House Wrecking Read online

  Charles tidied the room, then squeezed the inside lever to open the door, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, eventually withdrawing his pocket knife and sticking it into the joint. This final action released the door and Charles made a mental note to get this fixed. They extinguished the light and pressed the external lever to seal the room.

  The next day, Charles could tell it was morning before he opened his eyes. Perhaps it was the light creeping in around the curtains, or the heavy July heat consuming his bedroom next to the master, where his wife slept. He lingered in his childhood bed, brought from Aunt Rosemary’s house, and kept his eyes closed a few more minutes before opening them. Luxuriating in a few spare minutes of tranquility was a treat he rarely afforded himself.

  Despite the problems with his wife and son, an unexpected spirit of optimism spread over Charles, as if a weight had been lifted from him. While there was no denying his bad marriage, Charles took comfort in his two children. Emily was a perpetual source of delight, with her emerging intelligence and ready humor. While Thomas had presented challenges, last night had gone well. Charles was convinced he’d found a solution and was inspired to persist with his plan. He was feeling confident and decided he would close the shop early and take advantage of the beautiful day by taking a sail in his new boat.

  Charles had long held a passion for sailboats, ever since his mother, Isabelle, had begun telling him stories of the beautiful boats she’d experienced during her trips to the beach in Bridgeport during her childhood. When the grocery seemed to be doing well enough, and with few other sources of entertainment to spend his hard-earned money on, Charles purchased a sailboat of his own which he kept moored at the New Haven Yacht club. He spent the morning catering to a steady stream of his regular customers with lightness in his step that he hadn’t had in a while. The midday dinner break found Charles barely able to contain himself. He could imagine the sun beating down on him, sailing on the rippling waves with the smell of the ocean satisfying all his senses.

  At home, Charles enjoyed a quick meal in preparation for the mile-long walk to the New Haven Harbor, where his boat was waiting for him to board. He considered bidding Sarah farewell, whom he’d not talked with since their argument the day before, but he decided against it. Nothing was going to ruin this day for him. He would be back in plenty of time to enjoy supper with the children and continue schooling Thomas in the art of manhood lessons.

  “Mary, I’m off for an afternoon sail. I’ll be back for supper.” Charles departed.

  Taking what Doesn’t Belong

  When Lauren returned to Dorothy’s room for her umbrella, the voices coming from inside stopped her from entering. She enjoyed a moment of satisfaction that the young nurse had followed through with her commitment to check in on Dorothy. She continued another step toward the threshold.

  “Are you all right, Miss Dorothy? You look peaked this afternoon.”

  “Oh Grace, I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself in a pickle, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Lauren leaned in closer. She heard the mattress springs depress on Dorothy’s bed as Grace sat down.

  “Tell me, Miss Dorothy. I’m sure it can’t be all that bad,” Grace comforted.

  “You see, a long, long time ago, I agreed to look after something. The person I took it from wanted it back, but I had grown attached and couldn’t return it. I’ve lied all these years. Now, I fear my daughter and granddaughter will find out what I did.”

  Lauren’s mouth gaped in the hallway as she took in Dorothy’s words. An orderly rounded the corner, propelling her from her spot and into Dorothy’s room. She snatched the umbrella by the door and managed another brief goodbye, before collecting Beverly and bolting out the doorway.

  Lauren and Beverly dashed to the car. Once inside, they buckled in for the short drive downhill to the diner for Beverly to retrieve her car. Lauren said nothing. She needed to rid herself of Beverly to think. She pulled next to Beverly’s car. Before getting out, Beverly waved the black and white photo in Lauren’s direction. “Do you mind if I keep this picture for a couple days? This Emily woman looks so familiar to me; I keep trying to figure out how I know her?”

  Lauren didn’t want Beverly to look at the photo any longer and figure out what Lauren had seen and Dorothy confirmed. She stammered around for a response. “Let me show it to Jeff, first,” she said, reaching for the lamest possible excuse. “I’ll give it to you next time I see you.” Lauren muttered snatching the photo from Beverly’s hand and tucking it into her purse.

