by Karen Kelly
“‘Used to’?” Annie turned off the water and gently shook the colander to help the water drain more quickly.
Alice nodded slowly. “Ayuh. Government regulations blocked the importation of sealskin into the United States. Now, when was that?” She ran a thumb over the sealskin, as though it was a memory stone. “Sometime in the 1970s, maybe. John’s family was talking about it over a holiday meal one year. And by talking, I mean arguing.”
Annie took a handful of cloths from a drawer and spread them out on the counter. She moved the pile of beans over to dry and placed the cucumbers in the colander to give them a thorough wash. Raising her voice over the sound of the spray, she said, “What is it about large family meals that brings out the worst in some families?”
“Well, you know John’s never been what one would call self-controlled.” Alice stared down at the sporran, fingering the three tassels. “We all have a lack of self-control in one area or another, I guess.”
“One of mine would be your baked goods,” said Annie. “I guess it could be far worse than having to make sure a few extra pounds don’t creep onto my hips.” For a moment she felt regret for not having kept in touch with Alice during those two decades when she had been married to Wayne and raising their daughter. How she wished she could have been a support to her friend when she was suffering as her marriage to John deteriorated. Annie knew wishing changed nothing, but she was determined to never let anything come between her and Alice again, as long as she had anything to say about it.
“And how,” Alice said, nodding. “Anyway, the sporran has to be at least thirty or forty years old. I wonder when your grandparents got it. Have you seen any kilts around the old place?”
Annie lined the freshly cleaned cucumbers in rows on the towels. “No, I haven’t, and I don’t remember ever seeing one when I was spending summers here, either, but that doesn’t mean there’s not one to be found. You up for helping me look in the attic?”
“Sure.” Alice glanced down at the tarnished bands on the table. “Which do you want to do first, clean the silver or hunt for the kilt?”
After a moment of consideration Annie answered, “Clean the silver. I really want to see what the engravings look like.” She washed the colander and placed it in the drain board, and then turned around to lean against the counter. “The tarnish is heavy and I’m concerned about damaging the pieces. Any suggestions?”
“I haven’t been with Princessa for as long as I have without picking up some tricks of the trade.” Alice picked up one of the bands to examine the metal again. “This is sterling silver, not silver plate. So I’d suggest using the electrolytic method.”
“Impressive. Have you actually done this before?” Annie asked.
“Believe it or not, I have. More than once, in fact. If we are as precise with the method as you are with your crochet, the tarnish should clean up nicely without causing any harm to the pieces. Even better, I’m almost certain you already have everything we need.”
Annie knew Alice wasn’t one to claim expertise when she didn’t actually have it. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Let’s get started. What do we need?”
“A large pot, aluminum foil, that colander over there, a plastic spoon, a towel, water, baking soda, salt, liquid dish soap, and measuring cups. Oh, and your stove.” Alice ran through the process in her mind once again, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “That’s everything.”
Annie pointed over to a lower cabinet. “Grab the stockpot.” She reached up into her baking cabinet and pulled down the baking soda and salt. Once all the needed items were gathered on the counter by the sink, she said, “OK, what’s next?”
Alice explained, “First, we need to line the pot with aluminum foil. And I mean completely cover the sides and bottom with the shiny side facing out.” She handed Annie the roll of foil. “While you do that, I’ll measure out the baking soda, salt, and soap.” After all the hours Alice had spent at her friend’s house she knew the Grey Gables’s kitchen almost as well as Annie did. She plucked the needed measuring cups from the neat stack in the drawer next to the stove. The mound of baking soda had just reached the top of the quarter cup when her head popped up.
“Hey, I remember someone having a kilt!”
“You’re not going to make a joke about Tartan, are you?” Annie finished smoothing the foil around the bottom of the pot and began lining the sides.
Alice barked out a laugh. “No, I’m not talking about our mayor’s dear schnauzer. I mean you.”
“Me?” Annie’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she delved back into her growing up years, and then they widened again. “I can’t believe you remembered that before I did.”
