Previously Loved Treasures

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Hardy-har-har,” Louie chuckled. “No matter what you call a mule, he’s still a jackass.” He had a few more comments on the tip of his tongue, but when Louie saw the look Ida gave him he went back to talking about Caroline’s novel. “So, you got an agent for this book, or a publisher maybe?”

  “Not yet,” she answered, then explained the book was only three-quarters finished. “I’ve got my computer with me, and I’m hoping to complete it while I’m here.”

  Ida raised a hand to her forehead. “Oh, no. I thought I had everything ready, but I’ve forgotten to put a desk in your room!”

  “That’s no problem,” Caroline replied. “I can work on the kitchen table.”

  Of course Ida would not hear of it. “I know of a wonderful little shop that has anything and everything a person could want. Tomorrow morning we’ll take a drive over and pick out a lovely desk for your room.”

  Although Caroline insisted such a thing was not necessary, Ida’s mind was made up.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was after nine when Ida finally suggested Caroline get settled in her room.

  “Sounds good,” Caroline said and called for Clarence to come along.

  Ida went first, taking the stairs one at a time and pausing to catch her breath after each step. Caroline followed and Clarence padded behind. When Ida opened the door to the room, Caroline peered in. “Oh, Grandma, it’s beautiful!”

  “It used to be your daddy’s room.” Ida’s words were threaded with a mixture of joy and sadness. “Of course it looked a lot different then.”

  Caroline lifted the worn teddy bear off the bed. “Was this Daddy’s?”

  Ida teetered on the edge of truth for a moment, then decided there was no harm in a small lie that could bring happiness. She nodded. “Yes, indeed, and I know James would want you to have Teddy.”

  “Teddy,” Caroline repeated wistfully.

  She then turned, wrapped her arms around Ida, and whispered, “Thank you, Grandma.”

  That’s when Ida knew she had done the right thing.

  ~ ~ ~

  That night Clarence again climbed into bed with Caroline and pressed his back against her thigh. After they’d settled into place, she reached for the nightstand to turn off the light. Teddy sat alongside the lamp, and Caroline could almost swear the bear was smiling. That smile was the last thing she saw before the room went dark.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning a soft rap on the door awakened Caroline. When she opened the door, Ida stood there with a steaming mug of coffee.

  “Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes,” she said, “but I thought you might like an eye-opener first.” She handed the mug to Caroline then disappeared back down the stairs.

  “But wait,” Caroline called, “don’t you need help fixing—”

  “Nope,” Ida answered as she crossed to the hallway and disappeared from sight.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was early March, and while the afternoons were becoming warm there was still a chill in the morning air. Caroline dressed in jeans and a light sweater then hurried downstairs. She had no sooner slid into a chair when Ida came from the kitchen with a large platter of scrambled eggs and sausage links. That was followed by baskets piled high with homemade biscuits and pieces of honeydew melon cut into tiny squares.

  The platters were passed around the table and everyone, including the bone-thin Harriet, shoveled a good-sized portion onto their plate. Louie scooped up twice as much as the others. “Nothing like a good hot breakfast,” he said and passed the platter to Wilbur.

  When everyone finished eating there was not even a stain left on the platters and only one biscuit left in the basket. As Ida began stacking the dirty dishes, Caroline joined in. “They sure are a hungry bunch,” she whispered.

  “That they are,” Ida replied, “but it’s mighty nice having them.” She told Caroline how Big Jim’s sickness had depleted their bank account.

  “The only thing of value I had left was this big old house, so I started renting out rooms. Max was first.” She turned to Caroline. “Did you know he’s your granddaddy’s baby brother?”

  Caroline shook her head. “Up until a few days ago, I didn’t know I had any family.”

  “Well, you sure do now.” Ida smiled. “You’ve got me, and I still think one of these days your daddy is gonna come walking through that door hollering he’s back home.”

  “That would be nice,” Caroline said, “but I’m not holding out a lot of hope.”

  “You never know.” Ida grinned. “You just never know.”

