George Perry had been laying carpet in other people’s homes for thirty-six years. He couldn’t afford to retire, not by a long shot. Each month the bills came in no matter how frugally they lived they just scrimped by. "If only we didn't have that damn mortgage," he'd say to himself several times a day. Like most houses, the Carmichael job nearly broke his back. George felt a sense of relief when he realized he was almost finished ripping up the last section of old carpeting and padding from the den floor. Tomorrow he could start laying the new padding and carpet. Uppermost on his mind at this time of every working day was the ice-cold beer his wife would have waiting for him when he got home.
 
A couple of beers made the never ending "stretch the budget" casserole dinners seem more palatable but he still hated the tasteless canned vegetables. However, Gladys somehow always managed to come up with some kind of dessert. During the season when their two fruit trees were producing she'd make him pies or tarts. Other times it might be just Jello, or a cake made from a budget mix, but she'd always make sure that George's nagging sweet tooth was somehow satisfied.

Gladys deserved better than he could give her no matter how hard he worked or how many fourteen-hour days he put in. Sometimes he even worked an odd job here and there on Saturdays and Sundays just to bring home some fresh vegetables, chops, a steak or a roast that night. If he made enough he’d also buy her a small bouquet of flowers from the market, usually they were just daisies or carnations but her surprise and gratitude made him feel like he'd handed her arms full of roses. And of course, somehow a big gooey and luscious looking dessert of some kind always found its way into his shopping cart. Generally it was his favorite, a lemon meringue pie.

His wife was a smart, energetic woman who had many times through the years offered to get a job. But George was the type of man who declared that no wife of his would ever work. He'd work till he dropped before he'd let that happen. George was of the old school. He was taught that the man earned the income and the wife tended the home. Such is the way they'd lived their entire married life.

They'd never had children. They'd tried but after three miscarriages they were advised not to try again. Their lack of having a family was a sadness they shared. Over the years, however, they'd found contentment in the love they felt and showed to their nieces and nephews of which there were many. Framed pictures of them at all ages practically covered every table in the living room. The hallway to the two bedrooms of the small house were covered with similar pictures. They might not have children but they had a close-knit family.

As George was pulling up the last of the padding under the threadbare carpet he couldn’t help but notice the flooring underneath. Worn and dull but good hardwood nonetheless. A couple of the boards had come loose, and in hopes of re-nailing without splitting the wood, he carefully removed the nails, laid the long boards aside, then spotted what appeared to be a metal box underneath - the kind of box used to protect valuables from fire and water damage. But this one was a large box. He had to remove a few more floorboards and then, with all the strength he could muster he lugged it out.

Once on the floor he noticed the box didn't sit level. Heaving it over he found a key, sealed in plastic, glued to the bottom. When he opened the box and looked inside he gasped. Tall stacks of mostly hundred dollar bills one stack alongside the other. "There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars here," he thought. Temptation got the better of him and since the Carmichaels had gone out of town for two days, he carried the box to his "had seen better days" truck, locked the doors, then rushed back into the house to clean up his mess and hurry home.

As was her way, Gladys, had heard his truck pull into the driveway and there was his ice-cold beer sitting on the table next to his recliner. The smells of yet another in the never ending repertoire of casseroles scented the house with the aroma of their financial struggle. George was more excited than hungry. He took two quick long swigs of the beer and then asked Gladys to sit down. Going to the truck he brought the box into the house, laid it at his wife's feet, opened the lid and heard her gasp.

Gladys, with a totally bewildered expression and shaky voice asked, "Okay George. Where did you get that? What’s going on?"

"I found it at the Carmichael’s house. Under the flooring in the den."

"George! Surely they must know it’s there. Or I should say was there. You’re going to end up in jail. Take it back George. Take it back right now."

"Trust me babe, they didn’t know the money was there. His aunt and uncle had that house built and Mr. Carmichael inherited it when they both died a few years back. It’s really a dump and needs a lot of work, including a new roof which they would have done if they had the money to do it. The carpet had to be replaced because of holes in it that the kids kept tripping over. We haggled for days over the price. I’m installing the cheapest carpet and padding I could find. They have three kids and I know for a fact that she gets their clothes at thrift stores and yard sales. Common sense tells you if they knew about the money they’d live much differently."

By now Gladys had calmed somewhat. "There's nothing wrong with my common sense George Perry and it tells me that it’s not right for us to keep that money. Besides, I know you, and your conscious is going to drive you nuts. Forget about how our lives would change if we kept it. Instead, think about how theirs will if you return it. You’re a good and honest man George Perry and you’ll do the right thing. I trust you to."

George got really ticked off off but kept his mouth tightly shut. He didn’t eat dinner, went to bed early but didn’t sleep the entire night. Thoughts of a new house, car, trips, luxuries for Gladys, educations for their nieces and nephews, all kept him awake with anticipation.

By the time the sky lightened the next morning guilt had taken over; his innate honesty won the battle over greed. Before seven o’clock he was back at the Carmichael’s house where he placed the heavy metal box, which yesterday when he was carrying it into his own house seemed light as a feather, on the scarred kitchen table and started installing the discount carpet.

About three o’clock that afternoon the Carmichael family returned. They were all wearing long faces and looked as though they’d been to hell and back. With news of the box and what it contained Mrs. Carmichael fainted dead away.

Joe (by this time George and the Carmichaels were on a first name basis) explained that they’d been to a hospital for some major testing on their youngest son. "He has Leukemia," Joe announced "and we don’t have any insurance. Now we can pay for his treatments and pray for a cure. My aunt and uncle lived very frugally and both were very elderly by the time they passed away. He first, she three months later. Both were a little senile and must have forgotten they’d buried the money. I’m the only heir."

George, who had slowly slid down the wall he was leaning against, was sitting on the floor. He looked at the family around him and felt like a million dollars. It was a feeling no amount of money could buy.

Joe Carmichael offered George a reward which was politely declined. "Just knowing your son will get the medical treatment he needs is the best reward I could ask for. But I thank you for your offer. It's most kind of you."

Less than a month later George came home to the aroma of something delicious roasting in the oven, a lemon meringue pie sitting on the counter, and a wife who was beaming from ear to ear. She handed him an envelope. Inside was notification from their mortgage company that their mortgage had been paid off in full by an "anonymous" benefactor. Gladys then led George to the garage where sat a gleaming brand-new truck,
and alongside it a brand-new luxury sedan. The pink slips to each were taped to the windshields. Once again, George Perry slid down that wall that was holding him up and ended up sitting on the floor.

THE AUTHOR ASKS: If you were George, what would you have done with the money?

<THE END>