Previously Loved Treasures Read online

  At the end of the day the hole that had been a window was covered with wallboard, the cabinets scrubbed down, the floor free of debris and seven bags of trash hauled to the curb. The kitchen, although it would eventually need the window replaced and a fresh coat of paint, was mostly useable.

  The smell of smoke was still evident, but after a while no one noticed it. Laricka said it was a pleasant reminder of the house she’d lived in as a child, a house with a wood-burning fireplace. Harriet said it put her in the mood for another cigarette, and Louie said so long as the stove was still working he could live with the smell.

  That evening they all gathered around the dining room table, including Calvin and George. Max of course was missing because he was now under arrest and confined to the Rose Hill jail. Doc Payne was still at the Gomez house, and it would be days before he could tear himself loose from Mercedes. Wilbur, although reports were good, was not scheduled for release from the hospital until tomorrow.

  ~ ~ ~

  When everyone was settled at the table, Caroline spoke. “I don’t know how to begin to thank everyone,” she said. She’d thought of a dozen different things she wanted to say, but she before could get started she was interrupted.

  “Thanks ain’t necessary,” Harriet said. “We’re family.”

  “Yeah.” Louie nodded. “Family.”

  “It’s what Ida would have wanted,” Laricka added.

  Although Caroline had planned a sequence of lengthy statements saying how much she appreciated what each person had done, the words left her. For the third time that day, tears came to her eyes and she simply said, “I’m so lucky to have a family like this.”

  She thought back on the words Ida had once said: Love turns strangers into family.

  In the center of the table sat the African violet, looking perked up and happy in its new jelly jar home.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was after ten o’clock when Caroline finally trudged up the stairs to her attic room, and it was the first she’d seen the room since the night of the fire. There had been no damage in any of the second floor rooms, not even in the downstairs parlor or the dining room, but when the explosion shook the house it knocked loose the picture she’d received from Peter Pennington and sent it crashing down. The frame was split apart, and the picture lay on her desk amidst a pile of broken glass.

  “Oh dear,” she said.

  Caroline Sweetwater

  It’s a sad thing to walk into a place you’ve loved and see it torn to pieces. It made me feel like the last little bit I had of Grandma Ida was gone. All those other places I lived I walked away without even a look back, but this house is different. Those places, the places where Mama and I lived, they were just apartments. One was the same as the other, and there was no special significance attached to any of them. But this house is a home. Grandma made it that way.

  Calvin, that fireman, he’s nice in a deep sort of way. Not many men would stop what they’re doing to remind a weepy-eyed woman she’s got memories to hang on to. It takes a certain sensitivity to do that, and Calvin, he’s got that kind of sensitivity.

  He’s nice looking too. That’s not something I noticed right away, but when we were having pizza I watched how he was handing everyone else a slice before taking one for himself. That’s when I saw the blue of his eyes and the kindness shining out of them.

  I doubt that Grandma would think a store-bought pizza lunch was something special, but this one will stick in my head for a good long time. It felt like the start of a good tomorrow. Not just one good tomorrow, but a lot of them strung together and stretching out for years to come. Grandma always said to keep a sharp eye for an omen of things to come. I think her violet coming back to life was just such an omen.

  Behind the Picture

  Looking at the broken picture, Caroline felt a certain sadness in her heart. For a number of weeks the smiling young man had looked down on her, and she’d come to care for him in a strange and quite unexplainable way. She’d wondered and at times even daydreamed about who he was and what his connection to Ida had been.

  There was a connection, Caroline was certain of it. She’d felt it in a number of odd ways. Not things you could touch your hand to but a feeling of familiarity, like a place she’d once been to or someone she’d known in passing. Perhaps he’d been a distant cousin or youthful sweetheart. Caroline knew nothing about him, save this single thing: his picture was intended for her grandma, and now it was intended for her. Peter Pennington had said as much, and Peter was never wrong.

  He’d been right about the desk, and he’d been right about the watch. Only the picture was still unexplained.

  When she pulled the wastebasket from under the desk, Caroline already knew what she’d do. She’d take the picture back to Peter and ask him to reframe it. She thought back to the happiness on his face when he’d given her the gift. Surely he’d be willing to find a new frame. Caroline chuckled as she carefully lifted the larger pieces of broken glass and dropped them into the wastebasket. She knew chances were Peter could produce the exact same frame, right down to the tiny chip on the right-hand corner. How he did it, she couldn’t say, but it was mysterious and wonderful at the same time.

  Caroline didn’t see the large brown envelope until she lifted the piece of cardboard backing the picture. She picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands.

  It was a perfectly plain brown envelope. No markings, no name, no return address. Nothing. Thinking back Caroline remembered Peter’s words: This was intended for your grandma, and now you’re the one who should have it. Slowly and tentatively she lifted the flap and slid out the contents.

  U.S. Railroad bond certificates. Ten of them. Each one with a face value of one hundred thousand dollars.

  “Good grief!” Caroline exclaimed. If she had found a fifty-dollar bill she’d have been happy. If she’d found a one hundred-dollar bill, she would have been ecstatic, but a million dollars’ worth of bonds was too unbelievable.

