“That’s right!” Thomas exclaimed. “The first time I saw a sheep with its back half-eaten, I didn’t know what it was. I never knew maggots could get into the fleece and eat away the flesh.”
Ronnie’s mouth fell open. “God! That’s awful!”
“So, that’s another thing you’ve learned.” Barney took out his pipe and lighting up, began puffing away. “They’ve to be dipped and they’ve to be sheared. It’s a cycle and if it goes out of rhythm, something suffers somewhere along the way.”
He blew out a halo of smoke. “You’ll both make good farmers, if that’s what you want. But there’s still much to be learned. There’s the wintering, and ordering of foodstuff, and keeping up with what’s new. Then there’s the paperwork, oh aye! Yon paperwork will keep you up till the early hours, and when that’s done, it’s time to get up for the milking.” He sighed deeply and pulled on his pipe. “It’s not like a job most other poor devils do—if they can get it—where you clock on in the morning and clock off again at night.”
He looked from one to the other. “You work with the land and the animals; you’re controlled by the seasons.” He smiled contentedly. “It’s hard work and by, it takes it out of you, but I swear to God you’ll never find a better way of life.” Taking his pipe out, he paused, before saying in a serious voice, “I can’t tell either of you how to live your life and I wouldn’t dream of doing that. It might be that you don’t want to work for Mr. Maitland and stay here in Comberton. You’re both my sons and I’m proud of you, but you must spend your lives the way you see fit.”
“I’ve already decided what I want to do.” Thomas had been giving it some serious thought lately. “At first I wasn’t so sure, but now I am: I want to make farming my life. I want the kind of life you and Mother have had.”
Barney was thrilled. “I’ll not deny we’ve had a good life, me and your mother …”
Ronnie interrupted with a quiet smile. “With many more years to come yet, eh, Dad?”
Taken aback by Ronnie’s remark, Barney felt his heart turn over. “Aye, lad, that’s right … many more to come yet.” God willing, he thought. God willing.
“And I’m the same.” Like Thomas, Ronnie had missed the look of regret in his father’s eye. “I want to farm an’ all. Winter or summer, it’s a great way of life.”
Barney was filled with emotion, that his two sons had seen such contentment in his own life that they wanted the same for themselves. “I’m glad,” he told them chokily. “It were allus my wish that the two of you would follow in my footsteps. But it had to be your decision, not mine.”
Just then, Lucy and Joanne arrived to join them, little Jamie toddling between them.
Barney grabbed hold of Joanne’s free hand. “Is there any o’ that elderberry wine left over from dinner, sweetheart?”
“Half a bottle.” Joanne instinctively squeezed his hand. “Why?”
His face beamed up at her. “’Cause we’ve summat to celebrate, that’s why.” He gestured toward his sons. “You and me have talked long and often, wondering whether the boys might take up the farming as a way of life, and tonight, they’ve give me their answer.”
When Barney’s smile widened, Joanne gave a little squeal of excitement. “Oh Barney! So they want to be farmers, like their dad?” With moist eyes and a smile hovering between tears and laughter, she ran to hug them. “Oh, I’m so glad!” And now the tears came. “We did think you might eventually decide to go out into the big, wide world and do summat different, but oh, we did hope …”
Ronnie held onto her a moment longer. “If you’re gonna start crying, we might have to change our minds. Stop it, Mam, you’re scaring the little ’un.”
Laughing, she scooped Jamie up and said to Lucy, “We’ll go and get the kettle on, shall we, and dig out the wine again.”
“Good idea.” Lucy went up to the two young men and gave them each a kiss. “It’s wonderful news.”
Back in the big farmhouse kitchen, with everyone sitting comfortably, Barney filled the glasses and Joanne handed them round. “A toast!” Barney raised his glass. “To a fourth generation of the Davidson farmers.”
He thought with pride of his father and grandfather, and the ones who had gone before, all contented men who had lived well into their eighties. And now, his own two sons were to carry on the tradition.
