"That she'd be a granny by now," Polly said with a laugh.
"Are you keeping any of this?" Sal asked. She held up a second, matching green vase."
Polly shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know. I have no idea what I'd do with it."
"People pay good money for these antiques. Mr. Gardner could make a great commission if he sold this stuff. Don't you think?" Sal held up a pair of pewter candlesticks. "I'd love these. Can I buy them from you?”
"Sure," Polly said. "You buy lunch and they're yours."
Sal laughed. "I already bought lunch."
"Then I guess they're yours," Polly replied. "Take them if you like them."
"I can't believe that poor girl collected so much stuff in just those few short years she was married," Sal said, climbing down and carrying the candlesticks over to an empty box. "It feels like my Mom's house and she has things from her parents and grandparents on top of all the things she's gotten over the years."
"From what I understand, the second wife's wedding gifts are here, too. And maybe Muriel had her own family’s things."
"Why wouldn't anyone else have come in to get it? You said Muriel has brothers who are still alive. Wouldn't their families want these things?" Sal climbed back up and patted around the inside of the cabinet she'd been emptying.
Polly was glad to have her here. Her height made this part of the task that much easier. "The realtor called the family and they said that there wasn't anything here they wanted." She stood up and stretched. "Doesn't that sound weird?"
Sal laughed, a sad and angry sound. "It does. When my dad's mother died, it was ugly. Everybody thought they deserved even the silliest kitchen items. Dad walked away from it, though. He said that she'd given him everything she wanted him to have while she was still alive. He didn't want to fight about her things. He made Mom and one of his sisters really mad."
"Why's that?"
"His sister was mad because a sister-in-law was trying to take everything and she wanted Dad to step in and put his foot down."
Polly nodded. "And your mom?"
"She thought he should have gotten a few more memories for me. We really didn't get any of her china or crystal or paintings or even books. All of the things that I remembered using when I stayed with her were gone. I'll never see them again. But Dad couldn't do it. He just couldn't handle that fight. He said he'd rather still have a relationship with his brother. His sister finally got over being mad at him." Sal paused. "Maybe not. She still doesn't talk to us very often."
"Your dad sounds pretty smart about it all."
"Grandma's will split all of the money from her estate, but the things in her house weren't specified and no one was willing to put them up for auction. Mom got the money she wanted from Grandma..."
"Sal!" Polly scolded.
"What?" Sal asked. "When it came down to it, that’s what she wanted the most. She didn't need any more clutter. They have two sets of china, a bunch of sets of crystal and more silver than they'll ever use. Their walls are filled with artwork and the furniture is exactly whatever Mom wants at the moment."
"No heirlooms?"
"Sure. There are some. Others are in storage." Sal nodded. "There are some nice pieces in the house. And I'm not really saying anything that Mom wouldn't agree with. She likes what she has and she likes money." She had climbed back down, moved the step stool and was patting around in the top shelf of a corner cupboard.
"What's this?" Sal pulled out a large envelope.
"I don't know," Polly said with a grin. "What is it?"
Sal climbed down and took it to an empty spot on a counter.
"This feels old," Polly whispered, touching the outer paper.
"Why are you whispering?" Sal asked, also in a whisper. "And you should open it."
Polly giggled. "I don't know. It just feels momentous."
"You weirdo," Sal said. "It's yours. Open it."
Polly had no idea what to expect. The pale green envelope was an odd size - at least twelve by eighteen inches. It was thick enough that there was more than a single piece of paper in it. She wasn't even certain that she should open it on her own. What if she damaged something important? "Maybe I should take it up to Mr. Gardner."
"It could be something silly," Sal said, handing her a knife. "Just open it."
"What do you think it might be?" Polly asked. "Just take a guess."
"It's big," Sal replied. "Maybe it's a collection of maps." She grinned. "Of Iowa in the early nineteen hundreds. And maybe the maps were drawn by Lewis and Clark."
"Uh huh. That makes so much sense."