  Caroline had to admit that was true. If an unknown grandma could come from out of nowhere, it was possible her daddy would one day come home.

  As Ida washed the dishes, Caroline dried them and breathed in the smell of sausage and biscuits that lingered in the air. “You sure are a wonderful cook.”

  Ida gave a big hearty laugh. “Shoot, honey, this’s nothing but down home cooking. Anybody can do it.”

  “Not me,” Caroline replied. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Didn’t you cook for your young man?”

  “Hardly ever. He wasn’t home much, and when he was we generally got take-out.”

  “Take-out?” Ida repeated. “Like pizza?”

  “Unh-huh. Pizza, fried chicken, Chinese. Stuff like that.”

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Ida said.

  “It’s not because I’m not willing,” Caroline said. “I just never learned how.”

  “Your mama didn’t teach you?”

  “Mama?” Caroline giggled. “Why, she couldn’t boil a pot of water.”

  Although she said nothing more, Caroline began to wonder if maybe it was the endless dinners of pizza and canned soup that drove her daddy to leave.

  The Desk

  That afternoon Ida climbed into the passenger seat of Caroline’s Toyota, and they went in search of a desk. “We’ll start at Previously Loved Treasures,” Ida said, “because Peter Pennington always has exactly what you need.” Although she was careful not to mention the teddy bear, she told of finding the rosewood bed and the new lamp for Caroline’s room. “Peter not only seems to know when you’re coming, he also knows what you’re looking for.”

  “I doubt that he knows.” Caroline laughed. “It’s probably just a good guess.”

  “It’s not a guess,” Ida replied. “He knows.”

  Caroline laughed again.

  A few seconds later Ida waggled her finger and pointed to the storefront a few doors down. “There it is.”

  When they pulled up in front of the store Peter Pennington stood alongside the door, just as he’d been on Ida’s previous visits. He looked exactly as she’d described him. Thin, elfin almost, with thick round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Caroline would have considered him bird-like, were it not for the black suit he wore. The dark heavy fabric seemed to anchor him to the earth.

  When the engine rumbled to a halt, Peter walked to the curb and opened the passenger door on Ida’s side of the car. He bent and leaned toward her.

  “I thought you’d be coming in today,” he said.

  “Hello, Peter,” Ida replied. She turned and gave Caroline a sly wink. “See.” She nodded confidently.

  “And this must be your lovely granddaughter.” Peter smiled.

  Caroline laughed. “Yes, and I suppose some magical power told you that.”

  “No,” he answered. “Your grandma did. She was in last week getting a few things for your room.” With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he said, “And now I’m guessing that you’re back to pick out a desk?”

  Caroline looked at Ida. “Did you tell him about the desk?”

  Ida shook her head.

  “Your grandma’s been bragging about how you’re going to be a famous author,” Peter explained. “So it stands to reason a writer would need a desk.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  The logical explanation settled comfortably in Caroline’s head
but not in Ida’s. Yes, she’d told Peter that Caroline was coming to live with her, but she couldn’t recall mentioning her granddaughter writing a book. While Ida stood there trying to remember, Caroline followed Peter to the back of the store.

  “I’ve got exactly what you need,” he said and pushed aside a standing mirror blocking the way.

  Behind the mirror sat a small wooden desk. It was old, scratched in a number of places, and missing a knob on the bottom drawer.

  “I know it’s not much to look at,” Peter said, “but it’s perfect for your needs.”

  Ida, who’d followed behind, peered around the mirror. “It’s not very fancy. Don’t you have something a bit nicer?”

  Peter shook his head. He got ready to explain the desk was exactly what they needed but didn’t have to. Caroline had already taken a liking to it.

  “I love it,” she said. “It looks so sturdy, like it’s been around for a hundred years and could be around for a hundred more.” She walked to the desk, slid several of the drawers out and back again. “How much is it?”

  “Seventeen dollars.”

