The Tuffin Estate

Johnathon Tuffin the sixth, known as “John,” promised his twins he’d be home for their third birthday, and he was running late. The Tuffin Estate’s private jet’s Ottawa flight had a twenty-minute delay due to a high-pressure storm brewing down from the East. John was writing in an “old family heirloom,” his little black notebook trying to kill time waiting for the flight to land. Now entering the Tuffin Estate’s Airspace, his jet slowly started to descend, circling towards the private airport. The plane flying into the runway released its landing gear striking the tarmac glided to a halt as the propellers gently rotated.

The jet’s propellers slowly dwindled down to a stop as the pilot turned off the engine. “We’re here, Sir,” informed the pilot tipping his hat at John with a smile. Placing the notebook in his front pocket, John got up from his seat and patted the pilot’s back, exclaiming, “Thank-you Captain!,” as he ducked his head exiting the jet. A frigid autumn breeze battered John when he stepped down from the jet’s ladder. The wind blew the leaves accumulating around the airport hangers, swirling them like little tornadoes down the runway.

When the breeze died down, the leaves would collide with the runway, scattering circulating with the air beginning the whole process all over again. Trying to take off the chill caused by the bitter wind, John started to button up his wool coat. He moved his hands up and down with his fingers half-frozen, trying to get the coat’s buttons to work. Finally giving up, John waved to the pilot and headed towards his Ford truck parked in the airport’s parking lot. Reaching his vehicle, he climbed behind the wheel and headed for home towards the Estate’s west side.

John turned right, driving down the Estate’s thousand acreages rocky mountain road. He Sang to the music on the radio, heading towards the family homestead nestled at the bottom of the mountain’s terrace overlooking the property’s private lake. The sun began to set in the west. Shades of scarlet, amber, and gold shimmered across the sky as the sun descended into the horizon. Noticing the sun going down, John reached into his pocket for his phone. The phone tumbles out of his hands, dropping to the floor. Looking down, not paying attention to the road, he kept his left hand on the steering wheel as he put his right hand between his legs, feeling the floor of the truck, searching, trying to find where the phone flung.

John found the phone under the seat. He picked it up and called his lawyer Mr. Conway to meet him at the twin’s birthday party. Looking down, dialing the number, he didn’t notice the moose in the middle of the road until he looked up again. The gigantic beast froze, caught in the truck’s headlights. Two wide eyes shone back at him, spellbound terrified by fear like a statue, the animal stood paralyzed. Looking up cursing, he cranked the wheel as far as it could go missing the moose. Fishtailing, the truck swung sideways, shrieking the tires over the rocky terrain. The truck zinged, spinning into a doughnut out of control, obliquely colliding with the shoulder propelling it over the ridge.

The truck propelled, flipping over and over down the steep rocky bank, blowing out the windshield spraying glass all over John. The vehicle landed upside down with the wheels still spinning, skidding across the rocks coming to a standstill. Shaken, spitting up blood as it filled his lungs, he looked down at his leg and saw the bone sticking out turned inhumanly. John undid his seat belt wheezing and coughing, falling from the truck smacking the ground hard, knocking the wind out of himself. Elbow over the elbow, slowly raising his upper body dragging his useless limbs behind him, he clawed his way from the wreckage. A trickle of gas slowly leaked from the gas tank while smoke simmered up from the engine.

Smoke simmered up from the engine as the fumes in-golfed the air mixing with the spark’s electric current twitching and crackling, a slow-burning flame united, causing an explosion. With the notebook tightly grasped in his right hand, John called his wife with his left hand, “Hello, where are you?” answered his wife, Christina. Choking, spitting up blood with his last, dying breath, he whispers, “(gasping) I - love - you, (gurgling) I’m - sorry, (evanescing), my - love” as he slipped away. His left hand fell limb, sliding from his hand the phone slowly hit the ground as smoke and flames billowed up the mountainside. The pilot, driving home behind him, witnessing the crash, pulled over frantically and called 911.

“911, police, fire, or ambulance?” came a voice from the other end of the phone. “Oh my God! Please come quick. There’s been an accident at the Tuffin Estate!” cried the pilot. Rushing, he leaps from his car, running to the trunk. Swinging it open, he grabs some flares, placing them on the road. Sirens blaring two police cars pulled up to the accident.“Thanks for your help, we’ll take it from here,” said the first officer who arrives on the scene. While one officer secured the accident, his partner went down the bank and found John’s body. The officer bent down to check and see if John had a pulse. Finding none, he pried the notebook out of his dead hands, placing it in an evidence bag. Then the officer began to investigate the scene.

After the police finished their investigation, they gave John’s little black book to Mr. Conway, the Power of Attorney of the Tuffin Estate. Johnathon Tuffin the Sixth funeral was five days after his death. His loved ones surrounded him on a cold rainy day burying him beneath an old weeping willow in the Estate’s family cemetery. The Tuffin, one billion dollar Estate, was put into a trust run by Mr. Conway until the twin’s eighteenth birthday. Then they would receive their inheritance, and the family’s heirloom, with the Tuffin history written in its pages a “little black notebook,” would be given to Johnathon Tuffin the Seventh.

