Many of their friends and neighbors returned to the house with Dominique and Rene after they witnessed Francois’ coffin placed in the cold earth. There they shared dishes of food, brought by the townspeople, a feast the likes of which Dominique had never witnessed. Eating, however, was not something she could accomplish right now – her heart was too heavy.
Jean Louis Cannard, her father’s friend and solicitor, had returned to the house with Rene to help settle Francois’ affairs. Their tiny home seemed to grow larger in a well-meaning attempt to accommodate all the villagers who came to pay their respects. Her father had touched so many lives and for Dominique, each story and memory seemed to bring her father back to life. She was brought out of her blissful reverie when she heard Rene’s shrill voice haggling about the potential value of her father’s tools.
Hurrying after her mother who was on her way to the workshop, Dominique grabbed her arm and spun her around. “What do you mean? You are trying to sell Father’s tools? Today of all days? Why, he is not even cold in the ground yet! You are heartless, you never loved him well enough, and you certainly never deserved his love.” She was livid with her mother, finally snapping after days of torture watching her make light of his passing.
Rene caught her footing quickly and with eyes that turned cold as daggers swung her hand up and slapped Dominique’s face with a deafening crack. The workshop had suddenly become blanketed by silence as if everyone in the room held their breath. Dominique stumbled, holding her jaw, already bright red with finger marks where Rene’s hand had made contact. Reaching out to steady herself, Dominique’s hand pushed the canvas tarp that covered the armoire, causing it to slide gracefully to the floor.
An audible gasp reverberated in the room as the crowd caught its first glimpse of the masterpiece Francois had spent his dying hours finishing. Dominique collapsed to her knees in the crystal clear realization that this was the project Francois had labored over in his last moments. Her tears were matched by so many in the room. Jean Louis had joined the group when he heard the commotion and now moved closer to the armoire, where a small note protruded from a drawer.
This piece was exquisite. Each join and detail was meticulously created. The exotic woods spoke of a fortune spent, but the use of them was understated and stunning at the same time. The colors glowed under layers of oil, polished to a gleam that was jewel-like. The note had been placed, half in, half out of one of the drawers. Cannard reached for the note and read aloud what amounted to Francois’ last will and testament.
“My work has been my love and reward during this life but compares not to the love I hold for my child, Dominique. She is everything to me. This piece is to be sold and the proceeds are to be the inheritance I leave my beloved girl. There is enough value here to take care of her because, alas, I will be unable to. As to the rest, it belongs to Rene.”
Rene’s mouth was open and for once she seemed quite speechless. After some silence, she ranted “why, why this piece is worth a small fortune! It should be mine! There must be some mistake, he was crazy with fever…no one in their right mind would leave such a treasure to a mere child…” But Jean shook his head emphatically, “I am sorry Rene, this is a legal document. It is in Francois’ own hand. It is dated and there is no sign of mental impairment in its wording. In fact, it is quite clear. I believe Francois meant for the entire proceeds of this armoire to go to Dominique, given her age, however, it would be best to set up a trust for her. And as his solicitor and friend, I mean to ensure that his wishes are strictly adhered to.”
Rene was quite rigid with anger as she stared coldly at her daughter, “Then you had better find the little thief somewhere else to live because I am done with her!” Spinning on her heels, she marched through the woodchips on the floor towards the house, leaving a shocked group behind her.