Raleigh's Folly

Chapter 12018—late February Eric Slade stopped the John Deere mower he was riding when he saw his best friend Rusty Seever come running across the yard in his direction. It was a huge expanse of lawn, and Rusty, a lithely muscled redhead, was sweating profusely, and his chest was heaving from exertion. He was so out of breath he could barely get the words out—so much so, Eric held up a hand for silence. “Slow down, Rusty,” Eric said. “Give yourself a chance to catch your breath—then you can tell me what’s got you so riled up.” Rusty bent over, hands on knees, and let his breathing calm down. Then he stood and faced Eric. “You know my cousin Gladys?” “The one who works over at the courthouse?” “Yeah. She just called my cousin Roger, and he called me.” Rusty paused so long, Eric felt a need to prime the pump. “So the gossip phone tree is working?” he said. “What of it?” “Gladys told Roger that someone’s gone and bought The Folly.” Mention of The Folly caused an image of the county’s most famous—or infamous, depending upon who was speaking—building s***h landmark to appear in Eric’s head. A wealthy planter named Winfield Raleigh had purchased a thousand acres of prime land along the Savannah River a year or so before 1850 and had proceeded to build a plantation house on a rise about half a mile from the river. The original house contained two stories plus attic, and Raleigh had selected red brick for its construction. Eric didn’t remember the details, but Raleigh, along with his entire family, had come to a bad end around the time of the Civil War, and people in the area had begun to refer to the house as Raleigh’s Folly. Over the years, that name had been shortened simply to The Folly. If Eric remembered correctly, the house hadn’t been occupied since before World War II, and the only reason it hadn’t collapsed under its own weight was because those owners had replaced its shingled roof with a good quality sheet metal roofing. All of this information had run through his mind in a few seconds, and Eric said, “So?” “Think about it, buddy,” Rusty said. “If some fool has spent a ton of money to buy The Folly, surely he’s gonna be renovating it.” “Again, so?” “Have you seen the place recently? There’s several acres of grounds, and they’re a total wilderness. Surely the guy’s gonna need to hire somebody to restore them, so why not us?” “Why not, indeed,” Eric said. “But I heard a lot of ifs there.” “Does that mean you’re interested in us bidding on the job?” “Sure, but we need a ton of information, first.” “What kind of information?” “How about a name.” “A name?” “The name of the new owner.” “Gladys didn’t know. The deed was made out to a corporation. What other information do we need?” “Size and scope, buddy. Size and scope. Now hurry up so we can finish this job. Why are we even doing this job, anyway? The temperature might be in the high seventies today, but it’s the last weekend of February and we could still have a late frost before spring officially begins.” “When a customer calls and says ‘the grass is looking bad, come mow it’, that’s what we do,” Rusty said. “We both know that some of them have more money than sense.” “Yeah, and I’m very glad they do, so let’s get to it. We’ve got just enough time to stop by The Folly and have a look at it before I have to get cleaned up for class.” “I don’t know why you want to waste your evenings teaching part-time at the local junior college, when you could be teaching full-time over at Georgia,” Rusty said. “The local pay is shit.” “Yeah, but I have no desire to move to Athens or teach full-time at Georgia or for that matter, anywhere. At the local junior college, if I teach a minimum number of hours each semester, I qualify for state retirement, and that’s not to be sneezed at.” “Maybe, but it sure doesn’t give you much free time.” “Look at it this way, Rusty. I get the best of both worlds. I get to work outdoors, which I love, I have three months off in the summer, and when I’ve worked the appropriate number of years at the college, I’ll have a nice little pension from the state to fall back on.” “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” “It does, indeed. Now step up on the hitch and let me carry you back to where you started.” Rusty stepped up onto the hitch at the back of the John Deere and put his arms around Eric’s chest. “That feels good,” Eric said, “but it’d feel a whole lot better if your hands were further south.” “Later,” Rusty said. Eric dropped Rusty off at his own mower, then returned to finish his part of the job. They’d decided to do the job themselves, rather than call in one of their crews. * * * * An hour later, they’d loaded their equipment into the trailers behind their identical F-150s and were on their way to The Folly. The Savannah River flowed almost due south at that point, and the rural highway ran about a quarter of a mile west of, and roughly parallel to, the river during most of its length through their county. The first thing they saw when they drove up the long rambling drive that led from the highway to The Folly was a truck not unlike theirs. It was parked next to a good-sized Airstream Classic trailer. The trailer’s occupant had evidently heard them drive up, and they saw a very attractive man