CHAPTER ELEVEN MORTGAGE
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Mortgage
When she wasn’t working at Green’s Whiskey, Cora focused her energy on house hunting and by September had found a small row house not far from where they were living. She made an appointment with the bank and, after nagging Roscoe to keep his promise, they drove downtown to get their mortgage.
In the lobby of the bank, they gave their name and appointment details, then stood to the side waiting, their backs turned to the spacious reception area with its plush sofa and stylish coffee table, all meant for other customers’ use.
The longer Roscoe pretended not to notice the waiting area, the more Cora could feel his mood souring, so that by the time Mr McAllister came to collect them, Roscoe set the man on edge with his stone-faced gruffness.
‘So, what can I do for you today?’ he asked before they even sat.
Cora placed her hand across Roscoe’s arm, hoping to calm him. With the state he was in, she was afraid he’d end their chances before they began.
‘We’re here about a GI mortgage.’ She smiled brightly, trying to outshine Roscoe’s stormy moodiness. ‘So we can buy a house.’
‘Ah, yes, the Serviceman’s Loan Scheme. They’ve been very popular. It’s not government issued, you know, just government backed. The bank issues the loan but the government backing means we can give you low interest rates and favorable conditions, because if you default, the government steps in.’
‘We know that,’ Roscoe said. ‘That’s why we’re at a bank and not the municipal building.’ Cora slipped her hand back onto his arm and squeezed.
‘We’ve found a place we’re interested in,’ she said, sweet as sunshine. She pulled out a folder and put it on the desk. ‘And we’ve brought my husband’s discharge papers if you need to see those too.’ She laid another folder beside the first.
‘I’ll just have a quick look at these,’ he said, gathering up the folders. ‘If you folks would like to go sit in the waiting room while I check this over, I’ll collect you when I’m ready.’
‘In the waiting room?’ Cora’s voice went flat.
‘Man, are you trying to be funny?’ Roscoe said.
‘Oh. Of course,’ he said, blushing. ‘Not the waiting room. You can just stay here.’ He smiled a tight, nervous smile. ‘I’ll only need a few minutes to read everything through. Why don’t I have some coffee brought in while you wait?’
He pushed a button on an intercom on his desk and told the woman who answered to please bring in three cups of coffee. ‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked, and they nodded. ‘Milk and sugar, all three, Samantha.’ He released the button.
Mr McAllister pulled Roscoe’s discharge paper from the envelope. The honorable was bold and unmissable. He scanned the sheet, put it back and opened the other envelope to review the property Cora had chosen.
As they waited, a secretary bustled in holding a tray with three coffees.
Her bright smile fell the second she saw Cora and Roscoe, and she hesitated at the door looking confused until Mr McAllister waved her in.
She set down the cups with a rough thud, sloshing the coffee into the saucers and scuttled out of the door.
Mr McAllister pretended not to have noticed anything, but his face went red.
At least he was embarrassed, Cora thought.
When she glanced at Roscoe, she saw his temples pulsing and she put her hand on his arm again. He brushed it away.
Mr McAllister gathered the real-estate details of the house and stood. ‘I’ll be right back. I just have to check something.’
He slipped out of the room, leaving Roscoe and Cora with their coffee.
Roscoe didn’t touch his. Instead, he stared straight ahead, lips pressed together in a tight line.
He blamed her, she knew, for making him endure the waiting room, the coffee, all of it.
And, as he so often did when America showed this side of itself, he withdrew further into himself and away from her.
When Mr McAllister came back in, somber and not meeting their eyes, she knew. He sat down and handed back the folders.
‘I’m sorry, folks. I really am. I’d like to be able to offer you a loan, but I’m afraid I can’t.’
Roscoe slid his eyes to Cora, his face clouding.
‘What do you mean?’ Cora said, her heart racing. ‘We have everything we need.’ She tapped the paperwork, trying to control her frustration and anger. ‘You have to give us the loan. It’s in the GI bill.’
‘Personally, I’d be happy to give it to you.
You seem like nice folks.’ He flashed a weak smile at Cora.
‘And since you served,’ he tipped his head at Roscoe, whose face had twisted into a scowl, ‘you’re certainly entitled to it.
’ Mr McAllister took back the folder and pointed to the address of the house.
‘It’s the location that’s the problem. I checked with my supervisor to see if we could make an exception, but it’s iron clad.
The zoning comes from the VA and the FHA, not from us, and you can’t argue with the government.
The area is red-lined.’ He shrugged. ‘The government won’t back a loan to this address. ’
‘But why?’ Cora asked.
‘Red-lined properties are high risk.’
Cora felt Roscoe’s I-told-you-so stare boring holes into her. ‘What if we bought a property on Grove Ridge?’ she asked.
‘Well, that would be fine. I had a couple in yesterday who got a loan approved for Grove Ridge.’
‘Or something over by Maison’s Way?’
‘That’s fine too.’ He brightened. ‘Or Bay View or Sea Crest or Thompson Place. Most places are fine. It’s just a few that the government has marked out as high-risk areas that we can’t make loans for.’
Cora and Roscoe exchanged a look.
‘What about Jackson Hole?’ Roscoe asked.
‘Well, that’s red-lined too, I’m afraid.’
‘What about New Rosewood?’
‘Where’s that?’
‘South of the swamp.’
‘Oh. You mean Beggar’s Valley. No. That’s also high risk.’
‘You call it Beggar’s Valley?’ Cora cut in appalled.
‘Let’s go, Cora. I think we get the picture.’
‘No, wait a minute.’ Her skin was starting to prickle. ‘Mr McAllister, you’re saying that every Negro neighborhood is high risk. You’re only loaning to white neighborhoods.’
‘It’s not about race, folks. The loans are for everybody.’
Roscoe stood. ‘Cora, let’s go.’
‘If you could just find something outside those high-risk neighborhoods, I could approve the loan for you.’
Roscoe walked to the door. ‘Cora,’ he said, his voice low and dangerous.
She didn’t budge. She’d been so close. ‘But couldn’t the bank approve a loan without the Serviceman’s Scheme?’
McAllister shook his head. ‘If the government considers the loan too risky, the bank will too.’
Roscoe wrenched open the door and stormed out.
Hastily, she gathered the folders and stood.
‘I’m very sorry,’ McAllister said. ‘Come back if you find something suitable.’
Cora nodded and trailed after Roscoe, who was already halfway down the hall.
To their left a popping sound made Roscoe almost jump out of his skin.
His shoulders sprang up to his ears and his head ducked down as his hands went to cover his head.
Cora caught up to him and looked through the open door beside him.
Inside, a couple smiled as a loan officer poured champagne.