Rachel’s Legacy

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

“Ms. Burke, it’s already been paid for…in full. In fact, you’ll receive a refund as soon as we clear the account.”

I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“There was money for a headstone, too,” he continued. “You’ll have to meet with the memorial company next week to decide what you want written on it.”

To say I was surprised would be a gross understatement. I had come into the undertaker’s office to arrange for paying for Mom’s funeral. The funeral was scheduled in about an hour. The rest of the mourners and the priest would be arriving soon. Mom had decided she didn’t want to be buried from the church, that it would be too much bother and expense. I had argued with her, but she made me promise to follow her wishes. So, there would be just a small private ceremony in the funeral parlor. There would probably be only fifteen people here, but they were all Mom’s close friends.

I had asked the funeral director to send the limo for me an hour earlier than he usually picked up family. I wanted to get the financial arrangements made before the funeral. I didn’t know what I would do afterwards, when the reality of seeing Mom put into the ground hit me. No, get the plans made before I fell apart so I could focus on the ceremony.

Then, I had come in here to find this.

“Who paid it?” I asked.

“I believe it was your sister.”

“Sister? I don’t have a sister. I’m an only child.”

I was also the only member of the family now. Dad had died ten years ago and it had been just Mom and me after that. I had never had a sister…or a brother, for that matter.

Dad and Mom had also both been only children, so there weren’t even any aunts or uncles. Dad had a distant, distant second or third cousin who would be here with his wife, but other than that, there was no one, as far as I knew. Now the funeral director was telling me my sister paid for my mother’s funeral? I couldn’t understand it.

“Let me look it up.” He reached into his desk drawer and drew out a folder marked “Burke, Marie.” He read it, flipping pages to find what he wanted.

“Here it is. Rachel C. Fox, Vancouver, BC. The transfer was from Northwest Financial.” He slid the copy of the transfer fax across the desk so I could see it.

My eyes must have been wide. “Rachel Fox?” I stopped to think…that name was very familiar. “Isn’t she that rich woman that owns half of British Columbia?”

The mortician thought about it. “I believe it is. You know, someone from Northwest called yesterday and inquired about the cost of your mother’s funeral. I assumed that it was for you, that you had an account with Northwest. The transfer we received yesterday afternoon was for twenty thousand dollars, with a note that said to use the excess for a headstone or any other necessary expenses. In fact, I’m sure there’ll be a refund because this was an overpayment. I was quite surprised that it had her name on it.”

Rachel Fox? One of the richest women in the world? I couldn’t understand it.

“There were flowers delivered this morning, too, marked “Mother.” Have you looked in the viewing parlor yet today?”

“No. I came in here first.”

He frowned and took a deep breath. “Maybe you’d better look.”

He ushered me from his office to the flight of stairs that took us down to where the viewing rooms were. I took a deep breath before we entered the room where Mom was laid out.

I gasped. The room had three massive arrangements of flowers set behind the casket. They hadn’t been here yesterday. There was a white rose blanket on the casket with a sash with the word “Mother” surrounded by pink roses. At the foot of the casket was an enormous arrangement of white gladiolas and roses with another sash that read “Mother.”

I opened the small card tucked into the sash. It was signed simply “Rachel.”

“My God,” I said as I looked around. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Do you want the arrangement placed somewhere else? I wasn’t sure, but it said ‘Mother’ so I didn’t want to push it off to the side.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was completely confused. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I sank down onto one of the chairs behind me.

“Leave it,” I finally muttered. “Do you have an address for her? Do you know if she’s coming to the funeral?”

“The only address I have is for Northwest Financial,” he explained.

“Can I have that so I can at least send a thank you if she doesn’t show up?”

The director nodded and went back upstairs into his office.

I thought back to what Mom had told me. She’d been married for several years before she met my father, but had divorced. She had never wanted to talk about it. Once, when I really pressed her, I think she said his name was Walter. Oh, where was my head? Could it be Walter Fox? Wasn’t a Walter Fox the man who had founded that cruise line out of Vancouver? I thought…and when he died, it was in all the newspapers that his daughter was taking over the business: his daughter, Rachel. Was that the same one? It sounded like it was. Why did Mom never mention it?

What should I do? I was beside myself. Why had Mom never said she had another daughter? Was Rachel Fox really hers or was she Mom’s stepdaughter; Walter Fox’s child with someone else? I didn’t know what to think.

I looked at the small bouquet at the head of the casket. Even though it was set on a pedestal, it was shorter than the ones my rich-sister-that-I-never-knew-existed had sent.

Could I do something about it?

When the funeral director came back with the address, I asked him, “Where would be the best florist to get an arrangement at the last minute? I was thinking that if I didn’t have to pay for the funeral, I’d be able to afford a larger basket.”

The director looked at his watch.

“I don’t think there’s any florist that can get flowers here in the next hour.” He looked around thoughtfully when I frowned.

I looked from my basket to the one Rachel had sent, back to mine. It looked kind of skimpy. Hadn’t I been the one with Mom for the last forty years? Hadn’t I been beside her for the two months she really suffered before lung cancer finally took her?

“Let’s do this,” he suggested. “We’ll take the Mother banner from yours and transfer it to one of the other large arrangements. No one would ever know.”

