CHAPTER 21

EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Mnemophobia is the fear of memories.

Theo couldn’t speak. No words could express the finality he was battling. It was all-encompassing and brain jumbling. His teacher — whom he had never really liked in the first place — was dead. And she would never again be alive. Mrs. Wellington would never know who the next president would be, what movies would capture the country’s heart, or what advancements would be made in the science of hair rejuvenation. When these events happened, Theo would remember that Mrs. Wellington, odd as she had been, was not around to share in the experience. Then a visual of her lifeless corpse would flash through his brain.

Theo didn’t remember how he got from the polo field to his bed, but he did. All he knew was that when he woke up, both Macaroni and Madeleine were lying sullen-faced next to him. Lulu was curled up in a tight ball on the floor of the boys’ room with one hand over her left eye. Theo wasn’t sure where Garrison was, and he was far too stunned to use his vocal cords yet.

As Theo ran through yet more changes the world would encounter without Mrs. Wellington, he began to think of all he had lost. Theo would never know her favorite book, her best friend, or the name of Mrs. Wellington’s mother. Did she have any children? Grandchildren? Great-grandchildren? Great-great-grandchildren? How had she come to run, albeit ineptly, this school on the hill? Sure, he could ask Schmidty, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t hear it from Mrs. Wellington. Sad and stunned into silence, Theo felt ill at ease over everything except his desire to go home.

Garrison chose to stay with Schmidty as he lovingly painted Mrs. Wellington’s fingernails, applied makeup, and brushed her wig. He just didn’t feel right leaving the old man alone with Munchauser. Mrs. Wellington’s dead body didn’t freak Garrison out as much as the strange smirk on Munchauser’s face did.

“I bet you ten bucks she prefers red for her funeral,” Munchauser said as Schmidty applied a thick layer of pink lipstick.

“I hardly think this is the time for bets,” Schmidty seethed, “not to mention, how would we settle a bet about what she prefers when she’s dead … ,” he choked out.

“I didn’t think about that,” Munchauser said while pacing in front of the dead body. “Of course, we will be able to settle another bet.”

“Don’t you even care that Madame is dead? She’s gone! Left us forever!”

“Of course I care, old man. But I’m a businessman, and as such I must put my feelings on the back burner until everything is settled, which includes the reading of the will and our friendly wager about who she leaves more to.”

“I never took that bet, you creep.”

“Well, you didn’t specifically not take it, so it counts in my book. Now Welly left her last will and testament in the safe, so let’s wrap this up and get down to business.”

“When you say this do you mean Madame? Do you expect me to wrap her in newspaper and toss her out with the old flowers?” Schmidty roared.

“No, of course not. We’ll leave her on the field until you can dig a grave. And don’t worry, I’ll turn up the AC.”

Garrison watched the two men, both buzzing with emotions, and wondered where this situation left him and the others.

“Here’s a blanket,” Munchauser said as he grabbed a pink cashmere throw from a bin on the side of the field. “Cover her up, and let’s get down to it.”

“Your compassion is overwhelming,” Schmidty fumed as he covered up his Madame.

Schmidty then laid his head across Mrs. Wellington’s chest and closed his eyes. His left hand fumbled until it found one of Mrs. Wellington’s hands and squeezed it tightly. Even with his eyes closed the emotion was so unbearably raw that Garrison looked away.

“I shall be with you again soon, Madame,” Schmidty said in a soft, almost childlike voice.

The sentiment of Schmidty’s goodbye irritated Munchauser, as if it was interrupting his plans.

“Will you save it for the funeral? I’ve got a lot to do around here. You have no idea the kinds of plans I have for this place,” Munchauser said, almost salivating at the notion of taking over the estate.

“You are as dense as you are deranged. Madame may have left you some cash to see a dermatologist and a laser hair removal specialist, but trust me, Summerstone and all that’s in it will be left to me. She knew that I would protect her legacy.”

Schmidty turned away from Munchauser, clearly tired of arguing.

“Mr. Garrison, are the others all right?” Schmidty asked Garrison.

“They’re okay. Not Theo, but I don’t think any of us expected him to take this well.”

“Is he crying?”

“No, he’s still silent. To be honest it’s a little creepy, like he’s in a coma with his eyes open or something.”

“Mr. Theo always was such a sensitive soul, he just needs time to mourn — we all do… .”

