in this her
distress they were ready to forget all this and extend the same
cordial sympathy which they would have done in other cases. There was
but one person whose company she did crave at this time and this was
her son, Godfrey. So, when Alfred Turner offered to go for him the
next morning, she accepted his offer with thanks.
At last she was left alone. The servant had gone to bed, and there was
no one but herself and her dead husband in the lower part of the
house. She no longer sat with her handkerchief pressed before her
eyes. Her face wore its usual look of calm composure. She was busily
thinking, not of her husband's fate, but of her own future.
"Did he leave a will? And, if so, how much did he leave me?" she
thought.
If there was a will, it was probably in the house, and Mrs. Preston
determined to find it, if possible.
"Of course, all ought to come to me and Godfrey," she soliloquized. "I
don't think it is right to leave money to charitable institutions as
long as a wife and child are living. Fortunately, my husband had no
brothers or sisters, or perhaps he would have divided the property. If
there is no will, I shall have my thirds, and shall have the control
of Godfrey's property till he comes of age. I think I will go to
Boston to live. My friend, Mrs. Boynton, has a very pleasant house on
Worcester Street. I should like to settle down somewhere near her. I
don't know how much Mr. Preston was worth, but I am sure we shall have
enough for that. I always wanted to live in the city. This village is
intolerably stupid, and so are the people. I shall be glad to get
away."
Could the good women, whose kind hearts had prompted them to proffer
their sympathy, have heard these words they would not have been likely
to obtrude any more on the hard, cold woman who held them in such low
estimation.
Mrs. Preston took the lamp in her hand, and began to explore her
husband's desk. She had often thought of doing so, but, as his death
was not supposed to be so near, she had not thought that there was any
immediate cause of doing so. Besides, it had almost been her belief
that he had made no will. Now she began to open drawers and untie
parcels of papers, but it was some time before she came to what she
sought. At length, however, her diligence was rewarded. In the middle
of a pile of papers, she found one labeled on the outside:
MY WILL.
Her heart beat as she opened it, and, though there was no need, for it
was now past ten o'clock, and there was not likely to be a caller at
that late hour, she looked cautiously about her, and even peered out
of the window into the darkness, but could find no one whose
observation she might fear.
I am not about to recite at length the items in the will, which
covered a page of foolscap. It is enough to quote two items, which
Mrs. Preston read with anger and dissatisfaction. They are as follows:
"Item.--To my young friend, Andy Burke, son of the widow
Burke, of this village, in consideration of a valuable
service rendered to me on one occasion, and as a mark of my
regard and interest, I give and bequeath the sum of five
thousand dollars; and to his mother, as a token of gratitude
for her faithful nursing when I was dangerously sick with the
smallpox, I give and bequeath, free of all incumbrance, the
cottage in which she at present resides.
"Item.--To the town I give five thousand dollars, the
interest to be annually appropriated to the purchase of books
for a public library, for the benefit of all the citizens,
provided the town will provide some suitable place in which
to keep them."
All the balance of the property was left to his wife and son, in equal
proportions, his wife to be the guardian of Godfrey till he should
have attained his majority. As Colonel Preston was well known to be
rich, this seemed to be an adequate provision, but Mrs. Preston did
not look upon it in that light. On the contrary, she was deeply
incensed at the two legacies of which mention has been made above.
"Was ever anything more absurd than to waste five thousand dollars and
a house upon that Irish boy and his mother?" she said to herself. "I
don't suppose it was so much my husband's fault. That artful woman got
around him, and wheedled him into it. I know now why she was so
willing to come here and take care of him when he was sick. She wanted
to wheedle him into leaving money to her low-lived boy. She is an
artful and designing hussy, and I should like to tell her so to her
face."
The cold and usually impassible woman was deeply excited. Her selfish
nature made her grudge any of her husband's estate to others, except,
indeed, to Godfrey, who was the only person she cared for. As she
thought over the unjust disposition, as she regarded it, which her
husband had made of his property, a red spot glowed in her usually
pale cheek.
Then it was another grievance that money should have been left to the
town.
"What claim had the town on my husband," she thought, "that he should
give it five thousand dollars? In doing it, he was robbing Godfrey and
me. It was wrong. He had no right to do it. What do I care for these
people? They are a set of common farmers and mechanics, with whom I
condescend to associate because I have no one else here, except the
minister's and the doctor's family, to speak to. Soon I shall be in
the city, and then I don't care if I never set eyes on any of them
again. In Boston I can find suitable society."
The more Mrs. Preston thought of it, the more she felt aggravated by
the thought that so large a share of her husband's property was to go
to others. She fixed her eyes thoughtfully on the document which she
held in her hand, and a strong temptation came to her.
"If this should disappear," she said to herself, "the money would be
all mine and Godfrey's, and no one would be the wiser. That Irish boy
and his mother would stay where they belonged, and my Godfrey would
have his own. Why should I not burn it? It would only be just."
Deluding herself by this false view, she persuaded herself that it was
right to suppress the will. With steady hand she held it to the flame
of the lamp, and watched it as it was slowly consumed. Then, gathering
up the fragments, she threw them away.
"It is all ours now," she whispered, triumphantly, as she prepared to
go to bed. "It was lucky I found the will."