The Forever Stone

by Gloria Repp

  “Probably,” Kent said. “And if you’re interested in cemeteries, there’s an old one just down the road. I’ve found some good leads there for my book.”

  Remi grinned. “Let’s talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs . . .”

  It took her a minute, but then she had it. “Shakespeare,” she said. “Richard II.” Why hadn’t Remi gone to college?

  His eyes sparkled. “Yeah, that old guy sure could write. How come you know him?”

  “I taught British Lit for a while.”

  Remi leaned forward to say something more, but Kent interrupted. “This is good cake, Madeleine. Homemade?”

  “Yes.” Should she tell him that Jude, one of those “nuisance kids” had done most of the work? No; she’d probably end by apologizing or doing something equally mousey.

  Finally Kent stood up to make a graceful exit, and Remi echoed his words. “Farewell, ladies. See you tomorrow.”

  That night, as she wrote in her journal, Madeleine hesitated over what to say about Kent. She settled on: Self-centered but probably harmless. Unpredictable. Do I still think he’s an eager puppy? Not sure. He tries to impress.

  By morning, wind screeched around the corners of the house and rain pounded on the roof. No Batsto today, and Madeleine didn’t mind. If she had any spare time, she’d rather spend it at Timothy’s store, getting started on her course.

  She and Aunt Lin made plans for organizing the china, glassware, and oddments still on the dining room table. They began investigating the rest of the cabinets, and the morning passed quickly.

  After lunch Aunt Lin phoned the Truck Guys and came back looking disappointed. “Not until tomorrow. I asked about boxes, and they don’t have any left.”

  Madeleine wondered aloud whether Timothy might have boxes, and her aunt said, “He probably does. He’ll let you have them, I’m sure.” She paused in the kitchen doorway, looking preoccupied. “My partner phoned. He’s come up with another great idea, which means I’ve got a lot of work to do before Wednesday.”

  She left the kitchen, murmuring to herself, and Madeleine knew she wouldn’t reappear until evening. What next? She’d finish up that cabinet, and go see Timothy. Take the laptop.

  CHAPTER 7

  Timothy keeps surprising me.

  He looks like a little old gnome,

  but he’s funny and wise and kind.

  I feel as if I can tell him . . . some things.

  ~Journal

  The street was lined with cars, but Timothy’s store looked empty. What was the attraction on this rainy day? He answered from a corner when she called his name, and she found him standing on a box beside a stack of canned peaches.

  “Where’s the big sale?” she asked. “Or the fire?”

  “All those cars? Monday and Tuesday mornings are Free Clinic. Nathan and a couple of other doctors run it together.”

  “Free?”

  “Almost. A lot of people around here don’t have insurance, so the doctors arranged for them to pay what they can.”

  “They won’t break even, will they?”

  “Probably not, but it was Nathan’s idea, and he’s convinced the other doctors that it’s important. Did you come to work on your course?”

  “I did. Are you hungry yet?”

  He smiled, turned back to the canned peaches, lost his balance, and almost fell off the box. Half of the cans tumbled to the floor.

  “Careful!” Madeleine picked them up. “You should have a stepladder.”

  “I do, but someone borrowed it.”

  “I think I know who.”

  “I didn’t mind. He said he needed it.”

  “I have a feeling he’ll bring it back soon,” she said. “Can I help? What did you want this display to look like?”

  The old man lowered himself to the floor. “I thought a pyramid might be effective, maybe with a sign. Something about fresh-picked flavor.”

  “Sounds good.” She began arranging the cans. “Do you have any more of these?”

  “In the back.”

  The doorbell jingled, and a gaunt, red-haired man strolled in. His jeans were stained at the knees, and his jacket looked as if he’d been using it to wipe up an oil spill. One hand was bandaged. Had he just come from the clinic? He hunched over the display case while he waited for Timothy.

  The man made a purchase, answered Timothy’s question with a grunt, and ambled back out into the rain.

  “Not very talkative, is he?” Madeleine said.