  The Storm

  Mary was at the market picking up the chops she planned to flash fry for supper, when the winds picked up. At first her fellow maids remarked with amusement – “how about that wind?” Then Louise recalled the storm of 1899 and an unstated concern filled the butcher shop. Some gathered their purchases quickly. Stella left without her meat. The remaining two maids, including Mary nervously awaited their parcels and hurried home. By the time she arrived home, the winds had blown loose branches from the trees and Mary had to protect her head from the pelting rain. She threw the meat in the icebox and headed to Sarah's room.

  “Ms. Sarah, a storm’s coming. Let’s get you down to the kitchen. Mary lent Sarah her arm and helped her out of bed. Sarah had put on at least fifty pounds since Mary had started working for her. It took them a full five minutes to negotiate the two sets of stairs to the basement kitchen.

  When she was settled into a chair at the kitchen table, Sarah said. “The children will be safe at school, right?”

  “Yes, Ms. Sarah. I’m sure they’re just fine. Mr. Charles though...” Mary placed a plate of cookies in front of Sarah and turned back to the stove to make tea.

  “What’s he gone and done now?” Sarah bit into a cookie.

  “He was headed for the Sound to sail.”

  “He’ll be all right. He has good sense.” Sarah said, biting into another cookie.

  “Yes, Maam.” Mary returned to the table with Sarah’s tea. They sat silently as the winds continued to blow and the rain beat against the basement windows. Then just as the suddenly as it started, it stopped.

  Mary put another plate of cookies in front of Sarah. “I’ll go check that it passed,” she said.

  Sarah nodded.

  In front of the house, the sun was full in the sky, as if the rain and the wind had been imagined. But the scene of devastation confirmed that the storm had hit hard. Loose limbs and roof shingles littered the dirt road in front of the house. The smell of smoke and sound of sirens lingered in the air. Mary stepped off the porch and pulled a branch off the front walk way.

  “Any damage to the house?” Sarah asked from the front door.

  “Looks like we made out all right. Someone lost a roof though. Look at these shingles on the road.”

  “Well at least they’re not from our roof. Look down the road and see if you can spot the children or Charles.”

  Mary picked her way gingerly to the street, dodging the debris in her path. “I think this might be Emily coming along.”

  When Emily was within earshot, Sarah blasted. “Where’s Thomas?

  “I don’t know. I was hoping he made it home on his own.”

  “What do you mean, made it home on his own? You always come home together.”

  “He had a fight at school and Ms. Lawson made him sit alone outside. I lost track of him when the storm hit and they hurried us to the cellar.”

  Sarah turned swiftly. “Let’s look for him inside.”

  Mary and Emily followed her. They searched the house, but found no sight of Thomas.

  When dusk came, Sarah said. “Mary go downtown and tell the police that Mr. Charles and Thomas are missing.”

  Sarah got back in bed and Emily sat at the foot. “They’ll be back soon, mother,” Emily said.

  Sarah just nodded.

  Emily left her to rustle two sandwiches from the kitchen.

  When Mary returned, Sarah asked, “What did the police say?”r />
  “They don’t know anything. They said they’d do all they could, but there’s a big mess after the storm.

  ***

  The next day, Sarah arose early from a restless sleep. She checked Thomas’s room first, then Charles’s, but they were both empty. She waddled her obese body down the stairs and retrieved the Journal Courier carelessly tossed on the porch. Mary met her at the top of the stairs with a tray of coffee.

  “Any sign of them,” Sarah asked.

  Mary shook her head. “Maybe there’s something in the paper?”

  Sarah shook open the paper and read from the front page.

