by Connie Cook
"Now, that's crazy!" Graham snorted. "Dad was as sane as anyone."
"I don't mean he wasn't. What I mean is, did you notice any signs of depression?"
"Dad? Depressed? Not a chance. It was just losing all that money that got to him. He wasn't depressed until that happened."
"I don't mean just down in the dumps once in awhile. I mean, well, chronically depressed. It's not always obvious, you know, but if a person is chronically depressed, it can affect all kinds of things – not just their moods. Their thinking, their judgment."
"You make Dad sound like some kind of crackpot. He may have made some bad business decisions, but that doesn't make him crazy."
"Of course he wasn't a crackpot. That's just it! He had a good head on 'im. It was the things he did in the last little while that were so out of character, it makes me think there was something else going on. I knew of another fellow, chronically depressed. Ended up with a nervous breakdown. He started doing the oddest things just before."
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you think my dad was crazy. I just said nothing would ever surprise me again. It was a crazy thing he did yesterday. No argument there. I guess that act makes more sense now, though. He was a proud man. Admitting defeat would've killed him slowly. He chose the faster way out, I suppose."
"I don't think your dad was crazy, Graham. I'm sorry I brought up depression. We'll never know, and it can't change things one way or the other. Only thing left to do now is try to pick up the pieces."
Graham had stopped listening to Hank to thumb through the folder he'd left on the table.
"I know this one. I recognize the name of this company," he said with his finger on several entries on a sheet of paper.
"What's that?" Hank asked, looking over his shoulder.
"It explains a lot," Graham said. "I remember Dad talking about an old school friend of his, some guy he thought was real smart who'd moved to the big city to make his fame and fortune, and this was the name of the company he'd started. Westerneye. Yeah, that was the name. I remember that. Dad was pretty excited about it, I know. Looks like that was what got him into making bad investments. That was his first investment. That's a sizable chunk of money he put in, that first investment. Then I suppose the company didn't take off the way they'd hoped, so he started putting more and more in, hoping to bail out the company and rescue the money he'd already invested, I guess."
"After that company failed, I imagine he got desperate to reclaim the money he'd lost and started investing elsewhere, buying low, hoping the stocks would rise," Hank said. "Problem with buying low, the stocks are often low because a company's already in trouble. Everyone's been so optimistic since the war with everything booming. I suppose your dad thought if he kept on investing, sooner or later, things were bound to turn around."
"He wouldn't have invested borrowed money or mortgaged the house just to gamble that away, though, I'm sure. He wouldn't have done that to Mom," Graham said.
"No, I believe that all came later in an attempt to save the mill when he didn't have the capital to pay the overhead and keep things running."
"At least it tells me that Dad wasn't crazy. Just too quick to help out a friend." Graham looked at the papers in his hand for a moment and said almost to himself, "I see this was all starting back before I was married. I imagine that was a disappointment to him. Suppose I know now why he was so set on me marrying someone with some money of her own. I guess he thought maybe I'd be able to save the mill that way."
Ruth went hot all through her body and then cold. Was that what Mr. MacKellum had wanted? Why hadn't Graham mentioned it to her before? Probably because he hadn't wanted to hurt her. Is that why she'd felt from the beginning that her father-in-law had at first regretted Graham's choice of wives? Or was it only at first? Maybe he'd regretted Graham's choice right to the end. Even if he hadn't, was that how Graham felt about the situation? Graham had brought it up, after all. It must have been something he'd been thinking about. At least it had occurred to him now. Did Graham regret his choice of wives?
Graham caught her eye, realized what he'd said and who he'd said it in front of, and said quickly as though speaking to Hank, "Don't pay any attention to anything I say right now. I don't know what I'm saying anymore. I'm not making any sense. It's all been too much to take in."
"You and I should meet soon so we can go over some things together. There's nothing we need to do immediately though, Graham. We'll give it some time."
