| |
Christmas would have been dismal, but they’d ordered from catalogs well before the bank took away their loan and presented themselves with a camera that the two women gleefully shared. They took pictures of their winter-bound and snow-laden island and the children happily opening presents. The gifts were purportedly from Santa, which none of the children believed in anymore, but they pretended they did, just in case. The little Christmas tree in the corner held some decorations from years past and new ones they busily created themselves. The blanket of snow that now covered the island made it beautiful and festive...and cold. The barometer they had also gifted themselves warned about oncoming storms, and they refused to leave the island.
Barbara and Marion had managed to lift the boat out of the water using block and tackle. They’d set up a makeshift tent using tarps and were sanding the unfortunate boat’s hull, which looked terrible. They sanded down the rough patches, where the poor thing had been beached and neglected. Using a special coating that the boat dealer in the next town assured them would resist sea salt, they put not one but two coats on the finished product. It glistened, and they were determined to apply that product over the whole boat at some point. As it was, they had the boat out of the water for several weeks. When they finally went into town after New Years’, they found the winter ocean very different between the islands. It seemed more ominous and oppressive, as if the storms the barometer had predicted with increasing regularity were right on the horizon. The color of the ocean was completely different too, which left them with an odd feeling of being alone in nothingness.
They planned for a short stay in Franklin but because they hadn’t been in town for weeks, they were surprised how many people stopped them to say hello or just greet them. They visited with Grady for a bit and found out she knew all about the bank’s demand on their loan. They were upset with what seemed to be an affront to their privacy. What happened between them and the bank should remain private.
Their letters to the bank trustees as well as the federal government had generated a hoopla beyond anything they had expected. Everyone demanded answers, then came back with more questions, and the women spent much time in town answering the many letters while the children enjoyed ice cream sodas at the local five and dime. As they had both written letters, they wanted their responses to remain separate. After discussing it and reading each other’s letters, each contributed more to her own letters, rewriting some of them where necessary. As a result of the various letters they had received in response, they mailed quite a few more letters out.
“We’ve got our first rental for the beginning of June,” Barbara told Marion in awe. Enclosed in the envelope was a check for seventy-five dollars and a letter from a family in New York City named Iverson.
They exchanged a look of excitement. They really hadn’t expected a check this early in the year, but they supposed some people planned their vacations well in advance of summer.
“I wonder which ad they were responding to?” Marion asked.
“Well, it couldn’t be the magazines since those aren’t out yet.”
“We should have letterhead made for our island and little pads people can write on,” she enthused.
“Hold on, we don’t have the money for things like that yet, and we still have to survive the winter. Let’s write them confirming their week in June and suggesting in the future, they simply don’t assume we have a cabin available.”
“We don’t want to anger them or turn them away.”
“Well, it’s pretty presumptuous of them to assume we would have that weekend open for them.”
“True,” she admitted, “but let’s think of how to word that. In the meantime, let’s welcome them and assure them we have a cottage available. We could also ask how many people we should expect?”
They were all excited now, despite dealing with the gloomy correspondence from the bank. They sent the letters out and headed back to the island with a spring in their steps.
“I just wish we could work on the cabins over the winter,” Barbara lamented as they made plans. She was making lists of things they would like to do when they had the money. The letterhead, envelopes, and little pads were a nice touch. She also thought they should make postcards from the beautiful pictures they were taking with their camera. They had dropped off rolls of film at the drugstore and eagerly anticipated what the photos would look like when they picked them up.
“We can make the screens at least,” Marion tried to console her. “Maybe even some sections of the walls.” They kept themselves busy using the old Singer sewing machine to carefully cut the material they had purchased to make new cushions for the Runabout. They also shucked beans, filling bags with them. They had learned the sheep would only reluctantly eat the husks. The chickens merely pecked at them, and the silly guinea fowl enjoyed playing with them, practically drop-kicking them in the pen. They all kept busy that winter. The children did their homework, which became family discussions and brought up many interesting topics. The bookcase Marion built for the encyclopedias looked golden with the finish Barbara gave it, and the high gloss shone in the camp lanterns they used. Everyone benefited from reading topics out of the selections, especially the children, who learned to read aloud confidently in front of their audience. Their other books like Camping Tricks and Plumbing made Easy as well as dozens of other books filled the remaining shelves nicely.
February arrived, and they were all getting a little testy. The pipes to the first cabin froze and caused a mess. They made a note to always turn off the water to the summer cabins when they closed them up in the fall. The pipes for their cabin had been well-insulated against such an occurrence, and they were grateful they hadn’t had to clean up another watery mess like they found in the first cabin.
“What if we never get any money from the bank, and they give us a final demand for repayment of what we received?” Barbara fretted about the letters they had gotten. They hadn’t gotten a response from their other letters answering questions about what had occurred. They both had to provide full information about their husbands including their ranks and other information only a spouse would know about their husband’s army career. Both women were feeling a measure of survivor’s guilt, even though it wasn’t called that yet. They were feeling guilty for using benefits that their husbands had earned with their lives.
