The letter came to an old Toledo construction worker in Ohio. The letter said come, and he came.
The letter came to an aging, bespectacled Ottumwa farmer in Iowa. The letter said come, and he came.
The letter came to the graying Chief of Thoractic Surgery at Boston Mercy in Massachusetts. The letter said come, and he came.
The letter came to a deaf Pittsburgh priest in Pennsylvania. The letter said come, and he came.
The letter came to a young Hannibal cavalry man in Missouri, the son of a deceased commander, whose wisdom lived on in the hearts of many. The letter said come, and he came.
The letter came to a Mill Valley doctor and his grown daughter in California. The letter said come, and they came.
The letter came to an Austin Head Nurse in Texas. The letter said come, and she came.
~
One by one, as they arrived at the old victorian house whose descriptions they all knew well, in Crabapple Cove, Maine, they were greeted by a familiar sight. A young man in his mid-thirties, very tall with raven black hair, antique blue eyes, and a slightly pointed nose.
But it wasn't Hawkeye.
"Benjamin Joseph-Sherman Pierce... thank you for coming..."
He said in the same dull tone, shaking each hand as the worker and farmer, the two surgeons and the nurse, young man and young woman, and the deaf priest stepped through the doorway. They took their seats in the couches and chairs situated in the spacious livingroom, off the left side of the hall. When everyone was situated, Benjamin sat down in a chair behind a small folding table, a box on the floor beside him, and a wrinkled, torn paper before him.
"You all know why you are here... I'll just... get on with it... I'll read his original Last Will and Testament, followed by changes he made on a separate sheet of paper, more... recently.
"I, Benjamin Franklin Pierce, being of sound mind and endangered body, do decree this to be my last will and testament. To my father, I leave all my worldly possessions with the exception of the following."
"To Charles Emerson Winchester the Third, who during the dark days of war made himself available. You've been the victim of a ceaseless stream of dumb jokes, and though we may have wounded your pride, you've never lost your dignity. I thereby bequeath to you the most dignified thing I own: my bathrobe. Purple is the color of royalty.
To Father Francis Mulcahy, I leave five cents. You're a man of God and I know worldy possessions mean little to you, Father, so I leave you a nickel and something I value more than anything I own: my everlasting respect.
To Margaret Houlihan---to you, Margaret, I leave my treasured Groucho nose and glasses. Maybe it'll remind you of how much I enjoy that silly side you show all too infrequently.
To Sherman Potter---you not only knew what to say, but what not to say. My dad's a lot like that. It makes me miss him a little less knowing that you're around. My father called me 'Hawkeye' after the character in The Last of the Mohicans. It's his favorite book. I'd like you to have the copy he gave me.
To Maxwell Q. Klinger---you may be one of the all-time scroungers, but when it comes right down to it you'd give a friend the shirt off your back, so the least I can do is give you the shirt off mine. And not just any old shirt, but my beloved Hawaiian shirt. I hope you'll wear it even if someday it does go out of style. This concludes my last will and testament.
Benjamin Franklin Pierce
PS- To my best friend, BJ Hunnicutt. As sad as it may sound, I couldn't think of anything to leave you. You mean to much to me for me to show it with material possessions. But to your daughter, Erin Hunnicut, I leave an envelope. That envelope contains a list of all the men that your dad worked on, to maybe help you understand why he wasn't around the first few years of your life."
The young Benjamin removed a slip of whiter, newer paper from beneath the old one, and continued reading.
"Well, so I didn't die after all. Oh well, better luck next time. I suppose if you're hearing this, though, it's no time for jokes, is it? Okay, okay, just one more. We all knew the Mess Tent food would claim one life or another eventually, didn't we?"
A few appreciative, teary chuckles.
"Someday, maybe they'll come up with a cure for cancer. Obviously not in time for me, though. Ah, well, my time was up anyway. Now, there are only two changes to be made, but you didn't think I'd leave you all on the words I wrote twenty years ago, did you?
Again, I'm of sound mind and endangered body, but I don't have shells dropping on my head, or elsewhere.
I'm sad to say that Potter's gone, the dear, sweet old man. So to his son, Cory Potter (?), I leave my old and worn copy of The Last of the Mohicans. Cory, you could probably never understand how much your father meant to us, but we do, and we'll never forget.
And since my father, Daniel Pierce has also left us, I leave everything to my son Benjamin Joseph-Sherman Pierce - BJ Pierce - with the exception of the aforementioned. This note was also included in a previous section of my will, devoted to my family. You guys are my family too, but what would they think if my entire Will was to my old War buddies?
Klinger, I'm somewhat disappointed in you. We were all expecting you to open up your own line of women's fashion, but that's okay. Toledo doesn't need any more crazy people.
Father, read Ben's lips carefully, because I know you didn't hear me on the day the War ended. Your shirt's on backwards.
Charles. Oh, my dearest Chuckles. When you first came to the 4077th, I thought you were an insufferable, unbearable, pompous fool with an ego that could crush an elephant and a head too big to fit through the door. Then I looked over all that, and found that you do have a heart. We all just wish we could have seen it more often.
Margaret, wear those Groucho glasses with pride, and don't hesitate to show your sense of humor, no matter how rusty it is from disuse. Be careful... they stick a little bit. We had to use them for a replacement piece in the Still once, you know.
And BJ. I've told you this so many times it may seem cliche by now, but you mean more to me than words could ever say. You are my brother, you were once my tentmate, and will always be my best friend. Even if you do have a caterpillar across your lip, I still like you. Like I said that one, unforgettable day - whenever I see a big pair of feet and a cheesy mustache... the next time somebody nails my shoe to the floor... I don't know what I would have done if you had never come along, but I'm sure as hell glad you did. Thank you.
Thank you all.
Oh, but there's just one more thing-"
A rude knocking sent Benjamin out of his chair and to the source of the noise. He opened the front door to find a hunched man, hands stuffed inside his pants pockets, beady eyes glancing around rapidly. The man had absolutely no chin and a beaky little nose that made everyone in the room groan.
"So am I to understand that Pierce is finally dead? Good riddance!"
Everyone there looked about to jump down Frank's throat, but through their grief somehow managed to keep from doing it. The fact that Benjamin was forced to defend him might have helped some too.
"Please, he's supposed to be here, everyone... just let me finish."
"Oh, but there's just one more thing. I leave to Frank Burns... the last item of the box."
Everything had already been given out. The envelope to the Mill Valley doctor's daughter, the book to the young cavalry man, the purple robe to the Chief of Thoractic Surgery, the nickel to the priest, a pair of Groucho Marx glasses to the Nurse, the Hawaiian shirt to the construction worker... but when the ferret-like man went forward, Benjamin Pierce Jr. reached into the cardboard box and pulled out a pair of olive-green boxers full of holes, and a knobbly pair of socks of the same color.
"For Ferret Face.
Well, everybody, I guess this is it. I love you all. Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen."
A/N: I couldn't remember exactly what Hawkeye wrote for BJ's part of the Will, so I made it up. Review, please!