Harper's Rest

Harper’s Rest. Four letters, on a lawyer’s desk, and a pen ready to sign them.
“This is what you want to do, then?”
“Yes. I’m an old man now – a very old man! – and the doctors were quite clear about my current state of health. I’ve no descendents: Frances and I were never blessed with children. But these are relatives, even if they are distant ones.”
“I wasn’t actually talking about your choice of heirs. This is an – unusual – will.”
“But it’s legal, isn’t it? You’ve made it all right and tight?”
“I have. I don’t think it could be challenged in any court.”
“Excellent. I wonder what they will all make of it…” Archie’s family had been right, hadn’t they, he thought.
“A teacher? Why would you want to do such a menial job? You’re an Andrew Yeoman. No one from our family has ever been a teacher.” That was his father.
“Can’t see Archie being any good at it, anyway. Can you?”
“Can’t see Archie being any good at anything. No get up and go. No drive.” That was his older brothers.
And they’d been right. Trying to show the joy and release of art to stroppy fourteen year old boys? They’d eaten him alive, left him signed off with stress. But he knew he wasn’t going back.
And now this letter. He sat there thinking about it as the daylight began to fade. “My name is Benjamin Yeoman. The fact that we share a common surname is no coincidence: let me explain. Your great-grandfather was the eldest in a family of boys: Andrew, and then Walter, James and Frederick, all born close together. The four of them inherited the family business, and as you doubtless know, quarrelled bitterly about the best way to take it forward and never spoke to each other again. A feud that persists to this day.
I was the fifth child. Twenty years younger than Frederick: a change-of-life child is, I believe, the phrase.”
No-one had ever mentioned Benjamin. His father – and grandfather, when he’d been alive – had had plenty to say, and none of it good, about Walter, Edward and Frederick’s family, but he’d never heard of Benjamin. So how did Benjamin fit it?
“There was never any question of me inheriting a share in the business. When I was born, all my brothers were already working there. But my mother’s family owned an inn: Harper’s Rest. It dates back to Elizabethan times, though by my mother’s time it was no longer the prosperous inn it had once been and it became a dwelling house instead. It was hers and she left it to me, and my wife Frances and I lived there very happily for many years before we moved abroad. It’s a kind and well-loved house.
Frances and I had no children. I wanted to leave Harper’s Rest to someone who would appreciate it, love it maybe, but I also liked the idea of leaving it to my own kith and kin. Maybe time had taught wisdom to my brothers’ descendents.”
Not Andrew’s descendents, Archie thought, looking at the heap of mess on the floor. Like his hopes and dreams, it was just a heap of rubbish. The room, like his life, was getting messier by the week. He moved over to the bed. It was a bit more comfortable than that creaking wicker chair.
“Alas, I saw the same bitterness and intransigence that I remembered so well. Too well. So I looked beyond my brothers’ grandchildren to their great-grandchildren. And I found you, trying to forge a different path and suffering for it also.
I am offering Harper’s rest to you. But on conditions. If you want it, then you have to earn it. You must live there for a year and a day. And this house was very dear to me: you must live there and also take care of the house. At the end of that period, my lawyer will come and inspect the house and if he deems you to have fulfilled the conditions of the will, then he is at liberty to tell you the final clause of my will.” The short winter day was almost over now and the messy room was darkening fast. Why not go? He wasn’t going to go home, to face the jeering of his family, and there was nothing to keep him here in this place except the memory of failure. In a moment he would turn the light on and re-read the next portion of this remarkable letter. Star had had enough! Enough of being The Family Disappointment. The one who was swept under the carpet, hidden away if possible. Boarding school from as soon as she was old enough to be sent there, holidays away… “It must be nice to be so rich,” one of her school friends, who was there on a scholarship, said longingly once. “Not to have to count every penny…” Not if your parents use their wealth to avoid you, Star thought. I’d swap you: I’ve seen how much your parents like you, enjoy you…
And then her younger sister, Angel, had come along: all blonde curls and ruffles and big blue eyes, and “Daddy darling…”
