I narrowed my gaze, stunned and stung. And so, in that moment, I stung back: “I was learning this business at Papa’s side before you knew anything about it.”
Ned raised his hands before his chest. “Now, no need to insult me, Marjorie.”
“Same goes for you, Ned.” It was unlike him, and a side of him I didn’t like seeing. A moment later, Ned sighed. I turned and looked out over the water, white fists wrapped around the railing, my stomach choppier than the rough waters our yacht now plied. Just then the ship rocked, sending a spray of cold ocean water onto the deck, misting us where we stood. I gripped the railing tighter. I was not going to be the first one to walk away, to back down from this exchange.
When Ned eventually spoke, his voice was quiet, and I could barely hear it over the roil of the surf: “Listen to reason, Marjie. Frozen food? It would mean a disruption to everything we currently think about food. Not just in preparation, but in storage, in cooking. What makes you think people would want that? It’s an errand likely to cost you millions and end in failure. Why on earth would you take something like that on?”
“Because, Ned, that’s what we have always done.”
* * *
Ned resisted me. For over a year. We fought about it so regularly that Adelaide and Eleanor began to roll their eyes, taking Deenie’s hand and leaving the room whenever the topic of Birdseye came up. “Here we are, in the Birdseye of the hurricane once more,” they’d say.
Ned would scoff, insisting that it would require too many changes for the middle-class household. That no reasonable man wanted to keep a freezer in his own home. That it would be too difficult to oversee a fleet of trucks conveying frozen food. That it would be a hassle to try to maintain the quality and safe handling of the food. That nobody wanted the many headaches that would come with a frozen food industry, nobody from grocer to housewife, and least of all Ned Hutton.
But I refused to relent. I ordered Colby to keep giving me reports on Birdeye’s progress. His operations in Gloucester continued to thrive, but it was clear that he needed more money and more personnel to truly grow. He needed what only we, the Post Cereal Company, could give him. Eventually, when the value of Birdseye kept going up, and I saw that this wasn’t some passing trend, I went directly to Colby. “Ned doesn’t like the idea. But it’s my checkbook and my name on the company, not his. And I can’t put this one out of my mind.” It was an early spring morning, and Ned was out hunting on Long Island. Deenie and I were in Manhattan, set to join him later that afternoon, but I wanted this business tended to first.
“Marjorie…er, Mrs. Hutton.” Colby looked at me with an expression of visible discomfort. “You and Mr. Hutton have decided on this…？ You’ve…you’ve changed your minds on the topic of frozen foods?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I haven’t changed my mind at all. I’ve liked Birdseye from the beginning. Now, Colby, I’m not asking you to do anything squirrelly or dishonest. I know that Ned is the chairman of your board. I’m not saying we ask Mr. Birdseye to get married. First, let’s just see if he’d like to dance.”
Colby’s brow was crumpled in confusion. “Meaning…what, exactly?”
I crossed my arms. “Meaning, let’s see how much he’d ask for his company.”
* * *
—
Mr. Birdseye proved to be as shrewd and ambitious as I’d always suspected him of being, and he quoted us a high price for his operations—$22 million. All for a business he had started in an ice hut in Labrador with a few frozen fish. But we could afford it. And besides, I knew a thing or two about betting on plucky men who started businesses with nothing more than a good idea and the intention of changing the way people saw their world.
We announced the acquisition of Birds Eye Frozen Foods that summer. I was relieved it was over and happy with the purchase; Ned was not. But I forced myself not to falter. He hadn’t wanted the man’s company, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to pay $22 million to get it. Well, it’s my money. I didn’t need to say it aloud, but the thought arose. Time would prove me correct, I knew that. I just hoped that my husband would be all right when it did.
* * *
—
My husband needed a win, and I knew it. So when he suggested a name change for the company, even though it would mean giving up Papa’s original mark on it, I listened attentively.
“We are so much more than just the early Post Cereal products now,” Ned went on. “We’ve got drinks, desserts, condiments, detergents and soaps, and even Birds Eye Frozen Foods.” Birds Eye Frozen Foods, already one of our biggest earners. It turned out that American cooks and shoppers did appreciate frozen foods—the convenience, the variety, and yes, even the taste—as I had suspected they would. I bit my lip to quell a smirk.