Alice turned the bottle of dish soap upside down over a cup and squeezed. “How could I forget such a fashion statement? Black Watch pattern, I think it was.”
“More likely the J.C. Penney pattern,” Annie said, pressing the edges of the foil strip down over the lip of the pot. “How I loved that skirt! Though I never told anyone, when I outgrew it, and my mother donated it to the missions clothing drive, I cried. I wanted to make some pillows out of it.”
Alice snapped the lid of the soap closed and replaced it by the sink. “I always wondered how hard it must have been for you, being separated from your parents so often when they went on missionary trips. Having some things all your very own would have been really important.”
Annie nodded. “It was important that they were portable things too—I needed things I could tuck into my suitcase when I went to Aunt Susan’s in Texas or here. My desire to make those pillows was definitely sparked by wanting to keep something special with me when I couldn’t keep my parents. I knew they had a good reason for being away, but it didn’t make it easier.” Running her hands around the inside of the pot, she made sure there were no gaps in the foil. “Here you go, one aluminum-plated pot.” She carried it over to the stove.
Alice examined her friend’s handiwork. “Good. Now we make a most delectable soup.” One by one she poured in the water, soap, baking soda, and salt. Selecting a plastic spoon from the large crock on the counter, she stirred the concoction to mix the ingredients thoroughly. “Hand me the bands, Annie.”
Annie gathered the bands and gave them to Alice. She placed them in the pot and moved the pot over one of the burners on the stove, turning it on low. “Now, we wait until it boils for a few moments, and then we’ll switch off the heat and let it sit for about five minutes.”
Annie picked up the sporran off the table and ran a finger over the silver clasp. “How are we going to clean this? We can’t submerge this in your soup, even if seals are marine animals.”
“Do you have an old toothbrush with soft bristles?” asked Alice, keeping an eye on the pot for signs of boiling. “We’ll also need toothpaste or more baking soda and some soft towels.”
“Does any brand of toothpaste work? I always keep my old brushes; they come in handy for so many things.”
When Alice assured her that any brand of toothpaste would do, Annie ran upstairs to grab the two items. Alice looked up from the pot when she stepped again through the kitchen door. “This is going to boil any minute. We’re only five minutes or so away from seeing what the design is.”
“Great!” Annie set the toothpaste tube and toothbrush on the table and rifled through her supply of towels for the softest ones she could find. “I assume I’ll be covering the clasp in the toothpaste and using the toothbrush to work it into the details?”
“You got it.” Alice eyed the contents of the pot; small bubbles were beginning to rise. “Do you have any painter’s tape tucked away somewhere? You might want to cover the bulk of the sporran in plastic wrap and then secure it with the tape as close to the silver as you can get it.” While she was speaking, she allowed the mixture to boil for a few moments and then reached over to switch off the heat and turned the oven timer to five minutes.
Annie was spreading a couple of the cloths over the table for a work area
. “Good idea.” She stopped to poke her head and one arm into the darkness just inside the basement door, re-emerging with a roll of wide blue tape. “Painter’s tape is another one of those multi-use items, so I like to keep it handy.” As she passed the bakers rack, she plucked a roll of plastic wrap off a shelf on her way back to the table.
“Let me give you a hand while the soup is working its magic.” Alice left her position by the pot and held the plastic wrap in place while Annie taped it down, carefully slipping the edge of the tape under the rim of the silver on both sides of the sporran.
The body of the sporran protected, Annie twisted the top off the toothpaste tube and squeezed a pearl of the white paste onto one side of the clasp. She wrapped a cloth around two fingers and began spreading the paste over the metal.
The whiney buzz of the timer sounded. Alice jumped where she stood looking over Annie’s shoulder and darted over to switch it off. Placing the colander in the sink, she drained the mixture, leaving the bands in the bottom of the strainer. “This is where I have to be really meticulous,” she said, using the spray nozzle to douse the bands as she picked them up one by one. “If you leave any salt behind, it will eat through the silver over time.”
