by Connie Cook
He turned his attention to her, then, still looking pleased about something. It wouldn't last long, Ruth knew.
She took a deep breath. She'd stayed awake half the night rehearsing what she was going to say.
"When I was opening the mail for the mill yesterday, there was a personal letter in with it. It was from Manuel Seneca."
"And?" the pleased look was gone. An alert one took its place. But not an anxious one. No doubt, Gus saw her as no threat. Not yet.
Ruth's prepared speech had never gone much farther than its opening line. But she kept on, trusting the words to be given to her.
"I didn't realize it was the kind of letter I shouldn't've been reading. I wouldn't have if it hadn't been in with the mill mail ..."
"Look, Ruth," Gus interrupted. "If you're worried you'll be in trouble, don't give it a thought. Just give me the letter, and we'll say no more about it."
It wasn't too late yet. She could still turn back. But she knew in her heart that she couldn't.
"No, I'm not exactly here to apologize for reading it. It was a letter you gave me to open and read, so I did. I realized after I'd read it that you wouldn't have given it to me if you'd known what was in it, but that wasn't my fault ..."
"What is this all about, then?" Gus said, his manner moving from avuncular to brusque.
"Well, maybe I should mention first that before I'd read this letter I'd also found the settlement agreement you have on file that Turnbulls' had made with Mrs. Weaver. That was just by accident, too."
"Ohhh, I see," said Gus, exhaling the first word in a long, perceiving breath and leaning back in his chair, eyeing Ruth from under slitted lids. "Come now, Ruth. Come down off your high horse, and let's call a spade a spade. This is about blackmail, is it? Funny! I didn't think you were the type, always pretending to be so honourable and all the rest. Guess it just goes to show ..."
"It's not blackmail to want to see simple justice done," Ruth said.
"Right! Plus a little cut for yourself, I suppose. Well, I'll tell you right now, Missy, you're barking up the wrong tree. There was nothing illegal about what went on. Maybe a little irregular but not illegal. We settled a lawsuit out of court as both parties were entitled to do. And Mrs. Weaver had authorized her lawyer to settle terms for her. If he agreed to let me pay her terms off over time, well, what of it?"
"What of it is the fact that you haven't paid Mrs. Weaver anything you agreed to and that you paid her lawyer double his fees in order to let you pay off the money you owe her 'over time.' Which means never. That and you threatened him if he didn't. I'd say that was more than just a little irregular."
"Ha, ha, ha," Gus roared in enjoyment. "Is that what that tom-fool lawyer said in his letter? Always was one for the dramatics. Speaking of threats, I get a threatening letter once a year from him, regular as clockwork, crying like a whipped puppy about justice and how he's really going to do something about it this time. That salves his conscience for another year, and I hear no more from 'im till the next year. Some people send annual Christmas cards. Manny Seneca sends me an annual threatening letter. There's nothing in it, of course. He wouldn't dare go to court with this. He's too busy saving his own hide to worry about anyone else's. He'll never do anything about it, don't you worry about that!"
"Maybe he wouldn't, but I would."
Gus had an abrupt change of tone. "Go running to tell that oldest boy of Joe's all about it, I suppose you mean. Well, I'll tell you right now, it wouldn't matter to 'im. Talk about whipped puppies," Gus snorted. "He wouldn't do a thing about it. He's all for turning the other cheek and all that kind of thing. Not that I wasn't willing to do whatever I could for him. When he was talking of marrying my daughter, I told him I'd give him a good position at the mill. He might've ended up with the whole thing when I was gone. None of my own boys have shown any interest. But he wasn't interested either. Wanted to farm, he said. He threw over the chance I gave him, so I feel I've done what I could for him. I don't owe him a thing. Now, listen, Ruth. Where is this letter? I need to read it if I'm supposed to know what it is you're all fired up about. If you've taken it, I can have you charged. Not only with attempted blackmail but with opening private mail not addressed to you and then stealing it."
