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I didn’t know he no longer trusted me enough to tell me that the ranch was going through financial straits.
“Grandpa, I’m sorry,” I muttered, tears welling up in my eyes.
I went on to wash my face, brush my teeth, and wear my nightgown. Then I sat on Grandpa’s squeaky bed. My eyes landed on a photo album peeking from the dresser.
Pulling it out, I flipped through the pages. In it, I saw younger versions of Grandpa and me smiling, living and enjoying life to the fullest. First, there were pictures of both of us on the ranch. Then it changed to several photographs of Grandpa and me in Chicago.
Tears welled up in my eyes as my fingers traced his face.
If the wrinkle lines were smoothened and he was slimmer, Grandpa’s face would be a mirror reflection of mine. People said I’d inherited his bright blue eyes and stubborn chin. Yet he had facial features that were uniquely his. His silver hair was straight, not curly. His nose was slightly crooked from an accident on the ranch years ago.
In the photograph, his mouth tilted up in a smile that could light up a room. I was staring at the picture when a memory struck.
Grandpa and I had been laughing when I casually mentioned selling the ranch someday. The smile on his face dimmed. His eyes reflected pain I hadn’t understood back then. When he spoke, his voice was steady yet laced with sadness.
“A Harrington ought to work the land, live on it, breathe it. Since you’re my daughter’s daughter, you’re a Harrington through and through. And I don't expect any less from you. When you inherit Harrington Ranch, you’ll work on it like my true descendant,” he said, beating his chest.
He’d never given me details about the ranch after that, claiming he would only do so when I visited. Looking back, I realized that Grandpa might have let go of the ranch after hearing my refusal.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. I lay back on the bed, the springs creaking under my weight.
“Grandpa, I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The room was silent. He wasn’t here to listen to my apology.
“I hope you can forgive me.”
Closing my eyes, I prayed, “God, please forgive me for neglecting Grandpa. Help me to live a better life.”
It was too late for regrets now. There was only one thing I could do to honor the memory of the man who raised me.
I wouldn't sell the ranch. Selling was an easy way out, a way to detach and move on. But it wasn’t right. Instead, I’d find a competent and passionate person to manage it. They would breathe life back into the soil. They’d care for the land Grandpa loved.
It wasn’t the ideal plan Grandpa envisioned. But it was the best I could do.
*******
A knock woke me up from sleep. My eyes fluttered open, blinking against the daylight streaming into the room. I tossed the sheets aside.
It was late, far later than I was accustomed to rising. Waking up this late was a luxury I rarely indulged in back in Chicago. I went to bed late and was always up early.
When I opened the door, Beth was smiling at me.
“I hope you slept well. The lawyer is waiting for you in the living room.”
“Offer him some tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, please. I'll be there shortly.”
After dressing quickly, I made my way to the living room. The lawyer and the three workers were already waiting. The lawyer, Mr. Anderson, smiled at me. He was a family friend who had known Grandpa for years.
“Good morning, Anna. I trust you remember me,” he said.
I nodded and sat, sipping the coffee Beth provided.
“Of course, Mr. Anderson. It’s good to see you again.”
He unfolded the document in his hand. He cleared his throat and began reading Grandpa’s will. William Harrington II had willed the ranch to me, but there was a catch—a condition that left me stunned.
“To claim your inheritance, you must manage the Harrington Ranch for a year,” Anderson said.
