Although Joe wasn't to begin paying Clara any wages until spring, he still found plenty for everyone to do. While Helen kept a watchful eye on the greenhouses, the others began at once to work on the new terraces. Frank and Clara were astonished to see how quickly new ground could be put under the spade despite the necessity to level and shore up the hillside garden. They prepared far more ground than Frank had envisioned, and then while the weather continued warm, they levelled ground, installed drainage tile and gravelled the floor for the new greenhouse. They constructed footings and the concrete ramp, built a masonry wall and laid flagstone walkways for the new structure. They assembled the framework and completed the ends, so that only the stretching of the polyethylene remained to be done before putting it into service in the spring. The expensive systems, such as heating and air handling could wait, as the area was to be used solely for bedding plants during the first year.

They would require many new tables, and Clara and Frank constructed them in the carpentry shop over the winter, as well as hundreds of new wooden flats and shipping trays. The Christmas poinsettias cleared the greenhouse just in time to make room for Easter lilies to be planted, and this year Joe made greater use of the cool storage, growing hydrangeas, and experimenting with tulips, hyacinth and narcissus which would require little light or heat during the cold months. Then they worked half-days for a while, the operation partially shut down during the heating season. Everything was in one greenhouse, which required the constant attention of only one person to control the systems, so there were finally opportunities for recreation and leisure.

Twice during the winter Frank and Clara visited Vancouver and stayed several days each time. They attended a play, ate gourmet meals in the hotel restaurant, saw Butchart Gardens in Victoria, travelled by ferry to the Queen Charlotte Islands and browsed in the shops. When they returned Clara exhorted her parents to take a similar holiday; she and Frank could take care of things without any problem. She coaxed, but they demurred. After the second holiday they were more successful. They told Joe about the bluegrass jam session held every Saturday night in the hotel bar, and that convinced him. They left on Friday morning to spend a long weekend, not to return until Monday evening. It was the first time they were away from their greenhouse overnight together in eighteen years.

While they were away Frank and Clara played house, worked short hours, and experienced the innumerable commonplace intimacies taken for granted by most young married couples. Frank dreamed often about buying the property along the road so he could build a private space for himself and Clara. On Monday morning he went to the township office and learned the name and address of the registered owner, and that evening a letter of enquiry went into the rural mailbox. Correspondence was exchanged over the next month and by mid-February Frank was driving to Victoria to meet with the lawyer, hoping to arrive at an agreement. He intended to drive a hard bargain, as the owner had never shown any interest in the property, in fact he had never wanted to own it in the first place. Once he had been ushered into the mahogany-panelled, broadloomed office however, he learned his calculations had been incorrect. The lawyer was quite content to allow the property to appreciate modestly, the only cost to him being a trifling amount annually for the taxes. Moreover, he advised Frank, the land had been signed over to him as the only payment for a lot of expensive legal work. What was he prepared to offer for it?

Frank quickly revised his calculations. He offered more than he had intended, and was quickly bargained beyond that until finally he arrived at his upper limit; the full amount in his bank account back east; that is to say, seven thousand dollars. He wrote a cheque on his local chequing account for a small down payment, and signed an agreement of purchase and sale.

All the way home he vacillated, excited that he now as much as owned the property, while at times he stewed about the certainty of his having been outwitted. He arrived in the early evening and when he was seated before the dinner that had been set aside for him, Joe came in to learn the news. Frank slid the copy of the agreement over to him and saw the dark eyes flick over the figures that had been typewritten into the text. He shook his head in consternation.

"Too much, eh Joe? It couldn't be helped, he wasn't anxious to sell."

"You, on the other hand, were very anxious to buy!" Joe prodded him with a grin. "It doesn't matter, the way things are going it will probably be worth double that amount before too long. You can't lose anyway."

