The long road home - By Danielle Steel Page 0,140

which had always reminded him of Charlotte. He had a safe-deposit box in a bank downtown, and a huge file cabinet filled with correspondence.

Mrs. Rosenstein was devastated, and behaved like a grieving widow. But Mrs. Boslicki and Steve were very helpful to everyone in making all of the arrangements. They went to a funeral parlor nearby and selected a somber casket. He was to be buried on Long Island, with Charlotte. And they did everything precisely as he had asked them.

A handful of them went to Long Island for the burial in a rented limousine, and Gabbie stood for a long moment alone at the grave site, and left a single red rose on his casket. And the only addition to the service he'd described was a poem Gabbie had written for him, and which she read herself, with a voice trembling with emotion. Steve stood next to her and held her hand, and she tried not to think of Joe as she read it. She was grateful for Steve's presence in her life, and the strength he gave her now. He had been wonderful to all of them, and had even redeemed himself with Mrs. Boslicki.

Professor Thomas had been buried in his one dark suit, and they gave the rest of his things away, to charity. A small obituary appeared in The New York Times, and it turned out his teaching career was filled with honors and awards that none of them had been aware of. There was a formal reading of the will, in the living room, conducted by one of the boarders, who was a retired attorney. He told them all exactly what to do, and the will was unsealed for the first time in the presence of all of them. It was written in the professors neat, careful hand, and it was more a formality than a serious legal event, as they all knew he had very little.

But what the lawyer read astounded all of them, and as he read the bequests, his eyes widened, as everyone's did. The professor had been hoarding, and quietly investing, a great deal of money. And he had stayed at the boardinghouse not out of necessity, but only because he loved it.

To his good friends Martha Rosenstein and Emma Boslicki he had left, to each of them, the sum of fifty thousand dollars, with his love and gratitude for the kindness they had bestowed on him over many years of friendship. He left Mrs. Rosenstein his gold watch as well, which was his only piece of jewelry, and he knew it would mean a great deal to her. She cried as the lawyer read it. And as for the rest of his worldly goods, the only thing that meant anything to him was his library, and he left all of it to his young friend, and protégée, Gabriella Harrison, as well as what remained of his bank accounts and investments, which, at the time of his death, amounted to slightly over six hundred thousand dollars. There was a sudden gasp in the room, as the attorney paused for breath and stared at Gabriella. His stock certificates were apparently all in his safety-deposit box in the bank, and everything was said to be in good order. But Gabriella could not believe what she had just heard the lawyer say. It was impossible, a joke. Why would he leave all that to her? But he had also explained that in his letter. He felt that she would use the money wisely and well, and it would help her to embark on a serious literary career without the burden of financial concern, which might otherwise hinder her progress. She was young enough, he felt, for the money to make a real difference to her, and to give her the kind of security she had not been fortunate enough to have in recent years, if ever. And he said as well that he had regarded her as the daughter he had never had, and what he gave, he gave with his love, and his heart, and his great admiration for her, as a writer and a person. He thanked them all then, and wished them well, and had signed the letter formally, Professor Theodore Rawson Thomas. The letter was properly dated and signed, and the lawyer assured them all that it was legally correct and in good order.

There was a stunned silence in the room when he was through, and then a sudden babble

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