The
Legals and the Gauthiers
Ste.
Genevieve isn’t even a town or a siding. It’s more of a place to put people
called Legal and Gauthier than anything else. It seems that’s all there are
there is Legals and Gauthiers. I kind of think they must all be related,
because they all get along. It’s not like the Martins and the Coys where
everybody’s shootin’ at one another. Actually, they’re probably all
intermarried and related to one another.
I
really have no idea as to how I got out there on real estate business in the
first place. It was not an area I was familiar with. But travelling to new
places is always an adventure, so off I went down highway 501. All I knew was
that I was looking for Gauthiers in a brand new two storey house along the
highway. I couldn’t miss it. Oh yeah? I certainly could – and did. Finally I
stopped at a mailbox that said “Gauthier” on it and drove in. It wasn’t the
place I was looking for but maybe the people here would know where to look.
They did and I ended up a mile and a half down the road and a quarter mile
south of the highway.
I
pulled in to a great modern edifice that stuck out like a sore thumb in this
community of small, modest homes. I didn’t quite get that Mrs. Gauthier was
waiting for me at the front door until I heard about her parents living in the
little place on the highway corner. They had phoned and signaled my arrival.
It
was indeed a lovely two story home, a bit unusual in that there was a gigantic
picture window facing north on the second floor. That notwithstanding, they
invited me into the sizable kitchen to sit at the table around which we could
have our conversation. I was awe – struck at the cabinetry which was, of all
things, made out of rough plywood, stained and lacquered to perfection. It was,
in its own style, as attractive and professional as any I’ve seen and it set
the tone for the kitchen which was the anchor of the main floor. Oh, of course
there was a dining area off the kitchen, a sitting room and so on, but none was
as important as the overriding kitchen.
Mrs.
Gauthier, a diminutive woman in perhaps her forties, called upstairs for her
daughters to come down and greet me. Two drop dead gorgeous teenage girls came
skipping down the stairs, shook my hand and introduced themselves. Oh my, I
hadn’t seen such manners from youngsters in a long time.
“Mr.
Epp wants to come up to view the upstairs in a few minutes and I want to be
sure it’s clean and tidy up there,” she said matter of factly.
As
polite and eloquent as Mrs. Gauthier was, I couldn’t help but notice that the
velvet gloves she was figuratively wearing covered two iron fists that
regulated the household. The girls went skipping upstairs, laughing and
giggling to one another.
Well,
you wouldn’t really notice it on Mr. Gauthier, even though I knew who the boss
was in that household. He was itching to show me the bathroom which was his piece
de resistance.
Eventually
we got upstairs (which was immaculate) and viewed the rooms. I must say it was
an entirely efficient design with a laundry room off the bathroom, and at last,
the bathroom. As we entered, Mr. Gauthier seemed to puff up with pride. There
at the back wall was a giant hot tub, directly across from the floor to ceiling
picture window. If you sat in it you could see out all the way to highway 501.
“Well,”
Mr. Gauthier started, “by the time I got the thing home I realized I couldn’t
get it up the stairs so there was only one thing to do and that was to bring it
into the room from the outside. It meant I had to knock the wall out and order
a new window. But it was well worth it. In order for us to be in the south
pacific every day, we just need to go to the bathroom. It saves money in the
long run.” There was a smug look on his face as he told the story.
“But
why in the world,” I started, “would you want to leave this place now that it’s
all finished?”
“Well,
I have an opportunity to take over a family farm up north of here. It’s
something that I’ve always wanted and now I have the chance.”
“But
the utopia you’ve built here – you’ve done all that work and it’s just
completed. And now you want to abandon it all? I don’t understand.”
“Well,
you wouldn’t. You see, with us Gauthiers it’s a matter of tradition. I promised
my wife I would build her a place that
offered everything she could ever want and I did it. We’ve been here for about
two years now and have enjoyed every minute of it. But now it’s time to move
on. The family farm needs looking after and you can see that I can do whatever
I put my hand to I can accomplish. My wife and I have already agreed on it.”
“What
about the girls,” I asked.
Gauthier
just grinned like a Cheshire cat. “There’ll come to a time they will thank me
for that,” he said, and nothing more.
I
don’t remember who I sold the property to or even if it was my buyer, but when
it was all done, I had the feeling of having been a part of much more than just
a real estate transaction. It was a good feeling, which is why I remember it.
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