“Now she’s a true Walter Yeoman,” her father had said, full of pride. “I think Star must be a throwback – to one of the others.” The scorn in his voice had cut her to the quick.
And now, with this letter (which she’d hidden up here in the attic: no-one ever came here) she might have a way out of this unbearable situation. “Get a job?” her father had said, when she’d suggested it after she left school. “Certainly not! People would think I couldn’t afford to support you.”
She’d tried, nevertheless, and then overheard her father telling her mother that he’d sabotaged her chances. And without a job, how could she leave home? She needed somewhere to live!
“But if you want to inherit this home, you have to earn it. You must live there for a year and a day…And you must arrive by the Christmas of this calendar year.”
Earn it? She would love to earn something. “Just send the bills to me,” her father would say: but he never gave her any money of her own. He wants to control us, she realised.
Christmas would work perfectly. It would be a much easier time to get away – she could say she was spending the night with a school friend, going to a play or pantomime together…She’d had eighteen months of not being allowed to do anything but not being wanted either, and she’d had enough. If she had somewhere to live, a part-time job even would give her enough to live on.
“It must be nice being rich…” Not when the riches became a prison. Maybe Angel was happy, but she wasn’t. And now she had a way out. Joe sat down to think over the contents of the letter he’d just read and then tucked away safely in his pocket.
“Having looked at your father and his attitude to life, I can tell that it must have taken no little courage to embark upon your chosen course…”
“You forget yourself completely! No Edward Yeoman would ever demean himself by playing for tips! Begging! We have always paid our own way. You have brought shame upon the family name and you are no longer a son of mine!” And his brother and sister also turning their backs upon him. His basement window looked out onto a factory courtyard. The only living thing in it was the ivy that climbed the wall. The tree had died a long time ago. It was raining, cold and sullen. The traffic noises and the mournful hoot of a passing goods train were instead of birdsong. It would be nice to be in the countryside again. And the name Harper’s Rest sounded like a good omen. He wasn’t a harper, but maybe he could learn to be a musician of sorts if he had somewhere to practise without someone pounding on the walls or ceiling to complain after the first five minutes. “Be there by Christmas.” He’d better look up some trains. It was a good job Benjamin had thought to send the fare because he didn’t have two pennies to rub together. She’d thought he loved her! She’d believed him, happily sunk her savings into the flower shop they were going to own and run together, happily worked there for the bare minimum “While they got it established”, watched the takings climb until it was showing a nice profit – and then he had turned round and told her he didn’t want her any more. And that she had no claim on the business: there was nothing in writing after all.
Abi had gone to see a solicitor and he’d confirmed her worst fears – and cost her the rest of her now-pitiful savings. The letter was a rescue. At least she’d have somewhere to live.
“I’m done with trusting men,” she said aloud, and surprised herself with the savagery in her voice. Her mascara was running. She rubbed the palms of her hands over her eyes, which improved things a little. Through the window she could see her neighbour’s window box. She’d sold her the plants, potted it up for her. Well, I’m going far away from here and all these memories, Abi thought.
“There is a town nearby, but the house still remains in countryside. It was an inn for travellers, a stop on their journey…”
Countryside sounded good. She’d need to sell just about all that she owned, to pay her rent and her other bills, but she could probably do that.
She finally got off her bed. There was going to be a lot to do before she left, if she was to arrive there before Christmas. But she wasn’t going back to her family, so that they could say “I told you so”. It wasn’t that they’d not liked him – he was very charming. It was just that they hadn’t thought him the right sort of person to marry into the Frederick Yeoman clan. “What are you doing outside my house?” Star demanded angrily.
“Your house?” Joe said. “I think you’ll find this is my house. What are you doing here?”
They had all arrived from the station at more or less the same time – and four separate taxi drivers were happily counting their fares.
“I think there must be some mistake…” Archie began hesitantly, but he was over-ruled flatly.
