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Since they’d originally purchased enough lumber to build two of the cabins, then had to replace that order and had been able to scavenge a lot, technically, they now had enough lumber for nearly four cabins; however, they hadn’t yet cleared the areas or built paths to the places designated for the various vacation spots. Also, some of the lumber was warped from the sea water, the damaging waves, and being tossed against the rocks. They discovered that building a summer cabin was a lot easier than building their log cabin had been. It took less time as they didn’t have to put in as many finishing touches, the walls weren’t made of halved logs, and it was so much lighter without insulation. Still, they wanted certain things incorporated in them, and a foundation for each was a must.
“Why don’t we just make the foundation out of concrete?” Richard asked as they gathered stones for the third cabin with Marion while Barbara was working with Brian and Brenda on putting boards up on the second cabin.
“Because we want it to look nice, and concrete wouldn’t be nearly as nice as the stones,” she answered, although she had to admit his idea had merit. She was getting sick of mixing concrete with sand and gravel then applying it between the various layers of stones until they were even. She was proud to admit she had learned a lot. Marion wanted to have the foundations laid for all five of the summer cottages they had planned, hoping they could get them built before winter set in, but she knew that was an unreasonable goal. She and Barbara had discussed it and were amazed that their cabin was finished and had running water, and in addition, they’d already completed one of the summer cottages. Considering how long their cabin had taken, they were ahead of the game. They just might get the second summer cottage up before winter, which meant they could advertise it for rent for next summer.
“Mom said she wanted to get a second wheelbarrow, so we could take sand and gravel up from the beach and line the paths,” he reminded her, wishing he was working with Brian and Brenda and his mom today instead of Aunt Marion. He liked her and all, but today she was kind of quiet, and it was unnerving him.
“That’s a great idea, and we should plan on taking a day to do as much of that as we can for the first cabin,” she said agreeably. She realized there was still a lot of work to do. Marion wanted to build a cabin on the beach that could hold refrigeration and be a little store for their visitors too. That might mean expanding their dock too when people realized they had the safe anchorage in the cove and they could buy food and drinks from their store. Marion had a lot of plans, but not all of them were compatible with Barbara’s.
“Are you putting in a tennis court or a pool?” Richard asked as he dropped off another dozen rocks for the foundation. Marion had a small bucket of concrete already made and was placing the rocks.
Laughter bubbled up and nearly spilled over. She had to be careful about laughing at the children and their ideas. “Where would we put those?” she asked instead. Imagining the upkeep on a pool alone boggled her mind.
“Well,” he gestured, not knowing. “Maybe the meadow?”
“I thought that was for our cabin and animals. If we put in a tennis court and pool, they sure would take up a lot of room. We’d have people coming and going in our area all the time,” she pointed out.
“Won’t they be all over our island anyway?” he asked, astutely.
“Sure, and we want to share this, don’t we?” she gestured at the beauty around the cabin and its remoteness, but even she had to admit that without the view of the ocean and another small beach they could hike to, it would have been spooky.
He nodded and went to get more rocks. She quickly used up the ones he had brought her and went to help fill the wheelbarrow before her mixed concrete dried up.
* * * * *
“There you go,” Barbara encouraged the other two children as they attached boards on the rapidly rising cabin. At this rate, they could soon advertise several cabins for rent. Still, she had trees to fell for the floors, which would give them an authentic Northwoods feel. The women had discussed using boards for the floor, but both she and Marion felt that a split tree floor would give their guests more of the “woodsy” feel. It also gave a solid feel to the cabins that these boards they were attaching on the frames didn’t.
Almost as though he had read her mind, Brian asked, “Why don’t we cut trees and make a cabin that way?”
“Remember how much work it was building our cabin?” she asked in return as she nailed her section. Brenda held up the remainder while Brian proudly nailed his end. She knew they should have brought a mule or horse out to the island to haul all those trees. Many times, the tackle hadn’t been enough, and the sheer muscle effort had almost defeated them. She remembered how exhausted she had often become while cutting and sawing the trees down, removing their branches, and hauling them up to the clearing.
Both children nodded in answer to her question and she continued, “We want summer cabins, so our guests don’t stay all year. We want to share our wonderful island, but it would be too much work to put in all log cabins. These thin boards will keep out the weather during the summer but won’t heat up the cabin. Remember how hot it got this summer?”
They all remembered the oppressive heat and how the ocean water felt marvelous but was too cold to swim in; splashing in the waves with the heat was a good contrast. Spending a spring and summer in the tent hadn’t always been fun either. They’d had to move the tent a couple times: once, because they found they had staked it out on an ant hill, and the second time, because of mice. Then a third move had been necessary when all the rain seemed to pool under the tent, and they awoke to wet sleeping bags and a squishy floor. The warmth of the cabin and getting out of the weather was a relief for them all.
“This way, they have a place to sleep and sit,” she indicated where the screened-in porch would go, “and they can enjoy the great outdoors.” At least that was their theory, and they built these cabins with that intention. All they could do was hope their guests would agree.
