"I didn't know you were back," my former neighbor told me. "Where's your family?"
I told him. I explained there had been an addition since I left. He grinned and led me to his sedan.
"Hop in," he said.
I couldn't believe that this backstabbing neighbor could have the gall to act so friendly. I don't know why, but I climbed in. He babbled happily, as if to a long-lost friend, as he drove to where my family was.
"Go get 'em. Get 'em all. I want to see the young'ns. And I have something I want to show you."
We picked up my family and left. I recognized the route.
Two of my boys were in the front seat with me. The oldest, the seminarian from Mary Knoll, suddenly cried out.
"Father! This is the road to our house!"
I thought the grin on my old neighbor's face was especially wicked. Why are you doing this? I wondered. Why are you torturing us this way?
We drove up to our old Home. It looked well kept. Even lovingly cared for. Who lives here now? I wondered.
He jumped out and opened the car doors. He led us into the house and into this room where we are now sitting.
Everything was as we had left it. My wife lovingly ran her hand over the back of that teakwood table. The dust of years had not settled in. The carpets had been faithfully vacuumed. The windows regularly washed. The furniture carefully polished. Whoever lived here now must love the house as much as we did.
Seeing how carefully everything had been maintained, I couldn't be too angry with my neighbor. After all, purchase of my property had been a Business deal for him. I'm sure it wasn't anything personal.
The old man took another sip of wine. He pointed at an elaborately carved, small desk with a drop down front that stood against a wall. He went on with his story.
My neighbor took me to that desk and opened a drawer. He took out a handful of papers and handed them to me. They were the deeds and ownership documents for my house and Business.
I glanced at them, wondering how any one human being could be so heartless as to gloat before a family that had fallen to the depths I had reached.
"Look at them, read them," he said when he noticed I simply stood there, stupidly holding them in my hand.
When I did, my heart stopped. My name was on the first paper I looked at. With trembling hand I looked at another. My name. And another. And another. On every document. My name. Just my name. Not his, not even as co-owner.
He unlocked the drop down front and opened a drawer inside. He took out a bankbook and handed it to me. I scanned it. I could not believe my eyes. The balance had increased significantly each year while I was gone.
"Business was good during the war," he told me. "My only problem was finding labor to do the work. But I managed."
"But- - -but these are your profits," I told him. I shoved the bank book toward him. "Here. Take it. It's your money."
He laughed. "Naw. Your farm helped me. When we added our properties together, I got more ration coupons for gas. Negotiated better contracts with the distillery. Generally did better Business. You won't believe this. When I broke down the tax bill, even that was less. Naw. I got my pay. This is all yours."
I couldn't believe my ears. I wept openly. My wife and I hugged each other and cried. Finally, I looked at my old friend.
The old patriarch looked at me and said, "You want to know why I'm sending my son to seminary to become a Christian priest? Well, here's why. I asked my neighbor, 'Why did you do all this for me? After all, we were only neighbors'.
That's where you're wrong," he told me. "You see, in my faith we are all God's children. We are brothers, you and me.
Dr. Larry Winebrenner is a well-known, well-received public speaker. He has extensive background in Business practices seminars, genealogical research, producing training materials, marketing consulting, nutrition studies, and religious studies
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