My dress itched and I could feel a bead of sweat trailing down from behind my knee. Stupid trivial concerns that my brain seemed to focus on while the priest droned on over the funeral rites. My fingers tightened around the small bouquet of white chrysanthemums as the slight breeze stole the loose petals to float and wend through the rest of the mourners. So few people were here to bear testament to my grandfather's internment.
My cousins glared across the gathering to focus on the white shifting blanket of woven blossoms that covered the simple wood coffin. My throat tightened and I forced myself to swallow as I desperately blinked back tears. Memories of my grandfather surged forward; of a man who seemed larger than life. A man who always had a fix for any issue, who treated his Pokemon with care, and who spoke about being a steward of the land. Passionate, loving, and so much more than this empty husk left behind as a restless Mr. Mime waited for the ceremony to end so it could fill in the hole and seal up the grave for the rest of eternity.
Mr Sage had come, along with a handful of other aging neighbors. Farmers and fishers; people who tended the land and lived closer to the tides of the seasons. My family is pitifully small and separated by some unspoken divide with myself and my parents on one side and my Aunt and Uncle with their offspring on theirs. My lycanroc lay at my feet, her mournful eyes focused on the tableau as if she understood fully what this moment meant for all of us. My ears were buzzing and I couldn't make out the individual words spoken until my mother nudged me forward towards the open pit of earth.
My knees locked then as I looked down; suddenly six feet might as well have been a yawning chasm. A dark ominous void that threatened to swallow our bodies to feed whatever unseen specter kept our world spinning. Somehow I managed to drop my bouquet down into that hole, watching as those white flowers spiraled before landing on top of the ones before mine. Carefully I knelt before lifting a handful of soil to drop down after. My eyes burned with unshed tears and I blinked furiously to keep them back. I needed to remain strong for just a little bit longer.
Aimless I wandered over to where my parents stood. My father's arm was wrapped around my mother's shoulders protectively and I could hear the soft sounds of her muffled sobs as she tried to stifle them back. No one knows the origin of ghost-type Pokemon; we have theories but nothing concrete. Our traditions and superstitions tell us to avoid openly grieving our lost ones or else risk attracting the attention of the more wrathful ghosts; other superstitions call on us to avoid openly showing our sorrow lest we trap our loved one's soul and form another ghost Pokemon.
Whatever the traditions are, it doesn't stop ghost-type Pokemon from appearing at sunset; another reason we stood in the graveyard with sweat soaking our formal clothing as the relentless summer sun beat down on us. Some unspoken signal had all of us filing out of the small cemetery and back towards the equally tiny town where the local restaurant doubled as the formal meeting office for any legal functions. The matter of grandpa's will remained to be settled and having seen the state of the farm and his house, I didn't expect much monetary value would be passed around.
The walk back to the town was a silent one for our group. Somber none of us wanted to break the quiet to start something, anything, resembling a conversation. We all seemed to fall into our family groups; divided without Grandpa to draw the family into one cohesive unit; though Scoria and I fell behind Mom and Dad afraid that I would start crying with each of mom's tiny little sniffles. Determined I looked up towards the bright sunny sky, feeling my eyes water from the sun- I refused to admit it was tears of grief that threatened to spill and choke up my throat.
Scoria's soft huff jerked my attention back to my lycanroc as she eyed the peacefully grazing wooloo's that loitered in the fields that bordered both sides of the road. When she realized she had my attention her tail swished from side to side with her ears pricked forward as if hopefully waiting for my permission to chase the fuzzy Pokemon until they balled up and rolled away.
"No" She whined softly at the denial. Still, she managed to keep pace with me. Her head dropped with flattened ears keeping focus on the sheep-type Pokemon. She broke eye contact from the wooloo once more to look at me as if questioning my resolution to denying her the opportunity to chase them for the first time in years.
"Still have that pathetic lycanroc I see?" My cousin, Ethan, broke the small bubble of amusement that Scoria had found for me. Her teeth bared at him, uncertain of what to do I pressed my hand against the top of her head in a silent command. He was dressed in white, a smartly tailored linen suit combined with brown shoes that were still shiny for their newness; a subtle sign of his wealth and success. No sign of pokeballs on his belt or tucked into a pocket made me question if he still had his childhood Pokemon or if he had cast them off as he had every other sign of childhood and our family's humble origins.
