Chapter 39

My dearest Constance,

As you well know, I am not long for this earth. My Last Will and Testament has been signed and remains in the hands of our attorney, Bartholomew Barnes. It is at his insistence I write this letter, despite having spoken my intentions to you directly, as your sister and brothers will be shocked by my decision to make you my sole beneficiary. You know it was never my intention to make you a target for their ill will, but, once again, Bartholomew insists that any attempt to legally mandate my wishes would not stand up in court. Therefore, it is up to you to act as my surrogate. I have not been an exemplary father by any stretch of the imagination, and while I realize anything I do now is both too little and too late, I cannot rest peacefully knowing I did not at least try to make a difference in my children’s lives. I also know you love your siblings as well as any mother could love her own children. It is this fact alone that gives me solace. I know you will communicate what follows to each of your siblings.

To my eldest son, Rip Jr., the day you were born was the happiest your mother and I had ever experienced. To be gifted with such a healthy fine boy was a wish come true. Giving you my name was one of the proudest moments of my life. Your mother and I had such hopes and dreams for you. Hopes and dreams I lost sight of when she died. I know you must have felt growing up there was little you could do right in my eyes. I am deeply sorry for having fostered that belief in you, Son. What’s more, as you were so close in age to Constance, it must have been difficult for you to feel any of the maternal love she tried to share with you. You perhaps suffered the most from the loss of your mother. I’m afraid this lack of love, affection, and approval has turned you into a petty young man, who demands respect and admiration from others when it has not been earned. This is why I am not leaving you the family home. I am afraid you have taken our family’s role as founders of Evenfall and turned it into some sort of antiquated birthright. I realize these will be difficult words to take in from me, the failed man who is your father. But know I deliver this harsh condemnation out of a place of love. True esteem and self-respect come from achieving something on your own. I will not limit you further by gifting you unearned respect. I know you can be the man I never was if you take these words to heart. Please consider them carefully. I love you.

To my son John, please know that the moment you came to us, your mother and I knew you were a tender soul with a heart too fine for this world. You had your mother’s kindness and gentleness. I only wish she had lived longer so you could have known her better. You were kindred spirits in both your temperaments and, of course, your love of animals. I know how badly you wish to fulfill your mother’s desire for a hobby farm that cares for neglected animals, and I want this for you too, Son. And it shall be yours, once you have left home and pursued your dream of a career in veterinary science. I know you can do this. Your teachers always remarked on your strong, adept mind. I also know you are shy and that it is far easier for you to hide from the world than it is to put yourself out in it. But the world deserves to know a little of your great heart, so consider this a gentle nudge out of the nest. The moment you receive your degree, Constance has agreed to gift you the lands associated with Graves House. She has also been instructed, by me, to pay any costs associated with your education. I love you, Son.

To my youngest, Mary, let me first begin by saying what a terrible tragedy life has dealt you to never know the angel you had as a mother and to be left with a grieving father who allowed himself to be turned into a bitter old man. I’ve heard it said that people who are hurt often hurt others, and that was certainly true in my case. I thank the good Lord every day you were given Constance to show you some of the love and comfort families should naturally provide. At this time, I am also leaving you nothing. I fear the man you have chosen to make your husband. I believe him to be of the cruel and domineering type, the type of man I am ashamed to say I modeled for you, if to a lesser extent. If I were to leave you any money now, I believe he would spend it recklessly, leaving you with nothing. Constance has agreed to keep a sum of money dedicated to you should you ever choose to leave your husband. This money should help you rebuild your life into something I pray will be both safe and loving. I realize this meager gift from your father does not make up for all the neglect and pain you have suffered from the time of your birth, but it is all I have to give. Though I was never able to properly show it, I love you, Mary.

Constance, I know I have placed an enormous burden upon you from the time your mother died until now, but I am trusting you to enact these wishes. You have been both mother and father to your siblings, trying to provide them with love, care, and support when I could not. For this I will be both eternally grateful and remorseful. I am painfully aware that while you cared for your siblings, there was no one to care for you. I hope, now that I am close to death, you will be able to build your own life, perhaps with that Benjamin of yours, and have the happiness you so richly deserve. I pray your siblings always remember the sacrifices you have made for this family, not only while they were growing up, but in these last few years you have cared for me. I have been a terrible burden—I know this—and you have borne it gracefully. Please allow your siblings to read this letter. I am not convinced they appreciate the full breadth of your sacrifice, and they should. I love you, my daughter.

Your father,

Rippert Graves Sr.