Tiny House on the Road

by Celia Bonaduce

  “Dolls?” Vivien asked. What did dolls have to do with anything?

  “Yes,” Priscilla said. She seemed to have lost all interest in her family history. “Did you find any dolls?”

  “I found a dollhouse,” Vivien said, pleased that she had an answer.

  “Oh, yes,” Priscilla said, with less enthusiasm than Vivien had hoped. “My father had that made for me when I was a little girl.”

  She could see this was not the answer Priscilla had been hoping for.

  A banging at the back door made Vivien jump. She was still rattled by the non-robbery. She headed toward the bellows, ready to put them into action. Clay ran past her, into the kitchen, barking his head off.

  “I’ll be right there, Marco,” Priscilla called into the kitchen. She turned to Vivien, who once again had put her hands on the bellows.

  “Oh, it’s just the groceries arriving,” Priscilla said.

  Vivien tried to casually loosen her death grip on her weapon.

  “Let’s just leave that on the peg. I like seeing it in its rightful place. Come say hello to Marco.”

  Vivien took a deep breath and followed Priscilla through the house. In the kitchen she watched as Priscilla unlatched her bevy of locks. Vivien had a hard time meshing the picture of this timid old lady with someone who once stuck out her thumb and hitchhiked into the unknown. Not to mention a grandfather who, as far as Vivien knew, got as far as Texas in his quest to be a cowboy.

  Priscilla seemed to be enjoying the retelling of her family’s saga. But there was obviously something else…something to do with dolls…on her mind.

  How many secrets was the attic going to reveal?

  Chapter 14

  Priscilla was cleaning the windows and singing to “It’s in His Kiss” when Vivien walked into the kitchen.

  “Is the music bothering you?” Priscilla yelled.

  “No,” Vivien said. “Just taking a break.”

  Priscilla wasn’t sure what to do with a visitor.

  “I know that song,” Vivien said.

  “Really?” Priscilla said, turning down the music. “It’s well before your time.”

  “It was in a movie called Mermaids. My parents had it on videotape,” Vivien said. “I think it was the first movie I ever saw.”

  “I always took those words to heart,” Priscilla said. “You’ll know he’s the one if it’s in his kiss.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Vivien said.

  Priscilla sighed. She’d heard that sort of condescension from young people before. Vivien was humoring her.

  She doesn’t believe me. But one day she’ll know.

  Marco appeared at the back door. Priscilla wiped her hands and let him in. He was carrying a large box from the store. Priscilla watched Marco pretending to ignore Vivien—and Vivien pretending to ignore Marco—as Marco put away the groceries.

  “We got a shipment of Roma tomatoes,” he said, holding up the ruby beauties to the sunlight.

  He has a good eye, Priscilla thought. When he takes over the store, he’s going to do just fine.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Vivien asked.

  “Nope,” Marco said, putting bananas in a sling on the counter. “I’ve pretty much got this down.”

  Priscilla decided to float a suggestion.

  “Do you want to give Marco a shopping list?” Priscilla asked Vivien. “He comes out here twice a week. I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem. Would it, Marco?”

  She saw Marco hesitate.

  Oh dear. This isn’t going as well as I’d hoped. Is it possible they don’t really like each other?

  Priscilla realized she’d been out of the practice of reading body language since the Vietnam War, but she thought it would be like riding a bicycle—once you had the know-how, you never forgot. Given the expression on both their faces, it appeared it was more like muscle tone—use it or lose it.

  Maybe she’ll find what I’m looking for soon and I won’t have to rely on a budding romance.

  But, nonetheless, she was disappointed they didn’t seem to be getting along. She could tell Vivien noticed Marco’s hesitation.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Vivien said frostily. “I’m perfectly capable of picking out my own food.”

  “It’s not a question of capability,” Marco said. “It’s a service. You know, like going through stuff. You’re the Oracle of Organization and I’m the Guru of Groceries.”

  “I guess I better get back to work,” Vivien said. “You know, back to the service I was hired to provide.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Marco shrugged. “Please.”

  Priscilla watched Vivien storm out of the kitchen. She thought about trying to smooth things over, but she wasn’t sure what exactly Marco and Vivien had against each other. She decided to leave things alone until she had some sort of idea about what was going on—because something was decidedly going on.

  It just wasn’t good.

  And it sure as hell wasn’t helpful.

  As she listened to Vivien’s footsteps, she remembered she had something she was supposed to ask Marco.

  “Oh! Vivien would like the…” Priscilla tried to remember. She knew it had something to do with the computer. “The passport to cyberspace.”

  “The what?”

  Priscilla said, “Vivien needs to look things up on the computer.”

  “She wants your password?”

  Priscilla could see a cloud pass over his face.

  “I’ll set the computer up so she can access it without giving her that information,” Marco said. “So please don’t give it to her if she asks…you know, until you know her better.”

  “All right, dear,” Priscilla said.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” Priscilla said. “And wash your hands, dear, if you’ve finished putting away the groceries.”

