This is not your home
Eleanor gazed with quiet sorrow at the house where shed grown up. At eighteen, she was already wholly disillusioned with the world. How cruel fate had been to her! Her grandmother had died, her dream of university had slipped awayall thanks to the girl whod sat beside her at the entrance exam. That classmate had copied everything from Eleanor, then whispered something sharp to the examiner as she handed in her sheet. He frowned, marched over, demanded Eleanors paper, and expelled her for cheating. Protesting was hopeless. She later discovered the girl was the daughter of a local business magnate. How could Eleanor have stood a chance against that?
And then, after all those blows, her mother appearedtrailing two half-brothers and a new husband. Where had they all vanished to these years? Her grandmother had raised Eleanor, while her mother had disappeared after Eleanors fourth birthday, leaving no fond memories behind. During her fathers long shifts at work, her mother would leave Eleanor alone, off to seek excitement elsewhere. Even married, shed kept hunting for a proper man, hiding nothingbefore or after Eleanors father died so suddenly one winter.
Newly widowed, her mother, Irene, hadnt grieved long. She packed her luggage, left four-year-old Eleanor on her grandmothers stoop, sold off the modest flat left by Eleanors father, and vanished for years. Grandmother Mabel tried appealing to her conscience in vain.
Sometimes Irene would breeze by, but Eleanor meant nothing to her. Once, at age twelve, Eleanor met her mother brieflyshed arrived with seven-year-old Nicholas in tow and demanded Mabel sign the cottage over to her.
No, Irene! Youll get nothing from me, Mabel replied, firmly.
When you cark it, itll be mine anyway! Irene snapped, shot Eleanor an irritated glare, gathered Nicholas, and stormed out.
Later, Eleanor asked her grandmother, Why do you always start rowing when she visits?
Because your mother is selfish, love! I clearly didnt discipline her hard enough, Mabel said sharply.
Grandmother Mabels illness came creeping, unexpected. Shed never fussed about ailments. But one afternoon, when Eleanor came home from school, she found her grandmother pale and still, sitting on the balconya sight shed never witnessed before.
Are you all right? Eleanor asked with concern.
I dont feel well Call the ambulance, darling, Mabel replied softly.
The days blurred into a hospital, IV drips, and thenthe end. Mabels final days were in the high-dependency unit, visitors strictly forbidden. Eleanor, frantic and frantic with grief, rang her mother. Irene at first refused to come, but after hearing intensive care, agreedbut only in time for the funeral. Three days later, she thrust a document at Eleanor:
This house now belongs to me and the boys. Oleg will arrive soon. I know you dont get on with him. Soperhaps youll stay with Auntie Carol for a bit, yes?
Not a flicker of regret marred Irenes tone. If anything, she seemed gleeful that Mabel had finally passed, leaving her as sole heir.
Eleanor, suffocated by grief, couldnt stand against her mother. The will laid it all out plainly. And so, she stayed at her fathers sistersAunt Carol. But Carol was flighty, forever seeking a dashing husband, and her flat always filled with rowdy, half-sozzled guests, which Eleanor couldnt stand. Worse, some began eyeing her up, making Eleanors skin crawl.
She shared all of this with her boyfriend, Peter, expecting nothing; instead, he surprised her.
I cant have a pack of old codgers gawking at you or worse! he said, fierce despite his nineteen years. Ill talk to my dad tonight. Weve a spare flat out by the citys edge. Dad promised I could move in alone if admitted to university. Well, I got in, so now its his turn.
But whys that to do with me? Eleanor stammered.
Because well live theretogether!
Will your parents even allow that?
Theyve no choice! Im making this officialwill you be my wife and share my flat with me?
Eleanor almost burst into tears of happiness.
Yesof course I will!
Aunt Carol was delighted about the engagement; Eleanors mother nearly fumed with rage.
Getting married, are we? My, arent you nimble! Failed university, now after a different perch. You wont get a penny from me! The house is mine! Youll get nothing!
Her mothers coldness hurt more than any wound. Sobbing, Eleanor could barely explain to Peter what had happened. He bundled his weeping fiancée home, where his parents made her tea and listened to her troubles.
Poor child! What a wicked woman, Peters mum exclaimed when she heard Irenes words.
But Peters father, Mr. Jameson, considered something deeper. You know, what interests me is how obsessed she is with that house. If shes so sure about the will, why all this fuss?
I dont know Eleanor sniffled. Mum always argued about the house when visiting Nan. She wanted her to sell it and hand her the cash, then tried to force her to sign it over. But Nan refused. She said if she did that, wed both be left on the street.
Its all a bit odd Tell me, did you see a solicitor after your gran passed?
Nowhy would I?
To establish your right to inheritance.
But Mums the heir. Im only her granddaughter! And I saw Mums willshe showed it to me.
Its more complicated, said Mr. Jameson kindly. After the weekend, lets see a solicitor together. For now, you need rest.
A few days later, Eleanor saw her mother again. Irene brought documents, tried to force her daughter to sign, but Peter intervened.
She wont sign anything!
And who are you to say so? Shes an adult! Irene snapped.
Im her fiancé. I think signing could harm her, so therell be no signatures, Peter insisted.
Irene exploded with insults, but left empty-handed, stoking Mr. Jamesons suspicions further.
As promised, he accompanied Eleanor to the solicitor.
Listen to everything he says, but read anything you sign carefully, he warned.
The solicitor was upright. He accepted Eleanors application. The next day, they learned that probate for Mabels will had been opened in Eleanors name. Mabel had left a modest savings account for Eleanors educationshe hadnt known of it.
