by Al Lacy
Weary from the strain of the day, he decided to go to bed early. As soon as he slipped between the sheets, he began praying.
“Lord, please help me to be an effective witness at the bank. Let me use Dad’s death as an infidel to help the employees see they need to be ready to die. I’m concerned especially for Haman. Please work in his heart. Help me to be a shining light for You to the community, too, Lord.
“And, Lord … I … I sure am lonely. You provided Adam a wife because You said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an helpmeet for him.’ Well, it isn’t good for this man to be alone, either. I only want the woman You’ve chosen for me. You haven’t seen fit to bring her into my life yet, but I’m asking You to do so soon.
“Lord, I thank You for the way You’ve guided my life ever since I was saved as a boy. And I’m thanking You in advance that You will answer my prayer for a wife.”
7
BY MIDMORNING THE NEXT DAY, Blake Barrett had moved his personal items into his father’s office at the bank. Bradley Barrett’s office was large and well furnished. He had also kept a desk just outside the office in an area where Blake and Haman had their desks, plus desks for a secretary and a secretary-receptionist. The area was surrounded by a waist-high railing and was entered by three separate gates.
Once Blake had arranged things in the inner office to suit himself, he did the same with the desk in the enclosed area. While he was moving the last of his things, he saw Bill Borah enter the lobby and he reentered the large office to pick up Borahs loan papers, which he’d left on the desk there.
Borah spoke to a couple of customers who were waiting in line at the tellers’ cages, then approached the receptionist, Sandy Benton.
“Good morning, Sandy. Mr. Barrett is expecting me to come in today and close on my loan.”
“Yes, Mr. Borah, he mentioned that to me earlier.” Sandy looked over her shoulder. “He was at his outer desk just a moment ago. Come on through the gate. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Sandy had just risen from her chair when Blake came out of his office carrying a folder. “I saw him coming, Sandy. Hi, Bill. Come on over here and sit down.”
As Borah passed secretary Hortense Reed’s desk, she looked up from a stack of papers and smiled shyly. “Hello, Mr. Borah. Nice day.”
“Sure is,” he said.
Haman Warner had a customer at his desk and only nodded at Bill, then put his attention back on the customer.
Within twenty minutes, Borah was shaking hands with Blake, thanking him for the loan.
As he was leaving, he held open the gate for a well-dressed young couple who had just been invited by Sandy to come in and sit down in front of her desk.
Blake was placing papers back in Bill Borahs file folder when he heard the man say, “I’m Ben Roper, ma’am. This is my wife, Minnie. We just got married, and we want to open a checking account.”
“I’ll be happy to take care of that for you, folks,” Sandy said.
Blake slid some papers to the center of his desk and began going over them while picking up bits and pieces from Sandy’s conversation with the young couple.
Roper pulled out a wad of currency. “I’ve been working the gold mines in the Sierras, ma’am. I didn’t have a checking account. Did everything by cash. But now that I’ve married Minnie and am going to settle here in Sacramento, I figured it was time to put my money in the bank.”
“Smart move,” Sandy said. “Did you two meet in the mountains?”
“Well, not exactly,” Minnie said. “We met by mail first, then after a few months of corresponding, I came out here from Baltimore, Maryland, to be Ben’s mail order bride.”
Blake’s head came up with a start.
“Oh! I think that’s wonderful!” Sandy said. “How romantic!”
Sandy asked all the necessary questions to process the Ropers’ account and then placed signature cards before them and held out pen and ink. The Ropers signed the cards and Sandy blotted them, then picked up the thick wad of currency and said, “How much do we have here, Mr. Roper?”
“Eight thousand dollars, ma’am.”
Sandy nodded, filled out a deposit slip, then rose from her desk and said, “I’ll take this to one of the tellers and be back with your receipt.”
Blake left his desk and approached the young couple. “Hello,” he said, extending his hand to Ben. “My name is Blake Barrett. I’m president of the bank.”
