And Then They Were Five
Late in the afternoon a van pulled into Ida Sweetwater’s driveway. There was no name on the side of the van, and it was painted a shade of green that made it almost invisible when it rolled to a stop alongside the azalea bushes. With flickers of sun bouncing off the grill, even the letters of the license plate disappeared into nothingness. Peter Pennington stepped out, still wearing his three-piece black suit. When he spotted Ida standing at the door, he announced, “I’ve come to deliver your bed.”
“By yourself?” He was a small man and not one she would have thought capable of lifting a bed of such heft.
Pennington nodded, circled around to the back of the van, and hauled out the rosewood headboard. He carried it as though it was made of nothing more than balsa wood. After setting it down in what was once the sitting room, he returned to the van for the other pieces.
When he came through the door with a mattress wrapped in plastic, obviously fresh from the factory, the first thing that popped into Ida’s head was You get what you pay for.
“I didn’t buy a mattress,” she said.
“It’s included.”
“Included? That mattress is new, never before slept on—it’s not a previous loved anything. It’s brand new!”
Pennington ignored the comment and circled the bed, making certain the latches were latched and the set up was sturdy. Once he was satisfied that everything was as it should be, he thanked Ida for her business and started to leave. He had one foot out the door when he turned back and said, “I think you need that picture to finish off this room.”
Although she was delighted with the beautiful bed, a blunt needle of suspicion still prickled Ida. “No, thanks,” she said and closed the door before he had the chance to explain why she needed the picture.
After the van disappeared down the driveway, Ida called three of her neighbors. Not one of them had ever seen or shopped at the Previously Loved Treasures store. Nina Mae, a woman whose husband had grown rich selling used cars with faulty engines, said, “It sounds like that Mister Pennington is up to no good.” She advised Ida to make certain her doors and windows were locked when she went to bed for the night.
~ ~ ~
For three days and nights Ida remained in the house with all of the doors and windows locked tight. On the second day Maxwell went down to the Owl’s Nest after dinner, and when he returned hours after midnight he had to pound on the door for a good twenty minutes before Ida answered. When she finally opened the door he was snorting like an angry bull.
“You locked me out!” he steamed.
“I didn’t do it intentionally,” Ida said. “I was just being cautious.”
“Cautious about what?” Without really expecting an answer he started down the hall, listing to the right after his evening of drink.
“Burglars,” Ida said to his back. “Burglars and shifty swindlers.”
Max stopped and turned around. “Ha. In Rose Hill? Not likely.” After that he stumbled into his room and fell asleep still wearing the day’s clothes.
The next day Ida drove down to the hardware store and had six keys made. She gave one to Max and one to Harriet Chowder. The remainder would be for new guests when she added them.
~ ~ ~
After the transformation of the sitting room was complete, Ida stepped back and admired it. The five-dollar rosewood bed was a thing of beauty, making this room by far the nicest in the house. This room had to be for someone special. For this room she would charge forty-five dollars a week.
That same day Ida called the Chronicle and placed an ad offering a spacious room with a wood-burning fireplace at forty-five dollars a week, including delicious home-cooked meals and desserts. She’d added desserts thinking it would be easy enough to pop an extra pie or two in the oven.
The first call she received was from a truck driver named Louie Marino. “Friday’s my last run,” he said. “I’m retiring and looking for a place to settle down.”
Ida simply could not picture a gruff-voiced truck driver sleeping in the rosewood bed. “I’m afraid the room advertised is more of a lady’s boudoir, but I’ve other rooms if you’re interested.”
“The other rooms, they come with the same cooking?”
“Oh, yes,” Ida assured him. “A hot home-cooked breakfast and dinner. Lunch is mostly salads and sandwiches.”
“The sandwiches ain’t those little bitty tea room things, are they?”
“No, sir. I believe in feeding folks proper. You’ll never walk away from the table hungry, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll take it,” Louie said.
“But you haven’t seen the room or asked about the rent—”
“I’m in Pittsburgh today,” Louie said, “but I could come by tomorrow night.”
By the time Ida hung up the telephone she’d decided that since the cost of rent seemed of little importance to Louie Marino, she would offer him the upstairs bedroom with a connecting bath and charge the same forty-five dollars she planned to charge for the sitting room now dubbed the Rosewood Room.
~ ~ ~
The second caller was a silky-voiced woman who spoke with the slightest touch of an accent. She introduced herself as Laricka Marie McGuigan Herrman.
“Good gracious,” Ida said. “That’s a lot of name for one person.”
The woman laughed. Not a guffaw, but a soft chuckle that made Ida want to like her. “I know. But I hang on to each of those names because they mean something. My father worked in a Cuban cigar factory and named me after their best cigar. It was called La Ricka, meaning the rich one.”
“Oh, so you’re a wealthy woman?” For a fleeting moment Ida wondered if forty-five dollars was enough to be asking for rent.
Laricka laughed. “In some things, yes. But when it comes to money, unfortunately no.”
The answer put a quick end to Ida’s thoughts of higher rent.