That night Frank wrote a thick letter to Tom and Leila and described the motel property to them for the first time. He informed them of the upcoming purchase, and outlined his plans for the place. Their correspondence had deteriorated lately. After the first glowing reports about job potential and progress, the letters had dwindled in both frequency and substance, lagging simply because their lifestyles, though comfortable, weren't newsworthy. They telephoned occasionally, on special holidays, always late at night. Leila's calls, placed three time zones away, would arrive at the Van der Horn farm at a few minutes past nine in the evening. They always found plenty to discuss when engaged in conversation even during periods when they couldn't find anything worthwhile to write about.

Helen never forgot Leila McDermott, and never failed to ask after her when a letter arrived. Hiring Frank had worked out very well for them, and Helen attributed much of that success to Leila's intervention. They had talked at length during that momentous call, and an acquaintanceship had begun, so that now when Frank was called to the phone it was usually after a brief conversation had already taken place between the two women.

One day a letter arrived that worried Frank. Tom's job wasn't working out as he had thought it would. Being bright and capable, and used to being in the forefront of any academic exercise, he had believed he would soon achieve recognition in his new field, but that hadn't happened. His starting pay had been small, and had remained pretty much unchanged. He was expected to carry work home at night and on weekends without any compensation for overtime. Though the position he held was an unimportant one, he found it stressful, because of the constant pressure to do more. The workload was too large, and while an employee was never chastised for not doing extra on private time, he competed with, and was compared to, those who were willing to do more to curry favour and demonstrate their commitment to the firm. Leila believed his supervisors found him too rough-shod for their middle-class tastes. For whatever reason, he had been passed over for promotion twice, and was becoming disillusioned and unhappy. Although he was apologetic when reminded of it, he had been frequently cross to Leila lately, something Frank knew was unlike him.

He called east that night, waiting until midnight for the reduced rate, and getting Tom out of bed at three in the morning. He made no mention of the job, but concentrated instead on convincing Tom to agree to a summer vacation in the mountains. He would have a cabin ready for them he promised, and they would enjoy a real holiday together. Meanwhile, he chided, Tom was to get his priorities in order. What was more important to him, a job he didn't like, or his relationship with Leila?

Spring came early to the mountains that year, and three full-time attendants working sixty hours a week made it the most profitable the Van der Horne had ever experienced. Helen once more assisted in pricking off and the greenhouse swelled with the product of their labour. Soon the new shelter was ready, and assorted flowers, newly repotted, displaced the bedding plants into the unheated structure. Before very long every available inch of area had been filled and it became a full-time job caring for the burgeoning produce.

There was no time for Frank and Clara to be working on the cottage, nor visiting it much either, it seemed. The closing date arrived, Frank was able to handle it through a local notary, and then he and Clara began to discuss construction. Joe was eager to be involved, at least at the planning stage, and offered sensible, sound advice. There was water available over there, he explained, it ran down the opposite side of the hill, and if they could syphon water to their location, they could mix concrete on site and pour pilings for the addition. The other cabin could easily be jacked off its present mooring and rolled on logs to its new resting-place. By leaving a space between the buildings when they were attached, there would be no need to remove the roof look-outs, and they could add closets and a small foyer, or even another room, at little cost. By moving the outhouse, it could be situated to allow for incorporation into the woodshed later, making it unnecessary to go outside into the dark or the rain. He had lived in such a house, he explained, as a boy growing up in the Holland Marsh. As soon as things got a little less hectic, he suggested, they could accomplish that much; get the structure closed in, and then complete the work at their leisure in the winter time.

At the end of June the work began; Frank and Clara working together each afternoon. Joe's ideas had been simple and unambitious, so that each task proceeded quickly and presented few problems. They hadn't a lot of time; Joe would soon need them for wood-cutting, so they worked steadily, using a rented auger on the tractor to excavate for the round concrete pilings. When they were ready to roll the cabin, Joe assisted, and once it rested securely in its new location, closing in the space between took only two days. They reshingled the roof, and screened in the porch attached to the kitchen. Then they went shopping for a used woodstove; a kitchen range for both cooking and heating. Frank intended to continue living in his room at the farm during the coldest months, and use the cabin only part of the time.

