by Linda Johns
“Thank you for coming out on this glorious morning!” the woman’s voice came out loud and clear, without any annoying buzzing or crackling. “We’re so happy to be bringing Antiques Caravan to Seattle, Washington!” People began cheering.
“Thank you, thank you,” she continued. “Now, let me tell you a little of what we’re going to be doing. The first time the Antiques Caravan’s caravan,” she paused for laughter, “will lead the parade heading north. A camera person will be walking alongside the sidewalk to capture your genuine excitement about the arrival of the caravan. Now that will be our first run-through. There will be at least one more. During the second one, the first vehicle you will see will be our camera truck, just an ordinary Ford pickup with cameras. The main camera will focus on the vehicles; two auxiliary cameras will, once again, capture your genuine excitement about the arrival of the caravan. And you will be genuinely excited, because the second time through our Antiques Caravan host Marcia Wellstone will be driving the truck, with cohost Bradford Hines in the passenger seat. We also have some guests from a local car club. Please relax and have fun! Thank you!”
As she talked, a man passed out a sheet of paper that outlined basically what the megaphone woman had just said. It also showed the parade route. After our part, with “genuine excitement,” was completed, the camera truck was going to continue into Volunteer Park to capture images of the water tower, the Seattle Asian Art Museum, and the Conservatory.
The truck moved to the next block and stopped in the middle. “The first time the Antiques Caravan’s caravan will lead the parade …” I could hear bits of the same speech we’d just heard.
“What’s it say? What’s it say? Can I have it?” Rachel asked, looking at the orange flyer I held.
“It shows where the cars and trucks are going to go during the parade and after the parade,” I said. I turned it over. The backside listed the dates and procedures for trying to get an item appraised and featured on Antiques Caravan. Starting on Friday morning, people could bring their treasures to the Washington State Convention Center downtown. For two days, appraisers would screen the items. I handed the flyer to Rachel, who intently studied it as if imitating me when I read it.
“We totally have to be there on Saturday morning so we can get on the show. I think I have a good shot at getting selected,” Lily said, smoothing the front of her linen skirt.
“Lily, it’s not about you. It’s about the items and their value. It’s about whether your necklace or lamp or vase has a good story behind it,” I pointed out.
“Nonsense. Personality and camera presence always come into play, not to mention clothing choices and a sense of style. Besides, I can make anything have a good story,” she said.
An old-fashioned car horn toot-tooted.
“It’s starting!” Rachel said, jumping up and down.
Indeed it was.
CHAPTER 14
MORE HORN HONKING. Friendly toot-tooting, not at all like the obnoxious horns on new cars and trucks.
We cheered and waved as the Antiques Caravan old-style panel truck came down the street. We kept waving for the camera. A black antique car followed. A sign on the door said “1914 Ford Model T.” Underneath it said “Lake Washington Antique Car Club.” Eleven more cars followed, all from the same car club.
One camera guy with a handheld camera came toward us to get a close up of firefighter Rachel. She tipped her fire hat, then reached over to give Izzie a big hug.
“Now that’s a shot that’s going to make it on TV,” I whispered to Lily.
“Rightie-o,” Lily said a bit loudly with one of her English accents. She succeeded in getting the camera guy’s attention and he zoomed in on her, then backed away to get Rachel and Lily both in the shot. By default, I figured that my vintage cougar sweatshirt and I might also have a chance at being on TV.
“And yet another shot guaranteed to make it on TV,” Lily said to me in her regular, nonaccented voice. She looked pretty smug about the whole thing.
“Hey, Chief,” a college-aged guy with a clipboard said. “Just in case we use a picture on the show, we’re going to need permission from your parents.”
“I’m the babysitter,” I said. “I’ll get her mom over here.”
“We may need one for both of you, too,” he said.
“Of course!” Lily cooed, smiling warmly. “We’ve been through this before, haven’t we, Hannah, dear?”
Luckily, I didn’t need to be embarrassed because the clipboard guy had already moved on and hadn’t paid any attention to Lily’s pompousness.
