Late that afternoon, the DeWitt-Bukaters gathered in Tom Bukater’s study for the reading of his will. Much to Rose’s dismay, Cal insisted upon staying with her, insisting that he was there for moral support. She suspected, though, that he was more interested in keeping Jack away from her than anything else, as he had been at her side constantly since the end of the church service, standing with her at the cemetery, following her around at the wake, and casting warning looks at Jack whenever he approached them.
Rose wished that he would leave, and had suggested several times that she would be fine if he went home. Her subtle hints hadn’t seemed to get through to him, though, but she didn’t feel like confronting him. She was exhausted—she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since her father had died—and the pall of grief that hung over her made things like arguing with her boyfriend seem less than worthwhile.
There really wasn’t any reason for Cal to be present when the will was read—he wasn’t a member of the family, nor a close friend of Tom Bukater, nor an employee of the family—so it was unlikely anything had been left to him. Cal was aware of this, but his desire to keep Rose away from Jack was enough to keep him there, even when his presence was not quite appropriate.
When everyone was there, Bukater’s lawyer, Dick Mercer, seated himself at the desk and opened the manila envelope containing the will. He glanced at it, then cleared his throat, looking at the assembled family members.
"Before I begin, I need to mention that Mr. Bukater made some changes to his will recently, but requested that I not mention them unless something happened to him. His physician, Dr. Lecesne, diagnosed him with an advanced case of heart disease several months ago, leading him to suspect that he didn’t have long to live."
Rose’s eyes widened. He knew? He knew something was wrong, and insisted on escorting me to my debut anyway? She ducked her head, trying to hide her expression. If only I hadn’t agreed to that stupid debut, he might have lived longer. He might still be here.
Mercer went on. "I’m not sure how much any of you know about this, but Mr. Bukater was having financial difficulties in the last two years of his life." He glanced at Ruth, who shook her head. Tom had taken care of the finances during all the years of their marriage, except for when he was away at war. She had never had much say in the family’s financial matters, and it had never really occurred to her to think about it. The money had always just been there.
The lawyer continued. "He lost some money in the recession of 1958, though not a worrisome amount, but he tried to recoup his losses with a series of investments that didn’t pan out. Unfortunately, he wound up digging himself deeper and deeper into a financial hole, resulting in a lot of debt by the time he died. There is enough cash in his accounts to cover the debts, but not much more, especially after the money he set aside for his children is deducted from the total."
All eyes were on Ruth as she took in Mercer’s words. She had been aware that her husband was having chest pains—he hadn’t hidden it very well, in spite of the fact that he insisted it was just heartburn. She had tried to coax him to see a doctor, but he had put her off. Now, he had left her a widow with four children to raise—including one she wished had been left with his relatives—and, from the sound of things, not much money.
She was silent for a moment, looking around the room at her children. Finally, she turned back to Mercer.
"I think you should read the will now, and after that—after that I will decide what to do."