"I don't think we'd better wait, Hank. The men at the mill have to know right away. I called Sherman and Dorothy this morning just to tell them that neither my dad nor I would be in today. I didn't tell them anything else. I'll have to tell all the men tomorrow though."
"You've had enough. I can do that. You call an assembly, and I can break the news. But it doesn't have to be tomorrow. Why don't you let it ride for a day or two at least?"
"What's the point? It's got to be done sooner or later. Might as well be sooner. I don't want the men to hear the news second-hand. And there's no sense letting the men keep on earning wages I can't pay them." Graham laughed harshly. "It's my place to tell the men. That shouldn't be something you have to do. I need to do it."
Hank nodded briefly. Graham's tone brooked no argument.
* * *
When Graham got up in front of the men assembled in the lunch room to tell them what he had to tell them, astonishingly, none of them had an inkling what it was about. The Arrowhead rumour mill had decidedly fallen down on the job.
The men should have noticed that something was out of order from the expressions of Graham's and Hank's faces, but they weren't an observant bunch. They expected the speech to be on the topic of workplace safety or new policies for requesting holiday time. They acted according to their expectations.
Jerry, nearest Graham, stage-whispered to the man next to him, loud enough for Graham to hear, "Hey, Rob. Did you bring the tomatoes?"
"Nah, rotten eggs," Rob joked back. They grinned at Graham. But he looked over their heads and pretended not to hear, knowing how deeply they would soon regret their levity.
After hearing what Graham had to tell them, the majority of the men slouched quietly out of the lunchroom. Only the bravest or the oldest employees or those who knew Graham the least approached him to give him their condolences. Jerry and Rob weren't among them. They carefully avoided eye contact with Graham as they left. Their fresh humiliation added to his made Graham an untouchable. Even an unseeable.
Cowardice and shame can sometimes do as much inadvertent damage as any of the more obviously deadly vices. That had certainly proven to be true in the case of Mr. MacKellum.
The speech in the lunchroom and the moments after were, for Graham, the hardest of all the events relating directly to the death of his father. Harder even than identifying the body.
* * *
After the funeral, Mrs. MacKellum went to stay with Pat and Earl and the kids for a few weeks. She couldn't stand the thought of being alone in her big, old house, she told Graham and Ruth.
She lasted only a week at Pat and Earl's, but she had a sister in Alberta who could take her in for a time, as well.
"I'll go in and talk to the bank and hopefully stall them from repossessing the house for awhile. Mom doesn't need to know about all that just yet. We'll wait on seeing about getting that loan to buy her house until she gets back from Alberta," Graham said to Ruth.
"Maybe we should see if she wants to stay there first," Ruth suggested.
"Of course she'll want to stay there. It's her home," Graham said. But he held off getting the loan all the same.
Chapter 12
Mrs. MacKellum was foundering. It was obvious to Ruth. It was less obvious to Graham, but he could also see that something had to be done.
Graham's mother had only spent a week with her daughter and family. She'd spent only two weeks with her sister in Alberta. But she could hardly stand to be alone in the big, empty house. Most of her evenings
were spent with Graham and Ruth or with some of her church friends. Whenever she went out for the evening (which was most evenings) she stayed until her hosts and hostesses fought their yawns till their eyes watered or gave in and gaped wildly behind the polite hands hiding their mouths.
"Oh dear, it's getting late. I'd really better go," she'd say and finally pull herself away an hour or so later, waiting to leave until she was tired enough to fall into bed and into sleep instantly. It seldom worked.
After two weeks of it, Ruth said to Graham, "Graham, your mom can't live alone. She's not meant for it. And Pat's and Earl's is no place for her. Either their marriage would break up, or your mom and Earl would constantly be at each other's throats. And it doesn't look like her moving in with your aunt in Alberta is a possibility. Her place is too tiny."
"Where are you going with this?" Graham asked, puzzled.
