Chapter 20:
The Local Director Receives Encouragement
LONG BEFORE THE REFUGEES ARRIVED, their assigned facility bustled with preparations. The director thought he would faint when he saw the sheer number of supplies they had to store away. Everything had to be organized and distributed appropriately. No number of extra hands would be enough.
As bad as the director felt for the refugees, having to trek here through the worst season and all, he was glad that it was winter, when farmwork hit a lull. It made it easy to find and hire people with nothing better to do.
Thank goodness this is happening before most of them set off for the mines.
The farmers had their hands free in winter. Most headed to the mines in the north to bring in extra income for their families. The job had its risks, but miners were paid for each piece mined. If one got especially lucky, they could hit the jackpot.
The more immediate problem was that once spring closed in, the fields would need tending in preparation for crop season. All the extra hands the director had secured would disappear. He broadcast their need for more helpers throughout the entire region, but since most were farmers, few would answer the call when crop season approached.
He finished writing his thoughts before putting his pen down and massaging his brow. It was the dead of night. The hours had passed faster than he’d realized once he entered his study. The only light was from the lantern on his desk, along with a bit of warmth.
Earlier in the day, he had visited the agricultural training facility to check on the temporary residences under construction—simple and plain, but durable enough to last a long time—and give his subordinates various instructions. He had to organize their security team and manage the day laborers he’d hired. When he finally made it home, it was a relief to see his wife and children. Seeing how rowdy and rambunctious his kids were brought a tear to his eye; it was a reminder of the peace and security in his life. Saving these refugees would help maintain that.
When the director was first appointed to his position, Virgil had written to him personally. It was the first time he had ever received correspondence from someone so highly ranked. His hand had trembled as he opened the envelope. His superior was the one who’d recognized the handwriting and revealed the sender’s identity when he handed over the letter. Said superior was a relative of the Lindsays and a viscount himself, and he had attended meetings with other core leaders of the local administration—hence his familiarity with Virgil’s penmanship.
The director knew that even though Virgil had addressed the letter himself, it didn’t mean he’d personally written it. Not that he minded; he was a commoner, and a duke’s heir had deigned to send him a letter! Its value was comparable to a medal of honor.
In the letter, Virgil apologized for the delay in his return and acknowledged the director’s work. The director resolved right then and there to tuck the letter in a box and keep it as an heirloom for his children.
Virgil went on to discuss the refugees’ situation. He said that although they were born in a different country, they’d lived just like the natural citizens of Harland. It struck a chord with the director when Virgil described how the refugees’ prosperity would positively impact their community.
As he read, the director thought, Ah, this is what makes a real politician.
There were a certain number of people who expressed disdain for the poorest members of society. Some would even suggest abandoning those same people to their fates. They were incapable of showing even a smidgeon of empathy or putting themselves in the shoes of those they disparaged. They’d never understand the terror of being at such a low point that they had nothing left to lose.
Those at the top talked about the poor as if they were a monolith, but there were different levels of poverty. For example, people who weren’t sure whether they could put food on the table each day versus those who managed to scrape by.
What would happen if the government abandoned those at the lowest level? Then there would be no hope for those at the level barely above them. It would also send a message that the moment they hit rock bottom, that was it. Their life was over.
And that wouldn’t be the only consequence. Righteous, upright people would resort to crime in hopes of bettering their situation. Abandoning the slums and its denizens would push them to the brink, and the public would be in immediate danger. It didn’t matter which level of poverty you abandoned; the result was the same. The repercussions would have a vast ripple effect.
In the course of his work, the director had learned the importance of governmental support. Having Arakanerians come to the Lindsays’ region for agricultural training had been a timely reminder. Most of the islanders lived in much poorer conditions than residents of the Lindsays’ region. Yet despite their living conditions, they had taken the long journey to this territory, eyes shining with hope. Seeing the way the people here lived made the islanders realize how much better their lives could be—which motivated them.
People need hope. If they can envision a future for themselves, it helps pave the way forward.
Few were born criminals. Most were made that way by their environment. Nothing was more heartening than having leaders who understood this.
And Lord Virgil is one of them.
Virgil had not only acknowledged the difficulties the director was facing, but he had also recognized his hard work. The director had no objections to his new appointment.
He glanced at the framed letter hanging on his wall. His wife slipped in and poured him a cup of piping hot tea.
“You must be exhausted.” She followed his gaze. “Looking at it again?”
“Yeah. That letter always encourages me. And the ability to sit here and drink your tea reminds me of how happy my life is.”
What could be more precious than this peaceful moment, with his children sleeping quietly nearby?
He wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist. “You have it rough, taking care of everything around the house. I doubt I’ll be able to come home for a while once the refugees arrive.”
A small laugh escaped her lips. “You don’t need to worry about that. Do you think it’d be all right for me to come see you and bring you some lunch?”
“Absolutely, though I might not be able to spend much time with you.”
“I just want to deliver you a meal. I worry about you not eating enough.” His wife knew too well how he got carried away with his work, to the detriment of his stomach.
The director slipped out of his office chair and planted a grateful kiss on his wife’s lips. Having written out all the matters on his mind regarding the training facility, he’d confirmed for himself that nothing needed urgent attention. He could call it a day and get some rest.
“Once work calms down, why don’t we go on a trip?” he offered.
“Oh? I’d love that. The children would too.”
The director was guaranteed a decently long vacation and compensation for his work with the refugees. Everyone needs to be able to envision a good future for themselves.
The clearer that vision, the more discipline and motivation they would have. It was important for people to have something they could accomplish themselves, no matter how small.
When the director made to leave his study, he paused for one last glance at the picture frame, which was painted black and blue. His wife had found it at the general store and brought it home, insisting that if he was going to frame the letter, it should be with the Lindsays’ colors. She was always doing sweet things like that for him.