* * * * *
“Let’s take some time off day after tomorrow. We can picnic and enjoy our island,” Barbara suggested at dinner that evening. “Then, we should work on the paths a little, don’t you think?” She directed that question at Marion but included the children.
“What does work on the paths mean?” Brenda asked. It sounded like a lot of work for time off, and they’d done an awful lot of work already.
“Well, we cut back any trees or bushes jutting into the paths to the cabins, and in some places, we will put down more gravel, so it’s easier to walk. We have some rather muddy spots now.”
“It will look nice too,” Marion put in.
“If we cut back the tress and bushes now and people ain’t, um, aren’t coming until spring, won’t they grow back?” Brian asked.
“You are absolutely right,” his mother smiled at his deductive reasoning, “so, we cut a little more than necessary and keep on top of it.”
“You know, we couldn’t ask for a better crew,” Barbara commented as they took bucket loads from the heavy wheelbarrow a couple days later and spread gravel wherever there was a low spot on the path to the first cabin. It was heavy and hard work lugging it up from the beach, but fortunately they seemed to have an endless supply.
“I hope they appreciate what we are building here,” Marion responded, tired from the constant work. Their day off had been beautiful. They’d packed a picnic lunch and the dogs had been invited to join them. The cats had even shown up as they lay out on a cloth near the farthest point on the eastern shoreline.
“What’s out there if we kept going?” Richard asked, his mouth full of food.
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth and take smaller bites,” Barbara warned. Manners were important to her, and while they had let things slide while they roughed it this summer, that was no excuse.
He waited until he had chewed and swallowed before asking again, “What’s out there if we took the boat out and kept going?”
“Canada,” Marion answered and then flushed. She’d just taken a bite of her sandwich and had pushed it aside to answer.
“Another country?” he asked, surprised.
“Sure, remember when I showed you the maps? Maine is the most eastern and northern state and next to it is Canada,” Barbara answered, waving north and east with her hand as she spoke.
“You mean, we wouldn’t end up in England if we went out to sea?” Brenda asked, being careful that her mouth was empty before she said anything.
“No,” Barbara shook her head, reaching for some fruit. “Nova Scotia would stop us that way,” she pointed to the east, “and if you went north, you’d hit New Brunswick.”
“Oh, so we’re not an island?” she asked, suddenly confused.
“We’re an island because we are surrounded by water. You can have an island in a lake or even a river.”
“But there is land and not the ocean...” she tapered off, more confused.
“The ocean surrounds us, but you couldn’t get lost, and Nova Scotia is a ways off in that direction.” She pointed to the east. “I could have sworn we had this conversation already,” she stated, frowning at Marion as though one of them had explained this to the children before.
It didn’t really matter. They weren’t taking any trips to Canada, so they really didn’t have to worry about it. In the meantime, they were working hard at preparing the island for eventual guests and for winter as it was already getting very cold. The weather change had almost seemed to happen overnight with the temperatures going from hot summer to cold nights and hot days. Now, the morning cold lasted longer into the day, and it was getting colder earlier in the evening.
“Brrr, I have to go start the fire,” Barbara said a week later, reluctantly getting out of bed.
“Attractive,” Marion murmured, seeing the long underwear her girlfriend was sporting. She got up and moved into the other bed in case any of the children came in, feeling sorry for herself because the new bed had no shared body heat.
Getting the fire started in the morning became a routine, and they took turns making sure they banked it the night before. Because the fireplace was in the middle of the cabin, it did a rather efficient job of warming the whole place. When the stove was on too, the combination sometimes made the cabin almost too warm.
“We should be ready to roof the second cabin if we hurry,” Barbara stated at breakfast as they each had a hot bowl of oatmeal.
“I was going to go fishing,” Richard complained.
“I wanted to explore the–” began Brian.
“The sooner we finish it, the sooner we are done,” Marion put in to keep the children from complaining any more. She too was sick of the constant work. They’d gotten the foundations on cabin three and four done, and she’d started a fireplace in both cabins since she was already mixing concrete and mortar for the stones. She didn’t know if Barbara would have time to cut the logs for the floors they had agreed on, but in the meantime, she’d cleared some of the brush from around the sites and even stacked some wood. The fifth site was totally overgrown but had one of the prettiest views.
“Wish we had a camera to take pictures of the cabins at various times of the year to make up brochures at the printer,” Barbara told Marion as they both put on mittens that morning. They were all dressed in layers with sweaters from their storage, which they would take off later if the sun came out. It sometimes got very warm with all the work they did.
“Maybe, someday. We still have ads to get out. When do you think we’ll do that?” she asked while carrying one roll of tarpaper. She saw how easily Barbara carried two over her broad shoulders. The boys were carrying a roll between them and Brenda followed with some of the nails. Their tools were already at the site. The dogs were following, but only because the sheep were grazing in the area around the second cabin. Glancing back, she saw they were leading the parade, the cats following along the trail behind them, their tails jauntily in the air as though they hadn’t a care in the world.
“I think we should start either late January or early February, and I think we should advertise in both American and Canadian papers and magazines in order to maximize our visibility.”
“That makes sense. Canadians are just like us and need the same kind of vacations away from life’s stresses, so they should also love to come here. And their money is as good as ours.”