That afternoon when Laricka came to look at the room, twin grandsons who appeared to be ten or eleven accompanied her. Although Ida was none too happy with the boys since they constantly poked and jabbed at each other, she was overwhelmingly pleased with Laricka herself. The woman was soft-spoken and pleasant, the type Ida could see as a friend. As Laricka walked around the room oohing and awing at most everything, Ida was already picturing them lingering at the breakfast table long after the others had departed. She could almost hear bits and pieces of conversations about planting flowers, needlepoint patterns, and recipes.
“I love the room,” Laricka said wistfully, “and it’s so close to my daughter’s house…” Her smile slid into a downward slope. “But with being on a limited budget I can only afford forty.”
Ida hesitated. It was the most beautiful room in the house, and the bed was almost majestic. It was worth forty-five. She knew she should stick to her guns, but the truth was she had already pictured Laricka sleeping in the rosewood bed. She’d already imagined the conversations they’d have. Letting her walk away would be like losing a friend.
“Okay,” she said. “It’s a deal.”
The next morning Laricka moved in with nine trunks of clothing, a sewing machine, and Bobo, a yappy little dog who nipped at Ida’s heels.
“You never mentioned a dog,” Ida said.
“I didn’t?” Laricka filled the dog’s bowl with water and set it on the kitchen floor. “I can’t imagine how I forgot a thing like that.”
With Bobo’s constant yapping, Ida could no longer hear the conversations she thought she’d be having with Laricka. She now wished she’d stuck with her request of forty-five dollars for rent.
~ ~ ~
By the end of the week Ida had five boarders. Louie moved into the upstairs room with a connecting bath, and the last bedroom she rented to a bachelor dentist who pompously referred to himself as Doctor Payne. Although he was a bit uppity for Ida’s liking, he was willing to pay forty dollars for a much smaller room with no fireplace and no private bath. The only bedroom not occupied was the one
that belonged to James. Ida had purposely not rented that room.
On Friday Sam Caldwell telephoned Ida with the news that he had a lead on Joelle Williams. “She gave up her apartment and left Nashville with James. The two of them moved to New Orleans and lived together three or four years, but there’s no record of them ever being married.”
“Living together and not married?” Ida replied. “That doesn’t sound like my James.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Sam said, “because when Joelle Williams moved from New Orleans she left a forwarding address for Cherry Hill, New Jersey.”
“Did James move with her?”
“I don’t think so. According to the superintendent of the building they lived in, James had been gone for five or six years before she left.”
“Well, then, shouldn’t you be looking for him instead of this woman?”
“I haven’t been able to find anything on him, but I think Joelle may know where he is because they had a kid together.”
Ida gasped. “My James has a child?”
“That’s what it looks like. The superintendent said the girl was about eight or nine when Joelle moved out.”
“This girl,” Ida stammered, “she’s my granddaughter?”
Sam laughed. “So it would seem.” He said he would go to Cherry Hill in the coming week, and there’d be plane fare involved.
“Do whatever you have to do,” Ida said, disregarding the ridiculously low balance in her bank account. She knew somehow things would work out. She had a full house now and a successful pie-making business. Things would work out.
~ ~ ~
On Saturday evening after she’d delivered the week’s pies and collected all of the rents, Ida sat down at the table and again calculated her finances. Her earnings came to a total of two hundred and forty-five dollars, which didn’t take into account the two dollars for the newspaper ad and the additional groceries she’d been buying. As things now stood she would need to withdraw another two hundred dollars from what had quickly morphed into a very meager savings account.
They were so close to finding James and his family, Ida knew she had to continue. She wrote the check to Sam Caldwell, slid it into the envelope, and began thinking of what else she could possibly sell.
The bits of jewelry she once owned were already gone. The house was comfortably furnished but contained nothing of great value. The car, which was cranky about starting anyway, was worth next to nothing, and if she sold it she’d have no way to get around. Ida began to consider the possibility of doing yet another thing she never thought she would do: take out a mortgage on the house Big Jim had long ago paid for.
If she took in another boarder, she could make it through two more weeks, maybe three. Although she wouldn’t rent out the room that belonged to James, she was willing to move into the tiny attic room and rent out the master bedroom she’d shared with Big Jim. And she could reduce the household expenses—turn off lights that weren’t being used, cut back on groceries.
Ida sat there late into the night planning menus that would be filling enough and yet inexpensive to make. Meatloaf replaced baked ham on Tuesday’s menu, and Wednesday’s roast turkey became stuffed peppers. Friday’s baked fish became a macaroni and cheese casserole.
After she’d replaced the Sunday morning sausage and cheese omelet with homemade biscuits and gravy, Ida felt she had the makings of a workable plan.
Ida Sweetwater
Last night when I started to think about mortgaging the house, I half believed Big Jim would send down a lightning bolt to strike some sense into my head. He wasn’t in favor of such things, that’s for sure.
Jim was a self-made man, and he took a whole lot of pride in not owing anybody anything. Ida, he used to say, if anything happens to me, you won’t have a worry in the world because this house is bought and paid for!
