Walter pulled his topcoat tight around his neck as a north wind picked up and blew snow flurries up Orchard Avenue. He stopped to check his watch.
6:58 p.m.
He turned up the walkway to the Roberts home. As he approached the front door the sound of the children’s voices, the glow of lights from almost every window, and the fragrance of Bernice Baxter’s honey chicken brought a smile.
How great to see life back in the house.
Lord, we have prepared for this moment for months. I have no idea how they’ll respond. But I pray that You honor Sam and Lori’s heart tonight. Fill this house with Your Spirit, and help me carry out this task as Your servant.
He heard the mantel clock in the house begin to chime seven times.
This is for you, Sam.
Walter no sooner knocked at the door than Reed opened it.
“Hello, Walter, come in and get out of that weather. Is it snowing?”
Walter smiled at Sam’s youngest son as he shook light flakes off his topcoat. “Just started. It’s not supposed to turn into much, so your flight back tomorrow shouldn’t be a problem. And the roads should be fine as well.”
Reed hung Walter’s coat up, and they walked together down the hall.
“We’re all in here. We just finished the feast that Bernice Baxter made for us. What a spread! You should’ve joined us.”
“Thanks. I had a meal with some friends, but I always hate missing one of Bernice’s dinners.”
Walter followed Reed into the living room and surveyed the scene. This had always been Lori’s favorite room. She and Sam worked hard to make it a place that drew people in. Every chair beckoned you to lose yourself in its arms. The walls were textured and painted in rich greens and rusts. The lighting was warm and relaxing. The main wall boasted an oversized rock fireplace fixed with a dark cherry wood mantel. And everywhere there were quilts. Lori was a master quilter. Small, framed, ornate quilt squares hung on walls and stood on bookshelves and end tables. The large leather couch had no less than three large quilts spread out on it, including one that had been Merideth’s favorite since she was a child. The two rockers next to the fireplace each had one rolled up neatly on the seat.
And then there were pictures. Too many to count. Family vacations, reunions, sports events, proms, Christmases, Thanksgivings, and so on. Walter could still see Sam walking along peering at each one then telling a story he was sure Walt had never heard.
Alex was tending a reluctant fire. Anna had settled into one of the rockers, unrolling her mother’s quilt and wrapping herself in it. Merideth was on the couch under her comforter, sipping a glass of red wine.
She held up the glass. “You don’t mind, do you, Walter? I know Dad never had alcohol in the house, but we thought a little wine might not be a bad thing for a night like this.”
Walter smiled and nodded. “Actually, I would like something to drink as well. Tea, if you have it. With honey?”
Merideth left the room and a few minutes later returned with a steaming cup of Earl Grey accompanied by the honey pot and a spoon.
Reed settled into the other rocker, and with the fire starting to crackle to life, Alex joined Merideth on the couch. Two chairs remained empty.
Lori’s and Sam’s.
Walter chose Lori’s chair, a deep burgundy La-Z-Boy that sat between the couch and the fireplace. Straight across from it was Sam’s worn leather recliner.
The empty chair filled the room with an eerie sense of Sam’s continued presence. Walter gave the quiet moment space to breathe.
This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Now for the Spirit to move.
Walter sipped his tea. None of the children spoke. They just waited. He could feel their tension and anticipation mixed with anxiety. He paused, looked at each one and then sipped again.
Finally, Walter set his tea down and opened his briefcase to pull out a fat envelope. He closed the briefcase and eased open the envelope with a bit of dramatic flair. Fishing a set of reading glasses from his breast pocket, he laid the document on the table at enough of an angle so that no one but he could read it. He cleared his throat and began.
To my beloved children, Alex, Anna, Merideth, and Reed. I have asked my dear friend, Walter Graffenberger, to read this letter to you. He will read my will at the proper time, but this letter must come first. Let me begin by telling you that your mother and I love each of you so dearly. It gives my heart peace as I write this to know that you will be hearing this while sitting in our home, where we all shared so many years of laughter and tears. Look around. How many memories rush to your mind? I hope this house will always be a special place for all of you. It was one of the most profoundly wonderful gifts God gave to your mother and me.
There is so much I would like to say, but that must wait for later. For now, I must tell you the story involving a Mr. Melvin K. Sidek. Mr. Sidek came to the mission two years before your mother died. He was homeless, addicted to cocaine, and desperate for help. He had once been a successful attorney, but several setbacks and many bad decisions cost him his practice, his license, his marriage, and nearly his life. I know you have heard me tell stories like his many times over the years.
When Mel started in our program, he was barely able to say his name or walk to the bathroom. His withdrawal from drugs was ferocious, and three times he was rushed to St. John’s on the brink of death. Your mother sat by his bedside on many nights, putting cold washcloths on his forehead, reading promises to him from the Bible, and praying for him. After three months Mel stabilized and began his recovery and rehabilitation. He took on responsibilities around the mission and seemed ready to rebuild his life. But the drugs kept calling him.
