Previously Loved Treasures

by Bette Lee Crosby

  I’m going to keep right on calling Caroline. Sooner or later she’ll have to answer. When she does, I’ll tell her how sorry I am about what James did. I’ll say that wasn’t the way his daddy and I brought the boy up. Hopefully she’ll understand and be forgiving.

  With me being right there on the telephone, I think she’ll at least give me the courtesy of listening. It’s a lot harder to hang up on a real person than on a machine.

  The Telephone Call

  Monday morning Greg Markey was in the foulest of moods, and it got worse when Caroline told him she was not going to work.

  “I’ve a terrible headache,” she said, “and I’d be useless anyway.”

  “I need you to write that article,” he replied. “I’ll take you to breakfast on the way; then you’ll feel better.”

  “I don’t think so,” Caroline answered and looked away.

  To allow Greg to reach out and pull her in again would be the undoing of her resolve. He had that power. His eyes made promises he had no intention of keeping, and the sweet words he spoke left a bitter aftertaste.

  Were it possible, Caroline would have made a clean break, ripped herself free of him like the quick yank of a Band-Aid from tender skin. But after three years of being together their lives were braided in a tangle that could only be undone one strand at a time. Today she would start unwinding the strands.

  As soon as Greg was gone, Caroline hurried to the corner newsstand and bought the Philadelphia Inquirer. Returning to the apartment, she poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table, and turned to the “Help Wanted” section. By nine-thirty she had circled three ads that looked promising.

  The first listing was for a marketing manager in a sporting goods store. It wasn’t something Caroline had experience in, but she felt she could do the job. Unfortunately, the store manager had other thoughts.

  “I won’t even consider someone without at least three years of sporting goods experience,” he said.

  Caroline moved on to the second listing, copywriter at the Palmer Ad Agency. A young woman answered, and Caroline quickly launched into an overview of her qualifications.

  “Wow,” the girl said, “you sound perfect for the job.”

  “Would you like me to come in for an interview?” Caroline replied.

  “Oh, I’m not the one doing the hiring, that’s Mister Sorenson. He’s out right now. I could have him give you a call when he gets back.”

  “That would be great,” Caroline said, then rattled off her telephone number.

  On the third listing there was no company name, just a job description and telephone number. A machine answered. “If you are calling in reference to the editorial position, please leave your name and telephone number. We will get back to you.”

  “Good morning,” Caroline said to the recording. “My name is Caroline Sweetwater, and I’ve had more than four years’ experience writing for—” A shrill beep interrupted her words and signaled the end of the message. She redialed the number and hurriedly left her name and telephone number.

  Shortly after ten the telephone sounded, and Caroline grabbed it on the first ring. Using a tone she hoped would sound professional, she said, “Caroline Sweetwater here.”

  There was a moment of silence; then Ida gave a deep sigh. “Caroline Sweetwater,” she drawled. “Lord have mercy, I never dreamed—”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “You’ve got nothing to be pardoned for,” Ida said. “It’s your daddy’s doing. I don’t hold you one bit responsible, not one bit.”

  “Responsible for what?” Caroline asked. “Who is this?’

  Ida chuckled. “I’m your grandma.”

  Caroline gasped. “My what?”

  “Your grandma,” Ida said. “Your daddy’s mama.”

  “You must be mistaken,” Caroline replied tersely. “I don’t know that my daddy had family. Anyway, I haven’t seen or heard from him in almost twenty-five years.”

  “I know,” Ida said sadly. “I haven’t heard from him for over thirty.” She continued with the story of how James left home and after a few postcards that first year they hadn’t heard from him again.

  “That sounds like Daddy,” Caroline replied. The disdain in her voice was obvious.

  “You’ve got every right to be angry with him,” Ida replied. “I’m angry with him myself. If I had James here I’d sure—”

  “Well, if you’re expecting me to tell you where Daddy is, I can’t help you.”

  “Oh no,” Ida said. “That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “Then why are you calling?”

  “Because I’d like to get to know you,” Ida said. She wanted to say, “Because I’m hoping you’ll come and live with me, let me love you the way I would have loved your daddy if he’d have let me,” but she heeded the wariness in Caroline’s voice.

  “Missus Sweetwater, I’m real sorry that Daddy did you as he did, but I honestly don’t know where he is. He disappeared without—”

  “I know,” Ida cut in. “I paid good money for a private investigator to go looking for James. I know he can’t be found, but I’m happy Mister Caldwell found you.”

  Caroline laughed. “I’m not that hard to find.”

  “Thank the Lord.” Ida sighed.

  “It’s sweet of you to say that,” Caroline replied, “but the sorry truth is you don’t know a thing about me, and I don’t know a thing about you.”

  “I know,” Ida replied sadly. “And I’m to blame. I should’ve hired Mister Caldwell years ago. I waited too long, that’s the problem.”

  “Well, I don’t know that I’d say—”

  “Yes, indeed, it’s my fault!” Ida said emphatically. “When James stomped out the door I should have insisted Big Jim go after him, but I didn’t.” The years of regret made her words seem weighted and heavy. “You never want to believe a person is what they are, so I kept telling myself James would come home. I sure never figured him for one to abandon his family.”