  “There’s got to be a mistake,” she mumbled. Opening the envelope she looked inside again. Nothing. It was empty. There was no note, no explanation. The envelope contained nothing but the bonds.

  “Impossible,” she said and stood there staring at the stack. A dozen different scenarios ran through her head. Perhaps they were payment of a debt someone owed to Ida or maybe to Big Jim. Possibly someone in Ida’s past, her parents or a lover, had intended the bonds as a gift. But who? It saddened Caroline to think that as much as she’d loved her grandma, she knew little about her life. She had no knowledge of where Ida came from or why somebody would want her to have a million dollars in bonds.

  This was intended for your grandma, and now you’re the one who should have it. Peter Pennington’s words. He had the answer. Caroline knew he alone could explain why this gift was intended for Ida and, ultimately, her.

  For a long while Caroline sat there looking through the bonds, looking at each one carefully, turning it over in her hands, and searching for some small clue: initials written in the corner, a secret message, a meaningful mark. After nearly an hour she had found nothing.

  Setting the bonds aside, she cleared away the remaining pieces of glass and lifted the photograph that for weeks had been smiling down on her. “Who are you?” she asked. The photograph offered nothing more than a male version of the Mona Lisa smile. There was no mark on the photograph, no studio name, no date taken, no inscription, nothing. It was as void of clues as the envelope had been.

  “Impossible,” Caroline repeated. Logic warned that it was a mistake. Perhaps Peter didn’t know the bonds were behind the picture. Perhaps they were intended for someone else. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. She could find a million reasons why such a gift wasn’t intended for her but not a single rationale for why it was.

  And yet…

  Holding bonds of such great value in her hands did something to Caroline. It sent a shiver of excitement up her spine and ignited the spark of possibility in her mind. Although sh
e was willing herself not to, Caroline began to think of things like buying a new washing machine and replacing Wilbur’s gold pocket watch.

  When those thoughts came, she tried to draw back. “Impossible,” she repeated over and over again. The logic of some unknown benefactor giving either Ida or her those bonds was too overwhelming. It was simply not a thing that could be real. In the wee hours of the morning she slid the bonds back into the envelope and decided that tomorrow she would take the picture and the bonds and go back to Previously Loved Treasures. This time Peter Pennington had obviously made a mistake.

  Caroline cleaned up the remaining bits of glass, then showered, pulled on a pair of pajamas, and climbed into bed. Given the long day of work, she should have been tired. She should have closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep seconds later. Were it not for that envelope she might have, but now sleep was impossible to come by. Lying in bed she tried to find a reason, a logical, explainable reason to justify her right to the bonds, but there was none. Every scenario she imagined was offset by an even more valid point proving this had to be some kind of crazy mistake.

  The argument with herself was one Caroline could neither lose or win. Either was impossible because both sides knew what the other was thinking. If only Wilbur were here, she thought. He’d know what to do.

  The night seemed a thousand hours long. When the first ray of dawn creased the sky, Caroline climbed out of bed and got dressed. She gathered the picture, the broken frame, and the bonds and tucked them into a tote bag.

  First she would stop by the hospital and check on Wilbur. Then she’d visit the Previously Loved Treasures store.

  Peter Pennington would be able to provide an explanation

  Previously Loved Treasures

  As soon as the breakfast dishes were dried and put away, Caroline left the house with the tote bag. She drove to the hospital and went directly to Wilbur’s room, even though it was a full hour before visitors were allowed.

  Breezing through the door, she said, “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “You’re early today,” Wilbur said with a smile. “It must be something important.”

  “It is.” Caroline pulled the brown envelope from her tote and handed it to Wilbur. “What do you think of this?”

  Wilbur slid the contents out, leafed through the bonds, then gave a long low whistle. “Where’d you get these?”

  “They were behind the picture.”

  “Picture?”

  She nodded. “The picture Peter Pennington gave me.” Caroline explained how Peter said the picture was originally intended for Ida, and since Ida was gone she was meant to have it.

  “Did he say there was something behind the picture?”

  Caroline shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”

  “Hmmm.” A puzzled look settled on Wilbur’s face. “Do you know what these are?”

  “Investment bonds?”

  “Not just bonds,” Wilbur said. “Bearer bonds.”

  “Bearer bonds?”

  Wilbur nodded. “Bonds that have no listed owner. They belong to whoever has them.”

  “But I have them.”

  Wilbur nodded again. “Yes, you do.”

  “That can’t be right,” Caroline stammered. “Why would anyone give me—”

  “That’s something I can’t answer,” Wilbur said. He slid the bonds into the envelope and handed it back to her. “You’ll have to talk to your Mister Pennington.”

  “That’s my next stop,” Caroline said and dropped the envelope into her tote.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was close to eleven when Caroline left the hospital and drove to the center of town. She parked across the street from Previously Loved Treasures but sensed something was different. Peter, who always seemed to know when she’d be arriving, was not standing out front waiting to greet her, and the interior of the store appeared dark.

