A New Foundation

by Rochelle Alers

  Purchasing her own home had become a priority for both her independence and the ability to display the pieces she’d begun collecting following her divorce. Whenever she purchased a painting, print or sculpture she would have it shipped to her parents’ home for safekeeping, with a promise that one day she would come and take her treasure trove to her own home.

  “Thank you, Taylor.”

  “For what?”

  “For indulging me.”

  He gave her a direct stare. “It’s not an indulgence, Sonja. I’m open to whatever you have to say.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated.

  Sonja did not want to compare Taylor to Hugh. Her ex rarely listened to anything she had to say. The exception was when it benefitted him. Otherwise, he tended to wave her away as if she were an annoying insect. Now that she looked back she wondered how she had surrendered her will to him, and she didn’t need sessions with a therapist for the answer. She’d taken her marriage vows seriously while loving Hugh Davies unconditionally.

  “Are you ready for coffee and dessert?”

  Taylor pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Yes. I’ll clear the table while you brew the coffee.”

  Sonja walked into the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear as a silent voice said Taylor Williamson was a keeper. He was who she needed to start over with—a man who respected her and treated her as his equal.

  “I made enough for leftovers,” she said over her shoulder. “Should I put away some for you?”

  “Of course. What time is dinner tomorrow?”

  Sonja went still and then slowly turned to face Taylor. “You want us to eat together every night?”

  “That’s up to you, Sonja. It can be every night or every other night. The choice is yours.”

  “Tomorrow is okay. At that time, we can come up with a schedule that works for both of us. If I’m going to make my own hours, then there may be times when I’ll work through dinner.”

  Taylor set stacked plates on the countertop. “Don’t...”

  “Don’t what?” she asked when his words trailed off.

  “Just don’t overtire yourself.”

  “I won’t. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black.”

  “Okay. One black coffee coming up.”

  Sonja stood at the door watching Taylor as he backed out of the driveway. She waved to him and he returned her wave before she closed and locked the door. Sharing dinner with him was not only enjoyable but also enlightening. After coffee and dessert, he’d stayed behind to help put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. He’d scraped and rinsed dishes and pots for her to load the dishwasher. How different it was when she’d been left to clean up everything following a dinner party for Hugh’s friends and colleagues.

  She knew she had to stop comparing Hugh and Taylor, yet the differences were so acute it would take her time—a lot of time—to erase the memories of what she’d had with her ex-husband. When she’d answered Viola’s call on Easter Sunday asking whether she would meet her brother, Sonja had no way of knowing her decision would change her life. Turning on her heel, she headed for the staircase. Although curious to open the trunks to see what she would find, Sonja decided to wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  Sonja woke early, showered, slipped into a pair of sweats, and fortified herself with a breakfast of grits, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, wheat toast and coffee. Then she sat on the floor of the office, opened one trunk and found copies of the floor plans and blueprints Taylor had made for her. She set them aside and began removing bundled letters, receipts, ledgers, and bank and tax records. It was going to take her an inordinate amount of time to put everything in chronological order.

  She picked up an envelope with the initials MS—Happy Birthday written on the front in calligraphy. She removed an invoice stamped Paid and a handwritten date of September 4, 1906, for a diamond-and-emerald necklace from Tiffany’s. Sonja jotted the initials, date, item, vendor and the price of the gift on a legal pad. There were more invoices from various jewelry stores in New York, Boston, San Francisco and Philadelphia for MS with dates ranging from 1906 to 1914. The baubles included rings, earrings, multiple strands of cultured and South Seas pearls, totaling more than ninety thousand dollars, which would be the equivalent of more than two million today. Sonja was anxious to determine the identity of MS, who had paid for the jewels, and their connection.

  She selected another envelope and spilled out its contents to find ticket stubs and newspaper clippings. Sonja quickly scanned the articles. They were about infamous 1920s gangsters: Bonnie and Clyde, John Dillinger, Charles Arthur “Pretty Boy” Floyd and George “Baby Face” Nelson, just to name a few. There were even more about the exploits of Al Capone.

  Sonja found herself engrossed in articles about Harry Houdini’s death in Detroit, women’s official right to vote in the United States, Babe Ruth setting a new home run record, and Lindbergh’s first solo flight across the Atlantic. She heard a buzzing and then realized she’d left her phone on vibrate. Scrambling off the floor, she picked the phone off the table. It was her mother.

  “Hola, Mami.”

  “Hola. How are you?”

  Sonja smiled. “I’m okay. No. I take that back. I’m very, very well.”

  “That’s good. I got your text with your new address. I thought you were moving into a hotel.”

  She flopped down on the blue-and-white-checkered upholstered chair and rested bare feet on the ottoman. “That’s what I thought, but my when boss couldn’t find one close enough to the work site he rented the condo.”

  “He sounds like a very generous boss.”

