“Really?” his mother asked, a dangerous note entering her voice. “What if we referred to any piece of machinery, especially if it went wrong, as a Brian?”
“That wouldn’t make sense–” he began.
“Yes, but would you like it?”
“No,” he admitted thoughtfully.
“Then, you can understand how referring to cars and trucks and boats as she doesn’t make us feel good either.” She indicated Barbara, Brenda, and herself.
“We’re here,” Barbara said unnecessarily as they pulled into the post office. She got out before anyone else could and hurried in to get their mail. It had been a long time, and the box was full. She brought out an armful of brochures, magazines, and envelopes. She and Marion quickly sorted the mail into what to read now and what to read later at the cabin. The envelopes from the bank and the federal government almost seemed to glow in their whiteness. “Well, this is probably it,” Barbara whispered. The children were already fighting over the magazines. “Hey! Keep it down!” She slit open the one addressed to her from the bank first as Marion reached for her own.
Quickly, she scanned the letter, and a sigh of relief escaped her when she realized they had reversed their decision. Their line of credit was back in place in the form of a G.I. loan. They could borrow up to seventy-five hundred each, if they so desired. There was a personal note from Mr. Bradshaw apologizing for the misunderstanding. She reached for the letter from the government that explained she was entitled to a loan, and they would be communicating this decision with the bank.
“You too?” Marion asked, a delighted grin on her face. She was reminded of something they had spoken of previously when they compared letters. “You know, technically, I can borrow seventy-five hundred dollars, and you can borrow seventy-five hundred dollars...separately?”
As she realized that was true, she shook her head. “No, the bank would probably say we can’t since we are using the same real estate as collateral. Nice try though,” she grinned at how that nice Mr. Bradshaw would have reacted to them walking in asking for the full fifteen-thousand-dollar loan.
“Let’s get over to the school, so we can turn in this pile of work for the children,” Marion said. She was in a wonderful mood now that they were off the island, at least for the day, and they had gotten the money they had been promised. She liked getting her own way. As Barbara drove, she noticed the town’s cinema was advertising a movie on its marquee. She longed to see a movie; it had been a while.
Mrs. Larson was pleased to see the women and children, asking them about their winter progress and accepting the large pile of paperwork they had for her. The children discussed the work intelligently with her, and she could tell the mothers had encouraged them to work ahead. She handed the children their assignments for the next month but was aware they had probably done over half that work already. She was surprised when Richard turned in the work for the next grade too. She had included it, hoping it would encourage him, but she hadn’t expected him to buckle down and do all that work too. “There was someone from the state asking about your children,” she mentioned quietly to the mothers before they left. The bell had just rung for recess, and they were alone while the children were getting acquainted with some of the children on the playground.
“Were they worried that the children weren’t keeping up with their schoolwork?” Marion asked, laughing because she knew how much work the children had done.
“Well, that too, but it also seemed like a welfare check,” she added.
“A welfare check? What’s that?”
“We aren’t on any social welfare,” Barbara put in, misunderstanding.
“No, it was more to see how the children were faring and not about their schoolwork.” She shook her head as she indicated the pile of schoolwork the children had turned in. “No, it was questions like were the children happy, have they been eating, were their clothes in good repair?”
“Who would ask that?” Marion wondered aloud, and Barbara frowned, instantly angry that someone would question them. The children sometimes went out in mismatched socks or patched dungarees. The island was hard on their clothes but at least they were clothed.
“It was a welfare or health check, to see if the children were healthy and thriving,” she quoted the two investigators who had come to the school to see if they were enrolled. “It was only about the Whiting children though.”
“Not Richard too?” Barbara put in, frowning harder and confused as to why anyone would do that.
“No, they specifically asked about Brian and Brenda. Were they happy, healthy, and clean?”
“Did they leave a card or anything for us to contact them?” Marion put in, getting a sinking feeling that she knew what this was about.
The teacher shook her head. “I was happy to report that the children were well-adjusted and working above their grade level.”
“Did that satisfy them?” Barbara asked, wondering what this was about.
“They seemed...disappointed, and they asked if perhaps the children were working too hard?”
“Working too–” Marion began to sputter, but Barbara put her hand on the blonde’s arm.
“Thank you, Mrs. Larson. If they return, would you please refer them to us?” Barbara asked sweetly, as though nothing was wrong.
“Of course. I’d be glad to help. If only all my students were such hard workers as your three,” she answered with a smile.
Waving as they left, the two women gathered their children, pleased they had made a couple of friends and reminding the children to ask Mrs. Larson about the proposed campout.
“What do you think that was–?” Marion began as soon as they were all in the truck again and heading for the lumberyard.
“We will talk about this later when,” her head nodded toward the children talking a mile a minute in the back seat, “aren’t with us?”
Marion nodded. It was probably for the best.
