Chapter 17 Bill Frops a Bombshell

Chapter 17

Bill Drops a Bombshell.

“Honey, how would you like to migrate to Australia?” Bill asked.

“What did you say Bill? I thought I heard you say, ‘migrate to Australia’!” I lifted my head from the letter I was writing and added, “Sure, I’ll pack a bag and we will be off tomorrow.”

“I’m serious! I think it would be a wonderful country to raise our family in. I don’t know how many people to whom you have sold Australia, but you have certainly sold me.”

Bill! Bill! Bill! Wow! I had been through four years of his mid-life crisis, and the poor darling had endured part of that time in misery with hemorrhoids refusing to see a doctor. Now, suddenly, he dropped a bombshell in my lap, expecting me to react with enthusiasm!

“While I have been a guest speaker at so many functions, selling Australia to businessmen and others interested in migrating, you are telling me…. I have sold the whole idea - to you?”

“Honey, I have been listening to you rave on about how Australia has put itself on the world map, and what an exciting, vibrant country it is! I even heard you say that it was a great place to raise a family!” I could hear the excitement in Bill’s voice. What had I done!

At that moment I was feeling ambivalent towards Bill, and I wanted to stay in the United States. I treasured the friendships I had made - these people were dear to me. Jerilyn and Diane had cemented strong friendships with their friends, too. We would all miss our friends, especially Grandma and Grandpa Frost.

Not long before I left for Australia, the children had wanted their Dad to go with them just a block from our house, to the one and only hill in town where they could ride on their new sled. Previously, we’d used garbage can lids or some strong cardboard. Those substitutes worked fine, but our new sled was much better and the children were anxious to try it out. The city council closed off the street especially for all the children to enjoy their sleds. Bill, in his depressed state, refused to go with them!

“What’s wrong with Daddy?” The children had asked that same question many times before. “Is he sick or something?” Assuring them that Daddy was just tired, and we would let him have it nice and quiet to take a nap, I accompanied the children instead. (I always seemed to be the one who went with the children, although admittedly, we had a great time together.) We stayed as long as we could, until the sun went down and it became too chilly to enjoy the fun any longer.

Trying hard not to laugh as the five of us came barrelling through the front door, everyone tried to remove snow boots and wet clothing while shushing the others to be quiet. We only succeeded in making more noise than ever! We woke Bill from his long nap, and while he poured a cup of coffee and settled back in his rocking chair, the children gathered around him, telling him all about the new sled, how well it took the hill, and what he had missed. He showed little interest and barely cracked a smile, while the rest of us giggled and described our spills head first into a snowdrift. His physical discomfort gave him little to smile about. Try as I might, however, I couldn’t get him to go see Dr. Faust, even for a general check-up.

Deciding to go to Australia for a holiday was probably the best move I ever made! Bill had to take on the responsibility of the family while I was away. When I got back from Australia, he was over that terrible depression of turning forty, and was no longer suffering from haemorrhoids. Being forced to take control of himself, as well as the family, must have been the turning point for both of us. That had been the longest four years we’d had to endure!

“Disneyland is on TV, so why not let the children eat in front of TV while we talk about this?” Bill suggested. “Let’s see if we can sort out what we need to do and start making some plans.”

What was there to sort out? This was so unlike Bill - to want to sell up and go 12,000 miles away! He was never the chance-taker or the adventurous one. I knew how much he enjoyed having me back home, and it was wonderful to come home to a completely healthy and changed man. Did Bill think he was doing this for me because I was born in Australia? I was happy living in the United States, was now a U.S. citizen, and loved the people and three of the seasons. (I hated that hideous fourth season, winter! Eliminating the cold winters was no problem - we could move to California.) He really had me in a quandary!

When Bill announced that the children could eat in front of TV they were immediately suspicious. They had never had the privilege of eating in front of TV before. The TV was turned off at mealtime, and the family sat together and took turns to ‘say Grace’ at the kitchen table.

As the children fixed their plates, and took a towel to put under them to protect the carpet, Jerilyn and Diane eyed us suspiciously. “What’s going on, Mother? Why are we suddenly allowed to eat in front of TV?” Jerilyn, in all her wisdom, knew that things were not quite as they should be.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we will tell you all about it after supper.” I smiled broadly as I hugged her. She was momentarily satisfied with that answer.

Bill was anxious to wait on me, and served up my supper. He sat next to me rather than across the table, asking if I had everything I needed. I was ready to ask the first question about what seemed to be an impossible scheme - one that really surprised me. “How are we going to afford our passage to Australia? You know we aren’t entitled to an English 20-pounds-cash passage to migrate like the British! Are you sure you really want to do this, honey? I would be just as happy to move to California to get away from the snow. I’d love being close to the ocean - the children have never seen the ocean - they’d love it!”

