One Year (43 page)

I
t was six o'clock in the evening. Grace was out at the grocery store. Paddy was in the kitchen, heating one of the casseroles Bonnie had provided. Mary Bernadette was propped against a pile of pillows in the bed in the little first-floor bedroom, several unopened novels by her side. She had been home for two days and still the house seemed almost frighteningly quiet after all that time in the hospital where one never had a moment's peace. Machines beeping and whirring and voices, always the voices, of nurses and doctors and visitors and the patients themselves, complaining or crying out, whispering or weeping. Mary Bernadette had longed for the blessed peace of her home on Honeysuckle Lane.

But now, the quiet seemed oppressive. There was too much time to think, and she didn't want to think. For one, she had realized that in the past few days she had lost almost all interest in knowing the latest news about the OWHA. Not once had she asked for a copy of the
Oliver's Well Gazette
; not once had she even thought to call Leonard or to question Jeannette when she stopped by. She suspected that her sudden disinterest was a result of her spiritual despair, and she had prayed for God to lift her from the depths. But in the pit she remained.

She thought about other things, too. She had come to see that it wasn't only her family who had suffered because of choices she had been making for the past fifty some-odd years. By erecting such a strong guardrail around her heart she had deprived
herself
of so much happiness as well. Over the past weeks she had watched how her son and his wife behaved when they were together, how simply and truly affectionate they were, how warm and comfortable they seemed. It was a sad thing to admit, but she and Paddy hadn't experienced that sort of easy intimacy since before William's death. So many years! She was so very sorry now for having deprived her husband of her whole self. She was ashamed of it, but she felt envious of the relationship her son and daughter-in-law shared. She realized now that she longed for a sort of love with her husband it might be too late to cultivate. Paddy had stuck by her through all of life's vicissitudes. He had never once complained. He was a quiet hero of a man. And oh, how she loved him!

Paddy came into the room with her dinner on a tray. He stopped short when he saw the tears streaming down his wife's face. He put the tray carefully on the bedside table and took her hand in his.

“Now, Mary, what's wrong?” he asked gently.

“Will you forgive me, Paddy?” Mary Bernadette pleaded. “Will you forgive me?”

Her husband leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. “There's nothing to forgive, Mary,” he said. “Absolutely nothing.”

There was nothing more for either of them to say.

“I
've been given a reassignment to Virginia,” Grace was telling the other Fitzgibbon women, gathered in Mary Bernadette's kitchen. “The order has granted me a year, and we'll see after that.”

“Paddy will be so relieved,” Megan said.

“I'm glad, too. Where will you be working?” Alexis asked.

“At the hospital, in the pastoral care department. I'll be visiting with patients in their homes once they're released. I'll try to help them deal with the emotional fallout of their illnesses. I'll pray with them if they want me to.”

Alexis shook her head. “I could never do what you do.”

“My daughter has a gift,” Mary Bernadette said. “A true calling.”

Grace turned to her mother. “And Mom, now that you're confined to the house for a bit, I'm going to introduce you to the wonders of the Internet.”

“I have no interest in the computer.”

“Too bad. You're a captive audience. I'll get you set up on Skype so you can be in touch with your grandchildren. And we bought you and Dad each a cell phone.”

“Oh Lord.”

“Don't take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, Mom.”

“Yes, dear. But those things are supposed to give you cancer.”

“And frogs give you warts. You'll learn to take the phone with you when you go out. And to be sure that it's turned on.”

“Since when have you become so bossy?” her mother asked.

Grace grinned. “I've always been bossy,” she said. “Just not with you.”

Mary Bernadette laughed. The sound was so unexpected that Grace, Megan, and Alexis exchanged looks of surprise.

“Well,” Mary Bernadette said then, “I'm afraid that I need a nap.” She got up from her chair and walked slowly out of the kitchen, Banshee dashing ahead.

Grace spoke softly, though they had heard the bedroom door close. “Did you notice that since Mom's been home from the hospital she hasn't once asked about the OWHA? At least, not in my hearing.”

“Nor in mine,” Megan said. “It's as if she's lost all interest.”

“Or she's pretending,” Alexis suggested. “Maybe she's secretly talking to one of her friends on the board.”

Megan shook her head. “Her friends would never break their promise of silence. And Mary Bernadette wouldn't give any credence to the likes of Wallace or Joyce or Norma. No, I think for some reason we can't fathom she's lost interest.”

“I hope it's only temporary,” Grace said. “The OWHA is her life. It would be a shame if it were lost to her. And after all your hard work, Meg.”