The parade itself was pretty anticlimactic. It was over in five minutes. We’d have to wait at least ten minutes for the caravan to circle around and get back for the second run-through.
Rachel pulled my hand. “Hannah, I have to go. Now,” she said.
“Can you hold it?” Lily asked. “The parade is going to start again soon.”
“That’s a little insensitive,” I said, glaring at Lily. “She’s only four,” I mouthed.
“Now,” Rachel said, tugging my entire arm with urgency.
“Okay. When you gotta go, you gotta go,” I said to Rachel. “We’ll be right back,” I told Lily.
Rachel was moving a little slow for a kid who was desperate to go to the bathroom.
“Let’s hurry,” I urged her. The unspoken part of that sentence was “before it’s too late.” Of course, Rachel has been potty trained for at least a year, but I learned in my babysitting class to take a child’s request to go to the bathroom quite seriously.
“I’m okay,” Rachel said.
“What? Don’t you have to go?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do. But it’s not an emergency or anything,” she said. “I’m going to need help. You’ll need to hold my fire chief hat and maybe my coat.”
Apparently Rachel the Firefighter was planning ahead to avoid an emergency during the parade.
“Hi,” I said, a bit surprised to see the young woman in the apricot hoodie coming down the driveway on the other side of Libby and Calvin’s house.
“Oh, hello,” the woman said. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds too long, which always makes me nervous and leads to my talking too much.
“I’m house-sitting at the Parkers’. But now I’m babysitting. You live on this street, right? Louise’s neighbor? I’m Hannah, by the way,” I said.
“I’m Rachel. I’m a fire chief,” Rachel said, following my lead and introducing herself.
“I’m quite pleased to meet you, Chief,” the woman said, holding out her hand for Rachel to shake. “My name is Georgia, and it’s nice to know we have emergency staff here on such a busy day.” She shook my hand, too, as I introduced myself.
“We’re just running home to use the bathroom,” I said.
Georgia looked at me, then realized I was waiting for her to say something. “Oh, right! I was just checking the iron. Ralph was afraid the iron was left on, and I volunteered to run over here and make sure it was turned off. It was. Off, that is. It was off. Ralph lives alone, and you know how things like that can be troubling. But all’s well. I’ll see you two back at the parade,” she said.
Rachel giggled.
“What’s so funny?” I asked. I was a little alarmed that the giggle might indicate we hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time.
“She called Mrs. Rosetto ‘Ralph.’ That’s silly!”
“Maybe Mr. Rosetto is Ralph?” I said, unlocking the front door to her house.
Rachel stopped laughing and looked at me very seriously. “There isn’t a Mr. anymore. Mrs. Rosetto was really sad. Too sad to have trick-or-treaters. Now we won’t have noisy ice cream at our picnic.”
I speak Four-Year-Old, so this all made sense to me. Apparently Mr. Rosetto had died some time before Halloween. He must have brought homemade ice cream to a neighborhood picnic. He probably made it in one of those contraptions where you have to keep cranking it. Lily’s dad did that, too. He was always trying to get us t
o help crank, but we didn’t fall for that one anymore. It was a lot of effort for a little bit of ice cream. And Rachel was absolutely right: it was noisy ice cream.
Rachel handed me her hat as we ran down the hall to the bathroom.
“Emergency! Emergency! Coming through!” she screamed, adding a wee-wooh, wee-wooh sound like a fire truck. Once we took care of business, we headed back out to the parade. I’m always careful about locking the door when I leave a house, but this time I was hyperaware of being careful and making sure everything was locked.
“I need to take this to your mom so you can be on TV,” I said, walking Rachel’s permission form over to Libby. She and my mom were talking with Louise, the yin/yang woman, who smiled when she recognized me.
“This is my daughter, Hannah,” Mom said, by way of introduction.
“We haven’t formally met yet. I’m Louise Zirkowski,” she said, extending her hand. I like it when grown-ups shake hands with me. “I live in the red house across the street. I believe you and I share an interest in tai chi tu.”
