The Inheritance

They came to claim their inheritance. They found something else.

The Inheritance

They had come reluctantly, the younger and the older. Silence hung between them, sharp and cold.

They hadn’t seen each other in years; they couldn’t stand the sight of one another.

But now it had to happen, for their father had passed away.

Neither son had been there when he died. They had been far too busy with their own affairs.

But the inheritance… that was another matter.

The appointment was set for early that morning at the notary’s office. At nine sharp, they entered the office together.

“Ah,” said the notary, a friendly, slightly stout man with a black-rimmed pair of glasses. He had a fatherly air about him. “You’re here for the will of Mr. Richards?”

Both sons nodded.

“Sit down please,” said the notary, pointing toward the two chairs across from his neatly arranged desk.

They sat, shifting impatiently while exchanging cold, hostile glances.

How had they drifted so far from the warmth of their childhood home?

Perhaps it had started when Mother died while they were still young and Father had to carry the burden alone. Many nights he had fallen asleep by the light of a single candle, praying over his sons. On Sundays, he faithfully took them to church and in the evenings they read from his great family Bible.

But it hadn’t helped.

Each day, the sons wandered further from home, opening their hearts to the shadows of sin. Jealous rivalry took hold of them and the godless, empty promises of the world blinded their eyes to their father’s sorrow.

The eldest had been the first to leave. Off to freedom. Far away, free at last from his father’s religious talk.

“Forget not your Creator,” his father had still said, tears brimming his eyes.

But the son had scoffed, slamming the door behind him.

A week later the younger left.

“Remember your Creator,” his father had told him as well.

The boy had not responded and disappeared into the world.

And now, here they sat together before the notary, who held the will in his hands.

The old property was worth quite a lot these days. Perhaps their father had even won the lottery in his old age. After all, one could never know…

Two small packages were on the table before the notary.

“Here,” he said, without further reading. “I’ll get straight to the point. This is your inheritance.”

He pushed the two parcels toward the brothers, who eyed them suspiciously.

“W–what is this?” asked the elder.

“Open it,” said the notary.

Without another word they tore off the paper.

Their eyes widened in disbelief.

There, on their laps, they each had a half of the old family Bible.

Someone had cleaved it in two with a heavy blade.

The older son held the upper half; the younger the lower.

“Is this some kind of joke?” the younger asked.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” the elder grumbled. “Worthless! I came here for the land and the house.”

The notary pressed his lips together and said quietly, “Your father said you’d understand one day… that some treasures can’t be sold or kept in a bank.”

He looked at the two brothers, and sadness filled his eyes. “Your father had a hard life. He had to sell the land and the house long ago to make ends meet.”

“I might’ve known that old fool would do something like that,” muttered the elder angrily. “And now… this?” He glared at his half of the Bible.

“I was with your father when he died,” the notary continued.

“How did he die?” the younger asked.

“There was peace in his eyes,” said the notary softly, “but there was also much pain for you both. His last words were a prayer, asking God to bring you back together. Together with the Savior, and with each other.”

“He prayed for us on his deathbed?” the younger whispered.

The notary nodded. “He meant well. He always did.”

The younger sighed and looked down at his half of the Bible. He knew the book well.

The elder looked at his too. The same old ink stain was still there, right where it had always been. Old memories, long buried, began to rise from the depths…

Mother’s kiss when she would tuck them in their beds at night.

Father’s tears when she died.

The days Father tended them when they had the measles… A whole world of memories opened up.

The younger flipped through his half, more out of irritation than of reverence. “Well, look at that,” he muttered as his eyes landed on an Old Testament story. “Cain and Abel. How fitting.”

The elder frowned. “Mine says something about the elder son not wanting to come in…”

Neither spoke for a long moment. The ticking of the office clock filled the room.

The younger cast his older brother a shy glance. For a moment, the elder’s jaw tightened as if ready to snap back, as he always did. But the words wouldn’t come. Only silence.

And for the first time in years, the elder didn’t argue.

“What has become of us?” he answered at last, barely audible. “We have entirely misunderstood the meaning of life.” He pushed his chair away, got up and placed his half of the Bible on the desk before him. He turned to the younger. “Put your half against mine,” he said. Then, quietly and gently he added, “… Brother.”

The younger hesitated, then obeyed.

The torn pages met, and in that silent joining, something long broken was made whole again.

____