“How much did he leave?” Marie-Ange asked, feeling embarrassed. “Is it a lot?” She didn't think so.
“I'd say it is,” he smiled at her. “It has been invested well over the years, and at present, before any disbursement to you, the trust is holding just over ten million dollars.” There was a long, long silence, as she stared at him, unable to absorb what he had just said, and unwilling to believe him. This was a joke, it had to be, and it wasn't even funny to her.
“What?” was the only word she could muster.
“The trust is holding just over ten million dollars for you,” he repeated. “A third of that will be put into an account for you next week, and I suggest that you reinvest the bulk of it as soon as you are prepared to. We can in fact handle that for you.” He was the attorney for the bank who handled her trust account, he explained. The holdings had originally been in France, but had eventually been transferred to Iowa at Carole's suggestion. She didn't think that Marie-Ange would ever go back there. “I should probably tell you as well,” he said confidentially, “that we have offered your aunt a sum of money for your support periodically, and she very kindly said there was no need for it. She has provided for you herself for the past ten years, without ever taking advantage of the trust your father left you. I thought you'd like to know that.” But even that piece of information was confusing. Aunt Carole had nearly starved her to death, had bought her clothes at the Goodwill, had forced her to do chores for every penny she'd ever given her, and had refused to help her with college. So while she had shouldered the responsibilities herself, without taking advantage of the trust, she had deprived Marie-Ange of everything possible over the years, and would even have denied her an education, if Billy hadn't given her the car she used to attend college.
It was hard to decide now if Aunt Carole had been a monster or a hero, but perhaps she had done what she thought best. But she had in no way warned Marie-Ange of what was coming to her. It came as a complete surprise, and a huge shock, as Andrew McDermott handed her a manila envelope filled with documents and suggested she review them. He needed only one signature to open an account for her, and as he left, he congratulated her on her good fortune, and even then she wasn't sure if that was how she viewed it. She would far rather have had her parents and brother alive, and grown up with them at Marmouton, than have spent the past ten years in Iowa with Aunt Carole, enduring endless loneliness and hardship. No matter how rich she was now, Marie-Ange still couldn't understand what had just happened to her, or what it would mean to her, as she stood and watched him drive away, as she continued to clutch the envelope he had left her.
“When are we having dinner?” Aunt Carole barked at her through the screen door, and she rushed inside, and put the envelope on the counter as she hurried to prepare dinner. And for the entire meal, Aunt Carole said nothing to her, until Marie-Ange broke the silence.
“Did you know?” Her eyes searched her great-aunt's face and saw nothing, not affection or warmth or regret or tenderness or joy for her. She looked as she always had, bitter and tired and old and as cold as ice in winter.
“Not all of it. I still don't. It's none of my business. I know your father left you a lot of money. I'm glad for you. It'll make things easier for you when I'm gone,” and then she stunned Marie-Ange further. “I'm selling the farm next month. I've had a good offer, and you're all right now. I'm tired. I'm going to move into the home in Boone.” She said it without apology or regret, or any concern about what would happen to Marie-Ange, but admittedly she had no reason to worry about her, except that she was a girl of twenty-one, and for the second time in her life, she was about to become homeless.
“How much longer will you stay here?” Marie-Ange asked, looking concerned about her, and seeking some trace of emotion that had never been there.
“If I sell next month, it'll be in escrow for thirty days. I should be in the home by the end of October. Tom said he would wait till then.” But it was only six weeks away, and Marie-Ange realized that she was going to have to make some decisions. She was about to start her senior year, and wondered if she should move closer to school, or take the year off to go home to France and at least see it. And for an instant, she had a brief dream about buying Marmouton back. She had no idea who owned it now, or what had happened to it, and wondered if that information would be included in the papers the lawyer from the bank had left her.
“I'll have to move out when you do,” Marie-Ange said pensively, wondering if she had ever known this woman. But she already knew the answer to that question. “Will you be happy in the home, Aunt Carole?” She felt as though she owed her something, however disagreeable she had been, or cold. She had still taken care of her for ten years, and Marie-Ange was grateful for it.
“I'm not happy here. What difference does it make? And I'm too old to run a farm now. You'll go back to France, I expect, or get a job somewhere, after you finish college. You have no reason to stay here, unless you marry that boy you say you don't want to marry. And you probably shouldn't now. You can catch yourself a real big fish with all that money.” She made it sound like an ugly thing, and the way she said it made Marie-Ange shudder. The idea of loving someone never entered into it for her, and Marie-Ange couldn't help wondering, as she had before, what her life had been like with her husband, and if she had ever loved him, if she was even capable of it. It was impossible to imagine her young or loving or happy.
Marie-Ange cleaned up the kitchen after their meal, and her aunt said she was going to bed early, and wheeled herself silently down the dark hallway. But when Billy called a short time afterward, Marie-Ange said she had to see him.
“Is something wrong?” He sounded worried.
“No … yes … no … I don't know. I'm confused. Something happened today I have to talk to you about.” She needed to talk to him very badly. There was no one else for her to talk to, although she knew he was as unsophisticated as she was about financial matters. But he was sensible and intelligent, and he wanted nothing but the best for her. It never occurred to her for an instant that he'd be jealous of her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and she hesitated.
“I think so. Yes.” She didn't want to worry him. “It's a good thing. I just don't understand it.”
“Come over whenever you want,” he said comfortably. His new girlfriend was there, but she lived on a nearby farm, and he offered to run her home before Marie-Ange came over, and she didn't seem to mind it.
Marie-Ange was on his front porch twenty minutes later, and she had brought the manila envelope with her. “What's that?” He noticed it instantly, and wondered if it was a transcript from college. He wondered suddenly if she had won another scholarship, but the look on her face told him it was something more important.
“A lawyer came to see me today,” she said in an undervoice, so the rest of the family couldn't hear what she was saying to him, and she trusted him completely. Her faith in him had never been unfounded, and she knew it wouldn't be this time.