My throat started to close. “If you think so,” I said and turned away. Damn. Upstaged by a half-sister I’d never met.

* * * *

At the funeral, I searched every face as they entered the door but there was no one there that I didn’t know. The only people who hadn’t been Mom’s friends were my friend Cheryl and her husband. She taught law with me at McGill.

Several people remarked at how beautiful the place looked and how special the casket blanket was.

“I didn’t do that,” I had to tell them. “Mother had another daughter, from her first marriage. She sent all this beautiful stuff.”

“I wondered,” one of Mom’s canasta buddies said. “I read the card on that beautiful arrangement that was at the foot of the casket, the one that says Mother, but I was unsure if it was the right name. I didn’t know who that was. Your mother never said anything about another daughter. All she talked about was you.”

“The card was the right name. Her name is Rachel. I’m sorry she’s not here today.” I wondered what they’d think if I divulged to them that my half-sister was the millionaire Rachel Fox.

It was hard getting through the funeral, but I’d expected it to be. What made it even harder was everything Rachel had sent. I watched as all the flowers were loaded into the flower car to follow Mom to the cemetery. If Rachel hadn’t sent so much, there wouldn’t have been a need for the extra car. It was a good thing she’d paid extra. I don’t think I’d have wanted to pay for the extra car to carry her flowers.

At the interment, I stood there staring at the grave as the priest finished the service and the mourners returned to their cars. It all seemed unreal, yet totally real at the same time.

An older woman drew me aside.

“Alison, I didn’t want to speak in front of the others, but I have to ask you something.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Randall,” I answered.

“When your mother first moved here, before she married your father, I believe the name she was using was Fox. Might your half-sister be the famous Rachel Fox?”

I frowned. “I believe it is. I’ve never met her. In fact, I didn’t know Mom had another daughter until all the flowers arrived.”

“Incredible,” she murmured. She looked at the flowers surrounding the grave. “You’d think someone with that much money would have taken care of her mother before she died.”

“Yes, you would think so, wouldn’t you?” I suddenly developed a real hatred for Rachel C. Fox.

* * * *

It was late afternoon when I returned to my condo. I knew Mother was in a better place, now, and was out of pain. I had to focus on that fact to keep going. My emotions swung from feeling relief that she wasn’t suffering to the grief of losing her. Life would be very different now. I wasn’t sure how I’d react once the reality of this hit me; when there was nothing to plan or worry about. That left a hole in my heart and a void in my life.

I’d spent the last three months worrying about her and trying to make her more comfortable. I’d raced back and forth between university and home. Or back to Mom’s house for several weeks before I moved her to mine so it would be easier for me to take care of her.

The second bedroom in my condo, where Mom had been, was closed now. I wasn’t ready to open the door again. I’d have to make decisions about it. Should I move everything back to the way it was? How could I have someone sleeping in there or work on my contract reviews knowing Mom had died in that bed. I’d have to make a decision soon about how I should redecorate the room and what to do with the mattress.

I was also going to have to go back to Mom’s house and go through all of the stuff there. Should I sell the furniture with the house, or sell it separately or just give the furnishings away? I had no idea what would be better. Maybe I’d have to ask Cheryl what she thought. She’d gone through something like this a few years ago when her mother-in-law died. I knew it wasn’t the same, but a second person would help me.

I didn’t have to make those decisions this very minute, but I would eventually.

* * * *

Three days later, I sat down to write a thank you. What should I say? It took me several minutes before I began. It was difficult to decide how to phrase certain things so I wouldn’t sound hateful.

Dear Rachel,

Thank you for everything you did for Mother’s funeral. The service was elegant. It’s a shame you couldn’t be here.

I met with the stonemasons today to plan her headstone. I hope you’ll like what I chose.

I have a pillow and other pieces that she embroidered if you’d like any of them. There are also some of her paintings. You probably didn’t know she was an artist. She only started painting when I was in high school, twenty-five years ago. Please let me know if you’d like any of them. I can send photos of the paintings for you to choose from.

Perhaps we’ll get to meet some day

Sincerely, Alison.

I was going to sign it Alison Burke but thought better of it at the last minute. No, we were discussing our mother’s funeral…my mother’s funeral. It shouldn’t be that formal.

It was difficult not to rub it in that Mother had been an artist for so long, and Rachel had never cared to know about it. I also had a hard time wording the last line. I didn’t want to say I “hope” we’d meet someday, because I really didn’t. I wrote it was a shame she wasn’t there when what I was really feeling was “Why the hell weren’t you here?” It was all I could do to make this sound friendly and not castigate her for letting Mother’s last days drag by.

I had borrowed as much as I could and raced home from university every day so that I wouldn’t have to pay the nurse that extra hour. I had used most of my savings and had considered selling some of the stock I owned to pay for what Mom’s government insurance wouldn’t cover. I had just refinanced my condo when Mother passed. If there’d been a little bit more money, we could have had the better hospital bed or better care and made her a lot more comfortable. Even the beautiful flowers didn’t make up for the suffering she’d endured.

And actually, I didn’t give a s**t whether she liked the headstone or not. I liked it and I knew Mother would have. That’s all that mattered.