Bill ate in silence for a while and appeared to be digesting what I had said. He looked at me thoughtfully and reached over and kissed me on the cheek. “You know you and the children mean all the world to me. I’ve thought this all through thoroughly, and believe it would be an excellent move.”

Throwing spanners in the works of that momentous decision, I let go with every negative situation that I could imagine, not convinced that he really wanted to tackle such a big move. Trying to understand why he was thinking this way was making me a little crazy. This was so unlike Bill! “We could always move to Oregon - that seems to have attractive coastal ports, along with forests and mountains. Or how about Seattle - that’s just like Melbourne weather?”

I kept on niggling to be sure he really wanted to go to Australia. It only mattered to me that we should be together as a family; the geography didn’t have to be 12,000 miles away. It could be anywhere, as long as the winters were warmer. I felt sure, then, that Bill was doing this for me.

“Let’s see what the children think of the idea!” he suggested. Bill called the children into the kitchen to tell them of his decision, and they were over the moon – would have been swinging from the chandeliers, if we’d had any - at the thought of moving to Australia.

“When are we going?” Diane inquired. “Are we going on a ship?”

“It’s about time we had some excitement around here - when do we leave?” Jerilyn wanted to know. The cheers went up and plans were being made, with five Frosts dancing around cheering, until Jerilyn looked at me. I wasn’t joining in the frolic.

“Mom, aren’t you happy about going back to where you were born?” she asked. “You should be the one celebrating about going to Australia! Aren’t you happy about it?”

“You know, this will be a very big change for all of us, and we need to look at all of our options.” Jerilyn seemed to understand what I meant; she was a very wise 12-year-old. Dad was telling the children that the decision to migrate would have to be kept a secret. No one was to know our plans until all our papers were signed and we were ready to sell the house.

“Why can’t I tell Stevie Heinbruch or Timmy Eccles?” Billy asked.

“No! I’m very serious about this,” Bill insisted. “Jerilyn, you can’t tell Sandy Eccles or Marsha Hanson. And Diane, you can’t tell Mary Turpin. You girls are going to have to be very secretive in church and at school.”

“What about me?” Janis was looking woeful. “Can’t I have a secret, too?” We gave Janis the biggest secret of all: she could not tell another living soul.

It took me three weeks to be convinced that Bill really wanted to migrate to Australia. He had a lilt in his step, and was anxious to formulate our plans to migrate. I was dizzy at the thought of what needed to be done. I would have to keep working, as our meagre possessions wouldn’t yield much, and seven years’ equity in the house was only paying off the interest.

Firstly, we applied to the Australian embassy for an immigration application, which took some time to arrive. The cost of our passage for a family of six was going to be a big hurdle; Jerilyn, at 12, was already a full fare. We took the children with us to Fort Dodge to see a travel agent. (They loved the intrigue of going out of town with their secret.) We were far from ready to book our passage, but the agent suggested doing it as soon as possible, so as to get cabins close together for the children’s sake. The anticipation of choosing our cabins made the children so excited they couldn’t eat their picnic lunch in the park. They talked of nothing else but the picture of the big ship we would be sailing on.

Bill and I would sit up late at night on the weekends making lists: how much we may get for the house; what household goods would have some value; items to set aside to get us started when we arrived in Australia. When Bill suggested we needed to have an auction of our furniture, I went into fits of laughter. “Ruth, be serious! What’s so funny about that? Isn’t that the smartest thing to do, have an auction?” He looked confused.

“Honey, most of our furniture is second-hand, and remember that I made our living room furniture out of two front seats from a wrecked car, and slip-covered them.”

Bill sat back and relived that day, when he and his Dad, armed with heavy tools, had to remove the seats from the car in a wrecking yard in Fort Dodge, because I had already found out that we could get them $20 cheaper if we removed them ourselves. The wrecker said we could have them for $1.50 each!

Bill could never have handled that without the help of his Dad; it was a major job. Both the men in the family said nothing about saving the money, but shook their heads a lot at some of my proposals. They should have known I would have a frugal way to handle that sale. I always got encouragement from my father-in-law, though, and believed he enjoyed coming to visit each year, not only to smell the cork in the cooking sherry bottle, but also to see what money-saving schemes I’d concocted.

“I’ll never forget the trouble you had Bill, making the base to hold the seats. Of course, we think they look very professional, but once they are put out in the yard for an auction sale, without the end table and the Chinese red-and-gold lamp, they will look just like a couple of old car seats. The lamp may bring more than the seats! At least that was new!” I was all for someone interested in buying our furniture to come see them in our house. Bill remarked that he hadn’t thought automobile seats could look as good as real furniture. That had been my first attempt at sewing slipcovers, too. I was one of the original recyclers!