His sense of pride was mingled with regret.
He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see the next generation; his own grandchildren. That would be the greatest thing.
Somehow, though, his instinct told him that he was not destined to live the long life of his forefathers.
Twelve
Leonard Maitland had spent several days trudging the many fine streets of Boston, going from one office to another, placating irate creditors and dealing with problems he had never envisaged. There was no chance for him to explore the city this time. As he strode along today, he thought how he would have loved to watch the Red Sox basketball team play at Fenway Park, as he had so often done with his grandfather, but there was no time, no time! His whole future depended on putting things right. Having studied everything with the lawyer executing the terms of Farley Kemp’s Will, he had been kept so busy his feet had hardly touched the ground.
And now he was on his way to the lawyer’s office to tie up all the loose ends.
“Go right in, sir.” Smart and efficient, the young woman behind the reception had the sweetest smile. “Mr. Lovatt is expecting you.”
“Good to see you, Lenny. Please come in.” The big man with the horn-rimmed spectacles threw open the door of his inner office. “I believe we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”
Having been a respected lawyer in New York before the Wall Street Crash last year, Mr. Lovatt’s experience of matters relating to property was unsurpassed and, not surprisingly, his appointment book was invariably full.
Gesturing to the big leather armchair, he informed Leonard, “I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a cup of coffee. I’ll order it while you make yourself comfortable.” With that, he pressed a button on his desk and said, “Clara, a pot of coffee, please. Our client may also appreciate a few of those cookies your mom made—that is, if you have any left?” There was a pause, then, “That’s great!”
Returning his attention to Leonard, the lawyer took up a thick file and slid it across the desk to him. “It’s all there—names, addresses, the extent of debt and terms agreed.” He grinned smugly. “We’ve covered a lot of ground, negotiated with the creditors, and now, with the meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning, the rest should be just a formality.”
Leonard nodded his appreciation. “You’ve done all the back-breaking work, and it goes without saying, I’m very grateful.”
The big man settled back in his chair. “As you know, I don’t come cheap,” he said with a disarming smile. “It’s my job to know the enemy. Once you know what you’re up against, you can prepare for battle.” He tapped his nose shrewdly. “And win.”
Leonard was nervous, but he had done his homework and was ready. “It’s just unfortunate that it had to be this way.”
The big man also regretted the situation. “Look, Lenny, with regard to your grandfather’s Will, I’m real sorry it turned out like this.”
“It did come as a shock,” Leonard muttered, casting his gaze to the papers in front of him. “I always thought that Farley was a wealthy man. He certainly always lived like one. He spoiled me rotten when my parents died, and he and Gramma Sophie came over to England to take me back with them.” A lump came into his throat. His parents had died when he was four, in an influenza epidemic in London. “It shook me to the core when you told me he was in so much debt, he was on the brink of losing everything.”
When he looked up, his expression was pained. “Why in God’s name did he have to be so proud?” he said thickly. “If only he had confided in me, I would have helped. Dear Lord, it must have troubled him so much!”
“I plead
ed with him time and again to contact you,” the big attorney said sadly. “I would have contacted you myself, but he absolutely forbade it.” He threw his arms out in a gesture of helplessness. “All along, he insisted he had everything under control. I wasn’t privy to all your grandfather’s interests, so of course I took him at his word.”
Just then, a tap sounded on the door and in came the young woman called Clara with a tray containing a big pot of coffee, a jug of cream and a plate of delicious-looking biscuits. She poured them each a cup, and said with a smile, “If there’s anything else, you will let me know, won’t you?”
The big man held out the plate. “Cookie?”
Leonard took one. “However could my grandfather have got so deep into gambling?” he mused aloud for the hundredth time, before drinking a sip of coffee and biting into the biscuit.