"Really?" Ruth said. Her voice sounded a lot more calm than she felt. She fought to keep the shake out of it. "You're really going to have me charged with all that? Don't you think you might have to end up explaining what all this is about, then? I don't think you're going to have me charged with anything. For one thing, I was authorized to open that letter when I opened it. And I haven't taken it anywhere. It's here, in the offices. I'm just not going to tell you where. And lastly, I don't think it's considered blackmail unless I profit from it, somehow. And all I want you to do is pay Rahel Weaver what you promised to pay her. And I know what that amount is, by the way."
"Now, don't you get uppity with me, young miss."
Gus Turnbull had definitely lost his good humour now. His heavy face, showing the beginnings of jowls when his mouth turned down steeply as it was at the moment, was a deep red. There was an emphasis in his tone that Ruth knew would have been a rise in decibel level if it hadn't been for the thin walls of the inner office.
"You're not in a position to tell me what I'm going to do or what I'm not going to do," he spat out. "I agreed to pay out a certain sum to Joe Weaver's widow when I could. I have paid her what I could, and I'll keep on paying her. But I arranged with her lawyer so that I could pay her over time. If I can't keep up the payments as fast as he'd like me to, well, that's not any of your business. You might think I'm made of money, but you don't know how much legal fees take. When I agreed to those terms, I was hurting financially. Really hurting. I'd just been through a costly court case. I wasn't able to pay what that whippersnapper lawyer asked for, and that's the plain truth of it. Don't forget there was a war on then, and the country needed lumber. We were providing an essential service. It was my duty to keep the mill operational. Paying out the settlement right then and there would've broken me and the mill."
"Then why did you sign the agreement in the first place? That's one thing I can't figure out. If you knew the lawyer could be bought off, why agree to the terms at all? You could have bought off the lawyer without agreeing to anything or signing anything, couldn't you have?" Ruth asked. It was something she'd been wondering about while lying awake the night before.
"That idiot lawyer thought he had me over a barrel, that's why, though he was wrong. I'd already been acquitted of responsibility in Joe's death. The civil case would have shown the same facts, that the death had nothing to do with me. To this day, there's no reason I should break myself paying out his widow. But I agreed to that lawyer's terms because if I hadn't, he would have dragged me into court. And I couldn't afford another costly case."
"Oh, I see," Ruth said comprehendingly. "You knew if the case had gone to court, the court couldn't be bought off or threatened like Manny Seneca could. And in court, it would've come out that you weren't financially hurting at all. So you signed the agreement in order to stay out of court, knowing you could always put the pressure on the lawyer afterwards to do what you wanted. Which was to get out of paying Rahel Weaver anything. I get it now."
"Don't you get smart with me, girl. I've told you I've paid her some, and I'm still paying. But all this is none of your business. So if you'll have the kindness to give me my own mail like you should've done yesterday ... I'm a busy man. I told you I was in the middle of something."
"But I've decided to make it my business," Ruth said. "I'm not leaving this office without a cheque made out to Rahel Weaver for the full amount. If you'll trust me to mail it to her, that is. If not, you can give it to Marcie to mail. I certainly don't trust you to mail it. So I'm not leaving here till that's all looked after."
"You must be crazy," Gus roared, the thin office walls forgotten. "You think I have that kind of money just sitting around somewhere? I run a business. I have expenses.
The money's in and out of my account. It's not just sitting idle in my chequing account, waiting to be given away to some woman of ill-repute. Yes, and that's what she is. Little better than a street-walker."
"I'll ignore that last comment. We both know why she had to do what she did. As to your first comment, if you don't have that kind of money sitting around in your chequing account, I guess you'll have to cash something in. I dunno, stocks, bonds. I know it's not a question of your not having the money in some form. You can find a way. And I don't imagine you'll even feel much of a pinch from it. But you'll have to deposit the money into your account after you write the cheque because I'm not leaving this office without a cheque. For the full amount. And not to go through that lawyer, either. Made out to Rahel Weaver."