"I don't see your corviknight. Where is Mordred?" I refused to rise to his bait as I had so many times in my youth. Scoria and I knew the truth and how many times she had successfully pinned down his favorite pokemon. He had gotten stronger, faster, and more exotic Pokemon from summer to summer, but the corviknight had been his first loss to my pathetic lycanroc. The unspoken fact that he had tried to convince me to trade her to him once lingered between us.
"Home, in his Pokeball, where a Pokemon belongs." I snorted at his stuffy reply before rolling my eyes. His words reminded me exactly why I would never trade any Pokemon I ever managed to catch and train with him. Not that I had any others outside of Scoria. She was enough to handle and train growing up and now she was a perfect companion. We didn't have room in our small apartment or simple lives for another partner anyway so there wasn't a pressing need
"Such a considerate trainer as always. Glad you could make it home Ethan." I kept my tone saccharine-sweet. There was nothing wrong with my words and that would only rankle him further. For some reason Ethan had decided I was the cousin to compete with because Grandpa had spent more time with me during the summer; never mind he and his family had been enjoying vacations across various regions while I learned how to herd wooloo and shovel shit.
"It was amazing I could get time off. It always is in management positions, unlike the lesser peons at work. So many of them that they can take a vacation whenever" I bit my tongue hard until I tasted blood. He wanted to upset me so he could gloat at having finally riled me. It would give him and his dreadful parents another boasting point over my parents about how successful and composed their children were compared to me. Any retort would be just another sign of failure of my simple country parents compared to their sophisticated selves. I hated extended family.
"Hey hey little Kay." I wondered if I could throw myself to the mercy of the first Duskclops or Gengar that meandered my way as my other cousin joined us in that little gap between our sets of parents. He was dressed in what could be considered beachy boho fashion. White cotton shirt, pale khaki pants that were just a touch too short, and a pair of off-white and blue slip-on shoes. His hair was sunbleached and that sort of wind touselled that screamed his having spent at least an hour in front of the mirror and more styling products than I ever owned to achieve.
"Hi, Otis." I didn't even bother with pleasantries. Just because I was the shortest of us didn't mean I needed to be reminded of it every time we met up. He was the youngest of us by a whole six months and was at least a little less pretentious than his brother. Not by much though. At least he had a couple of pokeballs attached to the canvas belt that circled his waist. It took me a moment to remember that he was a private yacht captain if I remembered correctly.
"Sad thing, Grandpa's passing." He didn't bother with any preambles and I appreciated that about him. At least one of my cousins wasn't a complete asshole. "Wonder who gets the farm. Probably will get sold and divided between our parents." Not complete, only partially an asshole I decided with his last comment. I didn't bother to comment; it wasn't like I had the power to change anything about Grandpa's will even if part of me had started to whisper it's little 'what-ifs'.
Finally, the edges of the tiny city started to come into view. Postwick had never seen better days. It had always been small and provincial and today it felt smaller as the few residents who hadn't been at Grandpa's funeral watched our solemn march towards the one gathering place in this entire village. The small restaurant served several capacities for the citizens beyond just a hearty meal; offering a large room for private dining, meetings, and today's will reading.
Grandpa's solicitor reminded me of a turnip. Wrinkled and shrunken down on himself with an awkwardly twisted tuft of hair in the center of his head that was too thick compared to the fine frizzy fuzz along the rest of his head. His forehead was short and skin wrinkled until his eyes appeared to be barely slit even when opened and his thin downturned lips only added to the unappealing appearance. Mr Billbergia had been Grandpa's solicitor since they were both young and despite his gruff appearance he usually was kind if soft-spoken.