  Timothy’s smile was forbearing. “Sid’s a good mechanic when he’s sober.”

  “Does he fix cars?”

  “He can fix anything on wheels. You have a car problem?”

  “I guess I need a new bumper and a paint job, so I’m looking around.”

  Timothy was kind enough not to ask how she’d damaged her car. “I can give you Sid’s number,” he said. “Maybe you’ll catch him on a good day.”

  While he wrote it down, she asked, “Do you know him very well?”

  “Not especially. He comes in to buy spark plugs and always looks at those paperweights.” His face softened. “Always says he’s going to buy one for his little girl someday.”

  She took the number, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to hire a man with a drinking problem, and Timothy started for the back of his store, saying, “I’ll get you another case of those peaches.”

  While they built a larger display, he talked for a while about the store. Then, after handing her another can, he asked, “How are you doing these days, little lady?”

  She placed the can with more precision than necessary. “I began a new life when I came here.” She tried to sound brisk and capable. “So it’s hard to tell. A new situation, new people. I’m sure it will all be fine.”

  Fine. The word seemed to hang like a small dark cloud just above them. He must know that Dad had been shot, and Aunt Lin had probably told him about Brenn’s accident. How could she expect him to believe that everything was fine?

  He looked up at her with his searching gaze. “The other night, you were running away from someone.”

  “An evasive tactic, you might say. It worked.”

  “Good for you.” He bent to get more cans from the box. “Hey-You is taking a nap right now, but he sends greetings. He reported that you make an excellent tuna sandwich.”

  They laughed together, and he said, “Tell me what you’ve discovered in your new life.”

  She rearranged two of the cans, wondering how to answer. She wasn’t going to admit to anyone, even Timothy, that her new life wasn’t what she’d envisioned. “You wouldn’t believe all the cartons full of stuff in that house,” she finally said. “And one of the rooms is locked.”

  She stepped down off the box. “There. How does it look?”

  “Just the way I hoped it would.”

  She eyed the scribbled little signs on each aisle. “Would you like me to make the sign?”

  “Capital! I’ve got a few markers. And I’ve got paper too, or would you rather have poster board?”

  He produced everything she suggested for a simple sign, and after she hung it in place, he beamed. “I’d buy some peaches myself if I didn’t have plenty.” He nodded toward the office. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer. Go ahead.”

  Once she got online, it didn’t take long. She registered for the course, paid for it, and downloaded the syllabus and videos she’d need for the first module. Plenty to keep her busy. But she had forgotten to get boxes for the Manor.

  She went out to ask Timothy and caught sight of the decoys in his display case. Better learn what she could.

  “Those ducks,” she said. “Are they for sale?”

  “Seventy-five dollars each,” Timothy said. “They’re made by a local woman, Paula Castell.”

  The name wasn’t familiar, but Bria might know of her. “Would older decoys sell for more than that?”

  “Usually. It depends on their condition and the artist’s reputation.”
r />   She bent over the case. “That’s a mallard, right? What are the other two?”

  “Green winged teal—a drake and a hen.” Timothy handed her the drake. “Realistic, isn’t it?”

  The duck was surprisingly light, and it had a personable expression in its eyes. “We came across some decoys,” she said, “and they look old. I need to find out whether they’re valuable.”

  “I just sell them,” Timothy said, “but I know someone who might help you out.”

  “Around here?”

  “Yes, indeed. Dan’l Forbes by name.” Timothy glanced at his watch. “We could go visit him now, if you have time.”

  “What about the store?”

  “All my customers? They’ll come back. This will be my late lunch. You don’t have to go home right away, do you?”

  “No, but I meant to ask—do you have any empty boxes we could use at the Manor?”

  “I do. We’ll break them down and put them in your car. Follow me in case you want to visit Dan’l again.”

  Madeleine drove close behind Timothy’s old black pickup, trying to watch for landmarks and count the turns. Before long he left the paved road, and it was all she could do to keep him in sight. His truck rocked over the rutted sand, and the only time he slowed was when he splashed into a swampy puddle that spread across the road. She drove gingerly through it, hoping she wouldn’t get stuck.