What with steady work and the involvement of building, July passed by in no time at all. It was Frank's second summer in the mountains, and he marked time by the cyclical events he witnessed about him in nature. Wildflowers bloomed, one after another, in a now-familiar rapid succession to mark the passage of the season, and the birds he had observed the year before raised their young, taught them the fundamentals of foraging and flight, and moved on. During the first week in July wood-cutting began and he and Joe worked steadily in the forest while Clara spelled her father off all day in the greenhouse. It was at about this time that Frank became aware of some secret in the house, to which he wasn't a party. Clara and Helen hushed up quickly when he entered the kitchen one morning, and another occasion he thought he caught them acting mysteriously. He concluded they were planning something special for his fortieth birthday, which was during the next week. On Tuesday afternoon Joe and Frank were busy in the woods at the back end of the farm. They had been cutting steadily all day, and were scouting and marking trees to be culled or pruned when Frank heard in the distance what sounded to him like a Harley-Davidson. One didn't hear one often on their quiet road he thought, but then there came the unmistakeable blat-blat of the big bike gearing down for a turn. He cocked his ear intently and became certain it was travelling slowly along the lane toward the house.

"Hear that Joe?"

"What?"

"That! It sounds like a Harley."

"Does it?"

He eyed Joe suspiciously. There was something wrong here. "Do you know who that is?"

"How would I know?"

"Don't give me that bullshit Joe. When a car comes in here you can't identify you're halfway to the house before it gets there. Is it Roy?"

Joe laughed at that.

"It's Tom! Isn't it?" He set off at a trot, and as he broke out of the woods and took the trail for the house he heard the tractor starting up once more. There was no sound of the other vehicle now and he wasn't so sure any more. He might have been mistaken. Being in the trees would have made it hard to judge the direction the motorcycle had taken. He moderated his pace to a brisk walk, but when he turned the corner by the garage he broke into a run once more. Tom and Leila stood by the front door of the house, dressed in denim and leather, Leila was just shaking out her rich long hair after removing her helmet. She shrieked when she saw him, so that it was to her he went first, swinging her off her feet in a wild embrace. He had been so busy here, he had forgotten how attached he had been to them, but the tears threatening to cascade down his face betrayed that he had missed them very much. He pumped Tom's hand with enthusiasm, but when he looked over his shoulder he saw Clara watching, wistful and uncertain.

"You didn't ride that old knuckle all the way from Ontario!" "Did so! I wasn't positive about the idea myself, but we made it just fine except for a couple of minor problems. We were prepared to ship it home by rail at the first sign of trouble; after all, it's over forty years old. What a great trip it's been! Neither of us has ever seen the west before."

Leila cut in then. "Helen told us the cabin was ready to camp in, so we took three weeks holiday and came on out. Surprised Frank?"

All work stopped then for the day; even Joe appeared shortly, and Frank learned that a big barbecue had been prepared in advance. There were even cases of cold beer, an unusual thing in the Van der Horne house, for they drank only rarely. When they had eaten their fill of steak and potato salad, and pie, and Tom and Leila had been given a guided tour, the party got into beer and conversation. Presently the subject of Tom's career came up. He readily admitted he hated his job, felt as though he didn't fit in, and blamed his working-class attitudes as the probable cause. He had felt less exploited as a blue-collar worker he said, at least when quitting time came you laid down your tools, and your employer evaluated you by measuring productivity and craftsmanship, not by listening to the criticisms of the office fink. He had chased the white collar dream, taught to him as an adolescent in school, had acquired the necessary academic training only to find the middle-class lifestyle to be like ashes in his mouth. He and Leila weren't progressing much either, he added, for they had more debt than savings, and nothing permanent to show for it. Finally, he was fed up with the set of ethics held by many of his colleagues, in which company profit and corporate well-being were more important than individual scruples. He described the settlement of two separate insurance claims for two very similar fires. Though the policies were identical they differed greatly in the amount of coverage, but the distinction Tom was making wasn't so much one of the importance of the client, but of his knowledge when it came to making a claim. A mattress fire had on both occasions resulted in very little being burned, but the cleanup of smoke, water and odour damage was considerable. One claimant was offered half the price of a new mattress (the ruined one having been used), and was expected to clean up the mess caused by his carelessness as best he could. The other claimant, knowledgeable about insurance claims, demanded dry cleaning, carpet shampoo, professional painting and deodorizing, in addition to a complete new bed. It seemed, he concluded sadly, that those with advantages, possess all the advantages and they are only too visible to those trained to recognize status.

