The Clarkl Soup Kitchens (12 page)

The farmhand also reports a new plan to grow wild rice. The New Christian Congregation has ordered so much of this cereal from
America
that the farming manager wants to see if the conditions about one hundred miles north or south of the Clarkl equator are equal to those in
Minnesota
, where wild rice flourishes. A two-hundred-acre plot has been identified, and plants from the lakes of
Minnesota
have been introduced there. My farmhand is assigned to that project for three days each week.

Our dining room rarely has wild rice, and any that comes is saved for the staff.

April 21, 2144
– Some nice smoked salmon, a gift from the faithful in
Canada
. I sat an extra foot away from the hors d’oeuvres table to penalize myself with an appropriate handicap.

Gospel Train
sounded good at both services. A few locals were there, and one recorded it. Then, we presented
Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child
, to not much appreciation. The Clarklians like the lively tunes.

I saw that $10 scarf today on a different local. Perhaps it has become a valuable item for trading.

The recent spacecraft from
America
brought an upgrade to the organ’s software, and I loaded that today. It sounds about the same, but the music stand now can hold up to twenty sheets. I’ll have to get used to it.

After the first service, my merchant friend visited to show me a new bathroom. It can install the bathroom in my cabin, it assured me, in only four hours, giving me a steam room with a shower. Gone is another $17,000, along with about fourteen square feet of my space. I expect the installation in three weeks. Meanwhile, I continue to shower near the staff lounge.

April 22, 2144
– The dining room manager put the sterling silver on the tables today, to be used by the Clarklians. Whom had she been saving it for? The Monarchs came and went without seeing it. Usually she sets the tables in the staff dining room with stainless steel and lets the locals use disposable plastic.

Several Batwigs were at the services today, and I was happy we had the
I Couldn’t Hear Nobody Pray
in good shape. Four Batwigs attended the early service, and the Reverend Walters preached on the text of the Loaves and Fishes miracle. Then, seven Batwigs stayed through the offertory at the second service, not long enough to hear that sermon again.

Loaves are in good supply here. The farms produce some wheat, but the spacecrafts from
America
are full of it, too. Fishes are, of course, out of bounds for this planet of vegetarians.

I asked my farmhand friend about other animals on this planet, and he has never seen any. Vegetation appears to abound, but the usual animal pests do not appear at the farms. They do not need to spray to eliminate bugs.

The merchant returned today to sell two more $17,000 bathrooms. These buyers are also on the waiting list for the deluxe cabins.

I spread all the work on the Rachmaninoff on the top of my desk and made some real progress today. I wish one of the sopranos could reach A#, but I can’t chance it. The organ has to take over all these high notes, using the flute stop. Same with the really low notes, except I’ll indicate the tuba stop.

I am getting very excited about this set of songs, and I hope the Deacon will agree to publish them. It’s not the popular item the spirituals will become, but surely college students will appreciate the revised score.

April 23, 2144
– Nobody came to the dining room today, or to the services. The dining room manager was very upset, pacing back and forth from the staff lounge to the kitchen most of the day. The Reverend Walters was looking very sad, too.

The show had to go on, of course. We played and sang as if the room were SRO. The choir decided to add an extra anthem to the second service, as if that might attract the locals. But nobody was seen anywhere near our property. I’ll ask my farmhand friend tomorrow if the New Christian Congregation is canceling orders for produce.

I sent the two spirituals we have been rehearsing to the Deacon today, via the electronic message system. I also made a recording to send in the next spacecraft. His encouragement has been very uplifting, of course, but we are always pleased at the reaction of our friends in the congregation. The Clarklians like these pieces above everything else.

I borrowed a little printer from the dining room manager to make a backup copy of the first Rachmaninoff piece, and I took it to the sanctuary after the second service to try it out. I always like to work from paper because I can make notations directly on the sheet and apply them when I return to my cabin.

The first piece is sounding better than I had imagined it would. I played each of the six parts in turn, just to make sure nobody had too much to sing, and then I played the accompaniment. Some notations for changes, of course, but so far a good effort.

Sarah Hope’s Jottings

March 28, 2142
– I went to the lawyer, Mr. Whipple, today, the visit I had been both dreading and wishing for.

“Well, Miss Hope,” he said, flashing a toothy smile and looking at me as if I were a very small child, “I talked to the people from the New Christian Congregation yesterday, and now I have the pleasure of your visit.”

“Yes,” I admitted. I wondered what the church had to do with it.

“Mrs. Aperson signed a very complete will and testament, and she has left you some property,” he continued.

“Yes,” I agreed. Actually, I was expecting to be the only beneficiary.

“There’s not much in this estate, you understand,” he went on. “Mrs. Aperson was over 100 when she died, and she outlived most of her assets.”

“Oh,” I said, widening my eyes.

He straightened his tie and picked up a heavy document.

“Here’s a copy of the will I made for you, but I will explain the gist of it now.”

I took the copy and continued to look at Mr. Whipple.

“Mrs. Aperson left you her house, its contents, and its grounds. There is a substantial mortgage on the place, and, I am sorry to say, you have inherited that, too.”

“No, no,” I said. “She was to leave me her house free and clear. She told me so when I went to work for her in 2111.”

Mr. Whipple nodded and said, “Yes, that may have been her intent in 2111. I know you were her companion for over thirty years, but those years exhausted her inheritance from Judge Aperson. She mortgaged the house to pay the taxes and the maintenance.”