I smiled, impressed that she said tai chi tu instead of yin/yang. Even more impressed that I knew what it meant. “I just met your friend Georgia at”—I didn’t actually know whose house it was now—“at the Rosetto house?” I finished my sentence as a question. I hate it when I do that, but I really was questioning whose house Georgia had been at.
“Really?” Louise’s forehead furrowed. “That’s odd. Did you say Ruth Rosetto’s house?”
“Yeah, she said she was just checking on something,” I said. Ruth? Ralph? They sounded kind of the same. Maybe Rachel and I had heard Georgia wrong and she hadn’t said Ralph after all.
Louise closed her eyes and appeared to be taking deep breaths. Then she opened her eyes. Her face looked relaxed again.
“Maggie, let me give you my card,” Louise said, handing Mom a business card. “You may not need my services, but perhaps you know someone who does. I’m fairly new at it, but I believe I have quite a knack.”
“May I have a card, too?” I asked. “I collect them.”
“Of course!”
Louise Zirkowski handed me a card advertising her services. Below two familiar-looking symbols were the following words:
Louise Zirkowski
Feng Shui Specialist
CHAPTER 15
“FENG SHUI?” I asked, surprised by the coincidence. “Are you familiar with it? You pronounced it correctly,” Louise said appreciatively. I said it “fung schway.” I knew that wasn’t absolutely positively correct, but it’s as good as most Americans can get.
“I’ve read a little bit. I don’t know that much, but I like to learn about Chinese traditions,” I said.
“We should talk sometime, Hannah. In the meantime, I should get back to the other side of the street. Our instructions for today ask that we stay roughly close to the same place in each take.”
I showed the card to Lily, who seemed to register the significance of the symbols right away.
“Can I hold it?” Rachel asked, apparently wanting to hold the business card. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. There was kanji above the words feng shui.
“Sure. I’d really appreciate your taking good care of it. It would be really supercool of you if you let me have it back when we go home,” I said. Rachel nodded solemnly, carefully holding the card and then putting it in her pocket.
“Here we go again,” Lily said, pointing to the caravan.
A boring white pickup led the way, just as the megaphone woman had said. Next came the Antiques Caravan truck. I recognized the main host from the show, who was driving and waving. I recognized the man in the passenger seat, too, although I didn’t know the names of either one today.
“Who are they?” Rachel asked, giddily jumping up and down and waving to the hosts.
“Marcia Wellstone and Bradford Hines,” Lily said.
“Hi, Marcia,” I called with the crowd.
“Hi, Marcia! Hi, Marcia!” Rachel followed my lead. Once again, the camera guy was right there to get a shot of Rachel. “Hi, Georgia! Hi, Georgia!” Rachel waved energetically to Louise and Georgia across the street. Louise nudged Georgia and pointed toward Rachel. A woman with a camera perched on her shoulder turned to get crowd shots across the street.
Louise smiled and waved for the camera just as her friend Georgia backed up and stepped behind a taller man.
Must not like TV for some reason. The exact opposite of my two companions, the fire chief and Miss 1906.
CHAPTER 16
“WELL, THAT WAS an exciting morning,” Lily said when we got inside. She stopped in the entryway to unlace her boots and kick them off. She grabbed a duffel bag. “I’m going to change my clothes in your room.”
Sometimes Lily may seem rude, but she’s not. I like the way she doesn’t need to ask for permission at our house (or wherever we’re house-sitting), and I don’t need to at her house. It’s like each of us is part of the other’s family. It’s nice.
“While we’re up there, let’s think of something to bring to Antiques Caravan,” she said as we climbed the stairs.
“Good idea,” I said. “It’s too bad we have to go to school on Friday.”
“I know. That means Saturday is our one and only chance to be featured on the show,” Lily said.
“Featured?” I asked, raising one eyebrow (a trick that I’d just mastered). I headed out the bedroom and down to the art studio, with Lily right behind.