Today what you could see of his eyes were red-rimmed from tears shed in the safe privacy of his own home and the continuous shuffling of paperwork indicated his restlessness in this final duty to an old friend and client. Next to him sat his grandson and I had to wonder if he got his looks from his mother's side of the family. His features, while not handsome, were striking. Rich brown eyes framed in the thickest black eyelashes I had ever seen, his mouth was a tad thin but sat well with the sharpness of his bone structure. He was dressed in a simple gray suit with a white chrysanthemum tucked into lapel; a concession to the reason for the gathering today.
Silently we filed into our places to settle on the arranged chairs that fanned around the table-turned desk they sat behind. Scoria was not one to follow conventions when she knew that Mr. Billbergia usually poketreats in his pockets. Before I could call her to task her head was firmly plopped onto the old man's thigh as she did her best impression of a poor starving puppy. She even twitched the tip of her tail to emphasize her act.
"Scoria.. get over here..." I hissed, trying to call her back to me as I could feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment. The looks my Aunt and Uncle shot me should have melted me on the spot and my parents just looked disappointed and resigned. My lips parted, wanting to defend my Pokemon. She hadn't meant to be disruptive and probably didn't even know what was going on today- all she knew was that this man often had goodies for her.
"She's fine, Cara." Ashton Billbergia came to my rescue as he walked around his grandfather to hand my begging lycanroc a poffin. "Grandpa always likes to have a pretty lady to snuggle." Affectionally he ruffled Scoria's ears earning an affectionate lave of her tongue before she took her treat and returned to my feet curling up obediently to chew on the offered goodie.
"He's right. Always liked that lycanroc- she reminded me of her mother. Good girls the both of them." Mr Billbergia's voice was hoarse and thick with his grief. For a moment I thought the old man would give in to the urge to cry before he firmly cleared his throat and picked up the papers; envelopes now I could see as he lifted them.
"Jonas Oleander wrote a letter for each of you and directed me to hand them out after the will reading." The solicitor started with a firm voice, but it trembled at the end. He cleared his throat again and opened his mouth to continue before stopping to take a steadying breath. I watched as Ashton leaned over to whisper in his grandpa's ear before taking the papers and squeezing the old man's shoulder.
"He wanted all of you to know his mind when he wrote his final wishes." With that, he launched into the will reading. Small things were given out first. Family heirlooms and sentimental items for my mom and uncle; a few small things for us grandkids too. A quilt that grandma had made, a pocket watch, and other various sundry items that weren't expressly valuable but held a wealth of memories in them. The majority of it passed over my head while I focused on getting my hands to rest just right on my lap. All of my concentration remained on keeping myself still and from fidgeting as my nerves jumped all over the place.
"Lastly, the farm. It states in the will that the farm is to be valued and sold with the proceeds split evenly between his two children; should they predecease him then that child's portion be split evenly between their children." Ashton paused in the reading as my Uncle looked at the paper almost greedily. I was tempted to speak up then; tell them that there was no way we were agreeing to sell off Grandpa's farm but I wasn't part of the decision.
"Unless any of those heirs is willing to take on the farm. A trust has been set up to hold the proceeds and profits of the farm for the first three years. At the end of three years if the farm has produced enough profit to pay out the owed portion of the farm to the other heirs then the trust will buy out the other heirs otherwise the farm will be sold at market price with the proceeds equally split" That last caveat got my attention. Grandpa left a loophole for anyone willing to take the gamble. A quick look at my Uncle's sullen expression and the calculating expressions on my cousin's as they worked out exactly how much of that money would come to them told me they were more concerned about selling than preserving this piece of our family history.
Mom and Dad looked too numb and I knew that Mom would go with whatever Uncle Heath wanted. She always gave in to her brother; a lifetime of being bullied and bossed around had taught her to give in to spare herself the headache. It left me and Scoria. Could we bring the farm back to life? The amount named as the value; I could come up with approximately a quarter of it if I raided my retirement savings, vacation fund, and majority of my bank account - I could make this happen.
"I want to take that challenge." The words escaped me before my brain could put them to a stop. Even as I said them I wished I could snatch them from the air and stuff them back behind my lips to be contained for all of eternity. What did I know about running a farm? A few summers there and suddenly I was going to be an expert? Mr. Sage's sad words rang in my ears- a lamentation of another farm sinking into the wilds or being lost to one of the big corporations.