“This place is mine,” Abi said. A lively squabble was breaking out between the other two. Archie groaned inwardly. He hated scenes. “Look,” he said, somewhat despairingly to the stony-faced blonde who was regarding him with outright hostility. “I had a letter from my great great uncle Benjamin Yeoman: from his lawyer actually…” “So did I. And I’m texting him right now to tell him that I’m here and so the house is mine.” The others whipped out their phones as well. “Two can play at that game,” Star snapped. And then they all stopped and stared at the reply that pinged straight back at them.
“So you have arrived at Harper’s Rest. I remember it so well – a beautiful and welcoming home. My hope is that you will all..”
“All!” Star said, voicing what they were all thinking.
“…find it to be that for you as well. The quarrel between my brothers upset me deeply: I had always looked up to them. But I was unable to persuade them to reconcile, unable to bring peace. My hope is that with your generation, I might be able to achieve what I could not do then. And I also hope that in this lovely old home, you find the refuge and the comfort that I once found there.” “The outbuildings have been rented out until very recently, so they may be in slight disrepair. However, I have been paying a caretaker to look after the home up until the beginning of this month, so that should be in good order for you. I also instructed him to stock up the fridge and freezer and buy in some staples, so you should be able to have an adequate Christmas meal together. By Christmas next year, should you all be still living here in amity rather than enmity, and should the house be well-cared for, then the house will be yours equally between you, to sell, or keep as you wish, the proceeds to be equally shared between you. Should one or more of you wish to buy the others out, my lawyer has instructions to make that possible by way of a mortgage on the property.” What fridge? What freezer? What food? Star stood in the kitchen, or what she presumed had been the kitchen, furious at the absent and crooked caretaker. By common consent, they’d brought their bags inside, ready to look round – and found this.
“That caretaker totally ripped off this Benjamin guy,” Star said aloud, angrily. “This place hadn’t been looked after at all. Why didn’t he mend the windows, keep it clean? And I see no fridge, no freezer, no food, nothing. He’s stolen everything.” Joe wasn’t going to give Star the satisfaction of hearing him agree with her, but she was right. This should have been a really nice bedroom, light and spacious. Instead it was cold and damp, thanks to the broken windows. And he preferred his snow outside, thank you very much. Archie, still downstairs, agreed with Star and said so out loud.
There were broken panes of glass in these windows too, and the snow was acting like a kind of reverse radiator. And he strongly suspected that there had been a very nice fireplace here that had been ripped out and sold.
And yet…This room would once have been lovely. The proportions were right. And it did feel peaceful. Harper’s Rest. He needed rest. This house was lovely and loved once, Abi thought. And the gardens. And it’s been abandoned and neglected. She could feel the house and gardens calling out to her, asking to be restored, rescued. But we can’t stay here, can’t live here, not with the house in this state. We’ll literally freeze to death. “So what are we going to do instead?” Abi asked the others.
“I’m not going back,” Star said ferociously.
“Me neither,” said Archie sadly. “But there’s the outbuildings at the side. We haven’t looked at those yet.” “It’s a stable!” Abi said, surprised.
“Benjamin did say that this was an inn back in the Elizabethan times. Travellers needed somewhere to park their horses.” Joe said.
“It’s got a stove,” Star pointed out. “And the windows aren’t broken. And it’s not as cold as the house. I wonder why not? What’s up above?” Archie climbed the ladder and poked his head into the loft. “Hay,” he called down. “They mustn’t have bothered to take it with them. And it’s a good insulator…” “So if we can find some wood for the stove and something to eat and some way of cooking it…” Joe began.
“There’s a firepit outside,” Star snapped. “Didn’t you notice it?”
“…then we might make it through the night. But there’s another three hundred and sixty-five to go after that.”
“Well, I’m going to try,” Star said defiantly. “You can give up if you like – typical Edward Yeoman behaviour – but I’m not going to. At least we have a stable to sleep in…”
“Even if there are no habitable rooms at the inn,” Archie finished from above their heads. “I’m going to try too.”
“We’d better see if there’s a woodpile outside,” Abi said. “We need the warmth.”

