To whom the earth belongs

Inspired by this letter from Thomas Jefferson to James Madison.

On her twenty-first Birth Day, Emily took over the family business.  She didn’t need to, she didn’t want to, she didn’t even have to, but she’d grown up in the Inn.  She remembered the look of exhausted contentment on her father’s face when he’d tuck her to bed between scrubbing dishes and greeting late-arriving customers.  She remembered the way her aunt’s eyes dimmed, darker and colder each day closer to fifty-five.

Her own twin, Mary, hadn’t considered staying.  She’d been leaving for years.  Long months at university, and even before that, in high school, while Emily helped in the kitchen Mary would bike over to the library, to the football field, to parties in the woods.  She never asked her sister to join her.  Emily would hear the creak of the shed door sliding open, the crunch of wheels on gravel, and go back to the dishes.

Now, though, Mary begged her to come along.  “It’s the constitutional convention, Em!  You only get one turn, you’ll regret it if you stay.”

“Dad stayed, and he doesn’t regret it.”

“Dad’s only ever wanted to be here,” Mary said.  “You don’t.”

Emily shrugged and reached for another sheet to fold.  “I wouldn’t be any use there.  You’ve been reading history books for years, you’ve got Jefferson and Montesquieu memorized.  All I know is housekeeping and accounting.”

Mary pulled a face.  “God save us from a society built entirely by philosophers,” she said.  “Please come.”

“Why?” Emily asked, and then, cutting Mary off as she opened her mouth to answer, “You’ve never cared about my decisions before.”

“Of course I care.  Do you think I could have gone off to university if you hadn’t stayed?  Spent all that time in the library if you weren’t here folding sheets and washing dishes?  I’m not a monster, Em, I would have helped Dad and Aunt Ted if you hadn’t.”

The sheet Emily’d been folding fell slack between her hands, while the anger she’d always carried inside her went suddenly taut.  Mary had known, she’d always known, and now with her degree and all her books she’d finally put it in words -

But Mary was smiling now.  She gently took the sheet from Emily and tossed it to the ground.  “Don’t you see?” she said.  “That’s over now, it’s a new Generation.  We can do whatever we want.  Neither of us has to help now.”

“It’s not about having to, Mary.”

Mary’s brow went sharp and her lips tight in frustration.  Emily knew she must be making the same face.  They were fraternal twins, like almost everyone else, but in a few small ways they’d always been identical.  “I don’t want to hurt them either,” Mary said at last.  “But that’s what the Generations are for. ‘The earth belongs in usufruct to the living’,” she finished, and Emily knew she must be quoting someone.

“Dad and Ted are still alive,” she pointed out.

“A kindness,” said Mary, “established at the very first convention.  No one wants to kill off their parents just to be free of obligations to them.  But we must be free of obligations, don’t you see?”

“I really don’t.”

Mary spun around and slammed the table next to them.  She looked like she wanted to push everything - the dishes, the salt shaker, the empty vase - to the floor.  But she held herself still.  “If I can’t even convince you, I don’t know how I’ll ever persuade the Conservationists.”

“Maybe you won’t,” said Emily.  “Maybe you can’t, because you’re wrong.”

“She isn’t.”

The twins turned together towards the door where their father now stood.  He seemed tired.  Fifty-five looked older on him than it did on most people.

“Mary’s right,” he said.  “I love this Inn.  I want you to take it over, so I can keep working here until my arms and legs give out, so I can die in the same room I was born in.  I want all that, but I want you to have the life you want more.”

“Dad - “

“Even if I didn’t.  Even if I was that selfish.  ‘The earth belongs always to the living generation. They are masters too of their own persons, and consequently may govern them as they please.’”  He smiled at Mary’s surprise.  “You’re not the only one who sneaks away to the library.”

Emily’s eyes ached and she realized she was near to crying.  “Dad - “

“Go,” he said.  “Go to the convention.  I was sure I didn’t want to, but you’re not sure of anything, are you?  Go with your sister.”

“It’ll be months.  We can’t afford it, the Inn will - “

“The Inn will be fine.  I’ll keep running it.  It’ll take them time to notice I’m doing it, and more time still to shut us down.”

“That’s illegal,” Emily pointed out.  All three of them knew it.  Damn it, what was the point of rules if you were going to break them anyway?  Of obligations, if you weren’t willing to sacrifice for them?

Father leaned against the door and smiled.  It was the same look of exhausted contentment he’d always had for her.  Emily didn’t know what she wanted, except to have that same look on her own face some day.

“So go make it not be.”