House Wrecking Read online

  “There’s no need. When Grandfather returns, he’ll tell you all you need to know.”

  “Any idea when he’ll be released?” Mr. Ford asked.

  “Soon, I’m sure,” Emily said.

  The men nodded, dropping their coins on the counter and heading out the door. Before Mr. Brunel exited, he said, “let me or the missus know if you need anything while your grandpa is gone – alright?”

  Emily nodded.

  Business boomed all day, with customers seeking information about the raid under the guise of buying sundries. Some were kind, offering assistance in her grandfather’s absence. Most were meddlesome, sticking their noses where it didn’t belong as Sarah would say. The sun settled closer to the earth leaving only a dribbling of customers entering the store. She grabbed a loaf of yesterday’s bread, her coat and purse and locked the store.

  Emily plopped down on the bench at Edgewood Park. Guessing her purpose, the ducks extended their legs to propel in her direction. She ignored them at first, mesmerized by the calm of the pond, disrupted by the occasional flap of a wing. Some waited patiently watching her. Others were more polite, averting their gaze. She threw the scraps of bread in their direction. When they were gone, Emily turned her pale face toward the sky and allowed the sun to beat down on her. Mother would berate her later, promising spots, wrinkles or any other evil she regularly attributed to the sun. But at that moment, Emily couldn’t find a way to care.

  The next day, Emily continued to endure the gossip and innuendo by throwing her shoulders back, presenting an air of aloofness which challenged her customers to question her. She closed the store early to take the trolley downtown and visit her grandfather in the city jail. She’d packed him a parcel of his things and snuck in a few of Mary’s cookies and a soda pop, hoping the guards would be kind and allow in a few treats for an old man.

  Upon arrival, she was thankful for the friendly face greeting her at the front desk. Officer Deen was often on duty during Emily’s frequent trips to the police station over the last few years to offer leads surrounding Thomas’s disappearance.

  “Afternoon Miss Emily. Long time no see...” Officer Deen greeted her.

  “Hello Officer Deen. I’m here to see my grandfather Paul,” Emily said.

  “Course you are little lady. Nasty business with your grandfather. Why don’t you go ahead and sign the book right here, and take a seat.” He slid a key into the door behind him, leaving her in the empty room.

  Emily signed as instructed and sat on one of the three wooden chairs against the wall, placing her purse on her lap. She gazed at her watch every few minutes and wondered what could be taking Officer Deen so long.

  Forty minutes later, the back door to the office opened and she rose to meet Officer Deen. “Sorry to keep you waiting Miss Emily. I can take you back now. He shook his head. “I’ve got to warn you though; your grandpa ain’t looking too good. The stateys did a job on him – said he resisted arrest and all. Though I ain’t sure of that.”

  “Can you please take me to him?”

  “Alright Miss Emily. Gotta ask you to leave your bags with me, though.”

  “I brought him a few things from home…” She pleaded.

  “Sorry, Miss Emily.” He hesitated. “Them’s the rules.”

  Officer Deen opened the door and directed her to the third cell on the left. Emily followed his directions through the door. On other occasions, she might’ve smiled at the whistle from the greasy-haired prisoner sitting on the floor of his jail cell. When she arrived at her grandfather’s cell, he was lying on a narrow cot against the wall. A toilet bowl sat in the opposite corner and the smell of vomit filled the corridor. The black and blue bruises mottled his face and thin, bare arms which became visible in the dim light. There was a noticeable tremor in both of Paul’s hands resting on his belly.

  She watched in horror, before mumbling, “Grandpa, it’s Emily.”

  Paul stirred at the sound of her voice, “Emily?”

  “Yes, Grandpa. It’s me. Are you okay?”

  “Oh honey. I’m sorry. I’m not good.”

  “What is it Grandpa. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing a bottle of whisky wouldn’t fix. Don’t suppose you could smuggle one in?” he said. He lifted his hand off the resting position on his chest to gesture toward some imaginary item on the ceiling. After a moment, his hand fell to the original position on his chest.