"What’s your guess?" Sal asked.
"Military orders or some kind of official certificates."
Sal put her hand down on the envelope. "So what you're telling me is that we have Schrödinger's cat in here. It's either something amazing or it's nothing at all, but as long as the envelope stays sealed, it could be either, both, or neither."
Polly looked at her sideways. "Physics from you?"
"I watch television and read books," Sal said, laughing. "Now are you going to open this envelope or am I going to have to poison your cat?"
"What?"
Sal shook her head in mock disgust. "Bad Schrödinger joke. Sorry. Just open the envelope."
Polly slid her finger into an open space on the flap and pushed it apart. The glue was practically non-existent after all these years. "Okay. That's done."
"You're killing me here," Sal said. "Open the damned envelope."
Taking a deep breath, Polly reached in and drew out a stack of papers. "Here," she said. "What's this?" And pushed a couple of newspapers across the counter to Sal.
"Newspapers. There's one from Chicago and a Boone News-Republican. They're from March of nineteen sixteen. What do you have?"
"I think it's a title to this house." Polly peered at the paper in front of her. "But it wasn't a house when they first built it."
Sal chuckled. "What do you mean it wasn't a house?"
"I think it was an inn or something. It was called the Bell House and there are some words here about occupancy."
"It's right here," Sal said. She'd flipped the Boone News-Republican over and on the lower half of the front page was a write-up about the opening of a lavish, new hotel in Bellingwood for those with extravagant taste and wealthy pockets. "Apparently, this wasn't meant to be a hotel for travelers." She skimmed down a few paragraphs. "Visiting professors to the State University who come from the East and West Coast will be welcomed into its plush rooms with entertainment brought in from as far away as Omaha and Kansas City."
"Wow," Polly said. "Why didn't we know about this before?"
Sal ran her finger across the photograph. "It was a beautiful building." She pointed to where the garage now sat. "That looks like stables and right behind it is another building. What do you suppose that was?"
Polly shook her head. "I don't know." She breathed out. "A hotel. I have to call Henry. He'll never believe this."
"I thought you said he found plans for the building."
"They were renovation plans that had been filed," Polly said. "Not what we originally thought, but at least they give us dimensions. I'd love to see what this place looked like when it was a hotel. I wonder if any interior pictures exist."
"So when did the Springers buy it?" Sal asked. "Were they the ones who turned it into a residence?"
"We haven't gotten the whole abstract," Polly said. "I don't have any of that information yet. But now I want to know." She tapped the issue of the Chicago Tribune. "Why do you suppose that was saved?"
Sal thumbed through the top corners of the pages. "There are so many bits and pieces of news in here it would take a full week to read it all. My goodness, but newspapers were different back then. This is so much more interesting than any newspaper I've ever read. It's like I’m holding a microcosm of the city in my hands."
"Look at this," Polly said, holding up the Boone paper. "Headline. Young Englishman Comes t
o Iowa and Finds Love."
"No way."
"Yes way. Mister Thomas Kenner arrived in central Iowa this week to pursue the heart of Miss Evaline Carter, the daughter of Frederick and Cicely Carter of Bellingwood. The two young people met while she was visiting her maternal grandparents in southern England. Mister Kenner, a farmer by trade, hopes to establish himself as a laborer on a local farm and would entertain enquiries from those who might be able to use a strong back and bright mind."
"I wonder what ever happened to him," Sal mused. She pushed the Chicago Tribune back into the envelope.
Polly rubbed her forehead. "This boggles my mind. I don't know what to think about it. One hundred years ago this place was built to be a fancy hotel. Why did no one ever tell me?"
"Maybe because the whole haunted house thing took over," Sal said. "And how long was the hotel even open? Maybe no one knew what it was because it failed."
"Tomorrow I'm making Joss help me look for information in the library." Polly flipped the Boone News-Republican back over and put it back into the envelope. She allowed the title to fold back in on itself and slipped it in on top of the newspapers. "I wish they were open this evening, but I can wait until tomorrow."
