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Geoffrey Barrington was the first to arrive at the swank office, anxious to wrap up the boring details of his inheritance and get on with the show. Looking at his gold, diamond- studded watch, he heaved a contented sigh and sat down in the leather high-back chair to the right of the fireplace. He admired the plush oriental rug beneath his privileged feet and the stunning paintings on the wall.
The thick carved door opened very quietly as the secretary entered, followed by Mr. Sinclaire, a distinguished man cast perfectly as the white haired, sophisticated, world-weary barrister.
“ My condolences, Geoffrey,” the older man said as he offered his hand, “ these things are never pleasant.”
Taking his seat behind the beautiful polished mahogany desk, and with Miss Cravitt standing to one side to assist with the documents, Mr. Sinclaire cleared his throat.
“ We will begin when everyone has arrived.”
Geoffrey looked around in puzzlement. “Excuse me, Sir. What do you mean by ‘everyone’?”
“ We are to be joined by your brother, Charles Winston Barrington, IV.”
“My BROTHER!” he exploded, in a disbelieving, barely contained rage. “ Sir," he requested through gritted teeth, “ may I have a word with you in private?”
Expecting nothing less, Mr. Sinclaire led the way to the hall. Geoffrey spoke slowly and distinctly, as if the older man were hard of hearing.
“It has been twenty years since that idiot chose to desert this family and move to some God forsaken place in the bush or jungle or rain forest or wherever he’s been, to translate who knows what into some heathen culture’s hoobie-doobie yik-yak, and then teach them to read it.”
He had never cared for his older brother’s affinity for religious things, as he called it. In his opinion, ‘those God people’ were always slightly odd anyway. Besides, he had assumed there was some kind of vow of poverty taken.
“ I cannot discuss the details with you until the reading is complete,” soothed Mr. Sinclair.
Geoffrey noticed a familiar looking man in khaki slacks and a plain blue shirt making his way toward them. Beside him walked a lovely woman whose sweet face radiated strength and confidence. Charles, who was beaming with a grin, recognized his brother and grabbed him in a bear hug.
“I can’t believe it! Gibity, I thought you were probably dead!”
Geoff was more than bewildered by this tan, healthy, effervescent person who certainly looked the way he remembered.
“Where…why?” he sputtered, “ I thought YOU were dead!”
He wasn’t feeling so well.
“Nope, been pretty busy doing the Lord’s work with my wife
Eileen here.”
“Lord who?”
“What?”
“You said you’ve been busy doing the Lord’s work. Is that some royalty who finances your…well, whatever it is that you do?”
Charlie and Eileen looked at each other with instant discernment and love.
*****
All inheritors accounted for; the first part of the reading proceeded quickly. Then, without so much as blinking, Mr. Sinclaire dropped the bomb.
“And finally, the whole of this estate shall go to one son: Geoffrey Isaac Barrington.”
Geoff’s eyes opened wide in amazement and prideful satisfaction. He indicated his imminent departure by standing.
Mr. Sinclair held up one hand, “ Wait. There is more.”
Slowly, feeling a cold dread, Geoffrey sank back into the leather seat.
Continuing, the executor read the personal message from the Barrington parents. “We have never been able to convince you that you needed more than money and our respected last name. Your stiff neck insensitivity and lack of belief in anything but yourself is heartbreaking.”
Geoffrey was stunned. Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat and kept reading.
“ Having faith in the important work your brother has begun, and believing that the word of God must go into all the world, even the deepest remote part where Charles chooses to serve, it is our WILL that no funds be available to you until you accompany him and stay for one year, thoroughly learning what he does and why.”
Mr. Sinclair removed his reading glasses and looked up. “Do you agree, Geoffrey?”
******
Mr. Sinclaire and Miss Cravitt stood by the huge office window overlooking the park. There, sitting side by side on a bench were the two Barrington brothers, one talking with obvious animation, the other with his head in his hands.
“Wonder what they are saying?” mused the secretary.
Mr. Sinclaire looked at her and sighed, “God only knows, my dear…God only knows.”
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