Download the house and family here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9490916

Basic renovacy rules here: https://forums.thesims.com/en_US/discussion/920867/the-renovacy-challenge-a-new-and-short-challenge/p1

Special rules for this renovacy: Star can have a part-time job. As usual, no-one else can have a job.

All those windows have holes in them! They need fixing. You can renovate then for the usual 25 simoleons (make a donation on the mailbox) and when they've been mended, you can move the snow from under them. It is recolourable, so you can always change it to blue to look like water if you're still on with them after the winter.

The house has to be restored within a year. If you have seasons, you can set the seasons to any length you like, but each season must be the same length. However, winter is already one third over, so if you’re playing, say 13 day seasons, then you would set winter for 9 days, the other three for 13 each, and then have a spare 4 days of winter still to take after autumn.
If you don’t have seasons, then set yourself a time limit! The shorter, the harder.

Changing Seasons. Spring VI, part 1

Spring VI, part 1 Jean Paul was beaming at Mary, who had definitely taken a shine to him. Which was just as well, Annette thought, as he was going to be part of her life for a while to come! Marcus was listening to Claudette explaining their story, and Pierre, the third of the siblings was watching Sarah Jane trying to decide whether to eat her food or wear it. “Grandpere, he thinks that no, a woman cannot run a vineyard. It is for a man to inherit it. So he would not leave it to Maman, but to a distant cousin. And even after Maman and Papa died and we went to live with Grandpere and Grandmere, he would not change his mind! No matter that we work hard and learn as much as he would let us learn!”
Annette smiled to herself at the indignation in Claudette’s tone. She liked her already. And it was very obvious that for all she was the youngest, she was the spokeswoman for the family. “But Grandmere, she is clever and cunning. She says to me, ‘Ma petite Claudette, I cannot make your so-stubborn Grandpere change his mind. But I can help you to change your life.’ She leaves me her jewellery, and when Grandpere is about to make the big fuss, she says to him, a man cannot inherit a woman’s jewellery: he would look too silly wearing it, the rings would not fit his fingers…And Grandpere is silenced.” “But to me she says, in secret, ‘Claudette, I want you to sell it. Keep one thing to remember me, but sell the rest and make possible the life that you would desire. Your Grandpere, he is too old, too set in his ways, but somewhere, ma petite, there will be a place for you. And so we have come. To learn all the things we do not know, to work hard for you, and maybe, some day, we plant our own vineyard, start our own winery.” “Welcome to the family,” said Annette. “I’ll show you to your quarters.” Nutmeg had definitely lived up to the promise Chas and Sal had seen in him as a colt. Old Pete and Cinnamon between them had produced a fine horse, a good mixture of Cinnamon’s agility and Old Pete’s speed. Sal loved schooling him, loved riding him. She finished the schooling, unsaddled him and rubbed him down and then went to replace the poles that had fallen when they’d misjudged a take-off.
“We need to get these jumps painted and smartened up,” Sal called over to Chas who was schooling Demerara. “Story of our lives,” Chas called back over the thud of Demerara’s hooves. She seemed to have picked up Old Pete’s speed in her genes. Big time. Now if he could get her to think as well… “And talking of smartening things up, we need to start thinking about what to do with this main house. I was talking to Blake – his place looks great now - and he’s right. Visitors will look in through these downstairs windows. Any ideas? You and Clara were looking round in here the other day.”
“Well, since you ask…” Sal said. “Clara thinks we could lose this pretty disgusting downstairs toilet for a start. She reckons it was originally an outdoors one that got sort of incorporated into the indoors! But then we would gain a load more space in this room and we could make a proper eat-in-here kitchen.” “And we need a tack room. Clara actually said, You need somewhere for all this smelly leather to live – I don’t think she likes the smell of saddle soap! – but we could put a wall up and turn this into a proper tack room and a tool store.” “And with that downstairs toilet room gone,” Sal went on, gesturing over at the shabby door that led to it, “we’ll have a nice big square room over there. If we clean up the stairs and the banisters, no-one will be able to guess that upstairs is still a total mess!” “Phew! You and Clara didn’t hang around, did you?”
