It was utterly ridiculous.
George Bailey had been in an impossible situation, completely impossible. And yet, somehow, even after facing the worst, he had come out on top. The same riff raff he'd thought would run him out of town had come to his rescue instead, throwing dollar bills and quarters into a bucket, and enough of them did it that it added up to over five thousand dollars, and Sam Wainwright wired the rest. Five thousand dollars! From the same bottom feeders that would take any excuse to be late on rent and mortgage!
Henry swirled his glass of bourbon, not eager to drink it, though it was a good vintage. He didn't do very much for Christmas, nothing frivolous or extravagant, but he might as well get out the good vintage. The money that foolish William Bailey had left in his office was locked safe in his desk at work. He'd have to be careful with what he did with it, or else there would be a discrepancy in his own books.
"Are you sure you'll be all right, Mr. Potter?" his nurse, Georgia, asked. She was a black girl, about twenty-years-old. She'd been taking care of him since his last nurse, Wilma, went up to New York City to be with her grandchildren. She hadn't been a young woman herself. She'd been smart-tongued, sometimes on the verge of disrespect, but she was a good nurse. Georgia was the kindest black woman he'd ever met, not that he'd made the acquaintance of many of those people, and unfailingly respectful. She'd left early last night to spend Christmas Eve with her parents, and was leaving early again today to spend the evening with them. Henry's impulse had been to disallow it, but it was best not to antagonize the woman in whose hands your comfort rested, so she had Christmas Eve, Thanksgiving, and Easter evening off, as well as Sunday mornings to attend services at the little black church outside of town. Otherwise, she was here whenever the bank was closed, tending the house and helping Henry with whatever he couldn't care for himself due to the chair. They'd been through this yesterday, with her setting everything in order, cooking his supper early and making sure the home was in order. She'd left the number to her parents' home by every telephone in the house in case she was needed. She'd offered to make something special for Christmas, but he'd declined. She had insisted on putting up a little tree in a corner of the living room, a wreath on the front door, and a little centerpiece on the kitchen table.
"If I wasn't sure, Georgia, I wouldn't allow you to leave," he snapped.
"All right then, Mr. Potter, have a very merry Christmas this evening," she said with a bright smile, unfazed by the snapping, and left for her family's home.
There was nothing to do but sit and read for the night. Henry looked through the trade journals, trying to figure out what way the wind was blowing for his investments. That's what he would do with Bailey's eight-thousand dollars, use them for his personal investments.
It was an ordinary evening, but over and over, Henry lost his train of thought, his mind wandering instead to why on God's Green Earth the riff raff would give up money so freely to George Bailey, of all people.
It was only because they weren't asked very much. That was all. Just a few dollars and it added up. That was all.
These eight thousand dollars were so much better spent in his hands. They'd grow rapidly, invested in wise places, and it'd be spent on intelligent purchases, not on frivolous nonsense.
No one would ever know. Even on the off chance that the idiot William Bailey ever remembered where he'd left the money, it would be his word against that of the most powerful man in town. He wouldn't stand a chance.
Except. Henry thought back to Bailey in his office, begging for a loan. He was quite sure Bailey could recall that distress vividly on a witness stand, and that it would move most any jury in the world, judging by the generosity they'd shown.
No, it was nonsense. William wouldn't remember, and no prosecutor, not even the soft-hearted District Attorney who'd refused to prosecute Bailey for malfeasance, would go up against Henry F. Potter on the word of a mumbling fool. The Baileys would have spent that money on questionable loans to those who could barely afford it, and probably lost most of it when those loans defaulted. They might even give some to Georgia's people, perish the thought.
But was it worth the risk, however miniscule?
Henry would consider that night.
Work the day after Christmas was always a little bit sad, after the cheer and joy of Christmas day, and this day was especially dreary. The worst of the disaster of the misplaced money seemed to have been averted, but they still needed to straighten up and recover. Vera and Billy were working alone today, as there likely wouldn't be anyone needing their services today, unless a teenager decided to invest their Christmas money in the B&L.
She had barely begun to straighten her desk when the phone rang. "Building and Loan, this is Vera speaking," she answered in her brightest voice, trying to ignore the melancholy laying in her heart.
