Concern For Edgar
Tom did not go upstairs and sleep in his bedroom. Instead, he sat in his dad’s chair in the living room and fell asleep. It turned cold overnight, and a cool early autumn breeze fluttered the curtains next to him. His eyes opened, and he caught the odor of fallen apples from their orchard. The sun had barely cast its first rays of the new day on the field of corn beyond the orchard. Brown corn leaves with faint strands of green twisted and shivered from the breeze.
‘It looks like the corn is as ready as it will ever be,’ Tom thought. ‘I’ll pull the corn picker out today. Check the belts. Grease and oil it.’
Tom stood, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. He plodded to the desk in the dining room and sat in a rickety chair. He switched on an old plastic Crossly radio. The weather report interested him, though never particularly accurate. ‘Dry for the next few days. That should be enough to get the corn in—maybe.’
He went to the kitchen, prepared the coffee maker, and turned it on. He left the kitchen and walked into the mudroom. He slung on a jacket.
‘By the time I toss the hay down for the cattle, the coffee will be done. I’ll wake Mom and… And she’s not here. She’ll never be here. Last night seems like a dream. I thought I’d wake up and all would be good. Mom used to say that things always look better in the morning. Not always true.’
He put down hay for the cattle. The coffee was enjoyed. And a bowl of cereal was eaten.
Tom worked on the corn picker for three hours. The phone extension in the barn rang. It was the funeral home. A meeting was set up for the afternoon.
Walking back to the corn picker, the phone rang again.
Tom lifted the phone. “Hello.”
“This is Edger. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Tom said. “The funeral home called just before you did. I have to go in there this afternoon.”
“Have your wits about you,” Edgar said. “Don’t let them pressure you into something extravagant.”
“Everything is already paid for.”
“What!” Edgar said. “You already paid them, without consulting me?”
“No,” Tom said, “Mom paid for her funeral right after Dad died.”
“Oh,” Edgar said. “When will the funeral be?”
“I think that’s what will be discussed today,” Tom said.
“I’d like to conference call or at least listen in to help make some decisions,” Edgar said, “but I’m tied up all day. When I came in this morning, my desk had a mountain of clients’ files. I’m swamped and don’t have any time. You’ve got the time.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, “the corn picker is ready to go. The weather is clear.”
“Look,” Edgar said, “I don’t want to rush but…”
“Yeah,” Tom interrupted, “you have a mountain of work.”
“What I want to say is, can you hold the funeral on the first of October?” Edgars said. “Friday, I can catch a flight after work and be there before midnight. Can you pick me up at the airport?”
“Can’t you rent a car?” Tom asked.
“I could, but it’s such a hassle,” Edgar said.
“I’ll make it work,” Tom said.
“Great,” Edgar said. “Also, can you make it a morning funeral? That way I can catch a flight that day and be back on Saturday.”
“And that includes a ride back to the airport?” Tom asked.
“Well, yeah,” Edgar said indignantly. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I’d like to see Mom’s will when I’m home.”
“It’s at the lawyer’s office,” Tom said, “but I’ll get it before you come so you can look at it.”
“Thanks, Tommy Gun, I knew I could depend on you.”
“I’ll keep you up to date on how things are going,” Tom said.
“That’s okay,” Edger said. “It won’t be necessary.”
“I’m sure you have enough on your plate,” Tom said.
“Brother, do I!” Edgar said. “Just watch your costs and spending.”
“I’ll be careful,” Tom said.
“In fact, wait on paying any of Mom’s expenses until I get home,” Edgar said.
Tom pressed his lips. He felt as if Edgar talked down to him. He also realized he wasn’t paying attention. He told him Mom had paid for the funeral years ago. “As a reminder, I was eleven when you left home. I’m eighteen now.”
“Are you smarter now than you were when you were twelve?” Edgar asked.
“Of course.”