They ordered the rest of the wood for the fifth cabin and loaded concrete bags into the back of the truck along with a few other things they could manage with the boat. They wrote a check, feeling confident it would be fine at the bank now, and they were on their way.
“Want to stop at Grady’s?” Marion asked as Barbara drove away from the lumberyard.
“Wait, look!” she said. The house where Grady had lived and the junkyard were all gone. Instead, there was a sign up announcing new, affordable housing for ‘the boys in blue.’ “What in the world?”
“She said they were interested in it, but I didn’t think she’d sell out,” Marion said, looking around where everything had stood.
“Wonder where she went?”
“Who could we ask?”
“Well, let’s go see if that farmer has any more chickens and maybe a few more guineas to replace those we ate,” Marion said as she let out the brake. They drove by Grady’s old place slowly, marveling that there was no sign of the junk or even the nondescript house that had stood there last year.
“Ayuh, I can sell you some,” the farmer agreed, remembering them from when they bought the rooster. As he was bagging the guineas he caught, already tying off the bag for the chickens, he asked, “You friends of Grady Lavender?”
Remembering that he wouldn’t have sold to them a year ago if they were, they hesitated to answer, both exchanging looks. “We’re acquainted with her,” Barbara said cautiously.
“Heard she sold up and moved to Florida. Said she was getting out of this cold climate,” he said as he grabbed another bird to stuff in the bag. “You said half a dozen of each?” he confirmed as he grabbed another bird. “And a cock of each?”
“Ayuh,” Marion put in, unconsciously imitating the vernacular they had picked up from some of the local people. She was suddenly disappointed that their friend Grady hadn’t come to say goodbye and wondered at that. They had paid her in full for the things she brought them last fall, and she never mentioned she was selling out.
They paid the f
armer for the birds and carefully put the bags in the back of the truck before turning around and heading back into Franklin.
“What do you think of that? Grady never said anything,” Barbara said as she drove. She was disappointed.
“I was wondering that too. Did something happen?”
“And she never said goodbye.”
“She could have left a note or written us a letter,” she said, sounding hurt over the loss of their friend.
“Maybe she doesn’t know how to write?” Barbara pointed out and they got quiet.
They were both lost in their thoughts, which were amazingly similar. They stopped by the drug store for their developed film rolls and then headed back to the truck. The children were disappointed with them because they hadn’t stopped for ice cream this time.
Loading up the boat with their purchases, they realized they had forgotten the mail and the many white envelopes. “Hey, should we open these here, in case we need to respond?”
“No, let’s take them back to the island and work on that letterhead. We need to order that now that we are getting more responses,” Barbara gestured to the envelopes as they stuffed them in a waterproof bag to stow it against the spray that sprung over the boat.
“What if there are checks...?” Marion began.
“Then we’ll have to come into town again tomorrow,” Barbara put in cheerfully, glad they had gotten off the island after so long and eager to repeat the experience now that they had the good news about the loan. “We will need to shop for a second boat, if we are going to rent ours out,” she indicated the Runabout. They had picked up the local newspaper to look at the ads now that they had the money. They also had far too many pallets to take over in just one trip, so they lashed what they could take to the front and put a couple in the boat with them. The remaining piles they neatened up and put as many as they could into the trailer, out of sight so they wouldn’t get fined by the village.
One of the letters they opened was an apology from a director of the bank for the gossip they had been subjected to. The letters they had both written objecting to having their personal information be the subject of gossip had hit home with someone on the board of directors at the bank. They both wondered if it was that letter or the additional letters from the government requiring them to provide them a loan that had worked.
“Wow, we’ve really ruffled a few feathers,” Marion remarked as she reached for one of the envelopes with unfamiliar handwriting on it, hoping it was an inquiry about renting their cabins or a letter from Grady, explaining where she had gone. They could rent two cabins a week right now, and they hoped by summer they would fill all five, but that wouldn’t happen if they didn’t get to work. The rain clouds had moved in right after they docked and unpacked the boat, covering it up right away. They knew they wouldn’t be going into Franklin the next day after all.
When they released the new chickens and guineas into the pens, they saw there would be some fights as the old ones established a pecking order. The rooster they had bought looked amazingly like the one they had bought last year for Grady. They were both cautious around him. Still, they wanted their chickens to lay eggs and maybe even have some chicks around that summer, and for that, they needed him.
That night, they sat at the kitchen table going through the rest of their mail. They had six inquiries for bookings, and only two of them were for the same week, which they could now accommodate. “We better write these people, accept their bookings, and ask for a deposit to hold them,” Barbara said. “Would you write it? Your handwriting is better than mine.”
“Nonsense. Yours is just as nice as mine when you take the time.”
“I can’t read my lists half the time,” Barbara complained good-naturedly, pleased with the six rentals.
“That’s because you are thinking faster than you write and you scribble.”
“What do you think of this or something similar for the letterhead?” Barbara asked from where she had been sketching.