“You recall I told you about the two Irish brothers that Farley befriended?” the lawyer asked. “How they came to work for him at the spread and turned up drunk one night, with a racehorse they’d won on the gambling. Your grandfather had been awful lonely these past few years, ever since he lost his wife. He found a welcome distraction at the racetrack, and he had a few lucky strikes before it all went wrong. You see, like all gamblers, he always believed the next big win was just around the corner.” He shrugged. “An intelligent man like that … He wasn’t the first to get in above his head and you can bet your bottom dollar he won’t be the last. It’s a sad thing, Lenny—but it happens.”
Deep down, if he was honest with himself, Leonard had not been too surprised at what the lawyer had told him. “He always liked to place a bet on sporting events,” he admitted. “I recall Grandmother lecturing him one time, but it was never a problem, not then anyway. And why in God’s name did the banks let him get into so much debt?”
The attorney pointed to the file on his desk. “As you’ve already seen, it wasn’t only the banks, though they were by far the biggest creditors. Mr. Kemp borrowed money from whoever would lend it, and no one refused, because they knew him as a respected and reliable man who ran one of the biggest homesteads in this part of Massachusetts. The Depression has affected everyone here in the States, as it has in your country, and these people want their loans repaying. They need that money, Lenny.”
“And now, if we can’t agree on a settlement, everything may have to be sold.” Leonard recalled the place where he had spent so many wonderful childhood years, and his face set grimly. “I swear I’ll behave honorably toward everyone who is owed money, but at the same time, I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep the land.”
The other man heard the passion in his client’s voice and saw how his fists instinctively clenched. “We’ve done all we can,” he assured him. “Tomorrow morning will tell us if it was enough.”
Despairing but not altogether without hope, Leonard returned to his hotel in Beacon Hill. So preoccupied was he, he hardly noticed the pretty cobblestoned streets and grand old townhouses that characterized this famed quarter of Boston. Feverishly, he went through his notes yet again, then packed them away into his briefcase. He glanced at the clock and, seeing how he had hours before he could sleep, slipped his jacket on and went out to find the nearest bar.
Ordering a beer, he went to sit at a table in the corner, where he thought ahead to the imminent, all-important meeting with the creditors. How would they react to his offer? Would they accept it as the best course open to them? Or would they insist that the Kemp estate be sold and the monies split between them?
Gulping down his beer, he felt nervous and worried.
What if it all went wrong?
What if the estate went to auction and was lost forever? Certainly he could never afford to bid for it.
What if this … what if that. His mind was in a whirl.
With so much at stake, tomorrow could not come quickly enough.
The following morning, Leonard climbed out of bed, weary from lack of sleep and eager to be on his way. He showered and shaved and put on a clean shirt and an expensive silk tie that Patricia had bought for him. Looking at his image in the mirror he shook his head. “God Almighty, look at the state of you!” With dark circles under his eyes and wisps of unruly hair protruding from behind his ears, he presented a sorry picture. “Leonard Maitland, you’re a damned mess.”
Slicking back the clumps of hair, he fastened his jacket, straightened his tie and turned away. He was ready to do battle. And with that he went smartly out of the room.
Farley Kemp had borrowed money from many sources, but the largest slice of debt was owed to a major bank. The meeting was scheduled to take place there.
The doorman whistled up a cab. Handing him a dime for his trouble, Leonard climbed in and gave directions to the bank. Settling himself into his seat with the all-important documents on his lap, he peered out at the Boston streets, seeing nothing.
On arriving at his destination, he paid the cabbie and watched him drive away. For a long, pensive moment he stood on the sidewalk looking up at the building; an imposing structure with dark-suited businessmen arriving and departing through its doors. This was the place where his future would be decided.
As he came out of the elevator, he could hear them: the shuffle and bustle of many people in one room; the scraping of chairs and the pacing of footsteps; and as he opened the door to the offices, he could almost smell their anger.
Suddenly, a cloak of silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to look at him. Nervous and unsure, he nodded, his confident smile belying the turmoil inside.
“Very well, gentlemen.” Justin Lovatt took the chair. “We’re all here now, so we may as well get started.”
