Monday, October 24, 1910
Sarah finished writing the last line of her father's testimony in the notebook Julius had given her. She smiled and left the office. Alma barely acknowledged Sarah when she left.
Michael trilled his lips. "Ok, where were we?"
"You were saying that you will teach me about the bank from 9 am to 2:30 pm. And I appreciate that, but I am still confused because that is only twenty-five hours and you said I had to work a forty hour week."
"That's true. You will work forty hours this week. It is fifteen past eleven now, as far as I am concerned you've worked fifteen minutes so far."
Alma huffed, "I showed up at 10:30."
"Young lady, you showed up at 10:36 and then you ran away from me like a spoiled little princess. We have been speaking since about eleven so you've been on the clock for fifteen minutes. So today, you will work straight on until 8:00 tonight."
"8!"
"Yes. I am factoring in a couple of thirty minute lunch breaks. You will stay with me at the bank until 5 pm. After that you will clean the building."
Alma could not believe her ears. "I will not!"
"You will. Young lady you are here to work and you will do so on my schedule. Between 2:30 and 4:00 pm you will have time to go home and do chores and then you will be back here to clean this building tonight and every evening until Friday."
Alma folded her arms. "I don't do chores."
Michael wiped his brow. "This is beyond stupid. You do chores, Alma; you do not have a maid. You're sixteen-years-old and in all of those years you must have done something."
Alma wore a devilish grin and slowly shook her head, no.
Michael stood up and pointed to the door. "Out. I will not tolerate this insolence. I will have you make up your time here with eighty hours of extra school work."
Alma shook her head. "Oh no you won't."
Michael walked around the desk. He grabbed her chair and began to lift it until she slid out and almost hit the floor.
"Leave or get arrested by Julius for trespassing. Life is too short and I am too busy to waste another minute on your insufferable attitude. "
"I'm a comptroller's daughter."
"And I'm a fly-fishermaner's son, what's your point?"
"I am special."
Michael leaned his head out of the office door and said in a commanding voice, "Mrs. Johnson?"
She came moments later "Yes, Mr. Conrad."
"Escort Alma through the backdoor. What becomes of her after she leaves this bank is none of my concern."
Mrs. Johnson nervously nodded and put her hand on Alma's shoulder. "Let's go."
Alma said in a short tone, "This isn't over."
Michael made a funny face and said, "Yup. It is over."
Alma and Mrs. Johnson left. Michael went back to work. A few minutes later, the phone on his desk rang.
"Michael Conrad.
Hello Mr. Comptroller.
This has nothing to do with the election. Alma was supposed to be here at 9 am and...," Michael sighed.
"That doesn't matter. She knew what time she had to be here. You would expect nothing else from Julius or any other city employee." Michael rolled his eyes.
"No sir. She will do eighty hours extra school work. I don't care if her piano lessons are taught by President Taft she should not be a spoiled little brat. If Sarah had spoken that way to Maynard Jackson or Will Clementine...."
Michael put his hands on his head.
"Sir, I cannot fathom what purpose this conversation is serving right now.
No. I am not questioning your fathering skills.
No. This has nothing to do with the parking lot repaving. Two other city council members voted against me and Rafe banged a gavel, that matter is closed. This has to do with me not wanting your little girl to be less than what she should be."
Michael nodded.
"Fine. Go ahead and speak with Mrs. Grayson when she gets back from vacation. Feel free to cut her salary by 90%. You know and I know that Rafe or the new mayor will restore her pay."
Michael fiddled with some papers on his desk.
"I really don't have time for this. I need to get back to the reality of managing a bank.
In that case, my reply is 'Have a good day.' And no matter what you say, my best regards still stand."
Michael hung up the phone. He growled underneath his breath.
Mrs. Johnson tapped on the door. "Mr. Conrad, may I have a few moments with you?"
"Mrs. Johnson, I need a voice of reason right now. I'm getting a headache between the two of them."
He took out a bottle of aspirin and took two tablets with a sip of water.
"Mr. Conrad. The way to resolve this might be to go over the comptroller's head and speak to his wife."
Michael swished his mouth.
"Very good, Mrs. Johnson."
He arose and put on his coat, gloves and hat.
"You're welcomed, Mr. Conrad."