“Then we deal with that when it happens,” Marion returned, becoming a little snappy. She was tired of the constant worry. Spring hadn’t yet arrived, and they were unable to do anything. She had a pile of screens she had stretched for non-existent porches on cabins that were in various stages of construction and even for the ones not built yet. The children were indoors most days, and she was feeling closed in. Even worse, they had run out of cigarettes and hadn’t been able to make it into town to replenish them. The withdrawal they were both feeling without a constant supply of nicotine was telling. The worries were making them both bad-tempered. She was also thinking they should maybe stop such luxuries and non-necessities with all their expenses and with money getting tight. Both women smoked, and she felt maybe it was time they stopped this indulgence.
Barbara’s feelings were hurt by Marion’s waspishness, and she went out to chop down trees they needed for the remaining cabins. The snow made it easier to pull the logs, but the cold made it hard for her to breathe when she worked up a sweat under her layers of clothing. It was a miserable time but at least she could escape the cabin.
“No dinner?” Barbara asked, returning after chopping down a dead tree near the location of the fourth cabin.
“You make it,” Marion replied, hiding in their bedroom and reading a book to avoid the children, who were bored and getting on her nerves. They did their daily chores, reluctantly in the severe cold, but at least it got them out of the cabin for an hour; however, an hour was not enough for Marion to really get some alone time.
Barbara did make dinner, slamming cupboard doors and drawers as she fired up the stove and made a vegetable stew because they were running out of meat. She had wimped out on killing a deer and didn’t want to kill their sheep. The chickens and especially the guineas hadn’t fared well that winter, and they’d been plucking feathers from the dead animals since what seemed like Thanksgiving.
“This is good,” Brian tried to compliment Barbara, but the strange silence between the adults had settled over the whole cabin.
Even the dogs could sense the coldness between the two women and avoided them. Both women had taken to sleeping in their separate beds alone.
“When will this infernal snow stop coming down?” Marion bitched, looking out the window as the wind blew it into drifts.
“Maybe, if you went out in it, you’d clear the cobwebs from your mind and not feel so trapped,” Barbara advised and immediately regretted her words as Marion fixed her with a glare.
Marion had no choice but to go out in the snow later that day. Barbara had to shovel off the roofs of the two summer cottages, their shed, and the chicken coop, and she was on their cabin when she slipped and fell off. The children had been watching wrapped in scarves, mittens, and winter clothes, and they screamed as she lay on the snow drifts she had been shoveling off the steep roof. Marion was out the door like a shot, grabbing her winter jacket from the hook by the door.
“Oh, my God! Barbara, are you okay?” she asked, concerned, as she ran to where the brunette lay.
It was the depth of the snow drifts she had pushed off the roof that saved her from being really and truly hurt. The strain of the heavy snow and all her hard work as she struggled through it made her sore.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said as she tried to weakly push herself up out of the snow.
“My God, have you broken anything?” Marion tried to help her up and look for anything broken at the same time.
“Hang on. Let me get up,” Barbara said, struggling. Once erect, they began to swat off the clinging snow.
“Ow,” Barbara said as Marion slapped at her clothing a bit harder than she thought was necessary.
“Is that ‘Ow, that hurts from the fall’ or ‘Ow, that hurts from brushing the snow off me?’” Marion asked as she continued swiping at the snow.
“That’s, ‘Stop smacking me, or I’m going to start in on paybacks!’”
Relieved that Barbara hadn’t been hurt, Marion stepped back. Looking up at the larger woman, she asked, “Oh, yeah? Like how?”
Barbara immediately scooped up snow and began to make a snowball, the snow didn’t pack well, it was too cold, but the intent was there.
“Now, Barbara, you know I was kidding,” Marion began, backing up and holding her hands up in defense.
“Well, you have been ornery lately, and I think you were taking it out on me with the smacking,” Barbara returned, squashing the snow tightly together with sheer force.
“Don’t,” Marion warned, but she was laughing too. She was certain she could outrun or at least dodge the snowball before it landed. She was wrong, and as she turned to run, it landed squarely in the center of her back, exploding up into her hair and immediately starting to drip down the inside of her collar. “Arggh!” she exhaled at the cold, bending down to scoop up snow to make her own snowball and return the favor. The snowball fight was on, and the children and dogs joined in. Yelling, whooping, and barking ensued in all the commotion as they all worked off the funk they had fallen into. The snow clung to everything, and they finally stopped, conceding that despite the fall, Barbara was the master snowball thrower. They tromped into the screened porch to shake out their snow-covered clothing, sharing laughter over the unexpected event.
“That was something,” the children exclaimed, not having had fun with their moms like that in a long time.
Everyone had rosy cheeks and was puffing from the exertion. Barbara had to put away the ladder and shovel, figuring the other half of the roof would melt in the sunshine that had managed to squeak through the fluffy clouds. As she entered the screened porch to shake out her own clothes, already unbuttoning her jacket, a carefully aimed snowball hit her directly below her chin causing it to blow up in her face. Gasping in surprise, she couldn’t help but hear Marion’s explosive laughter.
“Oh, I’m sooo sorry,” Marion tried to get out between the laughter. “I didn’t think I’d actually hit you!” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t missed by a mile. Her aim was terrible, which had been proven in the snowball fight with the children. She carefully gathered up the snow they’d tracked in, and using the slightly melted mess, she fashioned the snowball that was now plastered to Barbara’s surprised chest.
“Oh, yeah?” Barbara challenged, more amused now that the initial surprise had worn off. “Remember my friend, payback....”
The children were delighted. It had been wonderful to see their parents playing instead of fighting. The atmosphere in the small cabin lifted immeasurably.