Everyone present made their way to the large oval table in the center of the room. When they were seated, Leonard noted that some men were softly talking, while others sat in silence, looking angry and morose. All had but one purpose in mind: to get their money back.
When he had first entered the room, his eyes were instinctively drawn to a large, bespectacled man who, seeing to keep his distance from the others, was staring out of the window. It was he who now voiced what everyone else was thinking. “Mr. Lovatt, before you begin proceedings, can I just tell you this. All we want is to get back what we lent in good faith.” His voice was surprisingly calm and soft. “We all have businesses to run, so let’s get on with it.”
Two hours later, they were still “getting on with it.”
An hour into the meeting, the men were on their feet, declaring with raised voices that they wanted every cent back and would not settle for half measures. No amount of persuasion from Justin Lovatt could convince them of any other way forward.
Deeply frustrated and losing hope, Leonard asked permission to speak. He was initially greeted with a hubbub of noise from enraged men who would not be pacified, but then the big, bespectacled man called for order. “Let Farley Kemp’s grandson speak,” he said firmly. “He is not to blame for his grandfather’s mismanagement, so give him a chance. We’re getting nowhere like this.”
Standing up amongst them, Leonard looked round the table at the faces of these men whom his grandfather had known well; men who had trusted him to repay what they lent in good faith—and he felt ashamed.
Clearing his throat, he began to speak. “Firstly, I want to say how I understand your anger. You trusted my grandfather and he let you down badly, and I apologize for that. I know that, despite the Crash, some of you could well afford to lose the money if you had to …” when they began loudly protesting, he put up his hand … “please, if you will just let me have my say.” When they were again attentive, he went on, “I’m not saying that you will or should lose any money. Of course you want your money back and rightly so. And there are those amongst you who cannot afford to lose what you lent. I know that and I’m here today to try and settle matters one way or another.”
He looked at the documents lying on the table before him, and a great sense of bitterness overwhelmed him. His grandfather’s reputation
was shattered forever; there was family honor at stake, and a debt to pay, and it was up to him to pacify these men who had put their trust in a man who had betrayed them and reneged on his debts.
What could he say to appease them? How could he put things right?
He was so deep in his reverie that he had not realized how long his lapse of concentration was; until he heard them shifting impatiently in their seats, and their exchanged whispers as they grew restless.
“See here, Mr. Maitland: have you got our money or not—that’s all we need to know.” That was the sallow-faced, gray-suited man on the far end.
“That’s right!” another voice joined in. “Have you brought our money from England?”
“No!” he answered truthfully. Strong and clear, his stark words echoed across the room, effectively silencing everyone. “I have money for you, yes, but it isn’t what you might have hoped.”
“What in hell does that mean?”
The voices began to rise. “If you’re here to waste our time, we might as well leave now.”
“All we want is our money back, God dammit.”
“Gentlemen, this is the situation,” Leonard quickly explained. “I have a farm in England, which I can sell tomorrow—and I will. But it won’t make enough to clear all the debts. Since I’ve been here I’ve raised as much money as I can, but even with the sale of my own farm, it still isn’t sufficient to cover the total sums owed.” Before they could start protesting again, he went swiftly on. “I’ve gone through everything with Mr. Lovatt here, and we’ve calculated that you will get back seventy percent of what’s owed—”
“Seventy percent!” The voices began again. “What the hell use is that?”
“We won’t settle for less than what we’re owed! Plus interest!”
“So, this is all a waste of our time? You got us here under false pretenses. Jesus! You’re no better than your grandfather!”
The rage threatened to erupt.
At this point Justin Lovatt stood up and called for quiet. “Mr. Maitland has come a long way, and gone to a lot of trouble to try and sort out his family’s debts, which are not—I repeat not—of his making. I believe you are all men enough to appreciate what he’s been trying to do. The least you can do now is give him a fair hearing.”
The Journey Page 17
