Chapter 19: A House of His Own
“It’s past time you find a place of your own, instead of living in that small room in the abbey complex,” chided Cadwulf one day, soon after beginning to organize Yozef’s finances.
“I know,” said Yozef. “I’ve thought about it, but with everything else to keep me so busy . . .” What he didn’t say was that the room served as a sanctuary, a place where he could close the door and feel a degree of peace, as if for those moments he could put all of the months since boarding the United flight out of mind. Cadwulf was right. He needed to move on.
“With all the coin you’re accumulating, I assume you’ll want a house, probably small to begin with.”
“Yes,” said Yozef, “but not too far from either the abbey or Abersford, since I spend so much time in both places. I think I’d like it to be not too close to other houses and with a view of the ocean, if possible.”
“Why would you want to see the ocean?”
“I find it calming. I see myself sitting on a porch and just relaxing.”
“Hmmm,” murmured Cadwulf. “I guess everyone’s different. When I want to think about something or relax, I like to lie at night and gaze at the stars. Anyway, let me ask around to see what property might be available. Inside Abersford is ruled out, if you don’t want to be near others.”
In the next three days, Cadwulf identified four available houses and cottages. The third possibility caught Yozef’s fancy. The house itself was nothing remarkable—a medium-sized cottage with a thatch roof and three fair-sized rooms with high ceilings. It sat on a small knoll about a mile west of both the village and the abbey and overlooked the ocean a half-mile away. A much smaller, single-roomed hut lay about forty yards away, behind a screen of trees, and the land contained abandoned and overgrown garden plots and several Anyar and Earth fruit trees. There was no information on the original builders and inhabitants or how long it had been unoccupied. Cadwulf suspected it had been empty some time, since the surrounding land was poor for farming—too much slope and too many rocks—although stone fences, rusting tools, and piles of rocks showed someone had made the attempt. There was also a dilapidated barn, but, unlike the two housing structures, the barn was well along the road to kindling.
Cadwulf and Yozef examined the frame, the walls, and the floors of the main cottage and found it solid, though needing a new roof. A dilapidated porch faced the sea, too small for Yozef, who envisioned adding an expansive veranda to sit in every type of weather. From the easterly face of the house, he would see the sunrise over the ocean.
“Well, what do you think of this one?” asked Cadwulf.
“It’s the best of the ones you found, although it needs repairs and is a little farther from the village and the abbey than I’d planned. However, it’ll do me good to get the exercise. How do I buy the house?” Yozef’s growing income provided the funds, but he had no idea of what the land was reasonably worth or how to carry out such transactions.
Cadwulf rubbed his hands together. “The current owner of the land is Heilyn Tregedar, a horse breeder and the owner of an Abersford blacksmithy. The cottage was one of several pieces of land his customers exchanged for horses or blacksmith work. I’ll talk with him, and we’ll see how many krun he wants for the house and the land. Then we’ll get into the bargaining to see what his real price is.”
The house, flat land on the knoll crest, a hundred yards of down slope, and upslope covered with trees, all came to 2,300 krun. Tregedar insisted he was being robbed and that he agreed on the price only because he sympathized with Yozef being a castaway, apparently a solid citizen, and a friend of the abbot.
“Sorry, Yozef,” said Cadwulf. “The final price was a little high, but I got tired of negotiating with Tregedar and gave in. We should have had father do the bargaining.”
“Don’t worry,” said Yozef. “I appreciate your help and would’ve paid a lot more if I’d had to talk to Tregedar by myself. Now I’ll have to figure out how to repair the house, furnish it, and learn to cook on my own.”
Again, Cadwulf provided the solution.
“That’s not a problem. Once we deal with the transfer of property at the registrar’s office, you’ll hire help to take care of the property, since you’ll be spending most of your time at work. And you need someone to care for the house and cook. Given how well your enterprises are progressing, you can easily afford a couple of workers, and I think I know just the ones for you.”
Thus did Yozef meet Brak and Elian Faughn, a weatherworn couple of sixty-plus years. The husband was short, with a solid body from a lifetime of physical work. He still had most of his hair, but it was gray, along with his beard. Brown eyes bored with the sense of someone proud of his independence and asked for no charity. The wife was a good physical match, though with a more approachable face. Cadwulf brought them to the house, walking with them the mile from the village. Brak eyed the houses and ran off a list of needed repairs, all of which he happened to know exactly how to do. Elian was less obvious, but thought the insides of both structures could be made livable in short order and that they’d be very comfortable in the tiny worker’s hut.
After meeting them and giving them a tour of his property, Yozef drew Cadwulf aside.
“What’s their story?”
“Story? Why should they have a story?”
“Sorry,” said Yozef. “I mean, why do they need a place to stay? I get the impression they are trying not to appear too anxious, but the wife’s longing look at the worker’s hut makes me think their current conditions aren’t good.”
“They owned a small farm nearby until about two years ago. When the Narthani began blocking trade, the price of grain went so low many smaller farms had no markets. They had food, of course, but as they got older, they needed more temporary workers, even for their small farm, something they couldn’t afford. They finally sold the farm for very little money and moved into town. All of their children live some distance away in Keelan and, I believe, one in Gwillamer. Brak is too stubborn live with them. He’s prickly, especially when the topic is about taking care of himself, but he is as honest as they come and will work to the absolute best of his ability.”
“Where are they living now?”
“They have a small lean-to behind the candle works. Brak works part time there when there are tasks needed, and Elian washes clothes.”
Cadwulf’s statement of the Faughns’ situation was so matter-of-fact that Yozef stared at his young friend in consternation.
Yozef was appalled. That was it? An older couple had to sell the farm they’d probably worked most of their lives and raised a family on, then moved into a lean-to and supported themselves by whatever small work they could find?
Clearly, there was no such thing as social security here. The land itself appeared idyllic—green fields of crops, fences, quaint village, abbey complex, ocean setting, and hard-working people. It reminded him of Amish country. He’d have to keep remembering this wasn’t colonial New England or the Pennsylvania Dutch country. It was a harsher-cored society, no matter the outward attraction. Any safety net depended on family and charity.
“They seem perfect,” Yozef decided. “How much should I pay them?”
“I’d say about thirty krun a sixday.”
“So little?” said a surprised Yozef. “Apiece?”
“Oh, no, that’s for both.”
“How’s that enough?”
“That’s more than enough. They’ll have a place to live, and the thirty krun doesn’t include food, since Elian will buy and cook for all three of you. All they need is money for clothes and occasional medicant help.”