  Ida gasped. “Seventeen dollars! That beautiful rosewood bed was only five dollars, and it came with a brand new mattress!”

  “Yes,” Peter replied, “but this desk comes with stories.”

  “Stories?” Caroline echoed.

  Peter nodded. Although there was no one else in the store, he leaned in close and whispered, “This desk once belonged to Samuel Clemens.”

  Caroline’s eyes grew big and round. “Really?”

  Before anyone could say anything more Ida scowled. “Poppycock! This is nothing but an old desk that’s overpriced.”

  “Not true,” Peter replied. “This desk is filled with stories. You can’t see them, but I’ll bet your granddaughter can.”

  Caroline laughed. “I doubt Mister Clemens left any untold stories in this desk, but it is just right for my needs.” She pulled the wallet from her purse. “I’ll take it.”

  “Overpriced,” Ida repeated.

  ~ ~ ~

  Before they left the store Peter promised to deliver the desk that very afternoon. “Delivery’s free,” he said. “And I’ll include a few more things you’ll need.”

  “A few more things?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes,” Peter nodded. “A desk blotter, a ceramic jar for pencils—”

  “A seventeen-dollar desk ought to include a chair,” Ida muttered.

  In addition to knowing what a person needed, Peter also had excellent hearing. He turned to Ida. “Okay, I’ll include a chair.”

  “Free?”

  “Yes.”

  Ida gave a smile of satisfaction. As they left the store she leaned close to her granddaughter and whispered, “Honey, you’ve got to learn how to negotiate.”

  ~ ~ ~

  True to his word, Peter did deliver the desk that afternoon. He arrived in the same green van still wearing the same black suit. He pulled the desk from the van, hoisted it on his back, and carried it up the stairs as if it were nothing more than a sweater draped over his shoulders.

  “Wait, I’ll help you,” Caroline offered, but Ida assured her that Peter Pennington was a lot stronger than he looked.

  “He brought that big rosewood bed in by himself,” she whispered.

  After he’d set the desk in place Peter returned to the van and carried in a chair. A high-backed desk chair such as Caroline had never seen. The leather was soft as a glove, and in addition to the wheels that would make it easy to slide in and out it had an overstuffed lumbar pillow.

  Still smarting from what she felt was too high a price, Ida smiled. “Well, now, this is more like it.”

  Before Peter Pennington was back in his van Caroline had unpacked her computer and placed it atop the desk. She powered up the computer and opened the file for her novel. It was still there, waiting for her to finish it. But it was a love story, a story of passion and shared dreams. She scrolled down to the last few pages she’d written and sat there looking at the final paragraph

  He took her in his arms and begged forgiveness. “I’ve been a fool,” Matthew said. “Take me back, Claire, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.” With that he scooped Claire into his arms and caressed her with an abundance of passion. The heartache she had endured for so long was forgotten when he touched his lips to hers.

  The words on the screen now seemed trite, unrealistic. Love didn’t simply repair itself in a single act of contrition. It clung to anger and pushed bitter resentment into every word. Obviously the story needed work. Men like Matthew were nothing more than fairytale princes. He needed a few flaws. And Claire—poor, gullible Claire. She would have to see life as it was; she would have to be rewritten with more determination and grit.

  Caroline leaned back into the chair and stared at the screen for a few moments longer. Then she closed the file and logged off the computer. Tomorrow she would start rewriting the story, rewriting it with truth woven through the words. But for tonight she would simply enjoy being here.

  Bounding down the stairs, Caroline called out, “Grandma, need some help fixing dinner?”

  Ida Sweetwater

  I had to laugh when Caroline came in asking if she could help with dinner. The poor child doesn’t know a skillet from a stew pot. Not that it’s her fault; she just never had anyone to teach her those things. Cooking is something you learn from your mama, and from what I can gather Caroline’s mama didn’t do any.

  And as far as James is concerned, Joelle not cooking doesn’t justify his behavior. The two of them were a pitiful excuse for parents, if you ask me.

