The Wishing Well Curse
Copyright© 2023 by Lynn Donovan
Chapter 30
The next morning he was convinced Austin was the right plan, even though he tossed and turned all night. The restless sleep was just eagerness. Moving back to Austin was the right thing to do. He heard nothing to the contrary from the voice within. He laughed at how he had come to think of the Holy Spirit.
He’d move back right away, before he grew too fond of this large estate. He’d discuss with Twyla and Clifford what they thought he should do with the property. Sell it, lease it, let it sit empty; use it as a vacation home. He laughed at the idea. How different his life would be now that he had inherited a third of the Clayton fortune.
The day dragged on. He kept tossing the same ideas around in his head. Confident his plans were firm, he drove his Suzuki to Pueblo, to meet with Cousin Twyla. It sounded good and funny at the same time.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Clay.” Clifford exaggerated his professionalism. He grinned stupidly.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Valdez.” Zeke bowed his head dramatically.
Clifford dialed his phone. “Your two o’clock is here, Ms. Rivers.”
Zeke leaned across Clifford’s upper counter. “Listen, is there anybody who can cover your position. I’d like you to be in on this meeting, and I’d really appreciate your input.”
Clifford pursed his lips, his eyes darted toward his right. “Well, yes, I suppose I could—”
Twyla Rivers stepped from the ornate staircase and held out both hands. “Zeke, has it been a week already?”
“Yes, and what a week it was, Twyla,” he glanced at Clifford. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Clifford to join us. I’d like to ask the two of you some questions.”
“Oh.” Twyla cleared her throat and released Zeke’s hands. She shot a look at Clifford and back to Zeke. “Well, I don’t know.”
“Grace can cover the desk,” Clifford assured her.
A slender African-American woman appeared from behind a door and attached her ear piece to the main phone instrument.
“Well—I guess it’s all right then.” Twyla shrugged and lifted her palms in surrender.
Cliff and Zeke followed the elderly woman up the stairs to the same conference room as before. The same red accordion folders were stacked at the end of the oval table.
Zeke wiped his clammy palms on his pants and cleared his throat. “Twyla,” he began, “I understand you, Cliff, and I are related.”
She shot a quick look at Clifford.
Clifford looked at Zeke.
Zeke couldn’t read her expression. “You two are descendants of Paul Two-Rivers. He was Luther’s biological father. I am a descendant of Luther’s adopted father.”
“Yes, I am aware.” Her chin jutted out and her jaw muscles bunched.
“Well, then, I’m not the only living relative of Luther Clayton.”
“Hmm,” she responded. “Where are you going with this, Mr. Clay?”
“Mr. Clay.” Zeke recoiled. “Downstairs you called me Zeke. Twyla, we are cousins. Granted, it’s a distant and thin relation—but cousins, nonetheless.”
She straightened her shoulders and rolled her neck. “What are you saying, Zeke.”
“Nothing.” This wasn’t going the way he had hoped. “I was just thinking if I’m not the only living relative, then ... I wonder if Luther knew that. And I wonder what he would want to do about it.”
“What do you have in mind?” She stole a quick peek at Clifford.
Clifford’s poker face was in place and it was not moving.
“You’ve read his entire will. I’m sure you wrote his entire will. You knew him for years. What does he say about how he wants his estate distributed ... after his death.”
“The entire estate is to be given to you, if you accept the conditions he set forth.”
Why did she sound so defensive? “What if I had not accepted the conditions? What did he want done with his estate?”
“Mr. Cl—Zeke, if you have accepted the conditions, the alternate clauses are moot.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Twyla.”
Twyla lifted her chin and one eyebrow. Her pause was eternal.
Zeke waited her out.
“Well, if you do not accept the conditions—if you want nothing to do with Luther’s inheritance...” She struggled to choose precisely the right words, but there was a spark in her eye and the corners of her mouth twitched like she suppressed a smile.
Zeke’s impatient monster started climbing his spine. He pushed it back down. He had learned one thing about his cousin, Twyla; she needed her own time to express herself.
“Well, Luther was willing to...” She glanced at Clifford.
“Twyla. Please tell the man what he wants to know,” Clifford said.
“Ahem, well, the entire estate would be ... liquidated and donated to a...” She swallowed. “An Indian relief fund.”
The last three words fell out of her mouth like a train running off a broken bridge.
Zeke’s eyes darted from Twyla to Clifford. “An Indian relief fund? Okay.”
Twyla did not raise her eyes to his. She stared at the red folders.
Clifford raised one eyebrow, tilted his head and shrugged.
“Let’s say I do accept the conditions.” Zeke pressed on.
“That’s for sure,” Clifford interjected.
Twyla shot him a look.
Clifford lowered his eyes. The jovial expression waned from his face.
“Then, we will proceed with the requirements of Luther’s will and the inheritance is transferred to you, in toto,” she stated solemnly.
Tension radiated between Zeke and Twyla. He shook his head. “What are the requirements?”
“Well, first you accept the conditions,” Twyla stated.
“Yes, then what?”
“Then you go about fulfilling said conditions.” A slight smile quivered at the right side of her mouth.
“Okay, and then...” The impatient monster began to beg his subconscious to let it loose. He shoved it back.
“Once you have fulfilled the conditions, then ... we proceed.” Again, she was choosing her words carefully. “With confirmation.”
“Confirmation?”
“Yes, you must have two witnesses sign an affidavit,” she said as she toyed with the tie clasp of the red folder.
“What does the affidavit say?”
“That they are witness to proof the curse has been broken.” Smugness laced her voice. Zeke couldn’t discern where it was coming from or why she was acting so ... odd.
“Weeell,” Zeke said. “Cliff can sign as one witness and Pastor Vince James can sign as the second.”
“What?” She shot another of her metal-bending glances at Clifford.
“Clifford witnessed me break the curse. He was with me when I prayed and the spring flowed in the well.”
Twyla frowned at Clifford.
His ears reddened as his eyes met hers. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “It’s true.” He looked at Zeke and back at her. “I was there. We heard the spring start running. It was ... amazing, Aunt Twyla.”
Twyla shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “Well, then. There you have it. The estate will be transferred to your name and—”
“That’s what I want to talk to you two about.” Zeke’s eyes darted between them.