“Well, I had help finding other sources of money to replace Meadows's cash. And now with what Neal's uncovered . . .”

“What's that?” Grace asked.

Megan explained. “And so we're going to confront Meadows at the next meeting and see where that gets us. Hopefully it will convince the holdouts that he's downright bad for Oliver's Well.”

“I have to admit that PJ and I are only vaguely aware of what's been going on. We've been so self-focused. . . .”

“I haven't been advertising my efforts,” Megan told her daughter-in-law. “And your priority should be your marriage.”

“Wait,” Grace said. “Do you actually have to
prove
wrongdoing to vote Meadows off the board?”

“No,” Megan said. “It's not a court of law. But concrete proof might help convince the holdouts.”

“Maybe he'll be so angry that someone finally had the nerve to confront him that he'll leave the board without your needing to put it to a vote.”

“I doubt it, Alexis. He's perverse enough to stick around and torture us, at least until he can make off with the Branley Estate.”

If only there was something else I might do to help our case,
Megan thought now. And then, like the proverbial lightbulb suddenly turning on in her mind, it came to her. There
was
one more thing she might do! Why hadn't it occurred to her before?

“I've been praying for your success,” Grace said now. “Your cause is righteous.”

Alexis frowned. “I thought you weren't supposed to pray for something specific to happen, like one person to win and the other person to lose. I don't mean to criticize,” she added hurriedly. “I'm just trying to figure it all out.”

“You pray for God's will to be done,” Grace explained. “You pray for the courage to accept whatever form that will takes. And sometimes you give the man upstairs a little nudge. But in this case, I'm pretty sure God knows that Wynston Meadows and his money are not what's best for Oliver's Well.”

“But Wynston Meadows might still get his way,” Alexis argued. “Unfair things happen all the time. Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. So does that mean that God ignored your prayer?”

“No,” Grace said. “It means that He sees the bigger picture, what we can't see. He's got a reason for all that happens. A reason beyond all human understanding.”

Alexis shook her head. “It's all so complicated.”

“That's where faith comes in,” Megan said. “No matter what religion you belong to. Without faith, life is hardly bearable.”

“I think this discussion has gone on long enough,” Grace announced. “How about I make a run to Cookies 'n Crumpets? I've found that a good cookie can solve even the most convoluted theological debate.”

Alexis sighed. “Yes, please! And could you get me a corn muffin, too?”

“Count me out,” Megan said. “I've got some pressing business to attend to.”
Like emptying out my bank account
.

T
his is it,
Megan thought as she took her seat at the table in the former dining room of the Wilson House.
God, if you care a whit about the OWHA, now's the time to prove it.

When everyone was gathered, Neal called the meeting to order. Leonard, as CEO, gave his report and then Neal read the minutes of the previous meeting—at which Wynston Meadows had been absent. “We did delay getting started,” he said now, “but as we had no word from you and couldn't be sure you would join us. . . .”

Wynston Meadows said nothing, but showed his teeth.

After dealing with the old business, Neal turned the meeting back over to Leonard.

“We have no new business to discuss?” Meadows asked, raising an eyebrow. “As far as I'm concerned there's a great deal that needs attention.”

“Yes,” Leonard said, in his most commanding voice. “There certainly is a great deal that needs attention, most urgently the question of your continued tenure on the board of the OWHA.”

Meadows laughed. “Excuse me?”

Leonard went on. “To begin with, the board of the OWHA has always chosen to conduct our business in a democratic, even a friendly, fashion. You seem to favor an autocratic approach, which quite frankly doesn't sit well with the majority of the board's current members.”

“Not me!” Wallace protested. “I mean, I have no problem with your—with your style, Mr. Meadows.”

“Nor do I,” Joyce intoned.

Norma looked toward the windows. Meadows showed his teeth again.

“More to the point,” Leonard went on, “you have made it abundantly clear that you do not share many of the board's priorities. I cite your arguments against the continuation of the educational program as only one instance of this conflict.”

“Because the program loses money,” Norma said. “Doesn't it?”

Leonard shook his head. “It does not lose money, Norma. You can look at the books for proof if you'd like.”

“But Mr. Meadows said—”

Leonard looked to Meadows as if to allow him a reply, but he merely glared. Leonard now cleared his throat.
Here we go,
Megan thought.
The final stretch
.

“In short, Mr. Meadows, we have found another source of funding to help see us into the future.”

“What?” Joyce cried.

“This is preposterous!” Wallace crowed. “Why are we only hearing about this now?”