"I told you, I have paid her. Not the full amount, yet, but I've paid some of it. Quite a lot of it, actually. I suppose I could write out a cheque, make another payment, if it'd get you out of here. I have other things to do today than sit around, jawing with you, as pleasant as our little chat has been. But I don't owe the full amount. There's no way I'm writing a cheque like that."
Ruth took it as a hopeful sign. He was bending. She wasn't sure how this whole thing would end if he didn't. She had no intention of doing the same, however.
"So let's write off whatever pittance you've already paid to her as lost interest. The whole amount. Or I don't leave. At least not without that letter. Either I'm leaving here with a cheque for the full amount for Rahel Weaver, or I'm leaving here with that letter from Manny Seneca, and you can face the the consequences. Take your pick."
"Oh, you'll leave, all right. I can pick up this telephone right now and have you removed from these premises under police escort. Don't think I won't do it 'cause I will, Missy. And I'll have you charged with extortion, too."
"Okay, go ahead. But rest assured that I'll tell my side of it to the police. And I'll have that letter to show them. Hope you're up for another court case."
Gus had moved his hand toward the telephone, and it rested on the receiver but made no move to pick it up.
"Okay, how much?" he said suddenly.
"What?"
"How much? How much do you want?"
"What I told you. The full amount. In a cheque made out to Rahel Weaver. Delivered to Marcie for mailing if you don't trust me with it."
"What's really behind this?"
"Amos 5:24."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Thought you were a church-going man. Amos 5:24. It's in the Bible. A book you might try reading sometime."
"I knew you'd be trouble soon as I agreed to hire you. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. See if I ever do anything for anyone out of the kindness of my heart ever again. So this is how I'm repaid for trying to be generous! If you're not after money, then I suppose this is all just revenge because of what Lily did to you."
"You can think whatever you want, Mr. Turnbull. I've told you I just want to see justice done. In fact, I felt forced into this. I knew I had no choice as soon as I read that letter. If it had just been up to me, there's no way on earth we'd be having this conversation right now. There was nothing in me that wanted to do this. Except, I guess, some kind of desire to see wrongs righted. But I would have been more than happy to stay out of this one if I could have."
"Well, you can. You can turn around right now and walk away and we can both forget this little talk ever happened."
"No, I can't."
"You know if you ever mention this to anyone, what it would look like, don't you? No one would believe you. It would look like a pathetic attempt to get back at the Turnbull family because you couldn't hang on to your husband."
"Since when have I ever cared what people think? I've told you the reasons I'm doing this. You can believe me or not. And no one else needs to know about this. At least, no one needs to know my part in it. Once you write that cheque to Rahel Weaver, she's the only one who needs to know that you've given her the money you owe her. If you pay her what you owe her, I promise you, as long as you're alive, I won't tell a soul about what's been said today in this office or about that letter from Manny Seneca. I'll give you my word of honour on that. Though that may not mean much to you, my word of honour is still worth something."
The antagonists stared each other down in silence. Ruth willed herself not to blink.
Suddenly, Gus yanked open a desk drawer and drew out his cheque book.
"You're through here," he said as he scribbled out the cheque.
"That should go without saying. I knew that as soon as I'd decided to see this through," Ruth said. Inside of herself, an uncontrollable quivering was taking place. She hoped it wasn't visible.
"No, I mean, you're through here. You won't work anywhere in this town after this. I'll see to that. I still have some influence in Arrowhead."
"We'll see. I don't think you have as much influence as you think you do."
"No, you'll see."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Turnbull," she said, taking the cheque, and there was no trace of sarcasm in the words. She was grateful beyond belief that it was all over. She examined the cheque as he dashed an address off on an envelope and licked a stamp for it.
"Do you want Marcie to mail it?" she asked him.
"Oh, I believe I can trust to your fine sense of honour to see that it gets into the right hands."
"Then, I'll take it and mail it. Thank you. You may not believe me, but I am sorry about all this. I would rather not have done it. It was just something that had to be done. Oh. Here."