“Of course. A couple of young girls like us with a family heirloom? Who could resist?”
I had put some of my own art supplies out with Happy’s brushes and paints. I picked up my own brushes and took them out of the pot. “I know!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “This!” I held up my brush pot for Lily to examine.
“I love this pot!” she said. “It’s so cool that your grandpa gave it to you. But I think we should come up with something showier.”
“Nope. I’m bringing this.” I had made up my mind. My mom’s dad had died of cancer before Mom adopted me. But he had known that I was coming because Mom had been waiting eighteen months to adopt a daughter from China. He didn’t really know about me, specifically. But he knew he would have a granddaughter someday. He had left a gift-wrapped box for my mom to open when she came back from China with me in her arms. Inside was a Chinese porcelain pot to hold calligraphy brushes (or, in my case, paintbrushes) and a small companion piece to rest a brush on. They were both robin’s egg blue. The pot had a border at the top in green. Mom said it was as if her dad had predicted I’d be an artist.
“Hmmm … You do have kind of a good story there,” Lily said. “I’m going to have to find something equally sentimental, but more valuable. I can’t imagine that my parents have anything, but if they do, I’ll find it.”
After Lily left, I took out Louise Zirkowski’s feng shui business card. It didn’t take long to find the meaning of the characters. Next to the yin/yang symbol was the kanji for “tai chi tu.” But this was Chinese kanji, slightly different than the Japanese kanji stones left in people’s houses.
Feng shui is pretty popular. It was silly to think there was a link to the breakins and Louise Zirkowski. Right?
CHAPTER 17
ON TUESDAY, Lily and I went to the Seattle Public Library downtown right after school. I love going to the library, especially the downtown one. It’s an eleven-story building that has this weird shape on the outside and lots of glass everywhere. An architect named Rem Koolhaas designed it, a fact I like to throw in because it’s fun to say his name. It’s not what you expect of a library at all, yet it’s full of books, so it immediately feels comfortable.
If I have enough time, I like to go to the reading room on the tenth floor. It feels kind of like a modem cathedral, basked in light. It’s quiet and comfy.
Today we didn’t have lots of time. We were on a mission. We headed to the Teen Center on the third floor and got on computers right next to each other.
“Oops, that
’s too many,” Lily said. She had found hundreds of results in the online catalog when she typed in “antiques.”
“Try something like ‘antique guidebook,’ ” I suggested. Still too many books to look through. We wanted to find some sort of guide that might give us a clue if our items were worth enough money to actually get on Antiques Caravan.
After we narrowed our search, we headed up the escalator to the fifth floor.
“Can I help you?” a man asked. He probably assumed we wanted a computer. There are more than one hundred computers on that floor. But there’s also a bunch of reference books.
“We want to research values of antiques,” I said.
The librarian took us to a shelf and pulled out three books for us. “This is a good general place to start. We have dozens more on the eighth floor, so if you’re not finding your item, we’ll look up there, too,” he said. “These books have been very popular this week because Antiques Caravan is in town.”
“It figures,” Lily muttered. “Everyone in Seattle is probably trying to get on the show.”
Everyone probably was. We’d preregistered online, which gave us a number and a time to show up. Lily, me, and our moms were going Saturday morning at ten.
I opened a book called Kovels’ Antiques & Collectibles and found the section on porcelain. It looked like my brush pot and brush rest might be from the Ming Dynasty (1368–1643). Of course, they could also be imitation. My grandfather had left me several letters, and he never said anything about the origins of the pot. They are beautiful and precious to me no matter what. Still, it would be kind of cool to know how much they were worth. I wonder if that makes me ultramaterialistic.
“Wow! Let’s find one of these!” Lily said. “Listen to this: jade and gold jewelry box estimated at eighty thousand dollars. Do you have one of these lying around?” She showed me the picture.
“Gosh, we don’t have one just like that. Wait! Look at that vase,” I said, pointing to another photograph. “That looks like the one Libby has. She said it was from her grandma.”