Leonard nodded at Megan. “I think the younger Mrs. Fitzgibbon should explain.”

Megan looked around the table at each member of the board in turn. “Let me begin,” she said, “by stressing the fact that the OWHA is in a healthy financial position. It has been for some time now. We do not need Mr. Meadows's money for survival. We need only additional sums for new projects. The notion of a $25 million gift excited us, understandably. But it excited us too greatly. At the same time we grasped at the money, we abandoned reason and good sense. We almost abandoned the true purpose of this association. All too aware of this, I recently took it upon myself to bring in someone with professional expertise to do a feasibility study of a purchase and restoration of the Branley Estate and then to point me in the direction of potential interested donors. As a result, I've discovered a new path ahead for the OWHA, one that doesn't involve our selling ourselves to one person.”

“This is preposterous!” Wallace cried. “Who gave you the authority to spend the OWHA's money?”

“No one,” Megan replied. “With my own money I hired a fund-raising consultant with whom I've worked over the years in the interests of the Cerebral Palsy Education Effort. She and her staff have defined our real financial needs as follows. To purchase the Branley Estate in the immediate future, we need one million dollars in hand, with a stream of ten million over the next three years. I have copies here of the study in all its detail.”

From the tote by her side, Megan took a stack of folders and handed them to Richard, seated on her right. “If you'll each take one and pass the rest on . . .”

“I don't understand,” Norma said.

“I do.” Joyce leaned forward in her seat and pointed a boney finger at Megan. “It's just like Mr. Meadows has been saying. Another Fitzgibbon trying to take control of everything! Manipulators!”

“Joyce.” Leonard's tone was warning enough to quiet the woman.

“Of course,” Megan went on, “to most of us here at this table, one million dollars seems like an enormous amount of money—albeit not as enormous as five million. But it
is
a viable financial needs goal. And so I approached the private donors suggested by Ms. Simons and have secured this initial amount with one proviso—that Mr. Meadows have no attachment to the OWHA.”

“Who are these private donors?” Wallace demanded.

“I'm afraid that I'm not at liberty to divulge their names until the OWHA has cut all ties to Mr. Meadows.”

Meadows grinned and shook his head. But he said nothing.

“You could be making this up!” Joyce cried. “Maybe the donors don't even exist!”

“Now, why would she do that?” Anne snapped. “She used her own money to hire that firm, she did all the legwork.”

Joyce spluttered but had no answering argument.

“Understandably,” Megan went on, “this is a lot to take in, so let me help set your minds at ease. Securing the start-up money is always the most difficult part of the fund-raising process. But I've done that now. Once the design and construction begins, once the project is seen to be a reality, the money invariably flows more readily. I've never seen it happen otherwise.”

“I've read about Sarah Simon,” Neal said. “Her credentials are outstanding. I remember a few years back she was responsible for identifying funding for the new children's oncology wing at State University Hospital.”

“There's a full bio of her firm in your folders,” Megan pointed out. “It should reassure you all.”

Still, Wynston Meadows remained silent.

“But why are these so-called donors interested in us?” Wallace asked. “Who are we to them? At least Mr. Meadows has a personal interest in—” Wallace reddened.

“In what?” Leonard said. “I very much doubt our newest board member spent his childhood poring over history books and artifacts as he claimed to.”

Wynston Meadows said nothing. His silence, Megan thought, was becoming deafening.

“Wallace's question is a good one, though,” she said. “You might have heard the term
venture philanthropists
. These are people who have a tremendous amount of money and an interest in funding relatively small but worthy ventures or organizations that haven't had the time to prove themselves. Sarah Simons selected a group of such people she knew to be interested in organizations like the OWHA and, well, I approached them with our hopes for the Branley Estate.”

“And they said yes. They really said they would help us?”

“Yes, Norma. This particular group of people did.”

There was a long moment of silence as Joyce, Wallace, and Norma absorbed this unexpected turn of events. And as Wynston Meadows . . . as he what? Megan shot a glance in his direction. He was staring at the wall over Richard's head. His expression was almost detached, unconcerned.
God,
Megan wondered.
Had he even been listening to me?

Leonard cleared his throat. “Given the fact that we have an alternative source of funding in place,” he said, “and given a circumstance that has recently come to our attention, the board of the OWHA would prefer not to accept your money and the ties that come with it.”

This caused Meadows to finally break his silence. “What circumstance?” he asked, his tone icy.

Megan glanced quickly at Neal. He nodded ever so slightly.