Annie looked up from the sporran. “Did it work? Is the tarnish gone?”
Alice spoke over the sound of the spray. “Worked better than a charm. Cool design. I’ll show you as soon as I get them all completely goop-free.” She squinted at a band she had picked up, checking it over for any signs of residue, and set it on the cloth spread out beside the sink.
The kitchen took on a quiet air of industry as Annie worked the paste into the grooves of the sporran clasp, and Alice thoroughly rinsed and dried all the bands. After disposing of the aluminum from the pot, Alice gathered up the bands and sat down next to Annie at the table.
“Mmmm, you smell so minty fresh.” Alice grinned as she held a band in front of her friend’s face so she could get a good look at it. She slowly turned the band to show all the parts of the design.
A soft gasp escaped Annie. “Wow, that’s some craftsmanship!”
“Isn’t it? I’ve never seen a design exactly like this, but it’s definitely Celtic. See the knotwork that resembles the edging of the sporran clasp?”
“The bird is amazing,” Annie murmured. “Looks like a bird of prey, but which one? A rose is clasped in its talons. Are all the bands the same?”
“Yes, the exact same design. I don’t think it’s an eagle judging by the shape of the head, but I need help to narrow it down more.” Alice leaned closer to look at the sporran. “The paste seems to be working well. I can see the clasp design is also definitely Celtic—see the Celtic cross?—other than the knotwork, I don’t see any other common elements between it and the bands.”
Annie picked up the toothbrush to work the paste into the last section of the clasp. “While I finish cleaning this, why don’t you grab the laptop from the library and see if you can find out anything about the band design.”
Alice snapped a finger and replaced the band she had been holding among the others on the table. “Excellent idea,” she said. “Be right back.” She disappeared through the kitchen door, returning a moment later with the laptop. Soon she was tapping away on the keyboard, typing key words into a search engine.
“There—the whole thing is pasted,” Annie announced. “How long should I leave the paste on the silver?”
Alice glanced over the top of the computer. “You can probably start removing it from the first side you covered. Try the edge to test it and use warm water to make sure you completely remove the paste.”
Annie set the pasty cloth aside and went to the sink to fill a glass bowl with warm water. Setting the bowl on the table, she sat, dipped a new cloth in the water and went to work on the first corner of the clasp. “It worked! The tarnish is wiping right off. Finding anything?”
Alice chuckled. “Yes, I’ve discovered Celtic designs are quite popular for tattoos.” She clicked through a link. “Oh, here’s something. Common Celtic bird designs are the crow—also known as the death eagle—herons to show fidelity, and peacocks for symbols of immortality and purity.”
“Interesting, but no matches with our design.” Annie rinsed out her cloth and dipped it into the bowl again. “The clasp has some kind of plant sprig for the main design. It’s repeated on either end of the Celtic cross in the middle with the knotwork connecting them. There aren’t any birds.”
Alice gave a triumphant grunt. “Ah! Here are some bird-of-prey designs. Eagles are close, but the angle of the head is different, like I thought. Here’s a kestrel; that looks pretty close. Oh! This one looks similar as well. The design description says it’s a hawk.” She angled the computer so Annie could see.
The website page contained several pictures of bird designs. Annie leaned closer and pointed at the top one. “Are those two birds biting each other or themselves? I can’t quite tell.”
“They’re biting their own necks, according to the fine print.” Alice hovered an index finger between two pictures further down the page. “These are the two I was talking about.”
“Sorry, I got distracted by that fascinating, but rather disturbing, design.” Annie moved her eyes down the page and bobbed her head. “You’re right; they both have a lot in common with the band design. So, it looks like we’ve got either a Celtic hawk or kestrel …” she held up the sporran, “and a sprig of … something. Any ideas?”
Alice peered at the newly polished silver. “Hmmm. My guess is … I have no idea. My knowledge of plants and trees isn’t huge. It mostly revolves around what fits in a window box.”
“And we don’t even know what the bands are. Who do you think might be able to help us?” Annie asked.