What about the house? Mr. Jameson asked, still by her side.
What house? Ohthe cottage is already gifted to Eleanor. The transfer was registered here years ago. No other claims.
Gifted? How? Eleanor blinked.
Your grandmother arranged it a few years back. You turned eighteen recently; the house is now yours to do with as you please.
And the will?
Superseded, and cancelled after the gift. It seems your mother never knew. The house is entirely yours, with full rights.
All Mr. Jamesons suspicions were settled.
But what now? Eleanor faltered as they left.
Now? Tell your mother. She must leave your home.
Shell never! Shes already thrown my things out!
Well, thats what the police are for.
As soon as Irene heard the decision, she went incandescent.
You little snake! Think you can throw your mother out? Get out yourself! Ive got a document says this house is mine! My own mother made the willsays I inherit!
Oleg, silent until now, joined in with venom. Go on thenget lost! Viewers are coming; this house is being sold!
Instead of buyers, the police arrived. They quickly sorted things and ordered the trespassers to leave, or face arrest. Irene, her husband, and her sons stormed out, defeated. Eleanor finally returned to her own home. Peter, worried, stayed with her in case Irenes husband made trouble.
And he was right. Irene and Oleg harassed Eleanor for weeks, and once they learned about Mabels account, Irene tried to claim it. Some of the money, inevitably, went her waybut the cottage was lost to her forever. Not until legal advice echoed all around did Irene finally concede, gather her broodand leave for good. Eleanor never heard from her again.
She married Peter, enrolled at university to study her hearts passion, and had her first child in her third year. She remained forever grateful to her husband and his family for standing by herand lived, at last, happily.
By Odette
—
—
The Riddle
The cottage was old, but well-kept. It hadnt sat empty long, so hadnt grown wild or decrepit. Thank heavens, mused Helen. Not as if Ive got a man about the place these days, or ever will again. And Im hardly one of those redoubtable English matrons who can do it alldrive nails, halt runaway horses, or charge into burning barns!
She climbed the steps, fished a key from her handbag, and opened the heavy padlock.
***
This strange inheritance came from old Aunt Millie. She was only loosely related and little known to Helen. Still, no telling how the minds of the seriously elderly work; Aunt Millie was nearly a century old, by Helens count. Whether Helen was her great-niece or cousin twice removedit hardly mattered. To the family, Helen might as well have been the cook who sews.
Helen had visited Aunt Millie back in the distant past. Shed already been well along in years and preferred to live alone, never asking family for anything. Then, quite suddenly, she passed away.
When they rang to say her grandmother in the village of Riddleton had died, Helen didnt even remember Aunt Millie at first. And certainly never expected to inherit her cottage and a dozen perches of land.
A retirement present! joked Helens husband, Michael.
Ha, with years till I retireif I ever do! laughed Helen. Im only fifty-four. By sixty, who knowsmaybe theyll raise the age again. Its just a gift, with no rhyme or reason. I barely knew Aunt Millie was still alive. Honestly thought she was long gone. Still, Im hardly in a position to refuse! If given, Ill see what I can make of it.
Or sell it Michael rubbed his hands together.
***
Good thing they didnt sell up. Just a few months after Helen became a landowner, life threw another, much less welcome, surprise: Michael, her dear husband, was having an affair. Yes, just like that. Grey at the temples, mischief in his heart, a stone under his shirtHe left in October, taking the city flat and the good pans. Helen wept for a week, then, dazed and oddly weightless, she packed what she needed, notified work, and drove north.
Riddleton greeted her with dew-bright mornings and a hush deeper than any shed known in London. At first she drifted through empty rooms in Aunt Millies cottage, listening for an echo of her old life, finding none. She tried to fill the silence with noise: the radio, the dog-eared paperbacks left behind, even her own uncertain singing. But gradually, the hush wrapped itself around her and became oddly comforting. She stripped the faded wallpaper, sanded banisters, pruned roses gone wild. Neighbours appeared at the gate with baskets of apples and jars of homemade jam. The village shopkeeper asked, her eyes sparkling, what business the late Miss Millies riddles might have with Helen.
That question made Helen laugh, and the first time, choke up. None that I know of, she almost replied. But she found Millies trunkwedged behind the armoire, full of yellowed letters, an embroidered sampler, and a battered notepad. On the first page, in swirling, decisive script, was written:
*Welcome, Helen. You are braver than you know. To find what you were truly given, begin in the garden at dawn.*
She stood blinking in the kitchen, uncertain whether to trust her eyes. At first light, heart pounding, Helen pressed her feet into the wet grass and followed the twisting path between brambles to an ancient apple tree. Beneath it, at the base, something glinteda brass key.
She unlocked the garden shed. Inside, neatly labeled jars lined the shelves: Summer 1973, Strawberry. Autumn 1988, Plum. In the centre was a single envelope addressed, in the same hand: To Helen, for Courage.
She slit it open and read:
*I know, dear, one day youll need somewhere newa true beginning in the bones of an old place. Here you will make your own riddles. Smile when you find this. It means youve begun.*
Helen smiled, despite tears, and let the sadness run straight through her and wash out the past. She began againevenings filled with laughter at the pub, spring mornings digging in the dark, sweet earth, making friends over seed packets and knee-high muddy boots. Each day in the cottage shaped itself around her, mending, comforting, nudging her gently forward.
She never solved all Aunt Millies riddlessome things arent for solving. But she found what really matters: roots in a generous, unlooked-for home, and the quiet certainty that sometimes, the true inheritance is simply permission to begin anew.
And Helen, at last, felt she was exactly where she belonged.