  It came from the south, sweeping through the Carolinas and along the coast to New Jersey, New York and coastal Connecticut, before heading onto the Cape and islands of Massachusetts. New Haven fared better than other cities hit hard by the storm. All totaled, ten New Haven residents lost their lives as a result of the hurricane. The Tierney twins, Theresa and David were both killed when the branch of the tree they were sitting on snapped against the potent force of the winds, dropping them to the earth and crashing down on top of them. Elderly Mrs. Louise Waters and her husband Samuel, were both killed when they left the meal they were cooking on the stove and fled to the safety of the cellar. The forgotten fire was boosted by winds through the open windows. The flames engulfed their house and took the life of firefighter Gregory Jones who had gone into the house and tried to save them, though it was obvious to all gathered in front of the inferno, there was no chance of escape. Mr. and Mrs. Jonathon Jepson and their young daughter Caroline had gotten off the train from their vacation in New York City and boarded a hired horse and wagon to take them to their home on Grand Avenue. The horse got spooked in the storm, throwing the stagecoach driver and the three passengers down a hill to their death. The identity of the final victim has been withheld until he has been identified and the family is notified.

  Sarah slapped down the paper. “Don’t even think of it Mary. Thomas will be home soon. He just got scared and is hiding out somewhere until he can find his way home.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mary said.

  A knock came at the door then and Mary opened it to the two police officers. She came to retrieve Sarah who refused to leave her room.

  “They need to speak with you.” Mary pleaded.

  “Emily can talk to them.”

  “She’s only eight…,” Mary said.

  Sarah glared at her.

  The police reported that a body matching Charles description was found on the shores of the New Haven Sound. Sarah said she couldn’t do it, so eight-year old Emily accompanied the police to identify Charles’s body.

  While Emily was gone, Sarah’s thoughts returned to Thomas. He would be found; he had to be. She was sure he was just hauled up somewhere. She’d ask Mary to commence a search party with the other maids in the area. Emily could post a sign in the grocery. Oh the grocery…who would run it if Charles was dead? It was their only source of income. Perhaps Charles’s lush-of-a-father could help them for once. She’d ask Mary to summon him. “Mar..!” she began to shout. Then stopped. Best to confirm that Charles was dead first.

  She stared out the window, scanning the streets for Thomas..

  Legal Advice

  Lauren squeezed her minivan along the narrow driveway to the side of the Attorney Kelsey’s office building, careful not to scrape it against the brick. With great effort, she backed into the one available parking spot in the rear. She got out of the car and crossed the sinking front steps to the office. They’d been there twice since Baxter’s death last fall and Lauren had grown to like the attorney. She saw through his stray shirttails and stained collars to the wit and intelligence that matched her own, and they’d shared a few laughs at Jeff’s expense over the months, much to her soon-to-be ex-husband’s disdain.

  She opened the double-French doors to the office and tripped over the up-turned edge of the imitation Oriental rug in front of the reception desk. She recovered herself in time to prevent landing on the lap of the older woman seated behind the desk.

  “Oh dear, are you alright?” the receptionist asked.

  “Yes, sorry. I’m fine.”

  “I keep taping the corner down, but it comes right back up.”

  Lauren smiled. “I have a two o’clock appointment with Attorney Kelsey.”

  “Jack,” the receptionist hollered. “Your two o’clock is here.”

  “Send her in.”

  “You heard the boss, go on back. He’s expecting you, and do be careful dear. This place is a deathtrap.”

  Lauren smiled again and headed down the hall.

  “Lauren, it’s good to see you. How’s it going?” He greeted her.

  “Well, we’re getting a divorce.” She took a seat across from his cluttered desk.

  “Shit – really?”

  “Yeah. I was hoping you could tell me how this affects my involvement with the lawsuit.”

  “It complicates the shit out of it.”

  “How?”

  “Well, it ties your hands. You can’t sell or distribute any property while the lawsuit is pending, unless the plaintiff gives you permission.”

  “That sucks!”

  “Yes. Anything you owned at the time of the incident or purchased since would be considered an asset they could attach. Do you need to sell the house?”

  “I don’t know. If Jeff keeps his office and pays rent, we can stay. It may be awkward, though.”

