Clara was coming home at last. Everyone had gone now. Only the old house still waited for her.
This story is included in the collection Thrice Upon a Time
Little pink tabs stuck out from the edges of pages awaiting signatures. The lawyer, a courteous old gentleman who reminded Clara of a photograph she had seen of Alfred Hitchcock, flipped the pages, explaining each necessity as his pudgy, impeccably manicured finger pointed out the line for signing. The surviving sister, a tall scrawny woman with her gray hair screwed into a tight ball on the back of her head, had already signed. Now it was Clara's turn. When they were done, the lawyer congratulated Clara on owning her own mountain. She corrected him, "I don't own a whole mountain, just the tip of one, and a rather small one at that."