step out of the Airstream. He looked to be better than six feet tall, had what appeared to be a swimmer’s build, and when they stepped out of their trucks and got a closer look at him, they saw that his jet-black hair framed an attractive face and a pair of intense green eyes. “Gentlemen,” the man said, “what can I do for you?” “Are you the new owner of The Folly?” Rusty said. “I work for the owner,” the man said, and handed each of them a business card. Eric read out loud, “Folly Enterprises, LLC; Carlton Perry, Operating Vice-President.” “What’s an operating vice-president do?” Rusty said. “It means,” Eric said, “that while he may or may not own shares in the corporation, for all practical purposes, he’s the man. I’m Eric Slade, and the ignorant redhead is my best friend, Rusty Seever.” “Carlton Perry,” the man said. “Pleased to meet you. Now, what can I do for two guys from—he looked at the signage on the two trailers—the Rusty Sod Landscaping and Sprinklers Company. The play on words is great—Rusty for one of your names as well as the color of sod around here—and I love your motto: ‘You grow it, we mow it’ is kind of catchy. Rusty’s a nickname, isn’t it?” “No, sir,” Rusty said. “When my daddy saw me in the delivery room, he said something like, ‘with that red hair and blood and stuff all over him, he looks like a little rusty nail’. And Rusty is the name on my birth certificate.” “Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Carlton said, “what’s up?” “We figured if you’re gonna renovate the house, you’ll be wanting the grounds taken care of, as well,” Rusty said. “And you’d like to get in on the ground floor,” Carlton said. “Exactly,” Rusty said. “Well, it’ll be a while before we get around to the grounds, at least as far as any formal landscaping is concerned,” Carlton said. “On the other hand, I do need someone to inspect them now, and tell me what can be saved, and what can’t be saved. The owner wants this house put back together in record time, and in a very few days there will be contractors and their helpers crawling all over the place. It would be good to have the best parts of the gardens and grounds flagged so they won’t be disturbed or trampled over by anyone but you guys. I believe the fenced area around the house covers about ten acres, more or less.” Does that mean we’ve got the job?” Rusty said. “It means look the place over, and bring me some numbers tomorrow morning,” Carlton said. “We’ll look the place over right now, if you don’t mind,” Eric said. “I have to go home and change in a bit.” Carlton looked a question at Eric. “I teach English Literature at the local junior college,” Eric said. “And before you ask, I don’t want to teach full-time. Anywhere. Full Stop.” “Then why do it at all?” “Because, by teaching the minimum required hours, I’ll qualify for a state pension in twenty years or so, and my days are still my own. Besides, I like to work in the great outdoors, using my hands.” Carlton looked at Rusty. “What about you?” “What do you mean?” Rusty said. “Neither of you sound even remotely like country bumpkins, so I’m guessing you’re as well educated as your friend.” “Guilty, as charged,” Rusty said. “Eric has a well-earned Doctorate, but I stopped my schooling when I got my Master’s degree. At this point in my life, I have no desire to teach either math or algebra. Maybe when I’m too old to do what I’m doing now, but not at the moment.” “Very good, gentlemen,” Carlton said. “Do you need stakes? I happen to have a supply of them in the toolbox of my truck.” “We’ll take you up on that,” Eric said, “and thank you, sir.” “No sirs around here,” Carlton said. “Please call me Carlton.” “Thanks, Carlton,” Eric said. “Meanwhile, we’d best get to work.” Carlton retrieved a supply of stakes from his toolbox, handed them to Rusty, and they got to work. By the time Eric and Rusty left The Folly, they’d investigated the roughly ten-acre parcel around the house, pounded numerous stakes in the ground, and had made copious notes concerning their findings. As they returned to their trucks, Eric looked at Rusty. “Come over around nine thirty this evening, and we can compare notes and come up with a contract.” “I’ll be there,” Rusty said. * * * * When Rusty rang his doorbell that evening, Eric had just stepped out of the shower, and was dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt. He opened the door to admit Rusty and was rewarded with a frown. “I was hoping you might be naked,” Rusty said. “I didn’t want to distract you. Business first—pleasure later.” “Yeah, let’s get to it.” Eric had used his laptop to type up his notes, and Rusty had done the same. And he’d brought his document with him on a thumb drive. They spent a good hour going over their combined notes and condensing them into a single document. “That looks good,” Rusty said as he sent the final version to Eric’s LaserJet. “What about showing Carlton some proposed designs?” “Got some graph paper?” “You know I do, buddy.” “Then, let’s have at it.” They killed the rest of the evening preparing three different proposals for the gardens at The Folly and crawled into Eric’s bed more than a little pleased with themselves. By the time they finally succumbed to sleep, they were both pleased and even more satisfied.