A Cheat and a Liar, page 47
Between them, the three men had very fixed ideas, but each of them was considerate of the others’ views. Edward was through and through a Coolidge supporter. His parents had always had money, always sent their sons and daughters to good schools, and followed a well-to-do lifestyle. The Republicans were the party. George, at the other end of the scale, had always been a manual worker, one of the people, and said what he thought. ‘It was time for a change, and if the Democrats ran with their man, John Davis, the country would be a more productive place.’
Then somewhere between Edward and George was Gerard. He had been told by his ‘good school’ teachers that he had less brains than his brother but ‘more sense’. Gerard excelled with his hands; he made a table for his mother whilst at school; he made a ladder for his father a year later. Later in life, he worked as a builder, with builders. He knew the practical side of building and always taunted his elder brother with gibes like, ‘Ed could run a mill but couldn’t build a dog kennel or a hen house.’
Edward used to reply by saying things like, ‘Can’t beat having a few bucks and hiring a man to build a kennel.’
Since Edward’s retirement, however, Gerard had shown that he indeed had the expertise to operate a large mill, employing many men. Gerard knew too that Nettie was always on hand and was well capable of ‘having at her fingertips, past costings, receipts, invoices, etc. from many years back.
The two brothers had in the past often differed but never fought. Later in the year, when they both went to the polls to vote, each would certainly cancel the other’s vote out.
What else was there to talk about? Edward liked music and informed the other two men. A guy named George Gershwin composed music and even had a musical almost ready to open in New York. ‘What do you mean by musical?’ George asked, showing his naivety to the others.
‘Oh, George, sorry. It’s like a play, but nobody actually speaks. They sing’ everything, and there are grand orchestras, and Gershwin has written the music for it all. The show will open, I think, in New York, early in February.’
The other two had not heard, nor were they particularly interested, but nodded their heads in acceptance as Edward settled back in his chair.
And then the evening came to a close, and everyone bid their farewells and made their way outside; Gerard and Cecille, stopping at the door to exchange hugs and kisses, as George and Nettie, with Edward, on his daughter’s arm shuffled towards the car. Because the three of them were travelling together, and whenever they did so, they rode in Edward’s car, with Nettie always insisting that she drive.
Soon, they were home. It was warm inside; the wood fire made such a difference. They even commented that their beds felt warm and far more pleasant to sleep in.
Life carried on in Bucoda. Nettie ensured her father’s well-being was her first priority. He was not well. Their doctor was a regular caller; at least twice every week, with the promise that they may call him at any time should Edward’s condition worsen. The need, thankfully, never arose, but Edward was never better than stable.
Winter soon warmed to spring, and buds and blossom brought life back into people’s lives. George was teaching, of course, and was admired by the boys he taught that wanted to learn. He had a very short fuse. He could not tolerate having boys in his class, ‘who are simply here because they consider it an easier way of spending time in the classroom than trying to learn English or mathematics.’ By the time he had bellowed the words for all and sundry to hear, most boys in the class looked ready to take refuge under their workbenches.
There was, on average, one boy per week who was told he was wasting his time continuing in a woodwork class and told to leave immediately and report to his class teacher, who would assign him to another class. There were others, however, who enjoyed what they learnt and produced excellent results.
George’s insurance business was becoming quite successful. He sold life policies and general insurance. He would have struggled to survive had insurance been his only occupation, as the town was really too small, but it was a wonderful ‘extra’ to have.
Then spring sprang into summer, but all was not well for Nettie and George, as her father’s health deteriorated further. The doctor was attending him every day. The suggestion to place him in hospital care was not well received by Nettie. ‘What can they do for him that I am not already attending to?’ she asked. ‘What remedy or medication would they provide that they could not give you, Doctor, to administer?’ Nettie was spending less than an hour a day at the mill office, and that was just to advise her understudy about issues that had arisen or matters to follow up.
Nettie’s own health was being affected too. She was worried, and consequently her appetite waned. She spent very little time sleeping, as her worries would not allow her to. George helped as much as Nettie would allow, but nothing he suggested was well received. ‘You are not a doctor, George. You know no more than I do. If the doctor or the hospital staff instructs me, I will do it, but we cannot think we know better than they do.’
On 24 June, Edward passed away peacefully during the night. Nettie and George and the doctor were at his bedside. The doctor had arrived just after seven o’clock. He had been regularly calling about that time for the last week or so. Fifteen minutes or so before he arrived this particular night, Edward had slipped, it seemed, into a deep sleep. He had done so many times previously, but if they shook his arm on previous occasions to offer him a drink of water or perhaps a small cup of tea, he would open his eyes and respond. This night, he slept but did not respond to their questions or the gentle shake of his arm, which usually had a response. An hour or so later, whilst the doctor was still there, Edward’s breathing slowed, and he passed away on 24 June 1924.