"This is Potter," an all-too-familiar voice said. Vera bit back on her impulse to tell him where to go and how to get there. "Say, this morning we found a newspaper with some money in it, that couldn't possibly be the money your boss misplaced could it?" Vera's heart hammered.
"Oh, I certainly hope so, just a moment please, Mr. Potter," she said, and it was the easiest time she'd ever had being polite to him. She held the phone away from her face, covered the receiver with her hand, and turned to Billy.
"Mr. Bailey! It's Mr. Potter at the bank, he thinks he found the money! Did you go see him on Christmas Eve? With a newspaper perhaps?"
Billy's face lit up in recognition. "I did! I did! I must have left it there! Ask if it was exactly eight thousand dollars!"
Vera turned back to the phone and put it to her face once more. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Bailey wants to know if the amount found is exactly eight thousand dollars?"
"As a matter of fact, it is. Shall I have one of my tellers deposit it in the Building and Loan's account?" Before Vera could ask him to hold while she asked Billy, Billy had already hurried to her side and pulled the phone away. She didn't even mind the rudeness, given the disaster that Christmas Eve had been.
"Mr. Potter! What was that?" Vera could barely make out Potter repeating his question in a very annoyed voice. "I'll make the deposit, Mr. Potter, I'll be over as soon as I can, so that I can get the receipt in case the bank examiner still has questions! Thank you! Thank you!" And without a further word, Billy rushed out the door.
Mary never thought she'd be grateful to Mr. Potter, but his honesty about the lost money had been such a blessing. By the time that the bank examiner had returned the following Friday, all the accounts were in order, and any trace of scandal was dissipated.
She'd remembered everyone who'd donated. She didn't remember how much everyone gave, but she remembered everyone who had. She'd asked each and every one if they wanted the money back, but each one insisted they keep it. It had only been a few dollars, or a few quarters, they insisted. Even Sam had refused to take the money back, even though he had wired over three thousand dollars!
They had to discuss what to do with that money. George had immediately seen the possibilities for it – they could use the money to have a park built, a beautiful place for the people of Bedford Falls, with lovely flowerbeds and a playground for the children. Building it would create a few jobs, if temporary, and maintaining the grounds would provide one or two permanent positions for someone in need of work. It only seemed right that money raised by the community should be used to better the community.
George immediately set to work designing the park, planning where it would go and what would be included. Mary watched him work as the children played and she straightened up the house. "George, why have you only budgeted six thousand dollars for the new park?"
"Well Mary, it occurs to me that we never have gone on that honeymoon," George answered. "As I recall, the money we had saved for it went to keep the B&L afloat the day the banks closed down." He used a wistful tone for this, as though they didn't both vividly remember the day Potter almost got the B&L, the day that had been the worst day of so many people's lives. As if she didn't recall every moment of the day she'd waited in their home, praying their honeymoon money would last until the end of the day and trying to make the best of it for a man that had deserved the world.
"Oh George – do you think we can?" she asked, almost in tears at the thought. After all they'd been through the last sixteen years …
"I think so – we'll wait until the summer, once the kids are out of school, they could stay with my mother for a week or two, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She's always asking why they don't stay with her more often, after two weeks she may never ask again."
"Oh George!" Mary exclaimed, and threw her arms around him. Oh how their fortunes had changed in just a few days!
My mother and I were watching It's a Wonderful Life on repeat this Christmas. It is an absolutely perfect film and doesn't really need anything, but I couldn't help but write this little epilogue, because George and Mary deserve only good things.
Originally I wanted Potter to have more of a "Grinch's heart grows three sizes" moment but he is really the worst and I can't see that happening without the help of three friendly Christmas spirits, so I made his second thoughts be more about the practicality of hiding a crime committed against one of the town's most beloved citizens. Also, I used the term "black" to refer to Potter's nurse Georgia even though the polite term at the time would have been different, but is now considered a little rude, and Potter's bigotry (which I am sure he is, as he is the worst) was already unpleasant. Forgive the minor anachronism. I also cannot for the life of me remember the name of the B&L's secretary though I am sure it was stated in the film, I hope "Vera" is not too distracting for anyone who knows better than me.
Cross-posted on Archive of Our Own