Alice slowly closed the laptop, thinking. “Maybe we should start with Mike Malone. After all those years he’s spent writing The Point, he’s a fount of miscellany.”
“I’ll pop into the hardware store tomorrow and see what Mike can tell me.” Annie lifted the sporran closer to her eyes, examining both sides thoroughly. “Now that we have the sporran and bands gleaming, let’s head to the attic.”
Alice cradled the computer in her arms to return it to the library on the way upstairs. “Right behind you. Hopefully, the attic will provide us with another piece of the puzzle.”
3
Annie had always been one to awaken by the sun, rather than by an alarm, which made for some early rising in August. That would be rated disgustingly early by Alice’s standards and on the late side for those who manned the many Stony Point lobster and fishing boats, which had already left the harbor for the Gulf of Maine. To Annie, her body timed it just right and gave her the joy of watching the world stretch its arms and shake off the night. It also gave her plenty of time to care for her vegetable garden and her roses. It was a glorious morning, so Annie decided to walk into town to see Mike Malone as soon as he opened his hardware store.
At the top of the rise on Maple Street, the crossroads at Main Street just ahead, she paused long enough to turn and take in the lupines as they festooned the sides of the road with riotous color. No wonder Gram had incorporated the wildflowers into many of her cross-stitch designs; they were as heart-lifting as she had been. Shifting her project bag, which contained the sporran and its contents, to her other shoulder, Annie turned again toward downtown and resumed her walk.
Within minutes she rounded the corner and stepped onto the sidewalk, passing Magruder’s Grocery as Mike Magruder was flipping his door sign from “Closed” to “Open.” Annie always thought of this section of Main Street as the M&M Way with one Mike owning the grocery store and another Mike the hardware store next to it. Mike number one lifted a hand to greet her through the plate glass window of his store before turning his attention to other chores.
Annie heard the door to Malone’s Hardware being unlocked, and a girl in her late-teens opened it, broom in hand.
“Good morning, Kailyn,” Annie greeted her. “I
s your father in this morning, or are you and Trace manning the store?”
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” Kailyn answered, her voice cheerful. “Dad’s here. Good thing, too, because Trace is M.I.A. Probably stayed up too late playing Skyrim.”
Annie tilted her head to the right. “Skyrim?”
“It’s a video game. Gaming is just about the only thing that will keep Trace in one place for more than two minutes. Otherwise, he’s outdoors.” Kailyn brandished the broom. “And he’s missing the one store chore that would take him outside.”
Annie patted Kailyn’s shoulder, taking care not to snag her ring in the girl’s straight, cinnamon-sugar–color hair. “I’m sure your father appreciates your help. And enjoy the sweeping; this morning is as perfect as they come.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Dawson.” Kailyn opened the door for Annie.
As Annie’s eyes adjusted from being in the bright summer sunshine, she heard a door in the back of the store close and a voice call, “You’re my first customer of the day, Annie. How can I help you? Boots hasn’t shredded any more screens, has she?” As Mike came closer she could see his brown hair—not as thick as it used to be—and friendly eyes.
Annie’s green eyes danced. “No. Boots has moved on to more interesting acts of minor destruction.” She pulled the project bag from her shoulder. “My most important reason for coming today is to see if you can help me identify something I found in the attic.”
“Another Grey Gables mystery?” Mike’s eyebrows rose. His hand reached up to tug on his left ear.
“I’m not sure yet,” admitted Annie.
Mike waved her over to the front counter. “Well, let’s have a look.”
Mike made sure his front counter was kept tidy and clean, which was no easy task when running a hardware store in a state full of committed do-it-yourselfers. Annie opened the bag and drew out the sporran.
“Ah, a sporran,” Mike leaned closer to it. “Sealskin.”
“Yes, that’s what Alice thought it was,” said Annie. She opened the clasp. “The items inside are what brought me here.” She reached in to pull out the bands, setting them on the counter in a row. “Do you know what these are?”
