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The following day, as Molly talked to the doctor, Daniel, Annie and John Patrick met with the village’s banker. William Thatcher was a man in his mid-fifties with a full head of graying hair and a voice that was steeped in magnolia tea. He carried himself with authority and radiated unflappable competence, giving assurance to those he dealt with. When John Patrick explained what they wanted, he pulled a three-page form from his drawer and began to ask questions in a precise tone.
“Do you want a revocable instrument?”
“What’s it mean?” asked the elder Donovan.
“Do you want the right to withdraw the money once it’s deposited?”
“No.” Daniel’s tone left no doubt that his was the final word on the subject.
“Do you want to establish a foundation?”
“What’s it mean?” John Patrick repeated.
“Do you want to be able to add money to the fund from time to time? And do you want other people to be able to contribute to the fund?”
“Why not?” was Daniel’s opinion. “That means it can go on indefinitely, right?”
“As long as funds are available,” the banker intoned.
“It sounds right to me,” said Annie.
“All right,” said the banker. “Do you want to limit the amount that can be paid to any one individual?”
“No.” It was unanimous.
“Do you want to pay for medicine or for medical expenses?”
“What’s the difference?” A frown cut deep lines into John Patrick’s brow.
“Well, if the deed of trust states it pays for medicine, then that’s the only covered expense. But if, for instance, you have a child that needs to go to Flag for treatments with a specialist, the fund wouldn’t cover that. You’d have to specify that it would cover all medical treatment. If you want the cost of the trip to be covered, too, you’d specify ‘all medical treatment and related expenses’.”
“Say that, then,” said Daniel. “Whatever a sick person needs.”
“Do you want to limit the beneficiaries of the fund?”
“Bill.” John Patrick’s tone was desperate. “Just say what you mean.”
“Well, you could set this up for children only, or Indians, or those of Irish descent—”
“Or exasperatin’ bankers,” put in John Patrick. He rose heavily to his feet. “Thatcher, you know what we want. Tell the doctor about it and work out the details between you, then bring the papers for us to sign.” He saw the hurt look on his friend’s face and added in a more moderate tone, “Bill, we trust you. And we trust Theo. Set it up between you and we’ll sign it. If you bring it out on Sunday, I’ll make sure Molly sets an extra place at the table. And one for Nellie, too.”
The banker stood and offered his hand. John Patrick took it and shook it, then turned to go.
“There is one more thing,” Thatcher said.
With an irritated noise, Donovan asked, “And what might that thing be?”
“The foundation needs a name.”
“A name? What’s it need a name for?”
“It’s a legal entity,” the banker explained. “It needs a legal name. You could call it the Donovan Fund, the Annie Donovan Foundation, or anything like that. But it needs a name of its own.”
John Patrick sighed and Daniel hid his chuckle with a cough. “Just bring the papers Sunday, Bill. We’ll have a name for you then.”
But by Sunday when the banker and his wife arrived for dinner with the family, they were no closer to a name for the fund than they’d been in his office. The banker was annoyed.
“We can’t execute these documents without a title for the account.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Adam. “‘A rose by any other name...’”
“It’s the other name that’s the problem,” Daniel explained. “Dad doesn’t want to call it the Donovan Fund, because it was Annie’s idea. Annie doesn’t want to call it the Annie Donovan Fund because... well, just because. So we’re stuck without a name.”
“Why not call it ‘Garryannie’?” Adam inquired. John Patrick clapped his hands together and Daniel’s eyes sparkled; Adam had once again earned his reputation as the poet of the family.
“That’s pretty,” said Jesse, “but what does it mean?”
“It means ‘Annie’s Garden’.” Adam turned to Annie. “You’ve planted a little money—seed money, you might say. Now we just sit back and watch the good things grow.”
“THE GARRYANNIE FOUNDATION TRUST FUND,” the banker intoned. “It certainly has a ring to it. Someone spell it for me.” He filled it in on the papers before Annie could object. “And now that it has a name, I’d like to be the first to make a contribution.” He took a cheque from his pocket, already made out for one hundred dollars, and assigned it to the foundation with a flourish.
In the weeks that followed, several more citizens of White’s Station did the same. Tommy and Alec contributed in Elena’s memory, came to tell Annie about it with tears in their eyes. The doctor’s sister began to put in a few dollars a month out of her “egg money”. The Griffiths contributed as a family and the younger Donovan twins took the money they’d earned with the excess produce and gave it to the banker. Jake contributed a mustang to the auction Carolyn Hodges organized to benefit the fund.
Adam had spent his accumulated wages on the repairs that had been needed in the canyon, but Brian had a few hundred dollars left after their cattle purchases. He contributed it in the name of Rocking Chair Ranch, and Jesse cried when he told her what he’d done.
“After all,” the big man said, “we’re partners, ain’t we?”