  “Neither did Mama.” Caroline’s voice was tinged with resentment.

  “I know,” Ida said. “The investigator who found you told me about your poor mama. All those years.” She sighed again. “If only I’d known…”

  “I doubt there’s much you could have done,” Caroline said. “Mama was crazy in love with Daddy. No matter how much dirt he dumped on her, she’d forgive him. She hated New Orleans but stayed there ’cause she kept thinking he’d come back.”

  Even though Ida’s heart already knew the answer, she asked, “Did James ever send money? A letter maybe?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not even a telephone call?”

  “Nothing. The last we heard from Daddy was the day he walked away.”

  A whoosh of disappointment gushed through the telephone line.

  As they spoke Caroline found herself talking about things she hadn’t spoken of for years, not since her mama’s death. “Living in New Orleans was almost worse than dying,” she said. “Mama cried all the time, and the place stank of tears, sweat, and whiskey. In the summertime there wasn’t a breath of air in that apartment, and sweat dripped off my face even if I was standing still. ‘Please, Mama,’ I used to beg, ‘let’s move to New Jersey so we can be close by Aunt Pauline.’ Mama was just as miserable as me, but she wouldn’t move. She kept right on believing Daddy was gonna take a turn for the good and come running home to save us.”

  “James is my boy,” Ida said sadly, “but I’m mighty ashamed of him. It’s not right for a man to treat a woman such a way. “

  “It sure isn’t,” Caroline answered, thinking also of Greg.

  The minutes turned into hours as they continued to talk, Caroline asking about James and Ida asking about Joelle. You might think it would be strained or unusual, but that’s not at all the way it was. Shortly after she finished telling a story about the year Big Jim built a scarecrow to keep watch on the five stalks of corn he’d planted in the side yard, Ida asked if Caroline would consider c
oming to live in Rose Hill.

  “Live in Georgia?” Caroline stammered.

  “I know it’s sudden,” Ida said, “but I’m getting on in years and there’s no telling how much time I’ve got left.” She paused, then added, “You’d like it here, I know you would.”

  “I’m sure I would,” Caroline answered politely. “But I’ve got a job and…” As the words slipped from her mouth, thoughts of what she really had in Philadelphia settled in her head. She had a job she was on the verge of leaving and a boyfriend who was unfaithful. It wasn’t all that much to stay for.

  “Rose Hill’s a real nice town,” Ida said. “I’ve got a big house, and I make the best peach pie you’ve ever stuck a tooth in.”

  The thought of leaving blossomed like a flower in Caroline’s mind. Having a grandmother was like having warm soup on a cold day; it was being loved instead of being used. Her voice turned mellow. “This is kind of sudden, are you sure? You’ve never even met—”

  Ida laughed. “I don’t need to have met you. I already love you.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do. You’re my granddaughter, my own flesh and blood.”

  Although she had not yet said yes Caroline found herself nodding in agreement with sentiments the new grandma offered, and she mellowed at the mention of things like home-baked pies and crocheted doilies.

  When Ida asked again if she would come to Rose Hill Caroline stumbled over a few feeble excuses about her job and the apartment, but as she listened to her words they had a familiar sound. “I can’t leave because…”

  She recognized the voice. Perhaps it was those remembrances of New Orleans or maybe it was her recollection of a daddy whistling as he walked off leaving her mama behind, but Caroline suddenly envisioned herself wearing her mama’s shoes. She knew that if she stayed she would, in time, forgive Greg and they’d go back to the same life. He’d lean on her to do the work he should have done, and he’d come home late smelling of perfume and alcohol. Years from now she would be her mama, a woman used up and left behind.

  Caroline closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself driving south on Route 95. A silken cord was tied to the back of the car, and as she started to move the cord grew taut. For a few moments it stretched like a giant rubber band and threatened to pull her back, but when she pressed hard on the accelerator the car sped up and the cord snapped. It was the final tie to a love that never was.

  Breaking free is never easy. There are no baby steps in walking away. There is only one gigantic leap. You take it or you remain forever rooted to a life of unhappiness.

  Caroline took a deep breath and made the leap. “I can be ready to leave this Wednesday.”

  Caroline Sweetwater

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Me, a girl who’s never been particularly adventurous, leaving home to live with a woman I’ve never even met. Of course I have questions, I’d be crazy if I didn’t.

  But strange as it may be, the truth is I feel good about doing it. I like myself better than I have in a very long time. Maybe it is irresponsible to just up and leave, but I like having a grandma and I feel that for once in my life I’m doing what I want to do. It’s funny, I talked to Missus Sweetwater for a few hours but in that short time she made me feel better about myself than Greg ever did, and I’ve been living with him for almost three years.

  On second thought, it’s not so funny. It’s actually quite sad.

  I told Missus Sweetwater about the novel I’m writing, and do you know what she said? I’m proud of you honey, that’s what she said, and I could tell she really meant it. You know what Greg said about my novel? He said it was trash. Of course, he’s so insensitive he wouldn’t know a love story if it rose up and smacked him in the face!

