Dear Andy:
First of all, let me reiterate how deeply sorry Estelle, Webster, Phaedra and I remain for whatever damage may have been done to your summer cottage during our recent stay. We hope that whatever the outcome, you will keep that apology and our past friendship in mind as you read our response to some of the items you mention in your letter, beginning, of course, with the fire.
I thought I had given you a comprehensive account of the damage incurred by our mishap with the candles. After rereading my account and reviewing your complaint, I will concede that I may have inadvertently left some things out, such as the bursting of the gallery of newly installed double-pane windows and the loss of the plantings immediately outside. Nevertheless, I have to object to your use of the word “gutted,” since the conflagration was, after all, limited primarily to the sun porch. I regret, of course, that the heat from the fire affected the Indian miniatures hanging on the opposite wall, though again I can’t agree that “charred” is necessarily an appropriate description, unless you are referring only to the frames. Otherwise I think “scorched” would have been more accurate. In any case, I still think that whoever sold them to you as "antiques" may have been pulling your leg.
The damage to the main structure, I hope you will agree, was what the military calls “collateral.” For instance, the water damage was not directly caused by our leaving the candles burning too close to the drapes, but by the volunteer firemen – and I emphasize the word “volunteer” – who rushed to the scene and aimed their nozzles without any consideration for the damage that water that is fired at such velocity and in such volume might do not only to the shingles but to so many of your furnishings – and, I may add, our own possessions -- inside. Surely you do not intend to blame us for the consequences of ill-trained and poorly equipped personnel fighting the blaze with a zealousness that bordered on recklessness. As the flames proceeded from room to room, it became ever more obvious that they had waded in – and I use the term advisedly -- “over their heads.”
The real liability here is not ours for the injury suffered by that brave young firefighter and popular grocery clerk, but the town’s for its sheer heedlessness in permitting him to rush into a situation for which he was obviously so untrained. I am still convinced that rather than hack his way from room to room, which is what wreaked such havoc on what you describe as your “antique doors,” he might have simply waited for Estelle to muster the courage to jump from the upper story window onto the garage roof immediately below -- as I was calmly and, I think, persuasively instructing her to do from the lawn when the fire truck arrived.
I hope you won’t think I’m nitpicking if I correct a few other details in your account. For instance, the firemen’s truck did not sink into the septic tank upon their arrival but upon their departure. Had the firemen gotten the flames under control sooner and thereby removed their vehicle earlier, I doubt very much whether there would have been any more damage done to your yard than the tire tracks, which we have every intention of filling, by the way, and perhaps even reseeding this coming spring.
Even more questionable than your use of the words “gutted” and “charred,” however, is your heedless characterization of Phaedra’s activities during our unavoidable absence last Thursday night. I am reluctant to go into this, but ever since we met you have evinced, I think, a rather severe disinclination to appreciate the young or approve of their mores, whereas I have always insisted that they have a lot to teach us fuddy-duddies about life and, well, about love, for that matter. By pursuing a course of constructive “benign neglect,” I have raised Phaedra to be a mature and autonomous individual. I therefore deem whatever transpired Thursday night as none of my business, and most certainly none of yours, especially since neither you nor I were present.
Can we not agree, then, that in matters such as these we should dispense with value judgments? The young men who came to the house did so without any but the most casual invitation. And I might add that among them were some of the most well bred and well educated young men from some of the finest families it has ever been my privilege to know. I therefore simply reject the neighbors’ allegations that as they lined up along the staircase to visit with Phaedra, large sums of money changed hands. Changed hands with whom? My daughter has never lacked for funds, and is as vigilant a steward of her virtue as any young woman of her age and time. In any case, I am assuming that for the purposes of this unfortunate correspondence you are acting solely in your capacity as landlord, and not as Phaedra’s erstwhile godfather, which makes the vomitus on the hallway runner and the damage to the upstairs bed the only remaining items of any pertinence in this regard.
A word about the plantings. Had you adequately tagged them, I assure you that Estelle would never have gone after them with her weed whacker. Had she known they were heritage plantings dating back to the house’s construction, I’m sure she would have spared them, or at the very least transplanted them to a more desirable location. I would, of course, be happy to replace them with plantings from Rizzo Brothers Nursery, but they were, as you say, priceless, and so I doubt either you or I could or should try to name a price. If they were truly, as you say, irreplaceable, how can you expect us to replace them? So let us then simply rejoice in the fact that they survived for so very long, and console ourselves with fond memories of their verdure.
Speaking of priceless, I notice that a great many of the estimates you thoughtfully relayed to me are from what one might call “white glove” concerns. I am told, for instance, that Constitution Floor Refinishers, though undeniably reputable, charge top dollar for their work, whereas Gomulka Brothers Scuff ‘n’ Stuff can accomplish almost the same results for two-thirds the money. I won’t for an instant suspect you of “gold plating” your claims, however I don’t agree that the goal should be restoring it to, as you put it, “it’s former glory.” There was a good deal the matter with the house before we set foot in it: so much that I have taken the liberty of listing its pre-existing defects in a separate attachment.
I think it is also necessary to factor into any final computation the value of the items our own family lost to the fire, the firemen, and etc., as well as the beer and victuals – including several wedges of artisan cheese – that we left in the refrigerator as a token of our friendship. Though the loss of power to the house resulted in their spoiling, we feel that the value of the gesture alone should be worth something.
I have spared Webster your rash and, I daresay, unfeeling characterization of him as a “sociopath.” Difficult? Sure. Troubled? Certainly. But let’s not go tossing around a lot of psychological terms we know nothing about. In that sober spirit, may we not withhold judgment regarding your cat Taffeta until we’ve received a more authoritative verdict from the veterinarian? Taffeta, as you warned us, was somewhat elderly, and hardly touched her food while we were there, so however much our Webster’s little mischief with the coolant and the funnel may have discomfited her, who is to say what actually caused her demise? In any case, I thought it was thoughtful of our truly penitent son to bury her with all due ceremony in the silver service case he found under what remains of the dining room dresser.
Let me close by saying that I hope it’s a comfort to know that despite these mishaps our week at “Solace by the Sound” was a truly bonding and learning experience for all of us, and one we hope to repeat in the very near future.
Yours in friendship,
Roger
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