“What maintenance?” I cried. “I did all the repairs, even the plumbing and the roofing.”

He waited until I had calmed down. Finally, he said, “I, of course, can’t know where the money went. I assisted with the three mortgages she took out on the house, one in 2116, another in 2229, and the third in 2237.”

“I see,” I said, not really seeing at all. I knew she had income to pay the taxes, the grocery bills, and the utilities. I had assembled all those bills for her review each month. I also had deposited her annuity check and her retirement check each month, and I knew the checks always more than covered the bills.

“I need to do additional work on this for you,” he said. “I am the executor of this estate, and, as such, I owe you a complete statement of the value of this property, less all these mortgages and any liens.”

“Liens!” I shouted.

“I need to research everything, and I expect I can have a complete list of the assets and liabilities within two weeks. Can you return then?”

“What about that church? Did they receive any part of the house?” I demanded.

“No, their bequest was in cash only. You got the house, they got the cash, and I will get my usual percentage.”

“So the value of my inheritance will be reduced by your fees, too?” I asked.

“That is the law, Miss Hope.”

“How much cash did they get?” I wondered, shaking my head at the outrage of it all.

“About $750,000. That’s as near as I can calculate it right now.”

“And your rough estimate of the net value of the house, as near as you can calculate it right now?”

“About $95,000.”

“I have worked without salary for thirty-one years for $95,000?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Hope. I know your agreement with Mrs. Aperson was never in writing. We should have had something formal between you, but you both seemed so agreeable, always.”

I started to cry. I was nearly fifty, but I still felt the need to express my anger and my disappointment.

March 30, 2142
– I’m still very upset about the will. I took all Mrs. Aperson’s clothes to the charity shop today, expecting to purge the house of her odor.

In 2111 I answered her advertisement for a companion, light housework and cooking required.

I had just graduated from high school, near the top of my class. I was an orphan, living in the county orphanage with nearly two hundred other children. I spent all my free time working on my studies in the expectation I would be selected to go to college at
Chatham
in
Pittsburgh
, just forty miles from home. I applied only to
Chatham
and was put on the college’s waiting list. My turn never came.

After six months on the waiting list, I finally decided
Chatham
College
needed students who could pay the tuition. I didn’t blame
Chatham
for wanting to be able to pay its faculty, but I felt my excellent high school record should allow me to attend college somewhere.

At that time, I read Mrs. Aperson’s advertisement in the
Pittsburgh Press
. She lived in Edgewood, within easy commuting distance to
Chatham
, and the situation seemed ideal.

That first year, Mrs. Aperson gave me room and board and a small allowance. I did all the housework, cooked two meals each day for both of us, and spent my evenings reading to her and talking with her. During the days, I walked to the nearby library to find out everything I could about other colleges where I might be welcome.

April 6, 2142
– I have about $3,000 in my checking account.

One of the mortgages is now overdue, and there has been no check deposited to cover it.

I talked to the bill collector who called today, and he told me the mortgage payment was always charged directly to Mrs. Aperson’s savings account. Always before, in the twenty-six years since the mortgage had been taken out, the savings account had been sufficient to cover the payment.

I explained that Mrs. Aperson had died, and I gave the bill collector Mr. Whipple’s telephone number. He was the executor, I said.

Then, I called Mr. Whipple to tell him exactly what had come to light.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I closed that savings account and paid out the proceeds to the New Christian Congregation. The mortgage is now overdue.”

“You mean there is no money left to pay any of those three mortgages this month?” I demanded.

“Miss Hope, the New Christian Congregation does not own that house. Why should it be interested in paying the mortgages?”

I fumed. I realized I was about three months from being homeless, and I needed to keep the utilities paid so I would not freeze in the western
Pennsylvania
spring weather.

April 10, 2142
– I went into town today to see Mr. Whipple, again.

“I have explained your situation to the officials of the New Christian Congregation, and they would like to help you,” he said. “Do you know the Reverend Crocker? He’s the principal named in the will.”

“I never heard of him. When did Mrs. Aperson meet him?” I asked.

“Oh, I can’t know anything about that,” Mr. Whipple said. “Old ladies like the clergy, and the clergy like anybody who looks affluent.”

“What are they going to do for all this money?” I wondered.

“Pray for her soul, Miss Hope! That’s what they agree to when they talk to old people about bequests.”

“How can they help me, except to take what little equity I have in that house?” I asked.

“Exactly. We need to keep a close watch on what they will offer,” Mr. Whipple said.

He gave me his statement of the value of my inheritance. I had a house with an estimated market value of $575,000 and three mortgages with balances totaling $452,000. The real estate people who estimated the market value wrote down an estimate of $12,000 for the monthly lease for the house. They also said it appeared to require about $16,000 in exterior repairs before it could be offered for lease. They stated, very clearly and very firmly, that these numbers were contingent upon a complete inspection of the house and upon market conditions in effect when the house was offered for lease or sale.

This time I did not cry. I had had two weeks to prepare myself for the worst.

I agreed to allow Mr. Whipple to make an appointment with the New Christian Congregation for both of us.

April 17, 2142
– Today I met with the Reverend Crocker to go over my situation. I explained that Mrs. Aperson had told me, again and again, she would leave me the house in her will if I would stay with her until her death. For those thirty-one years, I told him, I had not pursued other interests or occupations because I was certain I would have the house.