Six months into his recovery, your mother and I asked Mel to live in our home and watch over it while we were away at a missions’ convention. It seemed a safe thing to do, given his great progress and clear sense of responsibility and trustworthiness. We were not aware that he was secretly beginning to buy and use cocaine again. When we returned after three days, our home had been burgled. Several items of value were gone, including your mother’s most precious possession—the diamond and sapphire ring her grandmother had given her. There was no sign of forced entry. Nor was there any sign of Mel. We found him the next day, strung out on cocaine, which we presumed he’d purchased with money he’d gotten for all he’d stolen from us.
We prayed for guidance and came to the conclusion that it would serve no great purpose to turn Mel in. But the pawned property was traced to him, and a week later the police arrived at the mission demanding to see Mel. He was brought into the room to face your mother and me. Bud Porter, chief of police, produced a photo of a ring and a yellow receipt and waved them in front of Mel.
“Do you recognize this? We have you on videotape pawning a diamond and sapphire ring last week. Lori, is this your ring?”
Your mother said it was.
Bud shouted at Mel. “Do you admit that you stole it from the Roberts’s house?”
Mel stammered and looked at your mother and me with eyes that conveyed the full weight of his sorrow and guilt. Before he could answer, your mother did something that, to my last day, I can scarcely believe.
She walked over and took the receipt from Bud’s fingers. “Steal it? Oh, no, Bud, you have it all wrong.” She turned and opened Mel’s hand then placed the receipt for her beloved ring on his palm and closed his fingers over it.
“Mel didn’t steal it. I gave it to him as a gift.” Your mother looked into Mel’s stunned face and smiled. “I am sorry for all the fuss, Mel. This ring is yours, just like we agreed.”
Bud was pretty irritated. He asked about the watch and silver pendant that also turned up at the pawnshop.
I stood amazed at your mother’s grace. Then I turned to Bud. “Yes, they too were gifts from us.”
Bud knew full well what was happening, but without complaints from your mother and me he had no grounds to arrest Mel.
“Well, I guess we will just let this man go and leave him to you two.” He shook his head then looked at me. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Sam.”
So we took Mel back to the mission, and he spent a second hellish month trying to break free from his cocaine habit. And again Lori was at his side, tending to him like he was her own son.
Day by day, week by week, with great effort and faith, Mel recovered. His newfound freedom from drugs and self-hatred rejuvenated the drive that had taken him to the top of his profession. Within a year of coming to the mission, Mel was leading our men’s Bible study, reorganizing our administrative structure, and helping us write a new strategic plan. Eighteen months after staggering into the mission, Mel left to regain his license to practice law and restart his life.
He was a changed man, and what changed him most was the love your mother showed him. They only spoke of it once, and Lori refused to ever let him mention it again. In her heart, the matter was closed. Mel later told us that her attitude gave him more freedom than anything he’d experienced in his life.
Your mother was an incredible woman. Mel could have gone to prison and, most likely, died there. Instead, he walked out of the Harvest Gospel Mission a transformed man.
Nine months later, I received a letter from Mel. He had heard of your mother’s death but had been overseas working on a business deal at the time. He told me he had completed a major project he had started before his collapse. His partners had kept it on hold during his recovery. It is an amazing story, but not one that I need to tell here. Mel was distraught over your mother’s death, and he vowed to make a gift to the mission in her memory. I wrote and thanked him and then heard nothing for six months.
A month or so after my doctor told me of my heart condition, I received a phone call from an attorney who had been in partnership with Mel. To my surprise and dismay, he informed me that Mel had died suddenly, while working on a project somewhere in China. His years of drug abuse had taken their toll, and he had a massive heart attack that took him in a matter of minutes. The attorney went on to say that Mel’s will named only one beneficiary and that was me. I asked why it named me personally and not the mission. The attorney replied, “Mel said you and Lori saved his life, and he trusted you to use the money in a way that would most honor God.” The attorney went on to tell me that Mel’s assets would likely exceed $40 million. And so they did. Two months ago Walter helped complete the transfer of $43,671,880 into a brokerage account. The entire amount remains there today.
Walter halted when a collective gasp reverberated around the room. He looked up for a moment at the stunned faces staring at him and then turned back to the page in his hand.
When I knew I did not have long to live, I shared with each of you that I had an inheritance for you that would change your life and that its disposition would be settled upon my death. I know you all have kept this secret as I asked you to. No one knows about this except the five of you in this room and Mel’s partners.
Walter and I have met over the past few weeks to discuss the disposition of these funds. I have wrestled in prayer over this decision, and I have made it. Listen to me now, my children.
Walter smiled as he read the words. That request was far from necessary. All four of Sam’s children leaned forward.
Walter cleared his throat and took another sip of tea.
Here we go, Sam.
My greatest wish has been to leave for each of you a legacy that will stay with you the rest of your lives. I love each of you so, and yet my heart is troubled as I write these words. Your mother and I were not perfect parents. We made many mistakes, and we know the kind of guilt that haunts every parent as they watch their children make poor decisions and venture down paths of life that lead to meaninglessness and despair. I have watched each of you with great anticipation, only to see you choose life journeys that broke my heart. Please know I am not disappointed with who you are as wonderful men and women, but rather in the choices you have made. I remain so very proud of each of you. You have given your mother and me joy that is beyond expression. But with that joy are pain and great concern. As I pondered the disposition of so great a sum of money, I had to balance my love for each of you with my concern for the journeys you have chosen.