  Sonja detected a hint of facetiousness in her mother’s tone. “He’s a very considerate boss, Mami. He needs my expertise, therefore, he’s willing to do what has to be done for me to perform at my best.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No.”

  “Is he engaged?”

  Now Sonja was becoming annoyed with her mother’s questioning. “I don’t think so.” She knew Taylor wasn’t married, otherwise Olivia would’ve mentioned it to her. And it was the same with him being engaged. “Why are you asking these questions, Mami?”

  “I’m asking because I don’t want you to get in and over your head when it comes to him.”

  Sonja frowned. “Why would you say that?”

  “Remember you went gaga over Hugh. When I asked about you spending so much time with him, I recall you saying that he was a helpful and very considerate professor.”

  Closing her eyes and biting her lip, Sonja struggled to control her temper. She didn’t think her mother would bring that up when she’d promised they’d never discuss her ex again once the divorce was finalized.

  “Taylor is nothing like Hugh.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He’s my friend’s brother.” She told Maria about the phone call between her and Viola, and her subsequently meeting Taylor. “Working at the gallery allowed me to save money, but I knew it really wasn’t going to advance my career. But, becoming the architectural historian to restore a residence listed on the National Register of Historic Places was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “I’m not doubting your professional ability. It’s just—”

  “It’s just that you doubt my ability not to mix business with pleasure,” Sonja said, interrupting her mother.

  Well, she wanted to tell Maria that it was too late. She was doing exactly that, yet there was a difference. She was no longer that twenty-year-old woman who had fallen victim to a much older man who had a habit of preying on his young female students. It wasn’t until much later in their relationship that Sonja became aware of his reputation. And when she confronted him, he’d proposed marriage. Shocked and taken aback that he loved her enough to make her his wife, she rationalized the rumors were nothing more than li
es and agreed to become Mrs. Hugh Davies.

  “I’m not as naive or gullible as I used to be. And I have Hugh to thank for that.”

  “I’m not trying to run your life, baby. It’s just that I don’t ever want you to go through what you did with that monster.”

  “I know that. I told you before that if or when I get involved with someone I’m like a traffic light. Green means go, yellow is proceed with caution and red means stop and don’t look back.”

  “I’m going to ask you one more thing about your boss, and then I promise to stay quiet.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is he nice looking?”

  Sonja covered her face with her free hand and inhaled deeply. “No, Mami. He’s gorgeous.”

  Her mother’s soft chuckle came through the earpiece. “I rest my case. I never thought when I used to drag you around with me to museums that you would become an architectural historian.”

  “I love history and I love art even more.”

  “What are you working on?”

  Sonja told her mother about Bainbridge House. “I’m certain if you were to see it restored with the original furnishings you would love it.”

  “Are you saying they’re going to modernize it?”

  “No. The exception will be updating the plumbing and electricity. Once the restoration is complete it will look like a French nobleman’s country estate. I’ll send you photos when some of the work has been completed.”

  There was a noticeable pause on the other end of the connection. “When are you coming up to see me?”

  Sonja grimaced. She usually tried to visit her parents for a weekend every two to three months, but that was when she worked part-time. “I’m not sure now that I’m working full-time. I don’t plan to work the Memorial Day weekend, so I’ll probably drive up then.”

  “We’re not going to be here that weekend. Your father and I are driving down to Savannah. He’s meeting up with some of his army buddies who rented a boat to sail down to the Caribbean.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “About ten days. They plan to use the boat as a hotel while they visit different islands.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “I’m really looking forward it. I told your father if he agrees to another golf outing that I was going to leave him.”

  Sonja wanted to tell her mother that she’d threatened to leave her husband so many times over minutiae that James Martin tended to ignore her. “I suppose the next holiday is the Fourth of July. Do you guys also have plans for that holiday weekend?”

  “James was talking about surprising me with something because that’s our anniversary week, so right now I can’t commit to anything.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to be married forty years.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long,” Maria admitted. “I also know you’re fixated on your career but—”

  “Please don’t say it, Mami.” Sonja had cut her mother off in midsentence. “I know you want me to find someone and settle down and give you more grandbabies. Of course, I’d like to fall in love and perhaps even marry, but that is not at the top of my wish list. If or when I decide I want to become a mother, I’ll adopt.”

  “I just want you happy, Sonja.”

  “But I am happy, Mami. I have my health. Right now, I’m living in a beautiful condo where all my needs are met. And I’m working on the sort of project I’ve always wanted. The only analogy I can think of is an archaeological dig and discovering ancient artifacts.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m meddling in your life. It’s just that I saw you so emotionally wounded that as your mother I, too, felt your pain.”

  “I’ve healed and I’ve never been happier.”

  “That’s what I want to know, baby.”

  Sonja knew she had pacified her mother because she’d called her baby. “Yolanda told me you sent her your pastelón recipe and I got it from her.”

  “That’s because every time I talk to her she nags me until I couldn’t stand it anymore and I sent it to her.”