  “I don’t think so Grandpa. They wouldn’t even let me bring in Mary’s cookies,”

  “Shame on both counts.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No honey. Thanks for coming. He struggled to a standing position and made his way over to her. “Listen honey, I’m sorry for all this. I know you already got a lot to manage with your mama. Now you got to visit an old man in jail.”

  “It’s ok,” Emily said, letting this sink in a minute.

  He approached the bars of his cell and reached through for her hand. “I’ve got a little money stashed away. Maybe when I get out, we can take ourselves a proper vacation. People like Martha’s Vineyard. Maybe we can go there?”

  “Oh Grandpa, when do you think you might be able to come home?” she asked.

  “I don’t think they’re going to let me out of here anytime soon. Want to make an example of me, they say. Fancy that – never was an example of nothing. Don’t worry; they can’t keep me in here forever.”

  “Oh,” Emily replied. “I’ll come again to visit soon. I love you Grandpa.”

  “I love you too, honey.”

  Emily spent the walk home dreaming of Martha’s Vineyard. She’d never been out of Connecticut before, but had seen pictures in magazines of rose entwined beach cottages lining the beachfront. She conjured an image of the two of them sitting on wooden deck chairs on one of these beaches, sipping champagne cocktails. She rearranged the image without the cocktails, which caused most of the problems Paul had. They sat under broad-brimmed beach hats, beneath which their cheeks had still managed to pinken. Sarah wasn’t there to holler for her. Maybe Steven might join them later for dinner on the vineyard, she thought.

  They received the call later that night that Grandfather Paul had died in his jail cell. Sarah insisted that her father-in-law Paul should be laid out in the newly relocated Sisk Brothers Funeral Homes she had read about downtown on Dwight Street. She and Mary argued, Mary insisting that Paul should be laid out in his home by his loving family. Being the Mistress of house, Sarah got her way of course; Emily stayed out of it.

  Buried Treasure

  Ben and Lauren walked toward the newly open space to the side of the basement steps. From the looks of it, nestled at the front of the basement, it wasn’t more than an oversized storage room. The dust from the door opening settled, and was replaced by a strong odor of pipe tobacco mixed with stale, human muskiness. Lauren recognized it and quickly recalled the houses’ history. Before Ben raised his arm to shine the flashlight inside the space, she grabbed his arm.

  “Wait.” Lauren said

  “What’s the matter?”

  “There may be something in there we don’t want to see.”

  “Like what? A body?”

  “Actually, yes.” Lauren explained. Many years ago, a young boy who lived in this house disappeared. His body was never found.”

  Ben stopped in his tracks. “And you think he might be in here? When did this happen?”

  “A long time ago, 1904, I think. Do you think we should call the police?”

  Ben laughed. “And tell them we found a space which may or may not contain the dead body of a boy who disappeared ninety years ago?”

  “Yeah, I guess it sounds stupid.”

  “Sorry Lauren, I didn’t mean it like that. But the police won’t interested unless we actually find a body. I’ll check it out first - ok?”

  “Ok.” Lauren relented

  Ben shined the light into the space. “There’s lots of stuff in there. I think I see a light fixture. I doubt
it works, but let me give it a try.”

  Ben stepped over the bottom step and disappeared into the space while Lauren peered in behind him. She heard the click of a ceiling light fixture being pulled, but no new light filled the space. “Want me to get a new bulb?”

  “Nah - they probably updated the electrical to sell the house but this room wouldn’t be on the grid. If you have an extension cord and a couple of lamps we can light it with those.”

  Lauren grabbed an extension cord from the old kitchen cabinets in the basement and plugged it into one of the updated electrical outlets in the basement. She ran up the two flights of stairs to her living room, unplugged the living room lamps and carried them down to the basement. When she arrived at the bottom of the stone steps, she plugged the two lamps into the double outlets at the end of the cord and turned them on, passing each one separately to Ben who was still inside the space. He positioned the lamps strategically throughout the space revealing its contents.

  “No bodies,” he called out.