  Soon after, he turned again, this time into a long, sandy driveway. On either side were rain-streaked cars in stages of disrepair. One was perched on cement blocks, two were sharing their space with bushes, and two more looked like rusted blue ships afloat in the grass.

  They parked beside a green car with the sweeping tail fins of the late fifties, and Timothy motioned her ahead to the cottage. She hung back as he skirted a pile of firewood and limped up the porch steps, avoiding the splintered holes in the planks.

  “Hello, Dan’l?” he called. “Anybody home?”

  A voice replied, indistinguishable but hearty.

  Timothy opened the rusted screen door and paused to glance into a darkened room. Together they picked their way toward the lighted kitchen, past shadowy masses of furniture, a wood stove, and a rifle that leaned against the kitchen doorway.

  Dan’l, wearing the same plaid shirt as the first time she’d seen him, looked up from the newspapers he had scattered across a dented wooden table.

  “Timothy! With the young Miss! This sure is an occasion. It sure is.” He stood to his feet with a grunt, and looked her over with careful blue eyes. “I was just goin’ to have myself another dish of tea. How about you? Sure you’d like some.”

  He stacked the newspapers and pulled two straight-backed chairs away from the table. “Go ahead! Sit down, both of you.”

  He took thick white china cups from a shelf, dropped a tea bag into each one, and filled them from the kettle on the stove. After refilling his own cup, he pushed a pink sugar bowl across the table toward them.

  “Thank you kindly,” Timothy said. “Might there be a spoon for the sugar?”

  “Sure!” Dan’l reached across the counter to a can filled with spoons and forks. “Here’s a nice clean one.”

  The counter also held unwashed dishes, a frying pan, a box of cornflakes, cans of baked beans, a wrench, a hammer, three screwdrivers, and a bucket of water. Nothing was particularly clean, but neither was it filthy.

  Timothy spooned sugar into his cup and stirred. “How’s your car been doing these days?”

  “Can’t complain, I guess. Got lucky and missed a deer the other night, so it don’t have any new dents.”

  The men talked about cars while Madeleine sipped her tea and looked around. She found herself thinking critically—as her mother would—about the old man and his kitchen with its faded green wallpaper.

  But most likely he’d lived here all his life, and he was a bachelor as well. Was he a lesser person because his kitchen didn’t fit into middle-class notions of a sanitized life? Wasn’t it more important to take note of his kindness and courtesy?

  She tightened her grip on the cup as if it might be snatched away. What about her new life? Maybe she should try a different way of looking at people.

  Dan’l turned his gaze upon her. “So they’re doing some work on the Manor? I’ve heard that aunt of yours is sweeping it out with a new broom.”

  Madeleine smiled at the way he’d put it. “She certainly is.”

  “Tell him what you found,” Timothy said.

  “Some decoys,” she said. How had Bria identified them? “Two mergansers and a black duck. They look hand-carved.”

  “Old?”

  “I think so. They’re weathered, and the paint on the black duck is scratched.”

  Dan’l nodded. “Probably shot over it.” He leaned forward. “Were they signed? Did you see anything like a signature on the bottom?”

  Bria had looked for one. “I don’t think so.”

  “I sure would like to see them sometime. Sure would. I used to make decoys, and so did my friends. Everybody’s got their own style, you know? I might recognize one of them.”

  “I was hoping you could tell me whether they’re valuable. And something about how they’re made.”

  He rubbed at a shaggy eyebrow. “You writing a book too? Got more people around asking questions.”

  She smiled, wanting to put him at ease. “Just curious. Timothy showed me a couple of the decoys in his store.”

  “I made some pretty good decoys in my time,” Dan’l said. He looked down at the swollen joints of his hands. “Not any more. That new doctor gave me some pills, but I keep forgetting to take them. Not his fault. He’s a good neighbor, I can tell you—comes over, and we swap fishing tales. He used to live in Alaska, you know that?”