  At first I thought I was giving up everything, but thinking about Mama and the misery she had I realized I wasn’t giving up anything. This apartment is no more mine than Greg is, and as far as a career goes mine’s laughable. For the past three years I’ve been telling myself that one of these days Greg is going to want to marry me, but it’s never going to happen. He’s not going to propose, and he’s not going to make me a columnist. He can’t. Greg has to keep me small so he can be big; how sick is that?

  I can’t say for sure if Ida Sweetwater is my real grandma or not, but I’m choosing to believe she is. Why else would she want me to come there and live with her? It’s not like I have a lot to offer.

  I’m not telling Greg I’m leaving, and I’m not telling him about Grandma Sweetwater either. I’ll leave a note on the table and by the time he gets home Wednesday night, I’ll probably be somewhere in South Carolina.

  Once I get to Georgia I’ll have plenty of time to finish my novel, and hopefully I’ll sell it to a big publisher for a million bucks. If that happens, I think I’ll send Greg a copy with a sticky note that says, So now how do you like those apples?

  The Bed and the Bear

  By the time Ida hung up the telephone, she was already thinking through plans for Caroline’s arrival. The only unoccupied room in the house was the one awaiting James’ return and while it was once the most vibrant room in the house, it was now nothing more than a worn-out reminder. A room darkened with the weariness of waiting and deafened by the sound of silence. It needed to come alive again.

  Forgetting the arthritic hip that ached from the too-steep stairs, she hurried up the steps and flung open the door to the closed-up room. It was exactly as James had left it thirty years ago. Through the years the magazines on the floor had yellowed with age, and the curtains, now weighted with decades of dust, hung limp.

  Ida could no longer remember the last time she’d stepped inside this room. It had been ten, maybe twenty years. After James disappeared she could not bring herself to move one thing, not even the worn sneakers hanging from the bedpost. With everything left untouched the room was a shrine of sorts, a place where she had gone to sit and breathe in the scent of him being there. The sheets on the bed remained unwashed, and a scattering of laundry still remained on the floor of the closet.

  Decades ago Ida closed the door to the room and put her thoughts of it in a memory box that was too painful to open. She moved through the years, not thinking of the room and not allowing herself to step inside and reopen the box of memories. And now, oddly enough, the room was not at all the way she’d remembered it.

  In one fell swoop Ida snatched the coverlet from the bed. She spread it on the floor and began to toss in all the things that should have been thrown out ages ago. Sheets, pillowcases, old clothes, gym shorts—one by one they landed in the center of the coverlet. When the closet and all the drawers had been emptied, she gathered the four corners of the coverlet together and hauled it down the staircase one step at a time. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Hearing the commotion, Wilbur poked his head out into the hall. “You need help?”

  “No, thanks, I’m doing fine.” Ida thumped down another step.

  “Wait a minute!” Wilbur hollered. “I’m coming.”

  “I told you I don’t need help.”

  “I heard what you said. The thing is you do need help, you’re just too stubborn to ask for it.” Without another word of argument he squeezed past her and grabbed the other end of the coverlet. “Go on now, I’ve got this end.”

  When they got to the bottom of the staircase, Ida opened the front door and they hauled the coverlet to the curb. Since it was way too big to fit in the garbage can, Wilbur tied the four corners together and closed the bundle.

  As they started back to the house, Wilbur said, “You got another new boarder coming?”

  Ida gave a wide grin and a nod. “I sure do. My granddaughter.”

  “So you got hold of her, huh?” Wilbur replied. He looked almost as happy as Ida.

  ~ ~ ~

  Once the room was emptied out, Ida began thinking about how she’d decorate it. The rosewood bed would have been perfect, but, of course, it was now sitting in Laricka’s room. If Laricka were a
woman with a single suitcase Ida might ask her to switch beds, or maybe even switch rooms, but with all those trunks…

  Thinking of the rosewood bed made Ida remember the Previously Loved Treasures shop. Peter Pennington said he’d have whatever she needed. Okay, Ida mused, Let’s see if you can come up with another beautiful bed, Mister Pennington.

  Ida looked forward to returning to the shop. Although she had only been there once it held a strange fascination, a kind of magic calling her back. It wasn’t a fancy store, but stepping inside was like losing yourself in a dream. It was something she wanted to share with a friend, so she called Roberta Maslowski.

  “Remember that Previously Loved Treasures shop I told you about?” Ida asked.

  “I remember,” Roberta said, “but I’ve never been there.”

  “Well, I’m going back today. Want to come along?”

  “I’ve promised to watch my grandbabies today, but if you was to go tomorrow…”

  “It’s got to be today,” Ida said. “I need a few things for my granddaughter’s room.”

  Roberta had been friends with Ida for forty years, and this was the first mention she’d ever heard of a grandchild. “What granddaughter?”

  Ida told her the full story of Sam Caldwell’s search and finding James’s daughter. “She’ll be here on Friday, and the room has to be perfect.”

  “Well, I’ve got a perfectly good bunk bed if you need it.”

  “Bunk bed? Why, that’s used furniture! I need something special for Caroline.”

  They spoke for a few moments longer then hung up. Roberta was left wondering what exactly the difference was between a used furniture bed and a previously loved bed.