Johnathon Tuffin the Seventh, known as “Jack,” stared down at his father's picture, remembering the night of his death like it was yesterday on his eighteenth birthday. Jack and his twin sister Jasper were sitting beside each other on their third birthday, blowing out candles on a giant birthday cake. It had two different pictures, cars and ponies, one on each side split down the middle with six candles across the front of the cake. His mother and Mr. Conway, the Estate’s power of attorney, were sitting at the table singing “Happy Birthday” to them. The phone rang, and his mother, still singing, got up from the table and answered it. “Hello, John, John!” are you there?” His Mother dropped the phone, “hysterically,” sobbing, “Nooooo! - Noooo! - Noooo!” with tears running down her face. Rocking back and forth, shaking, she sent them to their rooms. Mr. Conway jumped up from the table to comfort her. Around seven o’clock that night, two police officers came to the door.

Looking down from the stairs, Jack and Jasper heard someone knocking at the door, waiting for their mother to answer. She got up, brushed the wrinkles out of her dress, wiped both her eyes, and opened it. Two police officers, dressed in formal uniforms, with seldom looking faces, were standing, with their heads bowed on the other side of the door. The senior of the two took off his hat and spoke softly to his mother as he handed her his father’s belongings. His mother dropped the package, uncontrollably weeping as she crumbled into Mr. Conway's arms. Crying, a lump formed in Jack's throat as he caressed his father’s face in the picture, looking up at the ceiling, hoping his father could hear him, Jack whispered, “Dad, I will get your notebook soon I turn eighteen, today!”

Jack dried the tears from his eyes and placed his fathers’ picture on the stand next to his bed. Entering his room, his twin, Jasper, cheerfully charmed “, We finally get control of the Estate! “Happy birthday! “Ding- Dong,” chimed the doorbell before Jack could reply to his sister. “He’s here!” exclaimed Jasper. “I’ll get it!” she hollered, running past her brother. “Not if I get it first!!” Jack joked as he rushed after her to the stairs, taking two while nudging her out of the way teasingly as he passed her. He Jumped the last step, landing at the foyer by the front door.

Rushing past Jack, Jasper shoved her brother out of the way opening the door with a big grin on her face. “Well, look at you, you’re the spitting image of your mother!” laughed Mr. Conway. “Thank you!” replied Jasper. Mr. Conway winked at the twins exclaiming, “You two just want to get this done and over with!” “Sure do!” Jasper, nodding, her head up and down as she spoke. “Mom,” “Mr. Conway here,” yelled Jasper as he walked through the door. Jasper and her brother headed towards the den after closing the door behind Mr. Conway.

Mr. Conway removed his button-down coat, then hung it on the coat rack in the foyer. Grabbing his briefcase, he heads towards the den to meet the kids. The twins were already sitting behind their father’s old wooden desk with pens in their hands when Mr. Conway walked in. “I guess you’re ready,” he chuckled as he laid the paperwork down in front of them. Jasper signed the documents just as her phone rang, “Hello,” She answered. Hanging the phone up, she asked, “Am I done?” “Yes,” replied Mr. Conway. Jasper got up, hugged Mr.Conway, thanking him, then she turned to her brother and whispered in his ear, “I love you." Jasper waved and walked out of the den, shutting the door behind her.

After watching Jasper leave, Mr. Conway turned to Jack stating, “your turn.” He signed the paperwork and put his pen down. Mr. Conway handed him the notebook. “Your father wanted you to have this, speaking softly while putting his hand on Jack’s shoulder. Nodding silently, he took the notebook and headed to his room. Alone sitting on his bed, his father’s spirit entered and sat down beside Jack. Jack snuggled up close to his father’s presence while opening the book. His father’s spirit whispered, “are you ready, my son?” like a daydream his angel began to read.

His Daddy’s spirit was looking down, smiling, and reading from the heirloom how his Great Grandpa played a poker game at the local tavern three hundred years ago. An old miner threw the deed to the land in the pot and called his Grandpa’s bluff. The miner had a knight at the round table but his Grandaddy won with a royal flush. The miner got up, throwing his chair, screaming, “there’s nothing up there but a pile of rocks”, storming out of the tavern. The old miner didn’t know that the mountain was full of gold, because his Grandfather struck it rich, laughing all the way to the bank and chuckling at how the family won their Estate. With bright eyes of wonder, Jack was a three-year-old child again, looking up at his father listening to him read the family history. His angel slowly dissolved as he whispered, “I love you.” Confused, Jack Woke up from the daydream and came back to his senses.

As reality set in, Jack returned to himself, looking down at the page of his father’s last entry he wrote. With his Dad’s loving spirit still holding him tight, he began to read his father’s final words. October/2/2005 Today is Jack and Jasper’s third birthday. They are the reason I live, my loves, my life. Tenderly hugging him, his father’s angel caressed his hair. Mumbling, “I love you, Dad,” Jack drifted off to sleep dreaming about his family's legends while the book slid to his bed.