"Is anyone in here?"
Polly and Sal both glanced at the back door.
"Come in," Polly called out. "We're in the kitchen."
"I just took the kittens..." Beryl stopped when she saw Sal standing with Polly. "I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"
"No," Sal said. "We were looking at some old papers I found in the top of the cupboard."
"Anything interesting?"
"Did you know this place was originally a hotel?" Polly asked.
Beryl cocked her head. "No, I never heard that. What did you find?"
"The original title and an old newspaper from Boone that talks about its opening. It was called the Bell House."
"That's probably the old Bell family. They were original founders, too. You know. Bell? Bellingwood?"
"Get out," Sal said.
Beryl laughed. "Nope. Not gonna. Yeah. Hiram Bell was a railroad man. Made a lot of money back in those days, you know. Railroad coming through Iowa right down there in Boone. He didn't want to live so close, so he came up north and helped start the town. There were several of those men who saw this little plot of land and thought they could make something of it."
"How did his name become part of the town's name?" Polly asked.
"He was the one with most of the money. Well, him and James Garwood - another railroad man." Beryl rubbed her chin. "If I remember my history, there were ten families that came up here and settled. By the mid eighteen-sixties, it wasn't that much of a risk. Iowa was a state, the Indians were no longer a threat and settlers were taming the land."
"You know a lot of history."
Beryl rolled her eyes. "Some. I grew up with it. Having an ancestor who was a founder made it a big deal. And since I was an impressionable kid when we had our centennial, at least a few of the stories stuck."
Polly took the Boone newspaper back out. "But that Hiram Bell would have been an old guy by nineteen sixteen," she said. "Do you think he opened the hotel?" She handed the paper to Beryl.
"The owner's name should have been in that article," Sal said. "I missed it."
"Uh huh, first line," Beryl said. "Franklin Bell, son of Hiram, one of Bellingwood's founders." She pointed at the sentence and Sal blushed.
"Look at the article down at the bottom of the page, in the corner," Polly said. "Relatives of yours?"
Beryl read through the article about Evaline Carter and Thomas Kenner. She smiled and handed the paper back to Polly. "Yes, they're family and I actually knew her. That's one of our family stories. But they never got married. He went back to England to fight in World War One and was killed before he could come back and marry her. She died an old maid in the early sixties."
"I wonder what she had to say about Muriel Springer killing herself when she thought her husband had died in World War Two," Polly said.
"She never said anything to me." Beryl handed the newspaper back to Polly. "I'd like a scan of that article sometime. Aunt Evaline never said much about Thomas, but when she did, she'd smile and get a faraway look in her eyes."
"Can you imagine someone falling so in love with you that they traveled across the ocean and half of the country to find you?" Sal asked. "And that was back before we had jets and fast cars. He really had to work for her."
"Then why would he go back?" Polly asked.
"Aunt Evaline said he couldn't let his fellow countrymen fight alone. He promised to return, but he had to go. It was important to him."
"They should have gotten married before he left."
Beryl nodded. "She regretted that they didn't. I have letters that he sent to her. He regretted it, too."
Polly put the newspaper back in the envelope. "What are you doing out today?"
"I just dropped the kittens off with Marnie at the vet's office." Beryl heaved a huge sigh. "I know they'll be okay tonight and I certainly don't want to have to fight with them to keep them out of food and water, so it's best this way, but I'm going to miss them."
Sal looked at the time on her phone. "Speaking of missing them. I have two little kiddos at home who are desperate to go outside." She chuckled. "Not that they love going out in the cold. Mark scoops the snow out of the yard for them. There's nothing sillier than watching a dachshund try to negotiate snowdrifts so they can pee. I try not to laugh at them, but sometimes I can't help myself. They're adorable."
She reached over to hug Polly. "I had fun today. Call me the next time you want help. This is a treasure trove of excitement."
"Don't forget your candlesticks," Polly said. She turned and picked up the box.