The whole town of Bucoda and, it seemed, half the folk of Washington State arrived for Edward’s funeral. It was Saturday, twenty-eighth, at eleven o’clock in the morning. The minister from Tacoma conducted the service, and tributes from leading dignitaries from state government to several from within the lumber industry, spoke or sent condolences to Nettie and her family.
A huge luncheon was afforded those in attendance after Edward’s casket was lowered to lie beside his late beloved wife, Helen, in the graveyard beside the church. After many more speeches, George replied on behalf of Nettie, thanking all who had attended and those who had brought floral tributes, and wished everyone a safe journey back to their homes.
As the last of them left, Nettie and George, and Gerard and Cecille left also and drove to Gerard’s home. They spent the remainder of the day discussing Edwards affairs, and it was decided that Nettie and George would drive to Olympia to her father’s solicitor to make arrangement for the reading of his will and anything further required to settle his estate.
Since his passing, Nettie had eaten almost nothing, and still, as they sat talking, tears continued to stream down her cheeks. She had never been a robust lady, and in the three or four days since his death, she had become quite gaunt. Cecille urged her to eat something small, and with the cups of tea she managed to drink. She felt totally alone. ‘I know I have you, George, and Uncle Gerard and his family, but what if something were to happen to you? I have nobody else,’ and she burst into tears again.
Finally, at about seven o’clock in the evening, George and Nettie left to go home. Then, after sitting, talking for some time, they retired to bed. George lay on his back with his arm around his wife, and within, what seemed to be only seconds, Nettie was fast asleep; she was exhausted. He lay there for a short while, thinking through the last few days, and then, doing his best not to awaken his wife, he extracted his arm and turned onto his side, facing her. He stroked her face and pushed her hair back over her ears; he shut his eyes and decided to get what sleep he could before he confronted the new day.
Sunday was, of course, a day to be set aside for the Lord, and George had originally been rostered to conduct the morning service. When the minister had been called from Tacoma to lead the funeral service, George had arranged accommodation for the gentleman and asked if would kindly take the morning service for him on Sunday morning. That had been agreed, so, after breakfast, Nettie had gone into her garden and picked quite a large bunch of flowers. ‘I now have a mother and father to look after behind the church, George, so we must grow more flowers so I don’t let their headstones stand bare,’ she said.
‘Come here,’ he replied. ‘You really are a thoughtful lady. Your mother and father brought you up to be a wonderful and loving lady. I love you, Nettie.’ With that, he put his arms around her waist, and her arms were around his neck, and they kissed like they did when they first met.
‘I am so glad, I married you, my love,’ she said once they had torn themselves apart. ‘I would not have gotten through today without you.’
He smiled and said, ‘If you and I had not met, then you would have met some nice young man, and he would have loved you just as much.’
They smiled, held hands, and gazed at each other for almost a minute before she said, ‘Enough of this. We have a church service to attend at eleven o’clock, and before then, we must eat breakfast, get dressed, and I must pick flowers. Let’s get started.’
Later, as everyone filed into church, many folk who had not been able to get close to Nettie at the funeral made a point of moving towards her; some ladies put their hands out once they were close enough and touched her arm; some simply mouthed their words ‘I am so sad for you’, ‘Our deepest sympathy’, ‘Sorry, I couldn’t get close enough to you yesterday’, and so on. Everyone wanted her to know their thoughts were with her, but while she was ever so grateful, it turned on her tears, and by the time she was seated, she was openly weeping into her tiny handkerchief; her large bunch of flowers left to lie next to her.
She wiped away the last of her tears, and no sooner had she dried her cheeks than the first words she heard from the pulpit were ‘We welcome you all here this morning, be it without our beloved friend and devoted worshipper, Edward Nichols,’ and that set Nettie off again. George held her hand, and as the congregation rose to sing the first hymn, George held her firmly, and they both remained seated.
The service was a blur to her, and, as it ended and once on the lawn in front of the church and before too many others had filed out through the door, she pulled George aside and said, ‘Come on, George, let us leave these people here and go to the churchyard; I must give Father the flowers I picked for him.’ The fresh dirt was neatly mounded over where Edward lay; the headstone that bore the names of her dear mother, waiting for the addition of her father’s name and dates to be inscribed. ‘I brought a large bunch, and now you both are together, you must share,’ and she smiled at George and made space between other wreaths and posies to spread the flowers she had picked.
Then they held hands simultaneously, bowed their heads, and very quietly George said, ‘Thank you to both of you for all you have done for me and, throughout her life, for Nettie. I must thank you, for without you both, I could not have had your daughter as my loving wife. Rest in peace, and thank you.’
George opened his eyes and looked towards Nettie, who was still standing with eyes closed. Then she opened them, smiled, and said, ‘Thank you, love. They loved us as much as we loved them. We were so lucky to know them and have them in our lives.’
By the time they had walked back to the church entrance still holding hands, almost everybody had left. Even Gerard and Cecille were nowhere in sight. They drove home without a word being spoken. Once inside their house, they changed out of their best clothes into something more relaxing and suitable for the hot sunny day it had become. Nettie made a light lunch for them both, and George poured them each a glass of fruit juice.