The Ropers looked a little shocked to see such a young man bear the title of president. Ben Roper stood up and shook hands with him. Minnie offered her hand, and Blake gave it a gentle shake, then said, “I couldn’t help overhearing what you told Mrs. Benton, ma’am. You came from Baltimore as this gentleman’s mail order bride?”
Minnie looked up at Ben and smiled. “Yes,” she said, sighing with contentment. “And I’m sure glad I did.”
“Not half as glad as I am,” Ben said, reaching for her hand.
“I’ve heard, of course, of young women coming from eastern cities to become mail order brides,” Blake said, “but I’ve never met one.”
Minnie smiled. “Well, Mr. Barrett, you’ll never be able to say that again, will you?”
Blake chuckled. “You’re right about that!”
“Isn’t she something?” Ben said, his gaze roaming over Minnie’s features.
Blake grinned, but didn’t reply. “So how did you find her, Mr. Roper? Newspaper ad?”
“That’s right. Baltimore Globe.”
“Did you put ads in several newspapers?”
“I guess about a dozen of them. All in newspapers in large cities.”
“I hope you don’t mind my asking these questions.”
“We don’t mind at all,” Ben replied.
Blake grinned again. “So did you get a lot of responses?”
“Sure did. Must’ve had some fifteen or sixteen women write me.”
“How did you happen to pick this young lady?”
“Process of elimination. I only wrote back to four women. The others didn’t interest me.”
“But how did you eliminate the other three and finally narrow it down to Mrs. Roper?”
“Well, the four women and I exchanged photographs and wrote about our likes and dislikes … that kind of thing. One of them didn’t write me back. Maybe she decided I was too ugly.”
“Oh, Ben,” Minnie said, giving his hand a squeeze. “That couldn’t have been it! Not as good-looking as you are!”
Roper put a hand under her graceful chin. “You just keep thinking that, honey.” Then to Barrett: “The three women and I corresponded for about two months, and soon I knew it was Minnie.”
“You see, Mr. Barrett,” Minnie said, “at the same time I was writing to Ben, I was also corresponding with two other men whose ads I had answered. How do I put it … there was something about Ben’s personality that pulled me toward him. You can tell a lot about a man when you’re getting long letters from him two or three times a week.”
Ben’s eyes held an expression of pure adoration as he reluctantly turned from looking at Minnie and said to Blake, “So by the time we’d been writing about three months, we both knew we had the same interests and goals in life. We dropped the others and seriously pursued each other. “We—”
Sandy Benton came through the gate near her desk. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s all right, ma’am,” Ben Roper said. “As I was about to say, Mr. Barrett, Minnie and I corresponded another month or so and decided it was time to get together. I sent her the money, and a few days after she received it, I met her at the Sacramento depot. She lived in a boarding-house in Placerville while I continued my gold mining. After about six weeks of getting acquainted in person, we tied the knot. And boy, am I glad we did!”
Minnie giggled.
Sandy raised an eyebrow at Barrett and said, “Thinking of getting yourself a mail order bride, boss?”
The surprise on both the Ropers’ faces was comical.
“I figured you were married, Mr. Barrett,” Ben said.
“Me, too,” said Minnie. “Fine-looking man like you.”
Blake blushed.
Sandy said in a joking tone, “Mr. Barrett has the ideal young lady pictured in his mind, folks, but I’m afraid she doesn’t really exist.”
“Oh, yes, she does,” Blake responded. “She’s somewhere in this world, and one of these days she’ll come walking into my life. And I’ll know her when I see her.”
Sandy handed Ben Roper his receipt and said, “Hope you folks enjoy banking here. Oh!” She opened a desk drawer. “And here are your checks.”
Ben Roper thanked her. As he and Minnie were about to leave, he said, “Mr. Barrett, maybe your ideal young lady is in the East somewhere, just waiting for an ad from a bank president who needs a wife. You ought to give it a try.”
Blake grinned. “Maybe I will.”
“Let us know if you do … and how it turns out.”