“It has come to our attention,” Leonard went on, “from a very reliable source that you have been in secret negotiations to purchase the Branley Estate for your own purposes. In short, it has come to our attention that you propose to tear down the surviving buildings and put up a housing development.”

Wynston Meadows grinned. “You people really do like to hear yourself talk, don't you?”

Joyce giggled.

“Frankly,” Leonard continued, undeterred, “even the whiff of a scandal on the part of a board member could cause lasting damage to the reputation of the OWHA. And we can't have that, now, can we?”

Megan watched as Meadows's expression hardened.
What's he up to,
she wondered.

“Are you going to let me explain my actions, Mr. DeWitt, or are you going to continue blustering?”

Leonard inclined his head.

“You people,” Meadows began, “have no experience of how things happen at this level of business. Yes, you've purchased properties before, but never on this scale. I've been working behind the scenes to gather information about the Branley Estate. I've been working to understand the financial motives behind the Baker family's need to sell. I've been working to accurately assess the real value of the property. This, at times, has involved what you people in your innocence might call subterfuge. Let me explain, as I see from several faces around the table, that my meaning escapes you. In the past weeks I've conducted several casual discussions with a developer to more fully understand the value and the challenges of such a property. This is in no way proof that I've been trying to make a back-door deal. But I suppose an unsophisticated observer might construe my actions as against the interests of the OWHA. But I assure you, that perception only goes to prove the naïveté of said observer.”

Meadows, with a self-satisfied smile on his face, waited for a reaction to his words. Megan was almost tempted to applaud his performance. She had never heard a speech so filled with presumption and condescension.
He truly believes we're a bunch of idiots,
she thought.
And maybe, to some extent, we have been
.

“A fine bit of self-justification,” Neal said. “And I'm not buying any of it.”

“You spoke to a developer?” Wallace said. His face was ashen. “There would be no need for us to consult a developer.”

“Not unless we planned to tear down the estate,” Norma said, her eyes wide. “And we would never . . .”

“Research,” Meadows snapped. “All to gather information.”

“Information that has nothing to do with the matter at hand,” Leonard thundered. “Do you think we're complete idiots, man?”

Meadows shrugged.

“And the educational program.” Wallace, emboldened, looked at Meadows. “I had been planning an entirely new set of workshops for the summer camp. But they wouldn't have happened, would they, not if you had your way.”

“Still a schoolmarm at heart, Wallace?”

Megan thought that Wallace looked sick.

“And let's not forget Mr. Meadows wants to cancel the Independence Day parade,” Richard pointed out.

“What does it matter?” Joyce spat. “He's still the one with the money. And it's a lot more than what Megan Fitzgibbon managed to scrape up!”

“Loyal little Joyce!” Meadows chuckled. “I know your type well, my dear. I've seen you making eyes at me.”

Joyce gasped.

Cruel man,
Megan thought. She didn't like Joyce Miller very much, but the woman didn't deserve to be publicly mocked.

Leonard frowned. “I think we've heard enough to put this matter to a vote. Neal, would you distribute the ballots?”

Always expect the unexpected,
Megan thought now, picking up her pen. It was something Mary Bernadette often said. At the last minute the vote could go either way.

A moment later, Neal collected the ballots and counted them into one pile. He looked to Leonard and nodded, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. Megan felt lightheaded with relief.

Leonard straightened his shoulders. “The board of the Oliver's Well Historical Society unanimously votes to dismiss you, Wynston Meadows, effective immediately.”

Wynston Meadows laughed incredulously. “Do you people have any idea what you're doing? If I'm not on the board you don't get my money, end of story. You're throwing away an enormous sum you badly need just because some part-time lawyer has convinced you that she knows more about business than one of the richest, most successful men in the country.”

One more moment,
Megan told herself.
Let him taunt us for just a bit longer.
...

“We know exactly what we're doing, Mr. Meadows,” Neal said, his expression grim. “There is no more to be said.”

“Yes, there is. You've screwed yourselves completely. I still have more money than you'll ever have, and I'll still get the Branley Estate—and I'll tear it to the ground. Meadows High-Rise Housing Complex. It has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?”

And there it is
.

“You wouldn't!” Norma cried.

Joyce put her hand over her mouth. Richard began to sputter.

Megan rose from the table. “If I may?” she said. “I don't think that you
will
get the Branley Estate, Mr. Meadows. You see, only yesterday I took an option on the property.”
And it was the best ten thousand dollars I ever spent
, she thought, fighting back a grin.

“What are you saying?” he demanded.

“Is this true, Megan?” Leonard asked. The others looked too shocked to speak.