  “Yeah. It might be better if you stayed anyway. It would be hard for a judge to throw a nurse and her two kids out on the street because her husband fucked up.”

  Lauren laughed before turning serious again. “It’s best to get the lawsuit settled as quickly as possible, so I can get on with my life. Where are we with it?”

  “I haven’t heard anything for a while. I can give their attorney a call and check in. Sometimes it is good to let things drag out. Baxter’s parents don’t need the money. They are looking to inflict pain right now. They might lighten up over time.”

  “I hear you, but I want to end all possible ties with Jeff and his messes as soon as I can. In the meantime, can you recommend a good divorce lawyer?”

  “Sure. I can’t represent you, because I have an interest in both parties. Why don’t you try a mediator and work things out the best you can now. If you both agree, I can arrange the mediation for you.”

  “Alright. I’ll run it by Jeff. We don’t have much besides the house and the cars and we owe a lot of money on both of those. Since we can’t do anything with them now anyway, a mediator might work. Thanks.”

  “No problem; let me know.” Attorney Kelsey said, rising from his chair and extending his hand, signaling the end of the meeting.

  Emily

  Emily had just settled into bed for the night with a copy of House of Mirth, when her mother, Sarah summoned her from the other room. All day she’d wanted to get back to her novel, sneaking a page or two between customers at the store. She didn’t know what Lily would do if Lawrence didn’t propose – a prospect that didn’t seem likely at this point in the story. “Emily! Em-i-ly!” She considered pretending she was asleep, but knew Sarah would keep on until Emily went in. She got out of bed, causing Mimi and Madeline, their two house cats to stretch and jump to the floor.

  The weather was still cool despite the early spring sunshine, but they were loath to turn on the heat for the dear cost of the fuel. It was customary for the chill in their house, buried for the past several months in snow tainted by the graying of passing Fords and concentrated yellow of dog urine, to linger. When April opened into May, Emily delighted in the disposing of the page on the Ladies Home Journal Kitchen calendar – both for the appearance of the new fashions and the hope a new month might bring. She refused to succumb to the disappointments of the previous calendar pages. There was always another page to tear.

  She wrapped herself in a gray silk brocade robe and tightened the faux rope belt around her imprecise waist. Th
e robe, which she’d ordered from the Sears catalog, provided little warmth, save for the neck to toe protection against the cool air. The cold would cling to the crumbling ceiling medallions, the dusty chandeliers, the chipped balustrades and moldings until July, when it was forced out by a bold, yet brief burst of heat. She donned wool stockings, pulling them high over her knees. She considered gartering them before heading next door to see what Sarah needed, glancing around the messy room in a vain attempt to find one. She sifted through the pile of blouses and sweaters stacked on the sole chair in the corner, emitting the faint smell of her body odor. She kneeled and lifted the blanket to glance under her single bed. She pulled two stray stockings encased in dust well-formed dust bunnies – no garter. Never mind, there was no one to mock her if her stockings fell from her ample thighs to her ankles.

  “You must get the noise to stop, Emily – you must. Please…. I cannot get a moment of sleep with the music and the talking, laughing, talking. Go speak with your grandfather and tell him to send his guests home and silence this house. Every single night, it must stop, it must. We are not running a saloon here, for heaven’s sake.”

  Emily tipped her head at Sarah’s observation. That’s exactly what they were running here, or rather her Grandfather was. The speakeasy - more aptly named the speak-loudly, Grandfather Paul operated out of their basement was so popular, had his patrons not included police officers, she was sure they all would’ve been locked up. What her grandfather was doing in the basement was illegal. But after spending much of the past two decades in near poverty, the extra income generated by the speakeasy afforded the much needed renovations to their crumbling house – two bathrooms updated with a tub added on the third floor for poor Mary. The gravity-fed coal furnace they installed eliminated the need to shovel coal all day and night. Roof shingles were replaced; crumbling stucco patched, windows repaired and a house painting was planned when the Connecticut weather stabilized into summer.