That afternoon the office was abuzz with speculation as to what might happen. Gloria felt sure it meant the end of our jobs. John Willoughby thought it might be a good time to ask for a raise because they’d be looking to keep productive workers on the team. Ernie, a man who’d worked for the Tribune for thirty years, claimed it was a death knell.
“We’ll all be gone by summer,” he said, then added that he was going to go ahead and put in for retirement before they changed the structuring there also.
Everything was up in the air. I was one of the top producers so I felt reasonably sure my job was safe, but there was no guarantee.
That night after the kids were in bed, I told William about the e-mail.
“Rumor has it that there could be some layoffs coming,” I said.
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he replied. “We’d manage.”
“I don’t think they would let me go,” I said, “but there are plenty of others…”
“Oh,” he said with disappointment in his voice.
On March fifteenth the first round of layoffs started. Instead of starting at the bottom, they started at the top. When everyone arrived that Monday morning, Willard Moss, the advertising manager, was gone. His nameplate had been removed from the holder outside his office and replaced with that of Franklin Priest, a man no one had ever heard of before. Before the day had ended Mister Priest had called four supervisors and six clerical employees into his office, handed them their severance checks and told them their services were no longer required.
After that nothing was the same around the office. There were no water cooler conversations, and few people took time to sit in the lounge for a coffee break.
The second round of layoffs came April first, and then on April fifteenth I was cut.
“We’re eliminating the commission-based sales structure,” Mister Priest said. He rattled on with a lengthy explanation of how they appreciated my past performance but of necessity had to move in the direction best suited for the company.
That evening when I told William his mouth curled into a grin.
“Good,” he said. “It’ll be nice to have you at home.”
“But the money…”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll manage just fine.”
Not worrying was a new concept for me, but it settled into my head quite comfortably and I began to look forward to a nice long summer vacation. I had a good track record, so I could always get another job. In the fall I’d start looking after the baby was born, after I’d had myself a good long rest and plenty of time to enjoy my growing family.
By then the Lundmann girls had become fast friends with Violet and Felix, and once school was out they were constant visitors at our house. At first Sally would drive by and drop them off, but once she discovered I was no longer working she stayed for coffee and conversation. In the middle of June she came in lugging a bushel basket of green beans.
“We had a bumper harvest this year,” she said, “and I thought maybe you’d like to can some dilly beans.”
The whole dilly bean thing was new to me. I had never in my life canned anything. I had always been a working woman, a woman who bought things already cooked and in cans.
I told Sally this, and she laughed out loud then hauled me off for a shopping spree. That afternoon she and I came home with three dozen mason jars, a book on canning and an armload of spices. Together we pickled all those beans and packed them into sealed jars.
A week later I asked William to build some extra shelves in the pantry because I was planning to do blackberries, peaches and strawberries.
That summer I did all the things I’d never had time to do. I walked through the fields with Violet. I watched Felix climb onto the tractor and sit on William’s lap. I sat on the back porch and ate lunch with William, and some afternoons I drove over to visit Ophelia.
I enjoyed every minute of my time and my pregnancy. On lazy afternoons I would sit in the front porch swing and push myself back and forth. All the while I’d keep one hand on my tummy waiting for Eugene to kick or move around. By then we knew I was having a boy and planned to name him after the grandpa who inspired William’s love of farming.
I talked to this baby just as I had Baby Girl. With a gentle nudge of my foot I’d set the swing in motion and then sit there making up rhyming songs with his name.
“Eugene, dilly bean, lots of things I’ve never seen. You’ll be baby number three, and you will have a family…”
Eugene was born on the first Tuesday of July. He came into this world with a healthy set of lungs and the same blue eyes as Violet and Felix.
Summer was like being on vacation, a vacation that gave me time to be a real wife and mother. In the early morning I sat in the rocking chair with Eugene at my breast and no thought of having to be here, there or anywhere. In the afternoon when the sun warmed the ground and a breeze rippled across the fields, I’d strap Eugene to my chest and take all three children on an adventure. We tromped across fields of corn, picked berries and one afternoon we even petted a cow. Funny how the memory of Felix doing that stands out in my memory. He giggled and laughed so hard Violet and I were soon chuckling along with him.
It was a wonderful summer, but it was a vacation. Vacations are not meant to last. I knew that with the coming of fall it would be time to start looking for another job.
Perceived Value
A person can measure their self-worth by any number of ways. For some it is based on popularity; others weigh it on a scale of beauty or creativity or wealth. But regardless of how it is measured, the validation of a person’s worth always comes from outside, never inside. It comes in the form of accolades, titles, trophies or awards. It is something counted up and given to you as an acknowledgement of that worth. After so many years of being the breadwinner, I’d been conditioned to measure my worth by the amount in my paycheck.
