A Cheat and a Liar, page 44
The brick chimney had been built, and only the hearth and surround remained to be put in place. Then interior paint on walls and cupboards, varnish stain to the floors, and everything would be complete. Another month, and the house can be occupied, George told himself, and then I will make a start to level the land, so a vehicle can be driven to the house, and perhaps, if the weather deteriorates, I may have to leave the area behind the house for another fine day.
Two other houses were also nearing completion for other builders. Workers were also hoping to finish laying the new concrete sidewalks before winter through the town. Meanwhile, Edward and Helen were busy emptying cupboards and packing summer clothes and household goods, ready to move as soon as George had finished. Gerard and Camille, similarly, had everything ready to come to Bucoda as soon as the others vacated their home.
To assist with finances, George had, of course, accepted the part-time position at the school in Bucoda as a part-time woodwork teacher and, with the consent of the headmaster, had broadened the curriculum to include preparation and painting of wooden surfaces. Once a few showed skills better than others, a small wage was offered by George to five of the class to paint walls and stain floors on two Saturdays. They were sensible boys, and George encouraged each of them to think seriously about becoming painters once they finished their schooling at the end of the year.
Then it was the last Saturday in September, and the house was finished. George invited Nettie and her parents out to inspect.
Nettie thought a somewhat out-of-season picnic at the house would be nice and accordingly made all the arrangements, including food, plates, and utensils. George insisted he would go there early to set a fire in the hearth and light the wood stove in the kitchen also to ensure hot water and a warm house. He had also arranged with Edward to take a load of furniture on one of the mill trucks, so there was somewhere for the four of them to sit. Included in that load were three carpet rugs, which, he felt, would add a little something to the newly varnished floors.
And then they arrived. Edward shook George’s hand, Nettie threw her arms around George’s neck, and Helen cried. Once they had seen everything, Edward asked, ‘When can we move in, George?’
‘This week’ was the reply. ‘I will do as much as I can outside, but, really, it’s ready for you now.’
‘Ready for us, you mean,’ said Nettie. ‘We don’t have a cottage to go to,’ and everyone laughed.
The shift took a week. There was furniture that Edward and Helen wanted to take with them, there were items that would be left for Gerard in the old house, there were a few items that Nettie said she would like to have when they eventually moved back into the cottage, and as always several items that were a little older, and Edward decided Nettie and George should think about a few needy couples within the community who needed furniture and were deserving of them.
Then there was Gerard and Cecille’s move from the cottage and the furniture they had with them and in storage, and finally, almost two weeks after Edward and Helen moved into the new home, George and Nettie were able to move back into their cottage.
‘I really, really hope Mother’s health holds up this coming winter. With the two fires, a lovely warm environment, and an indoor bathroom also, we must hope she is better this year than was the case last winter.’
George, meantime, had his mind on income and mortgages and work and time he had available to earn. Gordon, the bank manager, and now a well-respected friend, had set in place a very good package for him, but all loans require repayment, and repayment generally comes from income, and income comes from hours available for a person to earn.
The house was finished, and Edward had offered a weekly rental that George felt was fair, bearing in mind the wholesale rate Edward had been able to secure for him for building materials and suchlike. He would still receive his stipend from the church, and his teaching hours at the school could now be extended to a degree. He had been arranging some insurance for townsfolk but needed to spend more time increasing the number of clients he had and, consequently, the revenue he would receive.
Finally, he was about to seek work on a part-time basis back at the mill. He felt sure while there was still work on the buildings to be finished, an extra pair of hands would be useful. Once the mill work was finished, he was hopeful of keeping a part-time position there until his borrowing at least reduced to something a little more manageable.
George, and his often gruff demeanour, did not endear him to some he came in contact with, but most folk conceded that he certainly was not afraid of work.
As autumn leaves fell from trees and temperatures headed towards the chills of winter, many folk thought back. Many states had been badly affected by influenza, which had reached epidemic proportions in many places. Bucoda, and Washington State in general, had been fortunate. Many like Helen had been very poorly, but the town over the last two winters had not lost a soul to the flu, thanks mainly to the Red Cross Hospital that had been set up in the town.
George and Nettie were back living in their cottage, and both remarked that it was much warmer than the mill manager’s home, where Nettie had nursed her mother. Edward had officially retired; 31 October 1920, officially one calendar month after the original date planned for the handover to his brother.
Christmas and New Year 1921 came and went. Everyone was happy; business was improving for most folk.
The mill rebuild had been completed and was doing well. Gerard had settled into his new position and required the advice of Edward less and less. Nettie was still in charge of office procedure and had the clerical side of the business operating smoothly. Edward, was enjoying his retirement and could spend more time with his wife. In the new house, Helen’s health was better than it had been the previous winter, although several days she confined herself to bed. The doctor had prescribed medicine, but her chest was heavy, and her lungs congested; she prayed for a speedy return of the warm weather.