There were three reasons for their visit, he said. He and Leila needed a period alone together away from the pressures of work. The six-day trip out on the bike had settled him down a lot, and he was prepared for a quiet holiday. Secondly, they hoped to check out opportunities in the west, as he was contemplating a change, possible to revert back to a welding job, or maybe to enrol in a machinist's course. Most importantly though, they were there to help Frank celebrate his birthday; "the big four-oh."

The week Tom had set aside to visit passed quickly, during which Frank and Clara kept busy entertaining and vacationing. They went fishing; the first time since Frank had been there, and were treated to rides on the motorcycle. Because the holidaying could be done only after their daily duties had been discharged, Tom and Leila helped out to free them from work earlier.

They quickly impressed Joe with their hard work and capabilities, and Frank watched as Joe repeated much of the same instruction he himself had received; teaching and discussing technical problems and procedures. As a student Tom was quite different though, for where Frank had listened, absorbed and obeyed without much discussion, Tom had an inventive mind, and his own ideas, suggestions and innovations. He believed in technology and research, and calculating net returns on new methods and equipment. Joe on the other hand had always remained with the tried and proven, the traditional, conventional approach. Still, they enjoyed one another's company. They could be heard consulting, arguing good-naturedly as Tom followed him about, assisting with whatever he might be doing at the moment.

Early one morning, just as Tom and Leila arrived on the bike, Joe confided his affection for them.

"My God, Frank, that's a strapping big beautiful girl, isn't she?"

"She sure is. The first time I met her it almost knocked the wind out of me. But she's no ornament Joe. She's a good worker and always a pleasure to have around."

"Yes. You know, I'm going to miss those two."

Too soon the last day of their visit arrived. They would set out the next morning after breakfast. Five hundred miles made a short day of driving, but it was plenty on a motorcycle, so they wouldn't need to leave very early. There was a fire pit in front of the cabin, and there had been a fire in it every evening during their stay. On the last night Joe and Helen arrived, carrying aluminum chairs, and joined the four friends. The general mood was sombre at first, for Tom and Leila weren't so eager to begin as they had been on the way out, the attraction of a Canada-wide motorcycle trip had lost its novelty, and the return to Ontario promised to be simply a very long drive.

"Don't go!" urged Frank. "Ship the bike back, and stay another week. You could look for jobs!"

"That's not a bad idea Frank. I'm sure it's my job that makes going home seem so unpleasant. I wish we could stay, but we don't really have money to ship the bike home, and then fly."

"I have money. In twelve months here I've barely spent three month's wages. There's nothing to spend it on; I don't have a car even."

"Aw, thanks Frank," said Leila, "but we can't accept it. Besides, a week isn't a reasonable time to look for a job, and you're a long piece from the city here, remember."

"Hell, I'd offer you jobs," offered Joe, "if I thought you'd accept them. I'm sure your wages back east are a lot more than what these two are earning working for me." Everyone looked at him in amazement, while Helen stared steadily into the fire. "We could use you both. You know, I never wanted to be saddled with employees, not as long as we could get along on our own. Nowadays hiring someone means a lot of responsibility and government red tape, and my experience has been that many of them don't work out. There can be a long time between becoming dissatisfied with a bad employee, and finally getting rid of him. You two would work out really well though, I'm positive of that, and Helen and I have been thinking that if we increased our staff to four, we could turn the old family farm into a real business." He paused for a moment.