It showed a reasonable facsimile of an island with lots of fir trees and even some of the rocks Maine was noted for. The words Whimsical Island, Franklin, Maine were printed carefully below the island.
“Oh, that’s it exactly,” Marion answered, delighted. Good penmanship or not, Barbara could draw better than she any day.
“I think when we get into town again, we’ll order the letterhead,” she indicated the drawing, “and those notepads. I don’t think a small-town printer can manage a brochure or postcards, but maybe they can recommend someone.” They now had the pictures they’d taken with their camera at Christmas and were pleased with the various shots. The planned to take many more in various seasons as they developed the brochure idea. Summer shots would be best since these were summer rentals.
“In one of the magazines there was an advertisement for a company that makes postcards,” Marion mused, trying to remember which one she had seen it in.
They spent the evening making plans as the children talked about the hour they had spent at school and all the children they had met. They also began to go over the new materials the teacher had assigned. The fire burning in the fireplace kept the cabin warm, and they were all dry and happy as a storm raged outside their cabin and rain slashed against the glass windows.
The next day was rain-filled and cold. Despite the weather, Marion followed Barbara out in the rain to where she had downed trees over the winter. The saws bucked at the wet wood, but they managed to get the branches off the dead trees. Sawing them into lengths they could use, they split them on the spot instead of hauling the whole lengths to the site. It halved the weight, and they were still able to use their block and tackle to pull the trees up the slope or along the paths to the sites they were marked for. The children, bored with staying in the cabin, gleefully came out in the cold and rain to help, although they spent more time splashing and getting colder and wetter. Not wanting anyone to get sick or come down with colds, the two adults herded everyone back to the warm cabin to dry off and change their wet clothes. They hadn’t gotten much accomplished but at least they knew they could start work again and were eager to get the cabins finished.
By the time they got back to town to send their letters, place their orders for stationary, and get the addresses for brochure and postcard makers, the floor for the third cabin was ready to be placed, sanded, and eventually, sealed. They were just waiting for the wood to dry out completely. With all the rain this spring, that was going to take a while. They covered it with tarps at an angle to keep the rain off the finished work and hoped the endless wind would help with drying it out. They moved on to the fourth cabin and did some work around the fifth site.
By the time they picked up their first guests, the Waldens—no relation to the famous lake—on their white pier in Franklin and took them out to the island, the third cottage would be nearly finished. It was a good thing too, since their ads, like the long cold spring, had lingered on in certain parts of the country and netted them with a full summer of bookings. Their bank account began to build as they took in more than they paid out, and they were able to make payments on the loan they had taken out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The letter Marion received in late May right before their first booking arrived, nearly scuttled all their plans. The Whitings, along with the state of Maine, were suing Marion Whiting for the lack of proper care that their grandchildren, one Brian Whiting III and Brenda Whiting were receiving.
“How can they do this?” Marion cried, devastated and knowing she could never afford to fight them. Her in-laws’ nice house back in Massachusetts attested to the fact that they had money and Marion did not. As she looked around the small cabin that she and Barbara had built with their own hands, she knew it would never compare. All their hard work would go for nothing. The thought of losing her children had never entered her mind, but when she really thought about it, they had started something back in Massachusetts. It must have taken a year to get something started
here in Maine. She probably ruined their plans when she moved so suddenly.
“They’ve never inspected their living environment,” Barbara pointed out, quoting the letter. “I think you can delay this while we search for a lawyer.”
“Don’t you see?” Marion asked, nearly in tears over the idea that her in-laws hated her so much they would try to take her children away, “They have more money! Of course, the state will give them custody!”
“No, I don’t see,” Barbara argued, taking her lover’s hand despite the children playing in the screened porch nearby. They restricted their public displays of affections to an occasional hand on the shoulder and hug but even those were rare. They were very proper in their demeanor otherwise. They were just friends helping each other raise their children together...business partners, that was all. To the outside world and even to their children, they were merely good friends. Only they knew the truth of their relationship, especially behind the closed and locked door of their bedroom.
“They can’t do anything. This will take time, and we will use that time to our benefit.” They dressed in nice clothes, finding that their dresses now sagged on them both. They’d been eating better and less, working hard, and they had lost any superfluous fat. “We look different,” Barbara commented, looking at the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
“I don’t think I can walk in these anymore,” Marion complained as she put on her shoes over the stockings she had carefully pulled on. She already missed her work boots. At least they were comfortable on her feet.
“You’ll do fine,” Barbara complimented her, seeing how nice she still looked despite the baggy clothes. Using safety pins, she pulled the dress in, so it hung right on her girlfriend’s frame. Marion did the same for Barbara. “I’ll have to take these in if we ever intend to wear them again,” she commented as Marion pinned the excess material in. Each of them pulled on a small jacket over the dresses to hide their pins.
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