  * * * *

  Marco had watched Vivien’s dramatic exit from the kitchen. Momentarily distracted by the yoga pants, he reminded himself he needed to keep an eye on this girl. She said she was just here to organize the attic, but was that true? Priscilla had retreated further and further into herself over the years. It wasn’t like her to suddenly be so trusting as to let a stranger not only into the house, but to have access to everything. It wasn’t his business, but he was practically the only person Priscilla had contact with. He had worked very hard to make Priscilla trust him.

  “Are you ready to watch This Old Thing?” Priscilla asked, breaking into his thoughts. “It’s on in a few minutes.”

  He looked at her. She looked so worried. He hadn’t meant to upset her.

  “Sure,” he said, following her into the living room. He’d heard Vivien tromp across the upper hallway and slam the attic door. He was pretty sure she didn’t overhear the conversation about the password.

  Yes, he was definitely going to keep an eye on her.

  The familiar theme song of the program made him relax and forget about Vivien. He and Priscilla watched attentively as the Colonel looked at a glazed statue of a big-eyed rabbit.

  “That can’t be worth anything,” Marco said.

  “You never know,” Priscilla said. “The Colonel knows all about these things—we don’t.”

  Marco’s mind flitted to the girl in the attic. He wondered if she knew all about hidden treasures and was just pretending to be cataloguing. He had a sudden brainstorm.

  “We should have Vivien come down and watch this with us,” he said. “She’d probably find this very interesting.”

  “That’s a splendid idea,” Priscilla said.

  She seemed to light up with the suggestion. Marco felt a little guilty at the deception, but he consoled himself that it was for the greater good. After all, if Vivien managed to cram that stupid tiny house full of Priscilla’s treasure
s in the middle of the night, it would ultimately be his loss. Priscilla’s history was the history of the town.

  “I’ll go get her during the commercial,” Priscilla continued.

  “That’s okay,” Marco said. “I’ll go. I know you’re not big on climbing those stairs.”

  “You’re a good boy, Marco,” she said.

  A commercial popped up on screen. Marco stood up and headed for the stairs.

  “Don’t be long,” Priscilla called after him. “You don’t want to miss the appraisal of that rabbit.”

  Marco took the stairs two at a time. He was about to knock on the attic door, but decided the element of surprise might be just the ticket. If she was doing anything suspicious, all the better. He burst through the door. Vivien was standing in front of the mirror holding up a long embroidered skirt to her waist. She whirled on him, embarrassed.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked.

  “What are you doing up here?” he asked, pointing to the skirt.

  “I was just…” She colored. “I was just admiring the workmanship of this skirt. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s not worth a lot of money, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Marco said. “Everybody around here has an attic full of those from the old days.”

  “Besides being rude, are you also hard of hearing?” Vivien protested. “I said I was admiring the workmanship. It isn’t my job to put a price on things. Just to get it into some sort of order.”

  “Commercial is over,” Priscilla’s reedy voice floated up the staircase.

  “You heard her,” Vivien said. “Better get back to your favorite show.”

  “It is my favorite show,” Marco said, defensively.

  “Right,” Vivien said. “I know a thousand young guys who are just glued to This Old Thing?”

  “Somehow, I find it hard to believe you know a thousand young guys,” Marco said. “Or any.”

  “Come down,” Priscilla called again. “You’re going to miss the big finale.”

  “You better go,” Vivien said.

  “I’m supposed to bring you with me,” Marco said.

  “Why?’ Vivien said.

  “How should I know?” Marco asked.

  “Fine,” Vivien said, putting down the skirt. “Let’s go.”

  Marco let Vivien pass in front of him. He glanced back at the skirt. Maybe she knew something he didn’t.

  “Sit! Sit!” Priscilla said as Marco and Vivien stepped over Clay. Priscilla was on the sofa. Marco and Vivien sat stiffly in two chairs.

  “I don’t really know much about this show,” Vivien said.

  “Shhhh,” Marco said. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  He sneaked a glance at Priscilla, relieved that she was engrossed in the show and missed his rude behavior. He knew she would not approve.

  The Colonel had dashed the hopes of an elderly couple who had brought in a small table that had been restored badly and stripped of any value.

  “He seems almost happy about giving them the bad news,” Vivien said. “He’s like the Simon Cowell of knickknacks.”

  “That’s part of the fun,” Marco said. “I’ve heard he’s not even a colonel. They just call him that.”

  “I suppose it makes him sound fiercer,” Priscilla said. “I’m sure he’s a very nice man in person.”

  “When he comes to Taos,” Marco said, “maybe we’ll find out first hand.”

  “He’s coming to Taos?” Vivien asked.

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” Marco said. “Everybody in town is looking through their garages and attics for something that might make them rich.”

  “Except me,” Priscilla said. “I think this is going to be like the Gold Rush…everybody chasing after a very small pot.”

  “You never know,” Marco said. “I mean, your oracle here might turn up something.”

  “If she isn’t interested in being on a TV show,” Vivien said. “You shouldn’t push her.”

  “I’m not pushing her,” Marco said. “But it seems like a wasted opportunity.”

  “For whom?” Vivien asked.

  “Oh!” Priscilla said, pointedly ignoring Marco and Priscilla’s squabble. “The Colonel is back.”