Blake laughed. “Sure!”
When they had gone out the door, Sandy wiggled her eyebrows and said, “Mail order bride for Mr. Blake Barrett, eh?”
Blake gave her a mock scowl. “Mind your own business, woman!”
Sandy giggled as he walked back to his desk and picked up Bill Borahs file, then carried it to Hortense. “Put this away, please, would you?
Hortense nodded with a smile.
Haman’s customer had left before the Ropers, and Haman had heard the last part of Blake’s conversation. He smiled at Blake and said, “Maybe that’s what you and I both should do, B—Oops! I’m not supposed to call you by your first name anymore, now that you’re the man in the big office.”
Blake put his hands on top of Haman’s desk, leaned down, and whispered, “You can still call me Blake, except in the presence of customers. The employees are so used to hearing us call each other by our first names, they’d think we were at odds if we did anything else.”
“You’re right about that,” said Haman, also keeping his voice low. “We certainly wouldn’t want the employees to think we weren’t getting along, would we? Not when we’ve been such good friends ever since you graduated from college and came to work here.”
“That’s for sure. Mr. Hayworth was at your desk for quite a while. Did you get the information we need?”
“Sure did. His corporation wants to build a new office building right here in downtown Sacramento. They’re trying to buy the two vacant lots between the other bank and Martins Clothing Store.”
Blake pursed his lips. “That would be a good spot for them. He say how the purchase of the lots looks?”
“Yes. Says it’s looking pretty good. And—”
“Mr. Barrett …” came Sandy Benton’s voice.
Blake turned and saw attorney Dan Laymon standing by her desk, a briefcase in his hand.
“Mr. Laymon is here to see Mr. Warner,” she said. “He says you know what it’s about.”
“Yes, Sandy. Come on over, Dan.”
Haman’s brow furrowed. “He wants to see me?”
“That’s right,” Laymon said as he passed through the gate.
“I hope somebody’s not suing me, or something like that,” Warner said with a chuckle.
“Ah … no. What I have is good news. Very good news.”
“Oh. Well, I’m always happy to hear good news!”
To Blake, the lawyer said, “Could we use your father’s office? I mean, your office, now, I imagine.”
“Yes,” Blake said. “It’s my office now, but since I know what this is about, and I understand the privacy you need, you’re welcome to use it.”
Haman looked at Blake quizzically. “You know what this is about?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Haman shrugged, looked at the attorney, and said, “Well, if the boss knows about it, and he’s still willing to let us use his new office, it really must be good.”
“You gentlemen have a nice time,” Blake said. “I’ve got paperwork up to my ears on the desk right here. Haman, we’ll get together later on John Hayworth and the Ridgely Corporation.”
“All right.”
Laymon and Warner entered the large office and closed the door.
When Haman had taken his seat, he looked expectantly at Dan Laymon and waited for him to speak.
Laymon set his briefcase on the edge of the desk and took out a file folder. From it he produced two official-looking sets of papers. He handed Warner one set of the papers and said, “This is a copy of Mr. Bradley Barrett’s last will and testament.”
Warner stared at the lawyer blankly. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barrett had our firm make some changes in his will shortly before he died. There was something he wanted to do for you, and I’m here to show it to you.”
Haman’s blood started to race.
“Mr. Warner, Bradley Barrett thought a lot of you, and he’s done something that is quite rare for a man to do for an employee.”
Haman blinked. “Oh?”
“Would you please turn to the second page.
Some seven or eight minutes later, attorney Dan Laymon emerged from the inner office and came to Blake’s desk.
Blake looked up. “Was he surprised?”
“Very much so. He would like for you to come into the office.”
“Sure,” Blake said, rising from his chair.
Laymon had his briefcase in hand. “My part is done; I’ll see you later.”
“All right. And thanks.”