Walter looked up, letting the weight of Sam’s words sink in.
Merideth stood and walked to the window. She pressed her hand against her chest, and her shoulders arched as she seemed to struggle to draw a breath.
Alex sat back into the couch. His hand covered his mouth, and his eyes searched for a place to focus.
Reed stared down at the floor, rubbing his hands together, shaking his head.
Anna’s eyes were wide, and her mouth dropped half -open, as if she were begging for an explanation, but no sound came out.
Walter set the letter down, eased himself back in his chair and sipped on his tea.
Alex shifted to the edge of the couch. “Please continue, Walter. This is unbearable.”
But he did not respond immediately. Oh, Alex…your mother and father have waited so many years for you…you can wait a moment longer for this.
After a few moments passed, he picked up the letter and read on.
After much fervent prayer and many sleepless nights, I have reached a conclusion. I have decided to trust the good that your mother and I know resides in each of you. Therefore, I will leave $5 million in an endowment to the mission, and I will divide the remaining inheritance among you equally.
“Dear God!” Reed stared at Walter wide-eyed.
Alex dropped his head back and looked up to the ceiling. “Dear God, indeed.”
Merideth’s reserved exterior eroded for a moment as she looked at her father’s empty chair. “Dad, God bless you.”
Anna laid her face in her hands and wept.
Walt gave them a moment to gather themselves. “Please, may I continue? There is more, perhaps the most important part.”
Alex and Reed nodded, and Anna regained her composure.
Walter read on.
There are, however, two stipulations. The first is that you must, together, read the story I have written for you. Walter will give it to you after he finishes reading this letter. Then you must receive the gift I have selected for each of you. Once you have read the story and received the gift that is yours, Walter will make the arrangements to have the money transferred to your accounts. If you are willing to accept these terms, Walter will have you sign accordingly.
The story I wrote contains my last words to you. Please read it with an open heart. It is, far more than any money could be, my legacy to you. And that of your mother as well. We love you all dearly.
Your father,
Samuel Roland Roberts
Walter paused for a moment then folded the letter and returned it to the envelope.
Alex opened his hands and gestured to Walter. “I am not sure I understand, Walter. Dad wants us to read a story and open a present? Is that all?”
Walter met his gaze. “That’s all. Just sign here, indicating your agreement with the terms your father established, and we can move on. And, by the way, these papers were my idea. Sam was not happy about it, but I insisted we have everything legal. So I will need a signature from each of you.”
One by one, the four moved to the table and signed on the line that had been prepared for them. Walter placed the papers in the original envelope and returned them to his briefcase. He set the briefcase on the floor, stood and walked to the library bookcase bordering the right side of the fireplace. He reached up to the third shelf and took down an ornate box. He carried the box back to the table as if it were a priceless vase and set it down with great care in front of Sam’s children. The reflection of the fire danced across its polished exterior.
Walter reached inside a small pocket of his vest and produced a silver key. He worked the key in the lock and opened the box. Inside lay a leather-bound book. It was not professionally bound but held together by long strands of thin leather strips woven through the holes at the edge of the pages. Walter lifted the book from the box and set it on the table. He paused for a moment then looked up and gazed at all four of Sam and Lori’s children.
“This is your father’s and mother’s legacy to you. In my opinion, it is far more precious than the money sitting in Sam’s bank account. But that’s for you each to decide. You’ve made a promise to read this with an open heart. I trust you will do so in honor of your parents. When you have finished the book, I will give you each the gift your father has chosen for you. Then my work here will be complete.”
He stood and walked to a chair that sat back away from the main living area.
Well, Sam, it’s up to them now.
Alex was struggling.
What is this all about? A story? About what? And what does it have to do with the inheritance?
He stood, walked over and took Walter’s seat in front of the book. His siblings drew in closer to see the book for themselves.
Alex ran his fingers across the cover. “Well, I gotta say it’s a beautiful book. Dad always loved leather.” He eased the cover open. Printed in clear, neat script on the inside page was the title.
Merideth looked over Alex’s shoulder and read it out loud: “Steward of Aiden Glenn.”
Reed frowned. “How long is it?”
Alex paged through, careful not to bend any of the pages. “Looks to be a couple hundred pages.”
Anna followed by fingering the pages. “I never knew Dad could write something like this.”
Walter spoke from behind them. “Sometimes things are easier to write than to say in person. And sometimes they’re also more readily received that way.”
Anna looked at Alex. “Alex, you should start.”
Merideth walked to the couch and grabbed her glass of wine from the end table. “I’ll need another drink for this.”
Alex moved to add another log on the fire as Reed took off his shoes and put his feet up on the ottoman. Anna returned to her chair and wrapped herself up in her mother’s quilt.
In a few moments, Merideth had returned. The fire’s cheerful crackle filled the room. Alex looked at his brother and sisters…they looked like kids at a slumber party waiting to hear a good ghost story.
He took a deep breath, picked up the book, turned to the first page and began to read.