  Right is right, and what they did wasn’t right. Regardless of what they were feeling about each other, they had a child they should’ve been thinking about.

  I can’t give back the years Caroline lost with a no-good daddy and a mama full of self-pity, but I can make the future better. I’ll make sure she’s got a good home and plenty of love.

  It may take a bit of work, but I’m going to teach her to cook. At least I’ll try.

  When I think back on all the years I blamed Big Jim for what happened with James, I feel real sorry. I thought Jim was being too strict on the boy, but I can see now he wasn’t strict enough. I guess Jim saw a selfish streak in James that I wasn’t willing to see. I was like most mamas: blind to my child’s faults.

  I hope Jim and God can both forgive me.

  Where There’s A Will…

  Ida began with letting Caroline set the table. “Knife on the right, fork on the left,” she explained. But at breakfast the next morning a spoon was included, and Caroline came running back for further instructions.

  During the week that followed Caroline boiled spaghetti, dipped chicken breasts in egg and rolled them in breadcrumbs, then chopped lettuce for a salad. And when the timer sounded she pulled on oven mitts, removed the biscuits from the oven, and piled them into a basket. None of those things could actually be considered cooking but Ida felt it best to start with a familiarity of the kitchen, which in and of itself was proving to be a challenge.

  In the midst of preparing a lemon meringue pie, Ida asked Caroline to fetch the zester and she came back with a jar of paprika. At that point Ida suggested Caroline should be upstairs working on her novel. “After you become a famous author,” she said with a laugh, “you can hire someone to do the cooking.”

  As someone who for years had considered a bag of pretzels a meal, Caroline had no love of being in the kitchen and apparently no talent for cooking. Once the suggestion was made, she scurried from the room before Ida could change her mind. In the days that followed, that became the routine. Ida cooked and set dinner on the table while Caroline labored over a novel that now seemed stale and unimaginative. After several days of struggling with a single sentence, she turned to writing letters to friends she hadn’t spoken with since leaving Philadelphia. On numerous occasions she volunteered to help in the kitchen, but Ida said help wasn’t necessary.


  ~ ~ ~

  On the last Wednesday of March, Ida cooked up a breakfast that bordered on being a banquet. Not only did she serve omelets chuck full of peppers, onions, and tomatoes, she served thick slabs of ham, stacks of sausages, big bowls of hash browns, and a homemade cinnamon crunch coffee cake. When everyone had eaten to the point of gluttony Ida said, “I have some business to attend to, so I won’t be here at lunchtime—”

  “Whaddaya mean you won’t be here?” Louie cut in.

  “It means just that,” Ida answered. “I won’t be here to make lunch.”

  “No lunch?” Louie moaned.

  “I didn’t say that,” Ida replied patiently. “Caroline will prepare lunch.”

  “Caroline?” a chorus of voices echoed dubiously.

  Ida assured everyone that her granddaughter was perfectly capable of preparing lunch and promised to be back before dinner. When they finished the breakfast cleanup, Ida wrote out a list of what was needed for lunch and handed it to Caroline.

  “It’s just a platter of cold cuts and some potato salad,” she said. “Nothing needs to be cooked or prepared.”

  “Sounds simple enough.” Caroline pocketed the list and headed upstairs again to tackle the love story that had gone sour.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Ida climbed into the car and headed toward South Rockdale, she knew exactly what she would do. She felt certain Big Jim would approve and as for James…well, James would no longer have a say in the matter.

  The white stone building sat crosswise at the end of Main Street. It stood three stories tall, not large by many standards, but the biggest in South Rockdale. Ida parked the car, crossed the street, and entered the building. Opposite the door was a building directory. Ida traced her finger along the names: Cohen, Diamond, Elkins, Morrissey, and, there at the bottom, Susan Deuel Schleicher, attorney at law.

  Ida stepped into the elevator and pressed three. When the doors whooshed open she moved into the hallway. The door on the left was an accounting firm; the law office of Susan D. Schleicher was on the right. Ida twisted the door handle and walked in.