  All three turned their attention to the television. Vivien squinted at the TV. The Colonel was an older guy, but very dapper. There was something compelling about his gaze.

  I guess that’s star quality.

  The Colonel was interviewing a middle-aged couple who were showing him a vanity set consisting of an ornate mirror, brush, and comb.

  “Tell me about this,” the Colonel said as he examined the comb.

  “We believe it’s from the Spanish-American War era,” the woman said in a soft southern accent.

  “And why do you believe that?” the Colonel asked.

  “It belonged to my great-great grandmother,” the man said. “And she never had anything in her house that wasn’t the best available.”

  “Except this,” the Colonel said, waving the brush back and forth like a metronome.

  Priscilla gasped and put her hands to her mouth.

  “But it’s very old,” the woman on the TV said.

  “It’s only about sixty years old,” the Colonel said. “And it’s from a very common Sears Roebuck collection at that. I suggest you probably spent more coming here today than this it is worth.”

  He dismissed the couple, who walked, crestfallen off camera.

  “He can be so rude,” Priscilla said. “I wish he’d stop that.”

  “That’s what keeps the audience tuning in,” Marco said.

  “Now let’s revisit that rabbit,” the Colonel said.

  “Here we go,” Priscilla said gleefully.

  “Wow, you guys are really into this,” Vivien said. “I once organized a kitchen for a couple who had a chalkboard where they kept track of who picked the right house on House Hunters. You’re almost as committed as those guys.”

  Marco swapped glances with Priscilla. While they didn’t keep a chalkboard handy, they did love to one-up each other with this particular show.

  “We are dedicated,” Priscilla said.

  “Okay,” Marco said. “Moment of truth. I say it isn’t worth anything.”

  “I agree,” Priscilla said. “The Colonel doesn’t have that sparkle in his eye that he usually has when he’s got a real find in front of him.”

  “What do you think, Vivien?” Marco asked casually.

  “It’s hard to say,” Vivien said.

  “Well, take a guess,” Marco said. “You’ve got maybe ten seconds.”

  “I’d say it’s valuable,” Vivien said. “But that’s just a wild guess.”

  “This little statue,” the Colonel said, as the camera zoomed in for a close-up of the rabbit. “Is one of the original models for Thumper in the animated film Bambi. It’s only been rumored to exist. I put the value of this piece at seventy thousand dollars.”

  Marco picked up the remote and shut off the TV.

  “I’m impressed,” Priscilla said to Vivien. “Looks like I hired the right person to go through my things.”

  Or not, thought Marco.

  Chapter 15

  Vivien spent the next few days sorting and labeling the contents of the attic. She discovered an old framed picture of a Civil War–era couple. She took the photograph over to the light. The young woman in the photograph was definitely a relative—even though the woman was very young, Vivien could see Priscilla’s cheekbones and upturned nose. The Confederate soldier gazed out at her. He was handsome with a square jaw, flowing hair, and a piercing stare. He looked vaguely familiar. Was it possible he was someone famous—and the picture could be worth money?

  Vivien shook her head. This Old Thing? was getting to her!

  V
ivien put the photograph down. She considered Priscilla’s enormous history. She wondered how many puzzle pieces she’d be able to fit together. There seemed to be a story behind every item she touched.

  Vivien put the Texas flag on display, hoping Priscilla would take up the story where she’d left off. But Priscilla was keeping her distance. She heard Priscilla puttering downstairs. Vivien grabbed a small woven blanket with yellow stripes and closed the attic door behind her. She was going to get more history out of Priscilla one way or another.

  Priscilla was standing on the dining room table, dusting the massive carved chandelier.

  “Do you want some help with that?” Vivien called in alarm.

  She didn’t think a seventy-year-old woman should be balancing on tiptoe on an ancient table.

  “Oh, no,” Priscilla said. “This is nothing. I have lots of experience dancing on bars. Back in the day, of course.”

  “Of course,” Vivien said, suddenly flushing from the very thought.

  “I found this,” Vivien said, holding out the blanket. “I was wondering if…if it was your grandfather’s saddle blanket from Texas.”

  Priscilla looked down at Vivien. She didn’t seem annoyed by the question, but she finished dusting the chandelier before she spoke.

  “Let me take a look,” Priscilla said, daintily stepping off the table.

  Priscilla studied the blanket, but showed no real interest.

  “I don’t recognize this,” Priscilla said, handing it back.

  Vivien was disappointed. She wanted to hear more about Emilio. Vivien turned to go back to work, when Priscilla stopped her.

  “Let me see that again,” Priscilla said.

  Vivien could see Priscilla’s interest deepen. She held her breath, hoping it would take hold. Suddenly, Priscilla let out a girlish giggle.

  “This is Gordo’s blanket!” Priscilla said. “Why in heaven’s name would anyone keep a ratty old mule blanket? It must be almost eighty years old!”

  “Was Gordo Emilio’s horse?” Vivien asked anxiously. “From his cowboy days?”

  “No,” Priscilla said, sitting down at the table and smoothing out the blanket. “Gordo was a donkey.”