"We have a bedroom just sitting empty. Your mom's house pretty well belongs to the bank already, anyways. The grace period they gave us is almost up. Why don't we forget about getting a loan and trying to keep her house and just ask her to move in with us instead?"
"We couldn't do that," Graham said flatly. "You talk about Pat's and Earl's being no place for her. Why would our place be any better? You and she don't do much better together than her and Earl."
"That's silly," Ruth said, feeling her temper rising. "We get along fine. It took us a little while to get used to each other, but we're fine now. Why don't you at least ask her if she'd like to move in with us? Leave it up to her. But I'm perfectly willing to have her. She really can't go on like this. At least for awhile she should come live with us. Just till she's ready to find a little place and be on her own. You can put it to her that way, so she doesn't think it's charity or feel like she'd have to be here forever."
"And what about you?" Graham asked. "Is that really what you want? It wouldn't be easy, y'know. Everyone says it's tough to have your in-laws come to live. And I'd be off at my job all day when I find work. It wouldn't affect me the way it would affect you."
"It doesn't matter what I want. It's what your mom needs. But yes, as a matter of fact, it is what I want. We'd do fine. I know we'd both try very hard. And we'll make it work. You'll see."
With that assurance but with a little trepidation, Graham approached his mother on the subject. How about moving in, at least just for a little while, he said.
Mrs. MacKellum accepted with a little trepidation, as well, and some reluctance.
She hated the idea of being burdensome. She was less confident than Ruth had sounded that the two of them would be able to make it work. And she'd miss her own kitchen.
But when she learned that the bank owned her house, she was appalled at the idea of Graham paying the mortgage on it or trying to get a loan to buy it back for her. She saw her rock and her hard place clearly. Either she'd be beholden by moving in and living with one of her children or her sister or she'd be beholden by having Graham pay off the debt on her house. One way or the other, she'd be beholden. Moving in with Graham and Ruth seemed to her to be the less burdensome option.
And anything, even being beholden, would be better than the nights of lying awake in the darkness, listening to the silence of the house, knowing one accustomed presence would never be there again.
"It's her home," Graham had said. But he was wrong. It wasn't her home anymore. Not without Guy.
* * *
Graham hadn't had an easy time finding work.
He had no training or expertise in any work other than the work of being groomed to take over the operation of a sawmill one day. Turnbulls', out of pity, may have given him a job, but it would have meant starting at ground level. And it would have meant working for Gus Turnbull. For Graham, it was out of the question to even think about going to Gus Turnbull to ask for a job. He tried to explain his feelings on the subject to Ruth when she made the suggestion. She didn't understand entirely, but she understood that Graham wasn't going to do it. That much was plain.
Weeks went by after MacKellum Milling had ceased production, and still Graham had found no job. Things weren't dire; Graham and Ruth had some savings. But it wasn't smart to dip too deeply into their savings. They weren't substantial enough to live off.
And there was Graham's mother to be supported now, as well.
As day after day of unemployment was scratched off the calendar, Graham began to grow a little desperate.
"I'm sure Jim and Glo would let me go back to work for them," Ruth said to Graham.
"My wife is not going to be the one supporting this family," Graham told her shortly. His expression said plainly that it wasn't open for discussion.
Ruth said nothing more on the subject. Not then.
Graham did eventually find work though the job he accepted involved swallowing a mighty lump of pride in the accepting. The Co-op needed someone to stock the shelves.
In addition to the pride-swallowing, it meant working nights. For many reasons, it wasn't quite what Graham had envisioned for himself.
"It's temporary until something better comes along, and it won't be long till something does. It's a slow time of year right now. It'll pick up and people'll start hiring again once summer hits," Graham assured Ruth and himself.
But summer came along, and things didn't pick up. At the beginning of June, in anticipation of "things picking up," Graham quit the shelf-stocking job which he thoroughly despised as demeaning and mindless (besides being low-paying). But early July found him still jobless.