I’d started as the new kid in Classifieds and worked my way up to district manager. Each step up had been the result of long hours and hard work. I was the one who could be counted on to pull the loose ends together and make things happen. It was challenging and exciting. Taking the summer off for a nice long vacation had been fun, but now with Felix and Violet back in school it was time for me to find a job.
When I first mentioned this to William, he looked at me with a puzzled expression, scratched his head and asked, “Why?”
“Because I miss working, and we can use the extra income.”
William walked past me and started washing his hands at the kitchen sink. When he has a different point of view he takes his sweet old time getting to what it is he wants to say.
He dried his hands on a paper towel then said, “You haven’t worked all summer, and we’ve managed just fine. The bills are paid, and there’s some left over.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have a bit more?”
He gave a careless shrug. “It’s not something we really need.”
“We don’t need pie either,” I said, “but it’s nice to have.” With that I turned away and dropped the subject.
It had been the plan all along. I would take the summer off, have the baby and return to work in the fall. It’s what I’d always done, so why would we change things now? The extra income would mean we could splurge on luxuries, do things we might not otherwise do.
A week passed and William said nothing more. I figured he’d come to grips with the thought of my returning to work, so I updated my resume and started a job search.
After so many years of working in the field, I knew several companies in the area and sent my resume to all of them. I also picked through the newspaper ads and pulled a few more leads. Then I called some of my old Tribune clients and asked if they knew of any openings.
Dawn Hawkins at Travel-Pro referred me to Penn and Penn, and Henry Travis, a vice president at the bank, said he knew for sure the Yellow Pages Directory in Taunton was looking for a field sales rep.
With the older children in school and William busy with harvest, it was easy enough to manage. I dropped Eugene off at Ophelia’s then continued on to my interviews.
The Yellow Pages position was a managerial spot covering the entire western region of Virginia. The pay was good, but the travel demands were huge. With three kids and a husband to take care of, I wouldn’t be able to manage it. Thanking them for their time, I bowed out.
Penn and Penn turned out to be a mid-sized ad agency looking for a new business development manager. I’d always enjoyed the challenge of creating a clientele I could call my own; it’s what I did best. Plus the agency was located in Middleboro, which was only two towns over from Burnsville, and I could set my own schedule.
“We’re looking for someone who can focus on production numbers, not punch a time clock,” the human resources manager said.
“That’s right up my alley,” I replied and told her of how I’d more than doubled my client base at the Tribune.
We spoke for nearly an hour; then she said, “I like your qualifications. I’d like to arrange a meeting with our managing partner and get back to you.”
Three days later she called and invited me back for a second interview.
“Mister Penn is interested in speaking with you,” she said.
My interview with Charles Penn turned out to be far more challenging than the first one. He wanted to know how I had gone about identifying and approaching new customers. He asked for sales numbers and also inquired as to whether having children would interfere with my work schedule.
“I had two young babies when I was working at the Tribune, and it never interfered,” I said. “Eugene, like my first two babies, will be in daycare, so I see no conflict.”
We then spoke about salary, and there was a sizable gap in what I wanted and what he was offering. I’d asked for $65,000; he was offering $55,000.
“But bear in mind,” he said, “you’ll get ten percent commission on all the business you bring in. If you’re as good as you say you are, you can develop enough new business to take you up to seventy-five thousand easily.”
As we went back and forth, he continued to scribble notes in the margin of my resume.
“And assuming you get this position,” he said, “when would you be able to start?”
“Right away,” I answered.
He added one last note in the margin then stood signifying the meeting was over.
“I’d like to discuss this with my partner and get back to you,” he said. “But I think it’s fair to say we’re interested; very interested.”
A week passed before his secretary called and said Mister Penn would like to see me again. We set up an appointment for the following Monday.
That afternoon I filled William in on everything.
“I’m almost positive they’re going to make me an offer,” I said.
Maybe I should have noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but I didn’t. He moved past me without even a sideways glance and lifted Eugene from his bouncy seat. Talking to the baby, not me, he said, “Why don’t you tell your mama to forget about working and stay home with you?”
Eugene squealed happily and I laughed, thinking it nothing more than baby-talk conversation.
Over the years I had become a person with set-in-stone goals. I had to be. I was alone and had a family to provide for. At that moment I was focused on the horizon, on getting the job, on the potential for making more money than ever before. I was blinded by my own vision and couldn’t see what was right there beside me. William was talking, but I wasn’t listening.
The weekend before what would be my third interview, I was a nervous wreck. I had a headache, and my stomach felt like I’d just stepped off of a rollercoaster. It didn’t help that William was downright testy with me, and any time I so much as mentioned the job or the interview he got up and left the room.
