Kyllikki was watching Matti pack his good shoes and clothes. “You promised me you’d leave the puukko at home.”
“Except for work,” he replied. “This is work.”
“No,” she said in English—emphatically.
Matti walked over to the kitchen sink, looked out the small window, then whirled around and savagely kicked the kindling pile next to the stove, scattering it against the wall.
“The goddamn son of a bitch.” He grabbed the flatiron sitting on the stove top and hurled it, putting a deep dent in the bead-board wall.
That made her mad. He was acting like a child. Then she caught herself; he was acting like a man whose family was endangered and who was powerless to do anything about it.
Matti had gone back to staring out of the window.
“Take Aksel. He’s more levelheaded and his English is better than yours. The puukko stays here.”
“Aino is right,” Matti muttered. He looked over his shoulder at her. “In this country, you steal five dollars and you go to jail. You steal a railroad and you go to Congress.”
“She didn’t make that up.”
Suvi started crying. Kyllikki picked her up, shushing her gently, and walked over to Matti. “Daddy wants to hold you,” she said, handing her to Matti. “Don’t you, Daddy?” He took Suvi in that awkward way men have, as though they’ve been handed something beyond price and made of matchsticks. She watched his mood disappear, as she knew it would. Snuggling up to him, Suvi between them, she said, “We’ll get through it.”
He looked at her. “Yoh,” he said softly.
Matti and Aksel were ushered into Drummond’s office by his secretary. He greeted them like old friends he hadn’t seen for years. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“Ei,” Matti said. It came out like the warning growl of an aroused German shepherd.
“He means, ‘No thank you,’” Aksel said quietly in English.
“Ah, yes. Well, coffee then?” He didn’t wait for an answer but walked to the door. Leaning out, he called to the woman who escorted them in. “Hey, Kate, how about some of that coffee Bill Brewer dropped off?” He turned back to Matti and Aksel. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Black,” Aksel said.
Drummond leaned out the door again and called out: “Black.”
He sat behind his desk again. “So, I’m guessing you boys are here about the money.”
“Our money,” Aksel said.
“Sure, sure. Of course, it is.” Kate came through the door with the coffee. She gave a slight nod of her head to Drummond as she served them. “Thank you, Kate,” Drummond said, not looking at her. Aksel gave Matti a be-careful look. “But, surely, you boys understand businesses often experience cash problems,” Drummond was going on. “Of course, it’s your money. We just have to be a little patient is all.”
Matti looked at Aksel. He understood the English perfectly well but wanted the time to think and cool down while Aksel translated, adding in Finnish: “Keep your temper.”
He turned to Drummond. “We want our money, now. We’re having cash problems of our own.”
“Of course,” Drummond said. “That’s why we have banks. I tell you what, we could open a line of credit, tide you over until we get this little situation solved.”
“If you have money for the loan, why not for the logs?” Aksel asked.
“You know the bank’s money isn’t my money. It belongs to our depositors.” He paused, looking for some reaction. There was none. The two faces were masks, devoid of any signals. It unnerved him slightly. “You just put up a little collateral. I don’t know. Maybe equipment. And the money is yours.”
“Why you not borrowing money from depositors and paying us money you owing us?” Matti broke in, unable to constrain himself any longer.
“Well, come now, Mr. Koski. That’s a bit unseemly.” Drummond gave a chuckle. “I mean, the president of his own bank borrowing for one of his businesses. There are rules of ethics about things like that.”
Matti stood and pounded his fist on Drummond’s desk, making his coffee cup jump along with pencils and framed photographs. Aksel rose with him, putting his hand on Matti’s wrist. Matti tossed Aksel’s hand aside.
“I want my money now.”
“Or?” Drummond said coolly. “We’ll go to court? It’d be here in Nordland. It’s what’s called legal venue.” He smiled. “Or maybe word would get out that some Finnish gyppo logged nearly a mile-long strip of John Reder’s timber.”
Aksel visibly jerked.
“And you go to jail with me,” Matti said.
“Oh,” Drummond said, his face mocking. “How was I to know the logs were stolen timber?”
Just then the door opened and Drummond’s secretary poked her head in. “Chief Brewer to see you, sir.”
Brewer and another police officer walked through the door. “Mr. Drummond,” Brewer said. He looked at Matti and Aksel. “They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?”
“No, no. Of course, not.” Drummond leaned back in his chair. “It wouldn’t cross their minds.”
At dinner the next Sunday, Aino let Matti have it. “You see now, big businessman? You see where laws and government get you in a capitalist system?”
“Oh, sure. The big money from Astoria speaks.”
“Aino,” Matti growled.
“You’re all damned fools. All you want to do is get into the pig trough with the other pigs.”
“Aino!” Ilmari slapped the table. She stopped. “It’s not about capitalism or socialism,” Ilmari went on evenly. “Mr. Drummond is a bad man. Both systems have bad men.”
“No, they don’t.” She jabbed her finger at Ilmari. “The capitalists are in it for themselves. Socialists are in it for other people. They can’t be bad.”
“Oh, Aino,” Matti said.
“Oh Aino, what?” she shot back.
“Don’t be a fool.”
“Like the fool that bit off more than he can swallow, worked us all for nothing, owes the bank and his wife’s father years of wages and his partner’s fishing boat money?”
“You’re all fools,” Rauha said quietly. They all looked at her. “Contracts. The law. Socialism. The good of the people. Good men. Bad men.” She harrumphed. “It’s all foolish talk to make you believe you are more powerful than you really are. The people with the real power give us all this socialist, capitalist, legal, moral nonsense while they do what they want.”
“But I have a contract,” Matti said.
“I have a contract,” she mimicked him. She shook her head. “A contract in the hands of someone who can’t afford a lawyer is toilet paper.”
Matti shoved his chair back and went outside, slamming the door.
“You’re being a little hard on him,” Kyllikki said.
“Reality is hard on everyone,” Rauha answered.
That night Rauha wrote a letter to her mother explaining what 200-Foot Logging owed Sampo Manufacturing for her and Ilmari’s direct labor at the show, for all the blacksmithing done without payment; what Drummond owed 200-Foot Logging; and what all that meant in total dollars for the major shareholder of Sampo Manufacturing.
Two weeks later, a letter arrived at Higgins’s store. Higgins had secured the position of postmaster for Tapiola, eliminating the need to go to Knappton for the mail. The envelope contained a check for the full amount from some company none of them had ever heard of, but it was signed by Al Drummond. Matti took the check to Astoria where he deposited it into the account with First National Bank of Oregon. Ten days later, the check cleared. Christmas of 1912 was a good one for the Koskis.