They discussed things like this openly, and the children absorbed it, but when they caught the children talking about it to someone in Franklin, they warned them not to repeat things they heard to others outside the family. “Why not?” they asked, puzzled. It took a diplomatic approach to explain that this was their business, and they didn’t want people outside the family to know their private business, especially about their rentals and money.
The second cabin was almost finished, and they were pleased. They had wood for the third and fourth cabins hauled up to both sites, but they decided that would have to wait when they got a notice in their mailbox that alarmed them.
“The bank is declining the loan,” Marion told her.
“I thought he approved the loan the day we were at the bank?”
“I think we bamboozled him, but he isn’t the only one who approves loans. Look at this.”
“Our bank does not give out loans based on real estate,” the letter said, and it went on to explain that the moneys they had already spent must be repaid promptly.
“How the hell are we supposed to pay back that money? They know we’ve spent it already, and they know how much we have in our checking accounts!” Barbara was feeling panicked. It was only late fall, and they had a lot of work to do before money would begin being generated in the spring.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t confiscate our accounts. I think we better start a letter-writing campaign regarding those G.I. guaranteed loans.” She was angry and didn’t care if it showed.
“I already paid for those ads,” Barbara mentioned, wondering if any checks she had written would bounce.
“Let’s write those letters in the next few days and send them out. If the bank wants to play games, I’m going to fight them!” Marion asserted stoutly. She was glad they had paid off Grady for all the things she had brought over on the barge. The stoves and bathtubs were all in place at the various sites and in the two cabins they had managed to build. Thank goodness they didn’t need to build more than the five cabins they had planned. They could probably build number three and four in the spring and wait on the fifth until they were making money. “What did the ads say?” she asked, trying to calm her anger about the bank.
“Here, I wrote it out and showed you before I sent them in, don’t you remember?”
Marion saw the notebook Barbara had used to write out:
Need to get away from it all? Quaint, remote, family-friendly summer cottages on private island off the coast of Maine. Fishing. Swimming. Relaxing. Housekeeping included. $75 per week. Contact Misses Whiting and Jenkins, Whimsical Island, P.O. Box 114, Franklin, Maine.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was distracted. It’s short and to the point, isn’t it?”
“That’s what you said when I showed it to you before I sent it off to the various magazines and papers,” Barbara reminded her. She could see the bank disaster was gripping Marion’s mind, and she wanted to distract her.
“I’m sorry,” Marion repeated, knowing that Barbara was working hard to make a success of their dream to be independent and live on their beautiful island. “Do you think talking to the bank manager again would help?”
“No,” she shook her head, “I don’t. I think he was looking for a reason to refuse us, and we overwhelmed him by tag-teaming him. We must write to those above him as well as to the federal government about our guaranteed loans. Don’t give out loans based on real estate, indeed! That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. That’s the whole point of the G.I. loans!”
Marion and Barbara’s letters to the federal government necessitated a second trip into Franklin that week. They were disgusted by the fact that the bank was denying a loan they had already made to them based on real estate. The whole point of the G.I. loans was so that the men and women returning could buy a home, go back to school, or even start small businesses. Since it applied to the widows of servicemen and women too, this was a total breech of the whole program. They both emphasized that in their letters. They wrote the same type of letter but not word for word since the same people might read their individual letters, but each wrote of her outrage in their letter.
“Do you know who owns the bank? Who can we go to over the bank manager’s head?” Marion asked. They’d both written scathing letters but had not addressed them since they didn’t know who should receive them. At the post office, the chatty postmistress told them who owned the bank and they were finally able to address their letters.
“Sending out a quite a few letters these days,” she said, opening the conversation in the hope they might give her information she could use for gossip. She’d already enjoyed the mail they received and the colorful magazines that showed vacation spots.
“Yes, we are, and we expect a lot of mail this winter,” Barbara said kindly, not giving her the tidbits she wanted and letting her think it was all business.
“I got another letter from my mother-in-law,” Marion said quietly, miserable upon seeing the postmark.
“Wait, I have an idea,” Barbara said and turned to the postmistress. “Can’t we mark this ‘return to sender, addressee unknown’ or something?”
“Well, I can’t. You know, postal regulations and all that,” she told them, wondering who was writing them and why they didn’t want to open the letter. Most people liked getting letters.
“You can’t, but we can?” Barbara inquired, and at the postmistresses’ nod, she looked inquiringly at Marion, who grinned an evil smile of delight and nodded.
Barbara wrote on the envelope in an untidy scrawl in case Gladys knew her handwriting, Return to sender, addressee unknown. She handed the letter back to the postmistress, who laughed and put it in a bag of outgoing mail. She’d delivered it to their box. What they did with it after that wasn’t her business.
“Let’s go home,” Barbara said as they walked down to their pier, a couple of pallets already waiting to be lashed to the boat. She’d had the motor looked at by the same people who sold them gas. They’d said it was fit as a fiddle, but they did advise them to take the boat out of the water and brush off its hull, maybe also sand and refinish it. She would do more than that, she promised herself.