"You know, I've never been inside of Arthur Gumble's house."
Mrs. Johnson raised an eyebrow. "But, you've been there lots of times for meetings and such."
"Come to think of it, they were always outside." Michael thought for a moment.
"Mrs. Johnson, hold my calls. I'll be back as quick as I can."
Michael left the bank building.
He walked three blocks behind Main Street to a large, yellow and green house. He approached the door and knocked. A voice came through a speaker. "Yes?"
"This is Michael Conrad ma'am. May I speak with you?"
He heard Alma objecting in the background. Martha Gumble asked, "Michael, were you ever in the military?"
He thought that was an odd question. "Captain, Army Reserve."
He heard a clicking sound.
"The door is unlocked."
"Thank you." He slowly opened the door.
He mumbled to himself. "My goodness."
Alma was smiling and standing next to her mother.
Alma said, "See, I told you I was special."
"I... I am at a loss for words."
Martha pointed to the couch. "Won't you have a seat?"
Michael removed his hat and sat down.
"Might I get you some coffee?"
"I'm fine, thank you." He thought for a moment. "Ma'am, this auspicious house doesn't change anything. Alma is still required to work in my bank forty hours this week. I was going to have her learn about money management from me, but after she came in late and began sassing me; I now want her to clean the bank building every night from 5 pm until 9 pm for two weeks. Or she could do eighty extra hours of school work. Either way, justice will be served for your daughter's insolence."
Martha giggled. "Captain Conrad, she's never even seen a broom." 
"Ma'am this is not open for debate."
Martha rolled her eyes.
"See mommy, I told you he wouldn't understand."
Martha cautioned her daughter. "Alma, sweetie, I will handle this."
She cleared her throat. "Mr. Conrad, you do not know us. You have never even entered our home. And according to my daughter, your Sarah is a snob who refused to invite her to a slumber party this summer."
Michael was at a loss for words. "I am mystified as to why I am discussing such matters with an adult." He ran a hand through his hair. "Martha…."
She interrupted him, "Mrs. Gumble."
"Martha, has it ever occurred to you that you are raising a thin skinned, selfish child who is going to live a lonely life?"
Her eyes bulged. "I've never been so insulted."
"Then that indicates to me that you have no real friends. I'll continue. Martha, point one. Who my sixteen-year-old daughter invites to a slumber party is her business. Not yours. Not Alma's. You were in high school once. Would you have invited Alma?"
She sighed. "I had private tutors. I never had a slumber party when I was a little girl."
"Why am I not surprised? Anyway, there was a referendum in this town last year concerning property taxes...."
"My husband is the one who wrote that stupid bill."
"If I may be allowed to finish: we will not discuss Alma little narcissistic tendencies for now. Look, you have a unique set up here. I don't even understand how you could have arranged all this considering that she is a child."
Martha smirked. "My husband's younger brother is Senator Clegghorn. We can do anything."
He shook his head. "No ma'am, you cannot." He stood up and put on his hat.
"Alma will be at my bank at 5 pm tonight or I will have her perform one-hundred hours of after school work."
Alma stomped her feet. "What?"
Martha shook her head. "This is ridiculous. My family is participating in this little charade you people are putting on in this ridiculous museum at the insistence of my husband. Alma can pretend to be little miss prairie girl during school but what she does after school will be my prerogative. She will not be stuck in the Stone Age."
Michael walked to the door. "5 pm tonight or one-hundred hours of after school work. And to sweeten the offer, I'll add one hundred extra hours for every night she does not show up. Ma'am, I care about your daughter which is why I will not let her get away with treating people like filth.
Have a good day."
He walked through the door and down the steps of the front porch.
Martha went to the porch. "Wait!"
He stopped and turned around.
"Alma, dearest, go inside." She ran up to him. "Let's go for a walk."
Michael was confused. "Um, alright."
They began walking on the sidewalks covered with powdery snow.
Martha sighed. "We're not from Montana."
"Mr. Gumble, I'll remind you that we're now outside your house. Speak accordingly."
She brushed some snow from her hat. "When Alma was only thirteen she was far too headstrong for her own good. I could already see she was going to be another princess from Green Hills."
Michael nodded. "I did my gunnery training at Outpost 27. Actually, that's where I met Will Clementine and Jean. We all took a tour one day of Green Hills, huge houses, movie stars, bankers, and all that."