"Helen has been wanting me to slow down for some time, and after the little holiday we took last winter we decided to spend more time away from work in the future. Frank and Clara have made that possible, but there are a lot of advantages to adopting more business-like methods. If I acted only as a manager here, it would be like retirement compared to how we have worked in the past. At the very least there could be paid vacation time for us both."

"Right on" said Tom, excited now. "We're talking about seasonal jobs here, that means layoffs. We could take turns drawing pogy on alternate winters, and stack our hours during peak periods to maximize benefits," he suggested.

"On second thought, maybe you wouldn't make such a great employee." Joe retorted, laughing. "You haven't even been hired yet and already you're looking forward to being laid off … you know, I can't offer you much for wages until spring when the extra labour will begin to pay off."

"I'm going to think very hard on your offer tonight Joe, and the wage you're offering won't be the biggest consideration. I have never stayed anywhere that I felt more a part of things than I have right here; not even at home as a kid. But regardless of our decision, you should take advantage of the system and the loopholes provided. You're required by law to contribute unemployment premiums, and deduct them from your employees, and the rules are their rules, after all."

"Now Tom," Helen interjected, "I keep the books here, and I like to have everything above-board and beyond suspicion. I've never been audited, not once in eighteen years."

"Then you're probably paying too much. Big companies keep specialized lawyers and tax consultants on retainer to keep track of changes and find ways to minimize taxes. Rich individuals do too. You don't have to get very technical, or dream up legal fictions like they do; just research your own situation well. Revenue Canada people will tell you what you're entitled to — if you ask the right questions. Remember, these loopholes and advantages have traditionally worked to the benefit of the rich. Once enough of us begin to use them, the system will have to change."

Next morning at breakfast time Tom and Leila arrived on the Harley-Davidson as planned. They announced as they entered that they had decided what to do: they weren't going. They were going to fly home next week to quit their jobs and sell the furniture. The excited discussion that ensued delayed breakfast a half-hour, until Leila quieted things with a new proposal. "Why don't you stay here Tom, — don't go back at all, and let Clara and me fly home to settle our affairs. We'll liquidate everything, empty our bank accounts, and sell all the stuff we won't need. I'll keep enough furniture to set up Frank's cottage, and we can share it for the present."

"Good idea," cried Clara, "I haven't been out east since I was ten years old."

"I have to go Lee, what about giving notice to the company?"

"If you were talking about my employers, I would agree, but your's have never treated you so well. When they fire someone, do they give him notice, or do they lock him out of his office on Friday afternoon and tell him not to come in Monday?"

"Okay, I'll concede that point, but who will move the furniture?"

"Oh, we'll manage. You and Frank just have that cabin ready for furniture when we get here."

Three weeks passed before they returned. They were expected on Friday afternoon, and the three men were working on the cabin, adding last-minute touches. Joe and Tom were rigging up running water in the kitchen sink, and Frank was mowing the lawn in the clearing for the second time, the wiry grass losing its yellow, stubbly appearance with the second cutting. All construction had been completed, including the woodshed, and the entire building wore a fresh coat of paint. Frank had splurged and put a rugged carpet on the bedroom floor.

Tom's car drove into the yard, with a U-Haul trailer in tow, and the two girls inspected the premises, exclaiming and praising them for what they had done in so short a time. Tom opened the rear door of the trailer to see what they had brought.

"What did you keep the fridge for? We can't use that."

"That's not our fridge, I traded ours for that one."

"What did you do that for, ours was brand new; this one's used."

"It may be used, Smarty, but it runs on gas."

"Oh," Tom replied, his voice small, his expression sheepish. The others whooped in delight.

"I knew I had a good reason for hiring that gal," roared Joe. "She'll keep you lads in line!"