“Were we supposed to?” Sal asked sweetly. “We both found it really good fun. Took out all our frustrations on it…all the people who’ve made really annoying comments about taking too long in the bathroom…” “Grrr!” Chas said, but his sister hadn’t finished yet.
“Personally, I think you could do with spending longer in there. I don’t want to sound rude…”
“Oh yes, you do!”
“…but I can tell you’ve been trying and failing to beat Frank again. And you smell.”
Unfortunately, Chas had to admit, she was right on both counts. “Outside though – we’ll need to do all of that, not just the ground floor. And probably asap.”
Chas nodded. Sal was right. The stables were clean, painted, smart, and so were the cobbles, the grass…but the house itself was still a bit the worse for wear. Sound, yes – they’d patched up the odd holes, replaced broken panes of glass. But it didn’t exactly scream “potentially successful stud” at anyone. More like poverty-stricken stud. And that was not the image they wanted to project.
“How many people do you think we could get to come and help?”
“Clara would,” Sal said promptly.
“And Frank, and Honey. I wonder if Marcus and Annette would lend us their three for a day?”
“Georgie’s always up for joining in,” Sal added.
“And though I don’t think her Grandpa Geo’s up for joining in, let’s not forget Old Tench and Artie. And I could ask Blake too…” Looks good, doesn’t it? There was a boatload of us working here last weekend, mostly slopping white paint around like there was no tomorrow. Noisy, fun – I can’t believe the difference in this town since I arrived. Or the difference in me, now that I think about it. Though I’ve still got no urge to get on the back of one of these horses, no matter what Sal says! Bad enough that I smell of whatever it is they use on those saddles – I was helping Sal move them around so that she could paint the walls in that tack room or whatever they call it. After I’ve cycled over to the bookshop, I’m having a bath and these clothes are going in the wash! It’s the first time I’ve been here: looking after children takes up a lot of my day. I wouldn’t change it, but it keeps me busy. I haven’t met the guy who runs it either – Old Tench said that Artie said he’s ‘interestin’. Whatever that means! Old Tench could have warned me! Who has blue hair? Apart from aliens, that is? And now the alien’s shaking my hand and looking deep into my eyes and – oh no! He’s sniffing! He can smell me! “Saddle soap! Love that smell. You must be the promising young rider I’ve heard so much about. I’d love to come and visit the stables one day, if I might. Artie will tell you that I can be trusted around horses. Byron. Byron McKay, totally at your service. How can I help you?”
Good grief, he’s pouring on the charm like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve met people like you before, buster. And I don’t think I trust you. But two can play at your game… “Oh, I wouldn’t describe myself as an amazing young rider at all. You’re flattering me. You’re right about the smell though, I’m afraid. I have been tidying up the tack room.”
Chas and Sal’s! Not mine!
“Actually, I came to look at cookery books.” “I have a selection upstairs. I’m stocking a mixture of new and second-hand, so hopefully you'll find something you want at a price you like.”
Stop gazing directly into my eyes like that! It’s a corny trick.
“Would you like me to come up and show you, or would you just like to browse on your own?” I think I’ll look round on my own, thank you very much! Let’s see what we’ve got up here. And what have we got down there? I suppose, right next door to an art gallery, he’s not going to seem quite so exotic. Can’t see him on the back of a horse though. Except maybe bareback in fancy dress. “I’ll take these two, please.”
“My pleasure. And – I do hope we meet again soon.”
Good grief, the guy does a good line in deep sincerity. Even I could almost believe him. I think I’d better warn Chas about Byron McKay – if he’s horse mad, and pulls this gazing-into-your-eyes trick with every female, I don’t like to think of the effect he might have on Sal.

The bookshop carts, magazines and books are by Sandy at ATS3
Woodside Barns is by Cyclone Sue at TSR
The bookshop was made by Cyclone Sue at TSR (it’s called The Old Clockwork Factory).