"Graham, don't be so stubborn. Why can't I go back to work? Just for a little while until you find something else?" Ruth pleaded.
But if there was any alternative at all, Graham had no intention of letting Ruth go back to work. And certainly not while he was out of work. Maybe if her income was only supplementing his, it would have been bearable. But it was unthinkable for him to live off of his wife.
By mid-July when "things" still hadn't "picked up," Graham swallowed the small remainder of pride left in his possession (or so he thought) and took a job sweeping the floors of the press room and, after-hours, cleaning the offices of the Arrowhead Reflections, Arrowhead's weekly paper.
The pay was not enough for the small family of three to live on, so he swallowed the rest of his pride (there was more left than he'd imagined) and told Ruth, it didn't matter to him; she could do what she wanted. If she wanted to go back to work at the cafe, what difference did it make? No one would be surprised that a janitor's wife worked as a waitress. That was just how their life was going to be from now on, he supposed, and he'd better get used to it.
* * *
Living with her mother-in-law was not quite the smooth ride Ruth had assured her husband it would be. Misunderstandings occurred regularly, and tempers flared or sensitive feelings smarted occasionally. (The temper was Ruth's and the sensitive feelings her mother-in-law's.)
The stickiest problem was a small one but, like many other small things, assumed an importance far beyond its diminutive dimensions. The use of the kitchen and the distribution of the duties in the kitchen were touchy situations that Ruth didn't gain the wisdom for solving until several months had gone by.
At the start, Ruth prepared all the meals while Mrs. MacKellum miserably avoided the kitchen. They divided the other household chores amicably enough between them, each holding her own domain of absolute sway. Ruth never fussed about how the flower beds were kept or insisted on keeping them, and her mother-in-law never hankered after growing vegetables or interfered in Ruth's methods of growing them. But Mrs. MacKellum knew better than to venture into the kitchen with Ruth there; not because Ruth wanted the kitchen to herself but because her mother-in-law knew she would be unable to manage silence when she saw Ruth doing things "wrong" in the kitchen or keep her hands from rearranging things to her liking and she feared another scene such as the one that had caused the tension early on in the marriage. Yet she pined for a kitchen.
On Ruth's part, she understood the impulse
that kept her mother-in-law out of her kitchen and thought it was wise. She knew she would be unable to manage silence if she was "bossed" in her own kitchen or found things rearranged not to her liking. Plainly, the lot of cooking the meals had to fall wholly to one woman or the other. Some tasks could not be shared peaceably.
Yet neither woman was happy with the arrangement. It wasn't that Ruth minded being responsible for all the meal preparations. What she did mind was knowing her mother-in-law was unhappy without a kitchen.
For some unknown reason, the situation couldn't be discussed openly. It was only ever understood mutually through the sixth sense women share, and it was understood mutually that neither had a solution.
When Ruth started back to work part-time at the Morning Glory, Mrs. MacKellum gradually began taking over the cooking of all the meals. Ruth's shifts often didn't allow her to be at home to cook meals when they needed to be cooked, so her mother-in-law quite naturally took it over.
She was a great deal happier; it was visible. But Ruth wasn't. It went against her grain. She felt as though she was taking advantage and not doing her part. There had to be a better solution than this all-or-nothing kind of kitchen-sharing.
During peach season, Graham said to Ruth one day, "You know what I miss? Canned peaches. I've never had canned peaches since we've been married."
"No, I suppose not," Ruth said without much feeling on the subject. She'd never really liked canned peaches.
"You know how to can peaches, don't you?" Graham persisted.
"I guess so. In theory. I remember Mother canning them. I've just never bothered. I'm not wild about them."
"You should get my mom to show you. She makes the best peaches. She always used to enter hers at the fall fair, y'know. I guess she probably won't this year, though."
Graham's comments put an idea into Ruth's head. It might be a first step toward breaking down the barriers that divided the women – either from the other woman or from the kitchen. As long as she could keep her temper under control and learn to take orders for once.