  Thinking her sunglasses responsible for the blackened shadows, she pulled them off and slid them into her pocket. The dark interior remained the same. Caroline crossed the street and could now see the windows were empty of merchandise. No chairs, bits of jewelry, china dishes, or lace doilies. And the window was dirty, covered with soot and grime that looked years old.

  Something was very wrong. Peter Pennington kept the glass so clean it sparkled in the sunlight. Caroline reached out and tried the handle of the door. Locked.

  Peter was not a young man. Possibly he was sick; maybe he’d fallen and was in need of help. Caroline rattled the door. “Anybody here?”

  Silence was the only answer.

  For ten, maybe fifteen, minutes she stood there banging on the door, rattling the knob and calling out Peter Pennington’s name, but still there was no answer. Feeling frustrated and helpless, she walked to the dry cleaner two doors down.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the woman behind the counter. “I’m looking for Peter Pennington. Do you know if something’s happened to him?”

  The woman shrugged. “Can’t help you, honey. Afraid I don’t know this Mister Pennington.”

  “He’s the man who owns the Previously Loved Treasures shop.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not familiar with that one.”

  “It’s the second-hand store.” A thread of impatience crept into Caroline’s words. “Two doors down, this side of the street.”

  The woman shook her head and shrugged again.

  “The green building on the corner!”

  The woman chuckled. “Shoot, sweetie, that old place’s been empty for years. Nobody’s been there for who knows how long.”

  “But he was,” Caroline argued. “Peter Pennington was there and he had all kinds of stuff—used furniture, watches, clothes even.”

  “You sure you got the right town?” the woman asked.

  “I’m positive,” Caroline replied. “I’ve been there several times. I bought a used desk, a watch, a box of clothes—”

  “Maybe you’re thinking of Saint Vincent’s Thrift Shop. That’s two blocks down and left on Foster Street—”

  “No,” Caroline said hopelessly. “It was right here on the corner.”

  For almost a minute nothing more was said. Droop-shouldered and feeling deflated, Caroline stood there hoping time would change the answer but it didn’t.

  When a young man came in carrying a bundle of shirts, the woman looked at Caroline one last time. “Check with Fritzi over at the beauty parlor,” she said. “Fritzi knows most everything that goes on in town.”

  Caroline did try Fritzi, and she also tried Herb at the hardware store and Mildred from the supermarket. The answer was always the same. No one had ever heard of a Peter Pennington or seen the Previously Loved Treasures shop.

  In a last-ditch effort to find Peter, Caroline stopped at the Saint Vincent Thrift Shop. “Have you ever heard of Previously Loved Treasures?”

  The girl behind the counter laughed. “Of course I have. We’ve got tons of previously loved things. What exactly were you looking for?”

  “A man called Peter Pennington,” Caroline answered.

  “A man,” the girl said. “Well, now, that’s one thing we don’t have.”

  Caroline returned to the little corner building and pressed her nose to the glass. “Where are you, Peter?” she said tearfully. “Were you ever really here?” A stream of tears rolled down her face as she peered into the empty store.

  A stretch of bare shelves lined the wall, and the counter was covered with a layer of dust. There was no evidence that there had ever been a Previously Loved Treasures shop. And yet Caroline knew better. She could so vividly remember Peter Pennington’s mischievous smile, the kindness with which he spoke, the sage advice he’d given, and his gift—the picture she carried in her tote.

  Caroline cupped her hands around her eyes and looked through the window. At first the store seemed empty, totally empty, but then she saw a glint of light at the far end of the shelves. A spot of yellow. She pressed closer to the glass and focused her eyes on the s
pot. Slowly it took shape; it was a yellow step stool. The yellow step stool Peter used to retrieve treasures from the higher shelves.

  “Thank you,” she whispered through a flood of tears.

  If Peter was no longer here perhaps he was somewhere else, helping another person, handing them exactly what they needed in exchange for a single coin. It mattered not that anyone else had seen or believed in Peter Pennington. Caroline did. She believed just as Grandma Ida had believed.

  With a saddened heart, she climbed back into her car and drove off.

  The Secret

  Wilbur was released from the hospital the following day. The doctor indicated it would be after lunch, but Caroline arrived while the breakfast tray still sat on the table.

  “I thought maybe we’d have some time to talk,” she said and pulled the visitor’s chair closer to his bed.

  “Is something wrong?” Wilbur asked.

  Caroline shrugged, “I don’t know if I’d say wrong, but it certainly is confusing.” She explained how she’d gone back to Previously Loved Treasures and found the store empty. “It’s not like Peter to just not be there. He knew when I was coming, and he was always ready with exactly what I needed.”

  “Having what you need,” Wilbur said with a smile. “That could be nothing more than coincidence.”

  Caroline shook her head. “It wasn’t coincidence. He knew. I tried to buy you a new pocket watch, but Peter told me you needed that wristwatch. See what I mean?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “The glow-in-the-dark watch saved your life.”

  “Saved my life?”

  Caroline nodded. “The smoke was so thick, Calvin couldn’t see a thing. If it wasn’t for the glow of that watch…” The remainder of such a terrible thought was left unsaid.

  “Who’s Calvin?”

  “The fireman who rescued you.”