Haman Warner was on his feet, standing in the center of the office, when Blake entered and closed the door. He was dabbing his cheeks with a handkerchief as he said, “Blake, I never dreamed your dad would do a thing like this for me. He was always good to me, of course, and paid me well, as you know, but this—“He choked up, then drew in a deep breath and said, “This is wonderful. The 5 percent bonus is terribly generous. I don’t deserve such magnanimous consideration.”
“Dad figured you do. And I’m in total agreement.”
“That means more to me than I can ever tell you, Blake. But 5 percent of the net annual income is that much less you will get.”
Blake cuffed him playfully. “Hey, my friend, you are a great part of what makes this bank successful. I’m glad to see you get the bonus.”
“Rest assured I will always try to earn it.”
Blake laid a hand on his shoulder. “Dad saw you work hard the seven plus years you’ve been here. He knew your heart was in it, and he wanted you to be rewarded for your faithful service. And I certainly do, too.”
Haman’s lips quivered. “Thank you.”
“Now what you have to do, my good friend, is find yourself a wife so she can enjoy your financial gain with you.”
Haman chuckled. “Yeah. One of those mail order brides, huh?”
“That Ben Roper sure did all right for himself by mail.”
A grin spread over Haman’s not-so-handsome face. “Mm-hm-m-m-m! If I could get one that pretty, I’d be one happy ex-bachelor, I’m telling you!
Blake chuckled. “There’s only one thing in this life that would make you happier.”
Haman’s grin faded. “Yeah. I know. Get saved.”
“Right.”
“You know I don’t want to offend you, Blake. But as I’ve told you probably fifty times, I’m like your dad when it comes to this religious stuff. I just don’t need it.”
“And as I’ve told you probably fifty times, opening your heart to the Lord Jesus and letting Him save your hell-bound soul is not religion. It’s salvation. Dad died without Jesus, Haman. I don’t want to see you do the same thing.”
“Well, I’m just a few years younger than your dad. In fact I’m only two years older than you, Blake. I’ve got plenty of time to think about dying.”
“The only problem with that kind of thinking is that lots of people who believe they’ve got till midnight to live, die at eleven-thirty. The greatest need you have i
s Jesus Christ. You die without Him, and you lose everything … even your own soul.”
Haman changed the subject. “Blake, I know you’re having a headstone made for your dad’s grave.”
“Yes …”
“Could I at least show my respect for him, and my appreciation, by paying for half of the stone?”
Blake peered into Haman’s eyes. “You really want to do this?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, because Dad thought so much of you, I’ll let you share half the cost as you ask.”
A smile curved Warner’s thick lips. “Thanks. Please let me know when you need the money.”
“All right.”
A serious look came over Haman’s features.
“Yes?” said Blake.
“I just want to say that I appreciate your friendship.”
“And I yours.”
“I … I hope you and I can develop the same kind of friendship I had with Bradley Barrett.”
“Me, too,” said Blake.
That evening, when Haman Warner entered his apartment, he sat down at his small kitchen table to look over Bradley Barrett’s will. At the office Dan Laymon had only discussed the 5 percent bonus with him, then told him to read the rest of the will for himself, since there was more in there that concerned him.
Haman had eaten a rich meal at the Blue Pacific Cafe, and he belched as he took the will out of the envelope Laymon had provided. Before he started reading, he chuckled, saying out loud, “I’ve got that stupid Blake Barrett eating right out of my hand! He’s as muddle-brained as his old man. If Blake only knew … if the old man had only known of the money I’ve stolen from the bank in the past seven years!” He laughed heartily.
“Yes, sir! Good of Haman Warner bilked Brad Barrett of thousands! And not even once was he suspected when the losses were discovered! Clever man, Haman! Too smart for the old boy and the rest of the stupid people at the Pacific Bank and Trust Company!”
He threw back his head and snorted. “Yes, sir, Brad of boy! All that money I took from you is sitting safely in a San Francisco bank under my assumed name, and nobody’s the wiser! And now—“He laughed, belching again. “And now, clever Haman Warner is getting 5 percent of the profits! Not bad! Not bad at all! And just for being so loyal to you, Brad!”