  “Yes,” Timothy said.

  “That’s right. He’s a friend of yours. Now what were we talking about? Decoys.” He thought for a minute. “That woman, what’s her name—the one who makes ’em for you?”

  “Paula Castell?”

  “She carves them at her house. I don’t know how she manages, the way she is now.” He gave Madeleine a measuring glance. “She might show you what she does.”

  “A fine idea,” Timothy said. “Thanks for the tea, Dan’l. I’m going to have a line of customers if I don’t get back soon.”

  He pulled himself to his feet, and Madeleine stood too.

  “Bring those decoys by any time you want. I’ll tell you what I think.” Dan’l grinned. “I’m most always here.”

  “I’d like to do that,” Madeleine said. She should stop trying to label the man. He was an original antique, more intriguing than anything made of wood.

  On their way across the porch, she glanced at two small cabins half-hidden in the trees. Water gleamed behind them. “Is that a lake back there?”

  “A cranberry bog,” Timothy said. “It belongs to Dan’l. He turfed it out himself.”

  He turned to get into his truck. “Dan’l is right. I should have thought of Paula. She’s the best person to ask about decoys. She might be interested in seeing the ones you found. For sure, her children would be.”

  “Her children?”

  “Doesn’t Bria work for your aunt?” He climbed into his truck. “I’ll take you back to the main road, and then you’ll know where you are.”

  “Thank you,” Madeleine said. Bria and Jude were Paula’s children? No wonder they’d looked at those decoys with such interest. She’d have to ask them a few more questions.

  Overnight, the rain continued but temperatures dropped, and Madeleine thought about old Dan’l. How would he stay warm? Maybe he’d fire up that wood stove and sit close to it.

  For breakfast she had made scones, her first baking project. She’d tried out two different recipes: blueberry streusel and lemon ginger. According to Aunt Lin, they were both successful. Her aunt had been encouraging when Madeleine told her about the class, but now she was positively enthusiastic.

  Afterward, she took samples of th
e scones to the store for Timothy and showed him the online form to use for his evaluation. Once again, cars were clustered by the clinic. Had the doctor found time to work on his writing project? She wouldn’t ask, even if she did see him.

  Back at the Manor, she worked steadily, and the day’s highlight was a visit from the Truck Guys. They loaded all the boxes of discards and took the green carpet too.

  Aunt Lin smiled as they drove away. “Better and better!”

  The next day, Aunt Lin left early, and Bria and Jude arrived in the afternoon. “I see you got rid of that old rug on the stairs,” Bria said with a trace of a smile. She waxed the steps and Jude helped to polish them.

  “Did you find any more interesting stuff upstairs?” he asked.

  “I haven’t looked,” Madeleine said. “I wish we had a key for that room.”

  “What room?”

  She showed him the door at the end of the hall, and he studied its old-fashioned lock. “Easy,” he said. “Have you got a coat hanger? The wire kind.”

  By the time she found a hanger, Jude was coming out of the pantry with wire cutters and a pair of pliers. He snipped off a piece of the hangar and bent it into an L shape. “Let’s see how this works.”

  He poked the wire into the lock, shook his head, pulled it out, snipped off a fraction of an inch, and tried again. Something clicked, and he grinned as he turned the doorknob.

  This room felt different from the rest of the house. A red-checked quilt lay smooth on the narrow bed. The braided rug had not been rumpled for years. Toys on the shelves stood in precise order, furred with dust.

  Jude broke the silence. “It’s a kid’s room.” He shot a longing glance at the red model plane suspended over their heads. “Huh,” he said, “a rich kid.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Bria said.

  On the top shelf, wooden blocks rose beside a fleet of tiny metal trucks. Pairs of brightly-painted Noah’s Ark animals marched past the trucks. On the lower shelf, a metal coin bank shaped like a house stood next to an open box of marbles.

  Jude blew the dust off the marbles. “Red ones are missing,” he said. “Must have been his favorites.”