Half an hour later or so, they were lying on their bed, briefly bringing to mind important appointments that needed to be made with solicitors, bankers, accountants, and a few associates to be sure all Edward’s business affairs were attended to correctly. ‘It is something that only you should do, my love,’ George said.
‘His business is really your business now, you know.’
‘No, darling, I have not the strength, nor the business acumen, to understand and then make possibly many decisions as to what should happen with whatever. No, I think we will both go and see whomever we must see, and then if I don’t understand, you can explain, and together we will make whatever decisions are required.’
They stopped talking. They each lay on their sides facing each other. They kissed. She put her hand on his face. He put his hand on her hip. They kissed gently again and again and again until Nettie closed her eyes, and her hand slipped from his face.
They both awoke at the same time. George looked at his watch. ‘It’s almost seven o’clock. We must have slept for more than four hours. Oh, wow, I don’t think I have ever done that before.’
‘I haven’t had to go through my father’s funeral before,’ she replied. ‘I have hardly slept for a month. Since he really became quite ill, I have not had a good night’s sleep.’
George got off the bed first. ‘You stay there, and I will call you when I have made supper for us both,’ he said.
‘No, no,’ she replied. ‘We shall help each other and then have an early night.’ And so it was. They ate a light but nice supper, drank long cool orange juice, and soon were ready to wash and ready themselves for bed. Just before nine o’clock, the light was turned off.
It was the first time for over a month that they had made love, but both without talking knew they wanted each other right then. ‘Oh, George, what would I have done if I had never met you?’ she asked.
‘Probably made love to the man you had met and married,’ he replied.
‘Oh, I don’t mean that. Nobody could have looked after me as well as you have since we met. I wouldn’t swap you for anything in the world.’
‘I feel the same,’ he replied. ‘I think we were certainly meant to be together.’
The hot days of summer and the cold hours of death soon merged, but as life goes on, mourning slows, yet sorrow and sadness last forever.
Summer in Bucoda drifted towards autumn. For those who knew Edward Nichols, he became a memory only. For Nettie, he remained firmly in her mind. She found it hard to laugh about anything, smile to anyone, but cried often and at anything that reminded her of her father; she was a broken lady, and even George despaired of her recovery. Nettie’s health suffered, or more accurately barely improved. She resigned from her workplace at the mill; she lost weight and became morose. Nettie required help. The family doctor attended to her quite regularly. Prescribed drugs and medicines failed to keep her in good health, and as Christmas approached, George feared his beloved wife would spend it in a hospital bed.
George’s work habits changed also. He would rise early, get breakfast for the two of them, drive to school for varying lengths of time to teach woodwork to eager pupils, and then leave as soon as he was able to drive home to prepare an early supper for Nettie, a bite for himself, and then off for an hour or two at the most on an endeavour to sell insurance to those he approached. They still had a mortgage, or two; they still had to eat; they still had to clean and maintain the house and grounds, but it now was all on George’s shoulders.
George was able to encourage Nettie to wrap up warmly and accompany him to church each Sunday morning. It was the highlight of her week and also gave her the opportunity to visit and put flowers on her parents’ graves. When he was in the pulpit, she would sit close to Gerard and Cecille, and those services seemed to brighten her demeanour no end. George worried for his wife’s health continually as he literally saw her losing weight.
Christmas, of course, had almost arrived, and he knew that memories of the past Christmases would only instil memories of the happy times Nettie had enjoyed with her parents throughout her life. The thought of them not being with her to celebrate, attend church, and enjoy the festive season was something she did not even want to celebrate.
Winter, too, had not helped her health. George had thoughts that he only kept to himself. His wife was of a similar mould to her mother; vibrant when in the best of health, fragile in sickness. Nettie had not been ill, but whilst she grieved, she lost her appetite; as that happened, she lost weight and became susceptible to viruses and air-borne ailments that were commonplace in most environments. He knew that once one’s constitution weakened, their general health usually suffered, and at that moment, in the middle of winter, early 1925, Nettie required help. She needed to regain her appetite, but she required medication that might help her resist anything that may cause bronchial build-up, such as her mother suffered.
George ensured the house was always warm, washing of linen done every day, and towels changed after a single use. He made fresh vegetable soup each day and ensured everything put in front of his wife was wholesome and gave Nettie what their doctor ensured was what she needed to build her failing constitution. However, whilst George’s efforts were right and commendable, Nettie’s appetite continued to wane.
As winter moved to spring, everything in Washington State brightened, and Nettie’s demeanour and health improved. It was not a total turnaround. She was not well enough to return to work, but she was able to get herself out of bed and dress herself, and when the day was still, she would sit on the verandah, in the sun, and sip hot tea, which she was able to make for herself.
George was able to return to his teaching job, knowing that Nettie was well enough to give herself her own medication on time and, if she was hungry, get to make herself something to suit her taste. They were happier, but on his next weekly visit, the doctor was not.
