The constant ticking of the ancient grandfather clock echoed along the empty shell of the McQuincy Mansion. Grace McQuincy, seated in an old and wore armchair by a cozy fireplace gazed around the ancient house, hands folded on her lap in silent contentment. The yesterdays of the once cherry and joyful mansion echoed mournfully within the very peeling wallpapered walls. A small smiled graced upon the lips of Grace McQuincy’s weather-beaten face. Memories of her childhood played across her mind accompanied by the endless ticking of the ancient grandfather clock that took up half of the living room. Once, this mansion had been full to the brim of joy. Now, it lay bare, drained of all sound and color. A sudden knock on the old mahogany door disrupted her thoughts. Grace McQuincy lifted up her pointed chin and cracked open an eye. “Come in,” Grace McQuincy said weakly.A tall man around his fifties hauled his skinny frame through the doorway. He raised his hand to greet the old women seated in the lion-clawed, maroon armchair. He strode to a chair to the left side of Grace’s and sat in without even asking. He put on his half-moon spectacles and snapped open his smart briefcase.
“Mr. Mississippi, I see that you are prompt, as usual,” Grace said casually as she straightened her back. “I see you are as fit as a fiddle, Ms. McQuincy.”
Mr. Mississippi looked young for his fifties, the only thing that betrayed this prospect was the streaks of grey that inhabited his spiky hair. Grace smiled. Billy Mississippi, sugar-coating others, as usual. Some things just don’t change.
Mr. Mississippi pulled out a piece of paper with a flourish and handed Grace the piece of paper with his bony hand. Grace’s eyes darted along the lines, scanning for a single faulty and found none. She nodded her head in approval. Mr. Mississippi carefully handed her a midnight blue fountain pen. Grace inspect it for a moment, as if in shock. Then a small smile crept back onto her aged and wrinkled face. This was the very pen that she had presented Billy in occasion of his graduation from the Royal College of Laws with a PhD. Twenty-five years ago. Those were great times. Grace herself was only thirty-five back then. Grace held the pen in her withered and bony hand and weakly signed a scrawl of her signature on the very bottom of the document. She was old. Never had she felt so frail before, even on signing signatures.
Billy Mississippi replaced the document in the briefcase and snapped it shut. He looked up at grace with his chocolaty brown eyes and asked gently, “Would you like to let them in now?” Grace nodded meekly as she broke into fits of cough. Mr. Mississippi hugged her and said his last good bye. He turned the door knob and took one last look at Grace before striding in long steps, out of the ancient mansion. Immediately, her most love ones were clumped around her. Just silent. Not talking. Grace smiled contently and knew her decision was right. 15 minutes before her death, Grace Maria McQuincy had changed her will. And all wanted now was he family.
TO BE CONTINUED...