  “Thank God.” Lauren said, climbing across the bottom step and joining him inside. It seemed like a storage room, stacked floor to ceiling with old furniture, paintings and sculptures. Toward the front of the room, closest to the door were two navy upholstered chairs and an old teak chess board with the carved figures still positioned in play.

  “Beautiful chess set,” Ben fingered one of the ivory players. Looks like one of the knights is missing.”

  Beyond the chess set, a dozen side tables and a number of mismatched chairs stood stacked on top of larger pieces of furniture on either side of the narrow path. A thick oriental runner had been laid across the narrow path like a road toward the end of the room. While you could see the shape and legs of the stacked furniture on either side of the path, most were covered in old oil cloths. Several paintings stood propped on the furniture toward the end of the carpeted path, wrapped in the same oilcloths and tied with rope. One brilliant blue painting of a solitary sailboat stood unwrapped, facing them.

  “You’ve got some famous paintings down here. This one looks like a Salner, painted in the mid-nineteenth century. If they’re original, they’re worth a substantial amount of money. Do you mind if I unwrap these others?” Ben removed his pocket knife from his front pocket.

  “No, of course not. How do you know about these paintings?” Lauren eyed what looked like a hope chest against the wall. She unstacked the four chairs and removed the oilcloth covering it.

  “I majored in art history at NYU.” Ben said.

  “Cool,” Lauren said for lack of anything better to say; dismissing her worry about him being an uneducated laborer. “Oh my God, look at this.” She beckoned Ben to see the stash of silver, crystal and porcelain inside the open hope chest. She unwrapped two figurines from their cloths, revealing a pair of complimentary porcelain greyhound dogs, lying on pedestal bases with elaborate embellishments. She continued to unwrap more porcelain dogs and birds. There were also elaborate crystal bowls and serving pieces and a substantial collection of silverware. The silver was tarnished, but was obviously of a good quality.

  Ben cut the ropes on the rest of the paintings. “Looks like you’ve got a Cassatt and a Homer in here too; although, I’ve never seen these before. If they’re originals, they’re worth a fortune.”

  “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t be. It doesn’t look like this room has been opened in a hundred years.” Lauren admired the newly uncovered paintings.

  “You never know, they made copies of original paintings a hundred years ago, too. He continued to cut the ropes off another four paintings and lined the collection of eight oils against the wall. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped down the seats of two chairs and sat down in one of them admiring the paintings now displayed in the space around them. “This is an impressive collection. What are you going to do with all this stuff?”

  Lauren assumed the seat next to Ben and took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I’m not sure this stuff belongs to me.” Lauren considered this as her eye caught sight of a wooden box stuck under a chair, wedged between its carved mahogany legs. She silently rose from the chair and bent down in front of her to pull it toward her. She struggled to pull the rectangular shape from its narrow hideaway and Ben rose from his chair to help her. The two lifted each side of the box onto the top of the chest. A lock on the front prevented them from opening it.

  “What do you think’s in here?” She asked him.

  “Too small for a body,” he responded.

  “Not funny.”

  “Sorry-bad joke, I’ll get a something open it up. Ben fled from the room to rummage around the tools, returning with a crow-bar like object. He went to work prying open the old rusted lock in seconds.

  “Holy shit,” Lauren opened the box, revealing numerous rolls of fifty and hundred dollar bills.

  Ben cut the ties off one of the rolls with his pocket knife and unrolled them. They’re all dated in the teens and twenties. I think you might have had some bootlegging going on in here, you know….during prohibition.”

  “Unbelievable. I think I’m ready for that drink now. How about you?”

  “Oh yeah!”

  The two headed out of the space, turning off the two lamps they’d lit and leaving the hidden room again in darkness.

  New Roomie

  The morning after her grandfather’s funeral, Emily was back at the store filling orders. Since the store was their sole source of income, she couldn’t afford to take off more than a few hours.

  When Steven arrived to collect the deliveries, they exchanged the usual pleasantries.

  “Morning, Miss Emily.”

  “Mr. Jackson,” Emily nodded in his direction. “I’m glad you’re here. Since I was closed yesterday, we’ll have to work hard today to catch up.”

