Free Red Clover by Florence Osmund

head. “No, not really.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss.” He didn’t know what else to say.
    “It's your loss too,” she sobbed.
    “Yes, of course,” he said, not knowing why it was a loss for him. He hadn’t known the man. “What’s with Father?”
    His mother didn’t answer.
    “Will he be going to the funeral?”
    “He’ll go,” she whispered.
    The next morning, two limos transported everyone to Uncle Nelson’s hometown of Valparaiso, Indiana, for the funeral. Lee, his parents, and his two brothers rode in one car and his brothers’ families in the other.
    His mother was painfully quiet in the car, staring out the window for long periods, appearing to be in some other place. After a half hour of silence, she turned to Lee and asked, “So what have you decided to do now, Lee?”
    Even though he was expecting the question, he was surprised at the timing of it. “I’m thinking about going on for my PhD.” He had come up with that one right out of the air. He had no intention of doing that.
    “In gardening?” his father asked.
    Lee didn’t respond.
    “Horticulture, Henry.”
    “Right. Horticulture.”
    Lee was tempted to say No, I thought I’d take up home economics this time and specialize in sewing . “I could do some very important research with a PhD. Maybe make a difference.”
    “A difference in what? Flowers and vegetables?” his father snapped.
    His brothers turned their gazes out their respective windows, not uttering a word.
    Lee took a few seconds to compose himself before responding. “A difference in medical science. They are starting to do unbelievable things in genetic modification these days.”
    “And...so what?” Henry asked.
    “So...if we can figure out a way to manipulate DNA molecules to produce modified plants, maybe we can do the same in animals and humans.”
    “I’ll ask it again. So what? Where’s the money in it?”
    “We’re here,” his mother said, putting an end to the conversation.
    Mourners streamed into the funeral home. Lee’s father opened his door to exit the car.
    “Wait,” Lee’s mother said.
    “What?”
    “We’re not going in.”
    “Why?” his father asked. Lee could tell he was annoyed.
    “I just can’t.”
    “Abigale, we drove all this—”
    “I know. But I just can’t go in. Please. Let’s go home.”
    “We’re going in.”
    “No. We’re not.” Her voice was soft, but her statement was resolute.
    Lee and his brothers looked at each other in disbelief.
    “Shall I tell the other driver to turn around, Mother?” Bennett finally asked.
    “Yes,” his mother said.
    No one uttered another word on the never-ending ride back to the Winekoop household. Once there, everyone went their separate ways.
    Lee went into his bedroom. Propped up against the desk lamp was a sealed envelope with his name on it. Inside was a letter written on crème-colored stationery with the insignia NOS printed in gold-embossed lettering at the top. He scanned to the bottom of the page—it had been signed “Nelson.”
     
    My Dear Lee,
For reasons you may never appreciate, I have asked your mother not to tell you about my health issues until after I’m gone. If you are reading this letter, that time must have arrived.
I didn’t want you to hear about your inheritance from someone who was completely unfamiliar to you, so I am telling you about it in this letter. That said, I regret not having been closer to you. Someday you’ll understand why.
My estate will be divided ten ways, and you are among the beneficiaries.
There is a piece of land in Harvard, Illinois I own, 684 acres to be exact, that I want you to have. Now, that may not seem like a lot to you right now, but I predict, after an appropriate length of time, you will know just what to do with it to make it worthy. And I want to help you with that, too, so I have put $500,000 in a trustee-managed account for you.
I have significant faith in you, Lee. I know you won’t let down your mother,