She quickly went back to the outer office and pulled out from its hiding place in the office chair the letter that had started the ball rolling. Marcie looked at her curiously. It was almost the first emotion Ruth had seen in her expressionless eyes.
Ruth took the letter and tossed it onto the desk of Mr. A.A Turnbull.
Then without a word, even to Marcie, she gathered up the letter addressed to Mrs. R. Weaver, her handbag, and a few other personal belongings she had in the office and somehow managed to get out to her car.
Then the shaking took over. But that was just a physical reaction. The only emotion she could feel was relief that the ordeal was over for now.
* * *
Speculation ran like wildfire through the town after the change in Rahel Weaver's financial situation began to be noticed. She had never lived extravagantly up to that point, and she didn't live extravagantly after she came into her bit of money, but in a town our size, people notice everything.
The money probably made the most difference to Bo who had only himself to support after that time. Perhaps that was the main change people noticed. He walked freer and took a little more time off.
As a note of interest to the reader, I should add that I know the details behind this incident not because Ruth went back on her word of honour. She had told Gus Turnbull that she would tell no one anything of what had transpired between the two of them as long as he was alive, and she told no one. After his death, years later, I believe she told three or four people.
She told me only because she'd let something slip, and I hounded her to know more details. Gus had been dead for years at that point, so it couldn't have mattered to him by then. Wherever he was at that time, no doubt he had better things to worry about than his already less-than-spotless reputation.
It would have made a great story – how "that Chavinski girl" went head to head with the mighty Angus Andrew Turnbull. And won. But it wasn't my story to tell. And Ruth didn't see it as a great story. So, out of respect for Ruth, I've told no one. Until now.
Chapter 19
Gus Turnbull had been as good as his word and had lost no time in doing his best to ensure that no one in Arrowhead would hire Ruth.
During the two months Ruth had spent working at Turnbulls', Jim and Glo had closed up shop and moved back to Texas to retire finally as they'd been threatening to do for years.
"Just can't manage the place without ya. Gonna hafta
close 'er down," Glo told Ruth, laughing a little when she broke the news to her. In spite of the light comment and the laughter, Glo's eyes were shinier than normal and there was a suspicious moisture at their corners.
Ruth was saddened by the news, knowing how much she'd miss the couple who had played such a large role in her life, but things had been going well at Turnbulls' then. She didn't realize how in need of the Metzkes' friendship and support she would soon be.
Jim and Glo threw themselves a retirement/bon voyage party at the Morning Glory and invited all their regulars and staff, past and present.
Even the normally undemonstrative Philippa and Mrs. Handy hugged the Texan couple and told them how much they'd be missed.
Ruth teared up when Glo hugged her, Glo's heavy-handed mascara running freely.
"Can't tell ya how we'll miss ya, Ruthie Darlin'. You'd better come down to Texas for a visit."
"I'd love to sometime. But you'll be back up here for visits, won't you?"
"We plan to come up once a year. In summer. I won't miss the long, cold winters here. That's one thing I won't miss," Glo said, sniffling and laughing at the same time.
The next day, the Metzkes packed their belongings into the moving van and drove off – headed in the direction of Texas and grandkids.
One week later, the incident at Turnbulls' took place, and Ruth found herself out of a job again. This time with no Morning Glory and no Jim and Glo to turn to.
"Keep your chin up," Mom told her after a week of serious job-hunting had gone by. "Whatever happened between you and Gus Turnbull, don't you fret. In a lot of people's books, having trouble with Gus Turnbull would only be a recommendation of your character. He likes to think he runs this town, but there's too many that can't stand the sight of 'im."
That may have been so, but even those who couldn't stand the sight of him held some degree of fear of him.
Another week went by, and Ruth had not had so much as a nibble on her line.
The Morning Glory was now "Judy's Diner." An out-of-towner, Judy Brower, had purchased the Morning Glory from Jim and Glo. Judy was a single, enterprising businesswoman in her late thirties. She had big city ideas and big city ways.