George was George! Part-time mill worker, part-time independent builder, part-time woodwork teacher, part-time preacher, and part-time insurance agent. The local school, of course, had closed for the Christmas vacation, so his part-time teaching had temporarily, come to an end. Then, of course, in his part-time, spare time, he and Nettie were still part-time, social workers. When they looked back over the year, it seemed that they had been required to act and support less folk in difficulty. Of course, with the economy improved, there was more work and, in most cases, more money coming into people’s pocket, and therefore less stress. There were still instances of drunken man assaults wife, woman steals from grocery store, teenage youth sets fire to house owned by girlfriend’s parents, and married man leaves town with teenage girl. Several happenings involved the police also, but Nettie and George often were on hand to support distraught wives, children caught in the crossfire, those without homes, and counselling when required.
However, the weather was going to improve, the days would get longer, there were no men at war, as had been the case over the last decade, and the economy was improved.
For the able and for the young, there were many opportunities. Cars, and better cars and varieties, were improving all the time. Larger vehicles were coming to the market; new types to assist with agriculture. George was looking to upgrade Trusty Rusty, the truck that his father-in-law owned, and George trusted that he would not ask for it back. In the end, Nettie thought it best that George discuss the matter with her father.
A week or so later, they visited Nettie’s parents, and while she took her mother aside, George broached the subject of buying a better vehicle—a truck. ‘Look,’ said Edward. ‘I know I own the truck, but you pay for its fuel and repairs. Get as much as you can for it, and use that for the purchase of something better. Don’t know where you will need to go to find one, and you might have to talk kindly to your dear friend Gordon, the bank manager.’ The two men were smiling, and Edward was pretty relaxed about the whole thing.
A week later, George had visited Gordon Hargraves, his bank manager and friend. After the usual pleasantries and laughter between the two, Gordon said, ‘Right, my friend, before I make any promises, best I look and see how your payments have been regarding your mortgages.’ He pondered over pages in a very large ledger for two or three minutes and then slapped his hand on the desk. ‘Should be all good. Your repayments are always on time. I must get something in writing again soon as to what you have earned this last year or so and what you have lined up for work come this next summer, but, yeah, should all be fine; yeah, hoping to find what you want for about what you get for the old truck, and about another couple of hundred. Yeah, should be good, but can’t help much further until you get that overall loan down. Can’t lose ma bloody job, George, just because I helped a mate who couldn’t repay. You know what I mean?’
It was the first time Gordon had sounded in any way a little bit anxious, and it sat George back in his seat a little as he pondered the overall amount he owed. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen if he had an accident or fell ill and couldn’t work. Who the heck would pay the bank? he asked himself.
The men shook hands, and George walked back to his truck. He started talking to himself again. The work I know I can find for the next twelve months will quite easily pay the mortgage I have on the cottage, and the rent that Edward insisted they pay easily pays the mortgage on the new house; but what happens if something happened to Edward and Helen? How could we pay that mortgage? Now I am asking for more to buy a damn truck. No wonder poor old Gordon looked a bit squeezed up when I talked to him—poor sod. He started the truck and headed for the mill.
George didn’t buy another truck.
Over the next week or two, Nettie noticed some kind of change in him. He wasn’t the jovial smiling George of the past. He would be fine one day and angry the next; or he would go out somewhere and not tell her where he was going, nor where he had been on his return. He wasn’t as caring as he had been in the past. He didn’t seem eager to do things around the house. He hadn’t even tried to make love to her for nearly a month, and, usually, she was the one tempering his ardour. He was always the one ready to go every night. She tried to ask him what was wrong, never dreaming that money and employment were the issues.
Then a week or so later, he arrived home and gave her a bunch of wild flowers he had stopped and picked off the side of the road. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said. ‘You have never given me flowers before. What happened today that made you do that? You seem happy, and yet you have seemed as if you hardly even wanted me as your wife for the last month or so. What have I done? What has changed today?’
George looked away and then covered his face with his hands. Finally, he said, ‘I got another house to build today.’
She looked at him. ‘What does that have to do with me? Why did you not want me, kiss me, hold me, bring me flowers? Now you just walk in here like nothing ever happened and smile and tell me you are going to build another house. Whoopee, George! Good for you. Don’t bother apologising, George. The bunch of flowers should do the trick.’ With that, Nettie burst into tears. ‘Get your own supper, George. I’m not hungry. I’m going to bed, and don’t wake me when you are ready to retire. Maybe you might like to sleep in the living room tonight; or for a month, and when I feel I want you near me again, I will go and pick you some wild flowers!’
She stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door as she got ready for bed. She sat on the side of the bed and opened the bottom drawer in her dresser. Inside was a diary that she had kept since she and George were married. He was unaware of its existence. In it, she jotted little notes most days. She had recorded all the good times they had shared; she had little notes about what individually they had done; always happy, never unhappy—until now, and she was going to record briefly the explosion that had taken place in their living room that evening. Then she quickly pushed the diary back into the drawer and covered it with some of her underwear, so George would not find it.
She found it hard to sleep. The happenings of the last hour or two had come out of the blue. She dozed and must have lightly slept for next she knew it was breaking dawn. She got out of bed, put her gown around herself, and quietly walked back into the living room.
When George awoke, Nettie was washed and dressed. ‘Good morning,’ he called across the living room like nothing had happened the night before.
‘Oh, so we are all nice and friendly this morning, are we? Our liver is feeling better today, is it, and we want to be nice now to those with whom we live? Lovely! Well, George, I’m going to tell you now that you are not leaving this house, this morning until you and I have had a good old head to head—not headbutting, George, but eyeball to eyeball, while you explain what brought on that pain in your head or your gut or wherever it was, and we sort you out, and you will apologise.’
‘Here is your breakfast,’ she said. ‘Now, while you are eating, you can go back to the start and explain everything you did yesterday; describe the point at which your head turned inside out; the point when a little remorse kicked in, and you thought all would be forgiven if a bunch of flowers were tendered to said person, and together we will try and see if such sudden outburst can be prevented from erupting again—ever!’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do apologise. Yesterday, I was told I have a nice family, I have two nice homes, but I cannot borrow more even if it is to build more or even improve the vehicle we have until I can prove with certainty that the income I am to receive over the next twelve months will be sufficient to cover all household expenses, business and running costs, purchases, and mortgage repayments. I can only replace our vehicle if repayments are certain. I need to calculate everything down to the last cent before the next cent is lent to me.’
It was an hour before the ‘question and answer’ session ended. George had only once before, in a previous life, been in a slightly similar situation. Nettie was not going to forgive him quickly and finally said to him, ‘George, I do not want you going to the bank without first telling me. We are married, you might remember, and we are in this together. I do not want you to sell your truck, even if Father says you can. That truck has served you well through the building of the new house and the renovation and repair of the cottage; it can continue serving you well until at least you have finished this next house you have agreed to build; and when that build is finished, we—you, will pay father something for it so it becomes your truck to sell, and the proceeds that you then receive can go towards a better vehicle; it doesn’t need to be new, it can simply be newer or new to us.’
George said nothing. ‘Did you hear what I said, George,’ she asked, ‘or do you have a hearing problem along with your financial problem that you also have not bothered to tell me about? For goodness’ sake, say something!’
Finally, he said, ‘There is nothing to say. You are quite right. I can make the truck last, and it is sufficient for me while this next house is being built; and I will tell you before I ask the bank for anything in future.’
Soon after, George left the cottage. He was due to meet with the couple for whom he was to build the new house. He needed to arrange a contract, so both parties knew when payments were to be paid, and also finalise exactly where on their plot of land the house was exactly to sit. The plan and style were not dissimilar to his own home, and materials had already been ordered from the mill. He also had three townsfolk to meet to discuss insurance they required, and he realised that he had a sermon and service to arrange for Sunday. It was already Friday. Time was of the essence.
He had been taken back somewhat by Nettie’s outburst, but each time he thought about it, and he was trying not to, he realised she was totally right. Somehow, between writing a sermon that evening, he still had to think of a way to make up to her. Most of the day, the events of the previous evening seemed to hammer their way around in his head. I will just have to be nice, apologise again, and reassure her I will keep her more informed and tell her I love her. I wouldn’t change where I am and who I am with, and best I let her know that also.
Eventually, the complete reconciliation happened. It took more than a week, but in the end, it was a lesson learned by George, and he knew the whole episode had been as a result of his actions.
By design, the sermon he wrote and delivered the following Sunday was about forgiveness. As was the norm with all of George’s Sunday services, it followed a theme: the hymns, the readings, the address to the children, in simpler terms, ‘If someone strikes you on the cheek, turn to them the other cheek and forgive them.’ The children loved it, the adults had heard it before, but it brought back memories of things that had happened within each and everyone’s life. As George said, ‘It all comes down to being sorry on the one hand and forgiving on the other.’
On the way back to her parents for lunch, Nettie congratulated him again on his service and the delivery of his sermon. ‘What made you choose that theme, I wonder? I do forgive you, George.’
Everything within Bucoda over the next few months continued, with hardworking folk gaining their just rewards and those who never try to help themselves falling further behind.