  “Yes, Miss Emily. He lifted the crates and into the wagon attached to his bicycle in front of the store. “I’ll deliver these and come right back.”

  “Please do. I expect more orders to arrive for this morning and afternoon.” Emily said from her position behind the counter.

  “Yes, Miss Emily,” he said, turning toward the door and his bicycle. He stopped mid-step and came back over to the front of the counter. “You know Miss Emily, my granddaddy died when I was eleven years old and I still miss him.” He gently touched her hand for the first time, meeting her eyes and holding them there.

  Tears pooled in Emily’s eyes. Don’t blink, she willed herself – don’t blink. She rested her other hand on top of his, giving him a little squeeze in return and her tears began to flow.

  ***

  A week after their hands met for the first time, Emily was standing on a stool reaching for the last jar of peaches on the top shelf when she lost her footing and began to crash down. Steven, who was five feet away gathering items on a lower shelf, ran to her aide, and caught her before she hit the ground. They lingered, holding each other’s eyes once again. This time they each added a smile. Steven gave her a final pat on the arm before releasing her.

  The next day Emily asked “Mr. Jackson, might you have the time and inclination to help me clean out my grandfather’s apartment this Saturday, after we close the store for the day?”

  “Well of course, Miss Emily. I’d be happy to.”

  “I’d pay you of course.”

  “No need, Miss Emily.”

  “I insist.”

  “I am available to assist you as a friend, Miss Emily; not as an employee.”

  “That’s kind of you Mr. Jackson, then I must insist you stay for dinner on Saturday evening. Our cook, Mary is absolutely wonderful and I’d like to reward you for your assistance in this way,” Emily said

  “I could use a good meal,” he said offering his hand.

  Emily took it in her own and they exchanged a handshake.

  At the end of business on Saturday, Steven Jackson rolled his bicycle inside the store and Emily locked it. The two began the short walk up the hill to her house.
/>   “There it is,” Emily gestured toward the grand Victorian looming ahead.

  Steven let out a low whistle.

  “Yes, it’s quite a house. My father and grandfather built it thirty years ago from a set of house plans they sent away for in the mail,” she said.

  “Don’t see many of these around, though.”

  “My mother picked out the plans and sent my father ahead from Colebrook to build it. When she arrived, he said she didn’t like it. Can you imagine?

  “I can’t imagine anyone not liking this house. It’s beautiful.”

  “Well, it used to be. But my father died and things kept breaking. We were starting to make improvements when …well you know the rest of the story.”

  He reached for her hand and held it in his own. They walked the rest of the way to the back of the house.

  They spent the day collecting newspapers, bottles, cigarette butts, old food and debris. Most of the plates and cutlery were chipped or encased in food. She paused before tossing grandfather’s shaving brush and blade into the garbage cans behind the house. Steven started to make a pile of items in the yard to burn. All afternoon they hauled out the contents of Paul’s apartment and dumped them into the pile. She went through his belongings hunting for the money. She knew her grandfather had a bundle of cash stored somewhere, but she couldn’t find it. She poured through her grandfather’s clothing to see if anything was salvageable for the poor. The clothing and linens were torn, stained or too old and unfashionable to be of use to anyone. These went into the pile too.

  When the apartment was vacated of all trash and personal items, Steven went outside to set fire to the pile while Emily stayed inside to clean. She washed away years of grime off the sofa, desk and chair in the front parlor and scrubbed the floor until it shined. She went down to the basement and found an array of rugs lining the floor of the speakeasy. She chose one in relatively good shape, rolled it, brought it to the front porch and beat the grime out of it. She brought it back into the parlor and laid it on the floor, admiring the sense of comfort and coziness the parlor now assumed. She attacked the dining room and kitchen with similar tenacity, finishing her work in the bedroom where a single unmade bed, night stand and set of dresser drawers remained. She cleaned these items and went upstairs to find new linen for the bed. She chose a set of clean cotton sheets and a white chenille bedspread. She passed by the kitchen, popping her head in to see Mary scrubbing vegetables at the sink.