“Will you be smarter seven years from now than you are now?” Edgar asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m twenty-five,” Edgar said. “I have that much more experience than you, and I’m a lawyer—a Harvard lawyer.”
“I understand,” Tom said.
“I know how to handle things like this,” Edgar said. “That’s what I’ve been trained to do.”
“Yeah,” Tom said. “I guess I’m lucky to have you on my side.”
Tom resented Edgar’s condescending approach. Now was not the time to strike a combative or disagreeable counter approach.
“Don’t call me,” Edgar said. “I may be in the middle of something important and can’t be bothered. Sooo, so leave it all up to me to call you.”
“Got it, Edgar,” Tom said.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Edgar said, “it’s my room. The old house gets a lot of dust during the summer. Can you be sure I have fresh blankets?”
“I’ll make a note of it,” Tom said.
“Good boy, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said and hung up.
Trace hung up his phone. He drove the tractor with the four-row car picker to the corn field. He parked it where he wanted to start picking.
Tom drove his pickup to the funeral home. Final arrangements took about forty-five minutes.
Next, he drove to the lawyer’s office. He was shown his way into the lawyer’s private office. Gene Francis, the layer, met Tom at the door.
“My deepest condolences,” Gene said and hugged Tom. “Your mom and dad were more than clients. Have a seat.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Francis,” Tom said. “I just stopped to ask a favor.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gene said. “What’s on your mind?”
“My brother, Edgar,” Tom said.
“The one who graduated from Harvard Law,” Gene said.
Tom smiled. “He’s the only one I have. He has a quick turnaround. He’s coming in on Friday night. The funeral is Saturday morning, and he has to catch a flight that night to get back to New York. Could you be in your office on Saturday to have the will read?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Gene said. “I was planning on being at the funeral. Both your folks meant a lot to me. Actually, we went through school together. We were good friends.”
“So, we can go over the will somewhere in the funeral home after the funeral?” Tom asked.
“I’m sure we can find a private room,” Gene said, “I’d like to clue you in on something. Tom is not in the will other than a repayment of a loan.”
“What do you mean?” Tom squinted, not knowing anything about the will.
“Your mom never said anything?” Gene asked.
“No,” Tom said, “we never talked about those types of things.”
“There is a trust provision until you reach twenty-one,” Gene said.
“What does that mean?” Tom asked.
“Your mom and dad agreed years ago that I would be the trustee of the farm if they died before you and Gene reached twenty-one. And your mom had Gene taken out of the will. His education was paid for by profits from the farm. I helped your mom with all those things. Gene owes the trust.”
“In other words,” Tom said, “he owes me.”
“Yes,” Gene said. “It sounds to me like maybe Edgar doesn’t know that you know that.”
“This is going to be uncomfortable,” Tom said.
“That’s why your mom wanted this handled by a lawyer,” Gene said. “I will do the dirty work—and it’s not personal. It’s the law and your mom’s will.”
Tom paused a moment and shook his hand. “Thank you. Mr. Francis.”
“From now on, it’s Gene.”
Tom pivoted and grabbed the doorknob.
“Wait,” Gene said.
Tom pulled the door halfway open and looked over hit shoulder.
“If you’re asked, you know nothing about the will,” Gene said. “Just let it all fall on me.”
Tom gave a quick half-smile and walked out.
Tom drove home. All he thought about was Edgar. His only mention in the will was that he owed money.
He parked the truck in the barnyard. He climbed from the truck and hoisted himself onto the tractor with the corn picker.
‘I might as well get a few hours of corn picking in now,” Tom thought. “It’s going to be a busy week.’
He steered the tractor with a wagon attached and started down the first rows of corn. His thoughts were always on Edgar. ‘He’s my brother. I look up to him. I love him. We’ll work something out. He loves me.’
His thoughts drifted to his mother. Tears rolled down his cheek. ‘She knew Edgar better than anyone. She had her reasons for taking him out of the will. That’s between Mom and Edgar.’