  “Well, now I have it. I know Abuela is smiling in heaven because her granddaughter will continue the tradition of making her incredibly delicious pastelón.”

  “When we hang up, I’m going to go through some of the recipes my mother left me and send them to you.”

  “Have you ever thought about writing a cookbook using Abuela’s recipes? You could publish it in English and Spanish. You can call it memories of a Puerto Rican kitchen. Before each recipe you can include a little narrative about the events that made that dish so memorable. I remember you telling me how the entire family had to pitch in when making pasteles for Christmas.” The first time Sonja tasted the tamales filled with pork, chickpeas, yucca, olives, capers and other spices they’d become her personal favorite for the holiday season and other family celebrations.

  “Ay dios mío,” Maria said, lapsing into Spanish. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Yo no sé,” Sonja answered. It wasn’t often she got to speak Spanish, because her mother and uncle, like a lot of New York Puerto Ricans tended to combine the two languages when speaking.

  “I’m going to get all of her notebooks and go through them. After I decide what to include, then I’ll start writing the narratives. Thank you, baby, for giving me something to do other than sit on the porch and read or watch television.”

  “Let me know what you come up with.”

  “I will. I’m going to let you go because I know you have work to do. You can call me whenever you have some spare time.”

  “Will do, Mami. Love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Sonja ended the call, smiling. Placing the phone on the charger, she returned to the floor to examine the ticket stubs spanning decades. There had to be hundreds of them from operas, concerts, stage plays, state fairs, circuses, movie theaters, museums and auctions.

  Sonja decided the clippings and stubs would take up too much time to catalogue at this time and put them back into the envelope. A collection of flyers garnered her rapt attention. Someone had crossed the Atlantic on a steamship to attend six world’s fairs, had taken the train across the country to attend two in San Francisco, driven to Philadelphia and had chartered a yacht to Havana, Cuba. She put them in chronological order. The first was in 1881 to Paris, France, for the International Exposition of Electricity and the last in San Francisco in 1915 for the Panama-Pacific International Exposition’s Palace of Fine Arts. She noticed three of the expositions were geared to electricity, and she wondered if the Bainbridges had an interest in Edison’s electric lighting system and subsequently invested in General Electric. The trip in 1881 preceded the completion of the château by two years. Where, she wondered, had the Bainbridges lived before that time? And where and how had they amassed a fortune of at least ten million to build their castle?

  Taylor’s head popped up when he realized he wasn’t alone. The caretaker had entered the room he’d set up to conduct interviews. Earlier that morning he’d met with two licensed electricians and one plumber, and based on their prior experience he wouldn’t hire any of them.

  “I just closed the gate,” the caretaker announced.

  Taylor pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Thanks. Please sit down, Dom.” When Elise had talked about a resident caretaker he’d imagined a middle-aged or elderly man living in one of the cottages, not the tall, slender man in his midthirties with a black, lightly streaked gray man bun and dark green eyes in a deeply tanned face.

  Dominic Shaw sat, stretched out his legs and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “How did it go?”

  Taylor laced his fingers together atop the table. He liked Dom and had come to rely on him to be available when the applicants arrived for their scheduled interviews. He met them at th
e entrance to the property and escorted them to the main house.

  “Although licensed, they are not what I need.”

  “Not enough experience, Taylor?”

  “It’s not that, Dom. One electrician admitted that he couldn’t get along with his last two supervisors, and for me that is a red flag for someone with a problem accepting and following orders. The other one once had his license suspended. It was recently reinstated, but I didn’t want to know why. To be truthful, I’m on the fence with the plumber. He’s young, licensed and hasn’t had much experience, but I may be able to hire him as an assistant.”

  “Do you intend to supervise them?”

  “Not directly. I’m hoping to hire someone I’ve worked with in the past to assist me.”

  “How many general contractors do you need?”

  Taylor angled his head. “Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

  A hint of a smile parted the caretaker’s lips. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  “You?” Taylor repeated.

  Dom’s smile vanished. “Yes. I’m the fifth generation Shaw caretaker. I learned the ins and outs of repairs from my father and grandfather. They taught me everything about installing electrical wiring and plumbing. By the way, I happen to be a licensed plumber.”

  Taylor knew the estate’s caretakers were paid from a trust set up by Charles Garland Bainbridge in 1898, and at least one Shaw male from each succeeding generation had accepted and maintained the position, including Dominic Shaw.

  “Are you asking to work for me?” Taylor asked him.

  “No. I won’t work for but with you,” Dom countered. “Conditions set out in trust prohibit me from working for anyone because my sole responsibility is taking care of the estate.”

  Suddenly Taylor was intrigued with the caretaker. This was the first time they’d had more than a cursory exchange with each other, and Dom’s offer to help with the repairs was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. “If I agree to let you help with the restoration, what do you want to do?” His query appeared to shock Dom, and he sat up straight.