Bank

Meg had never been in a bank before, and she wasn’t quite sure what one was to do. When she walked in, she saw a teller behind a counter talking to another customer and a few other workers scurrying about. She decided the intelligent thing to do would be to get in line behind the other person and wait her turn.
It only took a moment for the other gentleman to finish his business before Meg found herself looking into the smiling face of an older fellow who wanted to know how he could help her. “Good day,” she began. “My name is Mary Margaret Westmoreland, and I am of the understanding that my father, Henry Westmoreland, may have opened an account for me before his death. It’s been several years ago….”
Before she could finish, the teller was nodding. “Oh, yes. Miss Westmoreland, it’s very nice to meet you. Please wait one moment while I go and retrieve the president, Mr. Rogers.”
Meg nodded, and the fellow stepped away. She watched him disappear down a hallway off to the side of the counter, thinking of how that was much easier than she had expected it to be.
Within a few moments, he was back, followed by a middle aged man with graying hair, spectacles, and a kind smile. “Miss Westmoreland?” he asked.
“Yes,” Meg replied, offering her hand, which he took. “How do you do?”
“Quite well, thank you, miss. And you?”
“Just fine, thank you.”
“Won’t you follow me this way?”
Meg followed him down the hallway to what appeared to be a row of offices until they reached one that said, “Marvin. T. Rogers, President” in bold letters on the glass. He held the door for her, followed her in, and motioned for her to have a seat.
“We were wondering when you might be in,” he began, sitting down in a seat across the desk from her. “Your father gave us specific directions to contact you upon your twentieth birthday if you hadn’t visited us yet. That’s coming up, isn’t it?”
“In September,” Meg answered, curious as to why her age seemed to be of such concern to everyone else today.
“Shortly before your father passed, he came to pay us a visit, Miss Westmoreland. He said he wanted to open an account in your name that you—and you alone—may access. He said that, if anyone else came with you, we should deny having any knowledge of the account. I see that you came in alone today. Were you aware of this stipulation?”
“No, sir,” Meg replied. “There simply aren’t too many people I can trust.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Rogers nodded, as if he fully understood what it was she spoke of. “You do have a substantial account with us, and we would be happy to continue to look over your affairs for as long as you should like.”
Meg cleared her throat, not sure what to make of that. After a moment, she asked, “How much… how much is substantial?”
Mr. Rogers stood and retrieved a ledger, which sat atop a bookcase behind him. Bringing it over to his desk, he flipped far into the book, and running his finger along the list, he finally reached her name. He followed the row across with his finger. Then, drawing a slip of paper and pencil from the corner of his desk, he wrote down a figure and another number before closing the binder.
“Our calculations go through the end of last month, so this is the figure with interest until that date,” he explained as he slid the slip of paper across the table to her.
As Mr. Rogers stood to place the binder back on the shelf, Meg picked up the paper. She could hardly believe her eyes. She had known her father had amassed quite a bit of wealth in his time and that he always intended to look after her, but she couldn’t imagine the figure would be nearly this high. Once Mr. Rogers had returned to his seat and she could find her voice, Meg asked, “Twenty-two thousand, four hundred, eighty-eight pounds?”
“And fifty-seven pence,” he assured her.
Meg nearly fell out of her seat. She couldn’t believe—all this time when she’d been worried about the lights being turned off, when she’d had her stockings re-darned several times, when she’d struggled to adapt last year’s gowns—she was sitting on a small fortune. “May I have some water?” she stammered.
“Of course,” he replied, leaving her for a moment to fetch the beverage.
Meg wished she’d worn a hat so that she may use it as a fan. She began to wave her hand in front of her face to try to catch her breath. Once Mr. Rogers returned with the water, she took a drink and nearly choked, sputtering all over the place. He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped the water droplets off of her gown, embarrassed by her actions, yet still unable to comprehend that any of this was real. After handing back the damp handkerchief, she tried again, and this time she was able to keep the liquid down.
He was back in his seat, and after a moment, she realized he was speaking to her again. “As I said, we’d be happy to keep the account here for as long as you may like.”
“Yes, thank you,” Meg nodded, certain they’d love to continue to have her business. “As you may know, I am to marry soon. Once I’ve relocated to New York City, how will I be able to access my funds?”
“That other number that I’ve written on top of the slip of paper is your account number. No one else knows that number, except for you and me. I suggest you keep it that way. Once you’ve moved to New York City, we are happy to wire your money to you via another bank. Of course, we’d prefer if you continued to keep it here indefinitely and request a wire as you may need it. But should you choose to withdraw the remaining balance and deposit it in a bank closer to your new home, we will be more than willing to oblige.”
Meg nodded along, certain she understood all that he was saying. “And may I access some of the funds today?”
“Of course,” he replied, though she sensed a bit of hesitancy in his voice, as if she may try to take the entire sum. She doubted he even had that much money on hand. “How much would you like to withdraw?”
She considered the question, not really certain what she should do. If she took too much and her mother found it, she’d be forced to explain. That wouldn’t do. Yet, the thought of going shopping, of purchasing gifts for those she loved, of buying something pretty for herself, was all very tempting. After careful consideration, she said, “One thousand pounds, please.”
Unable to tell if his sigh was of relief or consternation, Meg watched as he nodded and rose out of his chair to go and retrieve the funds. She couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief. Perhaps the universe was happy with her again.
He returned shortly, and sitting in his seat, he proceeded to count out to her the one thousand pounds. Most were in hundreds, but he had brought her some smaller bills as well. Once he was finished and she had carefully placed the money in her purse, he asked if there was anything else he could help her with.
“No, thank you,” Meg replied. He wrote down her new balance on another slip of paper, and Meg tore up the old one, tossing it into the waste bin. Though she wasn’t good at math, she could have figured that sum herself; she supposed it was bank policy.
Once he had shown her out, and she had thanked the teller for his help, Meg made her way back to the place where Ezra had dropped her. On the way, she memorized the numbers to the bank account, tore the slip up, and tossed the new one as well. No one else needed to stumble upon that number by accident.
A few hundred yards from the meeting location, she saw her uncle’s auto coming down the street and couldn’t help but smile. Ezra pulled it to a stop and sprung out, running around to open the door for her. “Your chariot, my lady,” he laughed.
“Why, thank you. And just in time as well.”
“One never keeps a lady waiting.”
Meg smiled at him, and staring into those shimmery eyes, she couldn’t help but feel it was time to make some changes. That old Meg Westmoreland, the frightened one, the one afraid to take a chance, was gone. “Ezra, how would you like to go shopping?” she asked.
“Shopping?” he echoed.
“I believe you could use some new trousers.”
He glanced down at his pants and then, with a crooked smile said, “Miss Westmoreland, I’m not sure why you’re trying to get me out of my trousers, but I’m willing to find out.”
Her eyes widened in shock first, but then Meg broke out into a fit of laughter, and as Ezra took off, she began to feel that freedom wasn’t quite out of her grasp yet.