On Sunday it poured rain, and we were all stuck in the house. Eugene had a tooth trying to break through and was fussy all afternoon. He wasn’t happy in his bouncy seat and continued to wail even after I put him in the baby carrier and strapped it to my chest. Violet and Felix got into an argument over nothing and after a considerable amount of shouting got sent to their rooms. Regardless of what I said or didn’t say, William continued to act miffed. None of this helped my nervous stomach.
Monday morning I woke up so nauseous I could barely hold my head up. The interview was at eleven, so I got the kids off to school, then took a shower and tried to get myself moving. William didn’t even wait for me to make him breakfast; he had a cup of coffee and left.
I dropped Eugene off at Ophelia’s then headed for Middleboro. Halfway there I had to pull off the road. I got out, walked around to the other side of the car and threw up. That’s when I began to suspect it wasn’t just a nervous stomach.
My meeting with Charles Penn went just as I’d guessed. They made me the offer but stayed at $55,000, plus commissions. I’d been in business long enough to know how to play the game, so I said I thought I was worth more and I needed a day or so to think it over.
“That sounds fair,” Penn said, “but just keep in mind that the potential here means you’ll probably be making in excess of seventy-five thousand.”
I assured him I would take that into consideration. The truth was I already knew I was going to accept the job; it was perfect for me. But with William acting as he had been, I thought it best that we sit down and have an actual discussion about it. Not speaking to one another wasn’t working too well in my book.
On the way home from the interview I stopped and bought another pregnancy test. I almost didn’t need one because the symptoms had become so familiar that I already knew what the result would be.
You might think the thought of another baby would be enough to dissuade me from taking the job, but it wasn’t. I would do as I had always done: work up until the last week, have the baby, take a month off and then return to work.
~ ~ ~
That evening I waited until Violet and Felix were in bed; then I sat on the sofa beside William.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“About what?” he answered.
“Penn and Penn offered me the job.” I explained what a great opportunity it was and all the money I’d be making.
“I’m really good with new business development,” I told him. “So there’s a strong possibility I’d make more than seventy-five thousand.”
“You’re also good at being a wife and mother,” he said, “and that’s worth way more than seventy-five thousand.”
I wasn’t sure whether to thank him for the compliment or argue that being a mother didn’t put money in our bank account. I didn’t have a chance to do either.
“They think you’re worth seventy-five thousand,” William went on, “but let’s take a look at what you’re worth to me and our family. Good quality childcare with someone giving the kids the love and attention you give them would easily run forty thousand a child; that’s a hundred-and-twenty thousand right there. Then add in the cost of a driver to pick them up and drop them off for play dates, doctor visits, soccer practice and the like; that’s another fifty thousand.”
He stood, snapped the television off and continued. “Oh, and now that we’ve gotten used to the great meals you make we’ll need a gourmet chef, so that’s another eighty or ninety thousand. Plus we’ll need a bookkeeper to pay bills and keep my records straight, so that’s another fifty thousand. And it will cost us another twenty thousand or so to have a tutor come in and help the kids with their homework.”
He ticked the numbers off on his fingers and said, “We’re already up to three hundred-and-thirty thousand, and I haven’t even added in the value of having you close by when I come in from the field.”
He turned, gave a smile that made my heart melt and pulled me into his arms. With his eyes locked on mine he said, “That’s worth way more than a million.”
He pressed his strong hand against my back and pulled me closer.
“So they’re only offering you a paltry fifty-five thousand, but we think you’re worth a million-and-a-half.”
Before I could speak he bent and covered my mouth with his.
With the moon full, the kids sleeping and the air filled with the sweet smell of the harvest, we made love. Afterward as we lay locked in an embrace, I whispered in his ear, “I think you’ve got to add an additional forty thousand to your number.”
He twisted his neck and peered at me sideways. “Why?”
“We’re having another baby.”
The Big Picture
Years earlier when I was still a girl, the school had a class trip to the Virginia Museum of Fine Art. I came across a painting called A Mandolin Player by William Merritt Chase. I was so entranced by the blend of colors that I stood only inches away from the painting studying every tiny little brush stroke. I’d been there ten, maybe fifteen minutes when an elderly gentleman who was curled over and leaning heavily on his cane tapped me on the shoulder.
“Move back,” he said.
He’d startled me so I turned. “Excuse me?”
“Move back,” he repeated. “When you’re too close you focus on the details but miss the beauty of the picture.”
I moved back and sat on the bench. He hobbled over and sat beside me.
I smiled at him and said, “You’re right. Now I can see how everything blends and comes together. It’s more beautiful than I thought.”
The old man nodded. “I know. But it takes a lot of years before you learn to look at things that way.”
After what William had said, I knew I’d been looking at just the brush strokes of our life. I hadn’t taken time to step back and see the beauty of the picture.
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