“Hey, kid?” Munchauser called out to Garrison.

“Well, not all of us, just those of us with feelings,” Schmidty corrected.

“I said ‘hey kid,’ why didn’t you answer? You think you’re too good to answer me?” Munchauser asked Garrison angrily.

“Sorry,” Garrison mumbled.

“You better be, because I don’t know if you heard but I’m in charge now.”

“Stop that,” Schmidty interrupted.

Completely ignoring Schmidty, Munchauser continued speaking to Garrison: “Assemble your comrades in the drawing room in five minutes. As your new headmaster, I want you all there for the reading of the will, the passing of the torch,” Munchauser said with his version of a grin, which clearly displayed his pronounced gums. If Munchauser did inherit the school, Garrison definitely hoped he would use some of the money to sort out his teeth.

“I suppose the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’ll leave,” Schmidty hissed to Munchauser.

“Or the sooner you’ll leave. I will take such pleasure in throwing you and that fat dog off the mountain. The realization of a lifelong dream.”

A bit later, Garrison guided Madeleine, Theo, Macaroni, and Lulu down the Great Hall and into the classroom. Schmidty had lit several candles and arranged numerous vases of pink roses throughout the room. On the coffee table, surrounded by tea candles, were a couple of small black-and-white photos of Mrs. Wellington as a child. Schmidty and Munchauser were standing directly in front of the coffee table, each with a hand on a large and exquisitely wrapped pink envelope.

“I’ll read it,” Munchauser said.

“I don’t trust you,” Schmidty said spitefully.

“Well I don’t like y —”

“Give it to me,” Garrison interrupted, desperate to get the reading of the will over with as soon as possible.

“Fine,” Munchauser acquiesced after Schmidty nodded in agreement.

“However, before you read the will, I would like to make a small speech. I think it’s going to be hard to talk over your sobbing later,” Munchauser said pointedly to Schmidty.

Lulu and Madeleine bookended Theo and Macaroni on one couch while Schmidty and Garrison sat on the other. Munchauser, seemingly energized by Mrs. Wellington’s death, paced in front of the somber group as he prepared to speak.

“As some of you may know, I am Welly’s lifelong attorney, the most trusted member of her inner circle, a true friend,” Munchauser said while poorly pretending to be overcome by emotion. He went for his handkerchief in his breast pocket but instead pulled out a betting form, then another and another. Soon the floor was littered in forms, and Munchauser decided it easier to simply skip the theatrics.

“As it takes a while to liquidate assets, not to mention that I have no interest in refunding any of your parents’ money, I will be finishing the summer as your headmaster. And please feel free to call me master, for short,” Munchauser said with another one of his attempts at a smile. “I will teach you the fine art of life at the track, including debt collection and placing bets. The house takes all winnings, and you’re responsible for your losses.”

“Excuse me, sir, my name is Madeleine Masterson, and I would like to make another suggestion. Perhaps we could simply be lowered off the mountain and returned to our families.”

“Yeah, we don’t want a refund,” Lulu added. “We’ll even pay you more to let us go —”

“Children, trust me, this won’t be an issue once the will is read. Garrison, if you wouldn’t mind starting,” Schmidty interrupted.

Both Munchauser and Schmidty watched Garrison with the utmost confidence as he quickly unwrapped the intricately tied pink envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The handwritten will was hardly a surprise, as Mrs. Wellington was hesitant of technology such as computers.

“ ‘I, Edith Wellington, of enviable style and overwhelming charisma, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament expressly revoking all wills and codicils heretofore made by me. To the Impoverished Pageant Scholarship Fund, I bequeath all my wigs, dentures, girdles, false eyelashes, acrylic nails, makeup, crowns, sashes, and vats of Vaseline. To both the Bald Brothers Institute and the Comb-Over Collective, I bequeath five hundred thousand dollars in the name of my late best friend, Schmidty. No other man so dedicatedly displayed the dangers of male hair loss. To my attorney, Leonard Munchauser, I bequeath the amount of one dollar, which, as you may recall, you bet me at our first meeting, absolutely sure that you would die first. Well, you were wrong. And may I add that had you been right, I would have no one to pay, since you would be dead. All remaining cash and assets, including Summerstone, stocks, bonds, and CDs, I bequeath to my beloved dog, Macaroni.’ ”