"I'll leave the box. Maybe I can put things in it the next time I'm here, but thanks for these. I can't wait to clean them up. They're beautiful."
"Thank you," Polly replied.
After the door closed behind Sal, Beryl looked around the kitchen. "The Springers really didn't take a thing with them when they left for Chicago, did they?"
"No. I'm going to have to ask Simon Gardner for help sorting through these things," Polly said. "I don't know what's worth keeping or what should be thrown in the trash."
"These are wild." Beryl picked up the turquoise vase that Sal had put on the counter. The top of the vase came off and Beryl flinched.
Polly grinned. "I think it was made that way. Do you want them?"
"They'd be kind of awesome in that front room, don't you think?" Beryl asked.
"Take them. I have newsprint over here. We can wrap them up."
"But what if they're worth money?"
"Please," Polly said with a scowl. "They make you smile. That's worth more than money."
Beryl put the vase back together and placed it on the counter. "Are you going to show me around? Do I have to beg for a tour?"
"I didn't realize you hadn't been here yet. Andy and Lydia saw it just after I bought it."
"I was in Boston, remember?"
Polly took Beryl's arm. "Come with me. We haven't done a thing because I'm still trying to figure out how to handle what was left here, but Henry says the floors are safe. He brought electricity in from outside because we don't know what's in the walls and I might start a fire."
Beryl smiled and followed Polly into the dining room. She ran her hand across the table and then looked at the doorways.
"How did this table get in here?" she asked.
"Henry says it must have been built in the room. The legs could come off, but he doesn't think they were made to ever come apart."
"So you're keeping it?"
Polly scratched her head. "It's a nice table and big enough for large family meals. I don't know why I wouldn't."
"Wow."
"You haven't seen the best thing yet," Polly said. "Follow me." She took Beryl through the other rooms on the main floor until they came to the foyer.
"What is that crazy thing?" Beryl asked.
"It's a fountain." Polly snapped her head up. "Do you suppose it was part of the hotel?"
"It wouldn't be the first thing I'd put into a home when I renovated it." Beryl walked around the fountain, looking into the nooks and crannies. "It would have been more interesting with a naked boy peeing water on the plants below."
"Whatever."
"Well it would. Are you keeping it?"
"I dunno. There are so many decisions we have to make. I get overwhelmed when I think about all of them."
"This can't be as big of a deal as renovating that school house."
"I was younger then and a whole lot more naive," Polly said. "I just kept pushing ahead because the only person I was responsible for was me. Nobody knew me or cared what I was doing. It didn't even occur to me that I was messing in the town's history. But here, it feels like every time I turn around there's something about the house that came from a different time in Bellingwood's past. And everyone is paying attention to what I'm doing."
"We were all paying attention when you renovated Sycamore House," Beryl said quietly. "Trust me, we were paying very close attention."
"But I didn't know it then. Now people stop me when I'm buying groceries and ask if we're going to have an open house or whether the ghost is bothering me."
"It's the life of a celebrity." Beryl poked Polly's arm. "Now show me the rooms upstairs."
CHAPTER FIVE
Polly walked into Sweet Beans Tuesday afternoon, desperate for more caffeine. She'd spent the morning in Story City working through paperwork for taxes. Her accountant, Steve Cook, had offered her a cup of coffee, but it was horrible, bitter stuff and she'd stopped drinking it halfway through.
"Hey there, Ms. Giller." Skylar Morris finished wiping down a table and went behind the counter. "Your regular?"
"Yes please," she said. "Make it a large." Polly pointed at a plate behind the glass. "What's that?"
"It rocks," he replied. "Mrs. Donovan said she was given the recipe by a little old lady down south."
Polly grinned at him. "What is it?"
"Old Lady Cake." He glanced up and winked. "I'm not kidding. It's a Dutch recipe. It has all of those Christmas flavors in it and anise for a kick."
Unexpected Riches (Bellingwood Book 13) Page 4