"And you grew up in Montana?"
"Billings."
"Then Green Hills was a massive culture shock for you?" 
Michael hemmed and hawed. "It was fancy. I could have probably worked in one of the banks there. However, there is benefit to breathing pure air."
Martha gave a slight smile. "You know, the first thing I noticed was that there is no smell in Montana. I grew up in Green Hills and I never noticed the odor until I stepped off the train and arrived in Eagle Creek."
She stopped walking.
"What I am trying to say is- you're right. My daughter should never have spoken to you that way. I'm sorry."
Michael smiled.
Martha continued, "That way I treated you just now was the way I was raised. I got away with murder when I was a kid. I skated through school with ghost writers for my essays and cheating on tests. I met Arthur and we got married simply because that was the thing to do."
She put her head down.
"Not until I spoke with you just now did I...." she choked up. "...did I realize how horrible my upbringing was. My mother never spoke with any one out of her social class."
Martha tried to recompose herself. Michael took out a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes.
"Looking back on things, I hated my life but... that was the only way I knew. And now, it's like my mother is raising me all over again through Alma. I just...," she sighed. "I just don't want to live like this but, I am not sure if there is any hope for us."
Michael spoke softly. "Did she tell you about the accident?"
"Only vaguely."
"Let me show you."
They did not talk for a minute or two, they just kept walking. They strolled past the town hall and the sidewalk next to the clinic.
"I was chasing her but; I was doing so at a distance. I had no intention of tackling Alma and giving her a swat on the fanny, although, admittedly, the idea had crossed my mind. I just wanted her to come to her senses. I did not run, I walked briskly to demonstrate to her that I was not about to let her shirk her responsibilities."
They made it to the curb of Town Square and Main Street.
"This is where she tripped. She slid right out into the road."
Martha looked at the crushed car. She gasped and shook. And then looked to the broken window; Tom Norwalk and Russell were nailing sheets of plywood together to give it a temporary fix.
Michael yelled, "Hey Russell?"
He stopped and looked down. "Afternoon Mr. Conrad."
"This is Alma's mother."
Russell tipped his hat. "Ma'am."
She gave Russell a little wave.
"Yes. That's right. If that young man had not lost his grip on the harp: if it had not fallen at just the right angle: if Tommy Grossman had driven just a little bit faster, Alma would be dead."
She whispered, "My God."
Michael slowly shook his head. "No, my name is Michael. I just talk to God."
She looked down. "Why would this just happen?"
"Every day is a gift ma'am. It is our responsibility as adults to use our time wisely and to always provide the best example to our children. That's a charge from the Creator which I do not take lightly."
She wiped more tears from her eyes.
Sam walked out of the clinic, his face was bandaged. "Afternoon Michael."
"Preacher Sam Hines, this is Martha Gumble, Alma's mother. She was the little girl that slipped in the street in front of your car."
He shook her hand. "I think we may have met before at the Dry Goods Store."
She shrugged. "Maybe so."
"Sam, I have a lot to do back at the office. Can you talk with her awhile?"
Sam smiled. "Sure."
Michael tipped his hat. "Sam has never been in the military, please, keep that in mind."
She nodded.
Michael left and headed back to the bank.
At 4:55 pm, Michael was finishing up some paperwork when Mrs. Johnson stepped in his office.
"Mr. Conrad, I have two ladies here to see you."
He nodded. "Send them in." Martha and Alma both walked in.
"I talked to Sam Hines the rest of the afternoon. He prayed with me and then taught me a few things."
Martha carried a mop and a bucket with various chemicals. Alma carried a broom and a dust pan.
"Would it be alright if my daughter and I cleaned the bank together?"
He gave her a warm smile. "That would be just fine."
Alma rolled her eyes. "Do you hate me?"
Her mother looked her in the eyes. "No, I just hate what you're becoming, but when we get through in two weeks and you're covered with dirt and your hands are all wrinkly from the mop water; then, I will like you and I have a feeling that other folks will like you too."
"That's idiotic."
"That's redemption Alma, and it's something we're going to learn about in the coming days."
Michael stepped to the door.
"Good luck, Martha."
"Thank you, Mr. Conrad."
