An Island Between Us

by K'Anne Meinel

  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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  They took out exactly half of the cash in their checking accounts, hoping this would tide them over. They laid in their winter supplies, filling the boat with boxes of canned and dried goods as well as other necessities such as corn and grain for their animals. They wanted to do this before the bank took the funds, but they also didn’t want to raise any red flags by their actions. They were going to fight the bank, but it would take time. Already, they had received a second notice from the bank demanding they repay the funds they had used. Their official response letters had been ignored, and the banker had hidden behind his closed door when they went into the bank.

  “We haven’t room for all this,” Marion complained good-naturedly as they hauled yet another flat of canned goods up to the cabin.

  “Well, we don’t know that we can get to town in winter with the snow and bad weather, so we better be prepared,” Barbara told her, trying to maintain a good attitude, but she was worried. The bank issue was scaring her. There was no money to repay the loan, and no additional money would be coming in until next spring when they expected to get paid for their rentals. Meanwhile, they had to make do with what they already had.

  Marion too had her worries. Another letter had been returned to her mother-in-law marked ‘addressee unknown.’ She knew the woman wouldn’t stand for it, at least not for long. She would eventually demand answers about where her grandchildren were.

  “These can sit out here without getting damaged, can’t they?” Barbara asked, putting a flat down on the screened-in porch.

  “I don’t know. Will the cans freeze? We don’t know how cold it will get up here,” Marion pointed out, looking around at the site of their cabin. The meadow was looking decidedly messy and not too inviting with the leaves falling. The sheep had eaten down in some spots, and the chickens made mud baths in certain areas. They’d kept the sheep off the meadow towards the end of the season as they needed the hay for their winter feed. They had cut what they could, but they also had grain and had been letting the sheep eat through the woods to forage for what they could find. Something had gotten a couple of their chickens. They didn’t know how or where; they were just gone. The guineas were trying their best to escape
, but they used Grady’s advice to keep one in, and that was keeping the rest from going too far afield.

  They ended up stacking the extra cans in the living room. It wasn’t attractive or neat, but at least it was safe. With the things they had stored down in the basement they hoped they were well-stocked and prepared for winter. They had both worried that they might get stuck on the island at some point and be unable to get enough supplies to tide them over.

  “Whoops,” Barbara laughed as her head hit the onions hanging in the kitchen. She was pleased with how well they had grown in the soil in their garden. Next year, she hoped to double the space. They should have more time to take care of the garden than they had this year with all their building. The weeds had been terrible, but they’d been so determined to build their cabin that they hadn’t the time to bestow on the neglected patch. Still, the foods that had grown well were welcome. She looked at the beans they had in sacks, waiting to be shucked from their shells. She was hoping that the sheep, chickens, and guineas could benefit from those shells, so they wouldn’t go to waste.

  “What’s for dinner, Mom?” Richard asked as he brought up half a flat in his arms. Brian followed with the other half, and Brenda carried a few other cans.

  “Put those here until you bring up the casing,” Marion murmured, pointing to where the cans should go out of the way until they could put them neatly back in the flats.

  “I thought you were going to catch me some fish,” she teased. “After the boat is empty,” she stopped them from rushing off to grab their poles. They all enjoyed fishing and many times they left multiple poles out on the beach. Their cove was an excellent source of food. They’d collected mussels too. They were known as blue mussels, and the meat supplemented their diet wonderfully. The crab meat was best mixed with other meat but still tasted delicious. Occasionally, they managed to get a lobster, but without the right traps this was a rare treat. Anything they could haul from the ocean and their cove was welcome...and free. It only required their time and hard work to obtain. It also gave them time off from the constant building and improvements to the island that had gone on their whole spring, summer, and well into fall.

  The boys and Brenda spent their fall days after homework fishing and crabbing as well as hunting mussels. Using larger branches they had cut into usable lengths, they built up several woodpiles for their winter consumption. They also cut up dead or damaged trees that they hadn’t been able to use on the cabins. The weather became quite brisk as they stocked up, not knowing how much they would need or when.

  The first snowfall was pretty, and they had chicken for Thanksgiving—not because they wanted to, but because something got into the chicken coop and killed several of their birds. Using pallet wood, they enforced the chicken wire, hoping to keep any future wild animals from getting in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  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. Ev
eryone 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.