The Celtic Riddle

"I have settled upon what I hope is a generous sum for the staff of Second Chance. In addition, I have made arrangements for a monthly stipend to be paid to Michael Davis, if he agrees to go back to finish his schooling. I sincerely hope he will take me up on my offer and make something of himself. He has eased the burden of the last few weeks for me considerably." All eyes turned to Michael, none that I could see friendly. Michael looked charmingly grateful for his good fortune, but his furrowed brow indicated he wasn't sure how he'd eased Eamon's burden.

"Rose Cottage, its contents, and the land on which it sits, I leave to Alex Stewart of Toronto, who I hope is here today. It is Alex who gave me my second chance which, despite everything, I am grateful for, no matter what I said at the time, and while he has refuse my offer of compensation during my lifetime, I hope he will accept this now. Rose Cottage has been a place of great pleasure to me, and I hope that Alex will enjoy it too."

Rose Cottage, I thought. Not quite the small fortune I'd had in mind for Alex, perhaps. He certainly looked somewhat taken aback by the notion. I had a sudden vision of a stone cottage, its front yard ablaze with flowers, a miniature version of the grounds at Second Chance. Roses in profusion, that was its name after all. White and pink, I decided, ramping up trellises, arching over the entrance way. A thatched roof, of course. Inside, whitewashed walls and dark, exposed beams, a huge stone fireplace, logs blazing, a carved wooden swan on the mantelpiece. Huge comfy sofas, down-filled, perhaps, covered in chintz in what? A soft, hazy green? Celadon, perhaps? No, wait, rose, dusty rose. It would have to be rose. But large and soft and squishy. Sofas to sink way down into, a good book and a glass of sherry at hand. Alex would have to modernize the kitchen and plumbing, no doubt, but that would be fine. I'd help him. And there'd be a shortage of closets, but I'd ship over a couple of antique armoires from the store as a present. Minor details. In short, it was perfect. The floors would probably need refinishing, wide planks, stained dark, with area rugs, dhurries, I'd think, that would pick up the rose, with the celadon and cream…

My mental excursion through the ozone was disturbed by the crackle of psychic tension in the room. When I came to, as it were, Margaret was so tense that cords stood out on her neck, and even from the back I could tell her jaw was rather firmly clenched. Breeta sobbed just once, out loud. Her older sisters' shoulders were hunched up to their ears. As Eamon spoke about Alex, the anger in the room, kept in check so f threatened to boil over. They may not have been too thrilled about Michael's good fortune, but Alex's, forsome reason, really bothered them.

The face, undeterred, stopped only for a moment t sip liquid through a straw. "There is one other perso who may be here, but who, fearing the wrath of my family, may send a representative instead." The hag; turned and looked at the lawyer seated to our right. He nodded and smiled somewhat less than pleasantly in their direction.

"I have, with regret, acceded to my family's wishes and have left nothing for Padraig Gilhooly in my estate." The lawyer, who I surmised was representing this Gilhooly fellow, whoever he was, frowned; Margaret's back relaxed a little. The face continued. "I want Padraig to know that nothing would have made me happier than to have him accepted in our household. Perhaps he will sue for a share of the estate. It is one of the benefits of being dead that I will not have to deal with this. I leave that family squabble and all the others I have had to endure, to the living.

"It is a source of considerable pain to me that there is so much strife in this family. In an effort to address this, even in death, I have designed an exercise that will require you to work together." Shoulders stiffened all around the room.

"As unorthodox as this may be, I have some hope for it, the foolish optimism of a dying man, if you will. I have asked that after the Will is read, McCafferty and McGIynn give each of you an envelope. These two legal bookends have objected, of course, that this is not appropriate. Their protestations, mild as they were, were intended no doubt to protect their backsides should anything untoward occur, while still permitting them to collect the additional fee they require for this endeavor. They are too accustomed to the lush lifestyle of St. Stephen's Green to refuse my request, particularly when I told them I would find other executors for my estate if they did so.