That’s how he was, practical to a fault. Jim never did understand the difference in owning something and having it own you. Because of that he couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive our boy for leaving home. He thought James was walking away from the most important thing on earth. And James, well, he was every bit as obstinate, because he believed he was headed toward whatever was most important. The two of them were like telephone poles on opposite sides of the street, and I was the wire stretched between them.
The funny thing is both of them were wrong. What you own or where you go has nothing whatsoever to do with what’s really important.
I only wish I could tell Jim how wrong he was. Having this house is like having a fistful of hundred dollar bills in my pocket. Those bills are nothing but bits of paper as long as I hang on to them, but once I start spending them I can buy a whole bunch of happiness. The same is true of the house. An old woman like me doesn’t need a big house. Without Jim, all I need is a narrow bed to sleep on and an oven for baking pies.
The truth is I’d give this house and everything I own just to see James and his family. I know, I know, Sam Caldwell said they might not be married, but that doesn’t sound like my James. He might be the biggest flirt ever, but he wouldn’t be that disrespectful to a woman. For now I’m going to keep right on believing they’re married and that little girl is my granddaughter.
Granddaughter. Just saying the word puts happiness in my heart. How can I not believe in something that makes me feel this good?
The Girl
On Sunday afternoon Ida moved all of her things from the big bedroom she’d shared with Jim into the attic alcove where there was a narrow single bed, a chest of drawers, and a cord strung from one rafter to the other for hanging clothes.
With the steep staircase she had to stop and rest every four or five steps. It was almost six o’clock when she carried the last of her nightgowns and underwear up the stairs and set the basket down. Before she could catch her breath she heard the hallway clock chiming six gongs.
Minutes later Louie’s voice came hollering up the stairwell. “Hey, Ida, there’s no supper on the table!”
“I know, I know.” Ida came bustling down the stairs as fast as her arthritic hip would allow. “I was busy moving things around, so supper will be a bit late tonight.”
“A bit late?” Louie repeated. “It’s already late, and I’m hungry.”
“I’ll bring you a bowl of chips or some pretzels,” Ida said as she hurried toward the kitchen, but as she passed the dining room she saw the other four residents already sitting at the dining room table. No dishes, no glasses, no salt and pepper shakers, just four hungry-looking faces staring back at her.
Before Ida got halfway through her feeble excuse, Laricka suggested she could whip up her famous black cake if Ida had any cocoa in the kitchen.
“Cake?” Louie echoed. “I don’t want cake. I want meat and potatoes.”
“I could do without the potatoes,” Harriet said. “A green salad maybe.”
“Meat and potatoes!” Louie reiterated. “I signed up for meat and potatoes, and that’s what I want.”
Doctor Payne stood and held up the palm of his hand. “Just a minute!” he boomed with an air of authority. “The question of the menu is not debatable. The issue here is time.” He eyed his wristwatch then glared at Ida. “It is now six-twenty. Dinner was supposed to be served at six, which means it is officially late!”
Louie guffawed, “Hey, Doc, you sure you ain’t a brain surgeon?”
Oblivious to the crackle of tension between the two men, Laricka leaned over and whispered loudly, “He said he was a dentist.”
“I realize dinner is late,” Ida replied patiently, “but it will be ready in twenty minutes.” She turned and left before more arguments could erupt.
Doctor Payne stood, checked his watch again, and announced, “That would be precisely six-forty-two, by my watch.” He turned and started off.
“Ease up, Doc,” Louie said. “There ain’t nobody hungrier than me, but dinner’s coming. Instead of acting like the Big Ben timekeeper, why don’t you stick that watch up—”
Harriet let out a raucaus roll of laughter. “That’s telling him, Louie!”
Doctor Payne sneered back at the two of them, then walked off.
“I think he’s angry,” Laricka said.
Harriett let out another roll of laughter.
~ ~ ~
Once in the kitchen, Ida realized she had a bigger problem. In the hustle and bustle of moving she’d forgotten to defrost any meat. The hamburger was a solid chunk of ice, and the only piece of meat not frozen was a single pork chop. After shifting things from place to place and searching through the back of the refrigerator, Ida remembered the storm supplies Jim packed away last summer. She pulled the large brown box from the bottom shelf of the pantry and found seven cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew.
She opened the cans, emptied them into a baking dish, and popped it into the oven.
In what could be considered record time, she mixed a salad, set out a basket of biscuits, and put dinner on the table.
Louie spooned a large helping onto his plate, but before he lifted the first bite to his mouth Laricka joined hands with Doctor Payne and Harriet and began the mealtime prayer.
“Father God,” she said, “please bless this food and this house and all who enter, and those who do not have—”
“Speed it up,” Louie grumbled. “I’m hungry.”
Although Laricka usually included a long list of those in need of blessing, she ended with a quick “Amen.”
Louie shoveled up several bites of stew then looked over at Ida. “You sure can cook. This stew was worth waiting for.”
Ida smiled and said nothing. Late that night she gathered the Dinty Moore cans she’d hidden under the sink and carried them to the outside garbage can. From that day forward she was careful to plan ahead, and even on the busiest days when Ida baked pies supper was on the table at the dot of six.
Previously Loved Treasures Page 3