"You? Really Cara? You can barely manage your one pokemon." My loving Uncle; I could always depend on him for those positive boosts to my self-esteem. The derision in his voice only egged me on; now I was determined to prove him wrong. I didn't look at him, didn't dare, as I focused my attention on Ashton and his grandfather.
"It doesn't rule out the grandchildren, does it? I can put up about a quarter of what the farm is worth right into the trust." My stomach twisted and knotted at the thought of all those hard-earned funds being drained away on an impulse.
"No, it doesn't. Your mother's portion would be half though." Mr. Billbergia broke in trying to give me an easy way out. I looked between him and Scoria's napping form at my feet. The cabin while small was comfortable enough for us. No neighbors to complain about her howling, no barely contained walks in the park until the odd weekend I could get us outside of the city for her to run.
"Are you sure about this?" My Dad's voice broke through the thoughts that weighed me down. I could only nod in reply since I didn't trust my voice not to give away the doubts that lingered over my newfound conviction. "If it is what you want.." Dad sighed before looking at the pair of solicitors.
"We can lend our daughter the other quarter of our half. To be paid back at the end of the probationary period." Dad knew my pride wouldn't allow him to gift me that much money with no promise to repay it. The terms were fair since either way the money would be returned to him at the end of the set timeframe.
"Ms. Meadows, are those terms satisfactory for you?" Ashton was the one to ask before his grandfather could throw another hurdle in my way.
"Yes. Very" I choked out. All I could see in my imagination were those fallow fields, a condemned cabin, and the lifeless air around the farm. Memories were one thing but to try and rebuild from the rotten husk that remained seemed near impossible
"Well, I object to it. If it is just giving her three years what's to say she doesn't mess up the whole value of the farm? I want it in writing that none of the sale proceeds in three years will go to her." Uncle Heath's voice was petulant and doggedly determined that this last stipulation of grandpa's will not be carried out.
"Fine with me Uncle Heath." Pride had me speaking before any semblance of sense. "Just my portion though; since Mom and Dad's is a loan." I quickly amended at the calculating gleam in his eye. My Uncle would not be getting a dime of my parents hard earned money if I do anything to stop him.
"How soon could you have the contracts drawn?" I addressed my question to Ashton. His grandfather looked ready to protest and I didn't want to risk the whole deal stalling out over another person's doubts; I had enough of my own.
"I can have them together in three days. We will need your payment at the time of signing though." He kept his tone carefully neutral. My heart sank as I thought of all the moving pieces I would have to get into order; three days wasn't a lot of time to organize it, but I could make it work. Thank all the rotoms for online banking.
"Sounds good. Is Wedgehurst still a good place to meet? If I remember correctly it is closer to your office." I didn't wait for a pause afraid that I would let my Uncle or self-doubt talk me out of moving forward on this impulse. What did I have to keep me in the city? A dead-end job with a crappy little apartment and neighbors that banged on the walls or thumped the floor at random hours because I sneezed too loud?
No, there was nothing for me in the city and some sadistic part of me looked forward to dropping my resignation letter on my smug manager's desk. The envisioned look of horror across all the other people in my department as they realized they no longer had me to cast off their unwanted shifts or to cover for their vacations, family engagements, or other random obligations that seemed to arise with no warning.
"Yes, Wedgehurst works best. I will call you later to finalize everything" I took Ashton's offered hand and shook it firmly; settling into place this first building block of my future. Something shifted in me, a piece that had seemed jagged and out of place, settled with a sense of rightness as things started to come together.
By some force of will I managed to force down the sense of jubilance that filled me; the misplaced joy at taking over something meaningful to my family and history contended with the solemnity of the day. I knew later I would feel a dirty sort of guilt at finding purpose thanks to Grandpa's death. My emotions came second though, to following the rituals of mourning with my mom and dad as we sorted through the carefully packed boxes that contained all the gifted items.
By the end of the day I was exhausted enough to fall asleep on my parents' hard couch; not even having the energy to make the walk back to the farm. The promise of tomorrow for the first time in a long time filled me with a sense of excitement rather than hollow despair.