by Terri Kraus
“Then you’ll need good representation.”
Leslie appeared pained. “I know. But I can’t afford it. What’s a retainer of a good lawyer for something like this? Five thousand, at least, I bet—for this type of case. More? I don’t have that sort of extra money around. I went out on a limb to buy the Midlands Building.”
It was apparent to Leslie that Pastor Blake sympathized with her and recognized the seriousness of her dilemma.
“I’m better now. Much better,” she continued. “But he’ll make an issue over what happened in the past.”
“You do need an attorney, Leslie. I wish these sorts of things could be handled outside of the courtroom, but they can’t. You’ll need an attorney, if he tries what he threatened. Perhaps you could qualify for free legal aid from the county or state.”
Leslie shifted in her chair. “Maybe. But my father always said that you get what you pay for. I know that I might find some help, but I can’t risk losing Ava by using free legal aid. I just can’t risk it. Would you risk your daughter to save money?”
Leslie knew Pastor Blake would agree with her.
“Well, I’ll pray for a solution,” the pastor answered. “And there is a lawyer in the church. I can ask him for advice—with your permission.”
Leslie agreed.
“All I know is that I need a good attorney. Now my biggest problem is finding the money to pay for him.”
Jack hefted the biggest drill he had, placed a circular cutting saw, a round cup with sharp cutting teeth, and placed that saw on the small hole he had made the day before. He called back over his shoulder.
“I’m cutting now. No one get jumpy.”
Alice and Frank were both in the store, moving large cardboard templates around on the floor. “I don’t believe in feng shui, but furniture is either put in the right place or it isn’t,” Alice was saying.
Jack did not work on Saturdays—unless he had to—and he explained that what he was doing was at no charge to the job.
Often, when Jack started a saw or a drill, or his pneumatic nail gun, Alice would shriek. “You have to warn me when you’re going to make a racket,” she’d told him.
So Jack issued his standard warning, and Alice made a theatrical move to cover her ears.
The hole saw whirred silently until it bit into the plaster. Little clouds of white dust erupted and the teeth of the saw gnashed and growled as they sliced through the lath. Jack pulled it out, undid the saw, added an extension to the saw bit, and slipped the saw back into the hole, to cut through the other side of the wall. He was finished in only a few minutes.
He tried his arm through the hole. It fit easily, though it grew more and more snug as he reached in farther. But he was through, into the mysterious storage room. He pulled the flashlight off his belt and placed it at the hole. He could see the circle of light on the far wall—some sort of dark green wallpaper, and nothing else. He could not get enough of an angle to see anything else.
He had come prepared, bringing a small mirror mounted on a telescoping pole. He threaded that through and shined the light off of that, off of a corner of the mirror. He could just make out the hinge.
But how am I going to get to the hinge? My arm won’t bend that way. I should have thought of that at the beginning.
The hinge and hinge pin were easily visible—large, no rust, unpainted. It would be easy to remove, if he could just reach it.
But how am I going to reach it?
He sat back down on the folding chair by the door and tried to think of what might work.
Leslie and Ava walked back to their apartment after visiting the grocery store. Ava had fallen in love with the cupcakes from the bakery. She was not a child who demanded much, never had tantrums solely over the purchase of one thing or another—but her desire for these cupcakes came close to triggering all those childish reactions.
“I love them, Mom. You have to buy them for me. You do.”
Normally, Leslie resisted giving in to such demands, but Ava used the ploy so seldom. So today, there was a box with a half dozen assorted cupcakes at the top of one of the bags.
“How come we can’t drive to the store, Mom?” Ava asked. “Everybody else drives.”
Leslie had answered the same question before and wondered if this was Ava being six or Ava being absentminded.
“Because we only live a few blocks from the store. Because this saves gas. Because it’s a nice day. Because this is good exercise. Because Grandma Amelia walked two miles just to go to school—after she did all her chores for the morning.”
Leslie added up all the reasons into one superdefense of walking to the store. The sheer volume of answers silenced her daughter for an entire block.
And every little bit helps. If I’m going to have to come up with five thousand dollars or so, I’ll have to start somewhere. I save on gas and I buy less since we have to carry it home.
While waiting to hear about the museum position, she had kept sending out résumés and answering ads, making phone calls, searching for a job that would allow her to work the hours that Ava was in school. Mrs. Pindler had called from the museum to let her know that the board had met but hadn’t had time to consider her application. She had assured Leslie that everything was fine, and that she would force them into a decision when they met the following month.
Ava stopped at the corner and turned back, holding a paper bag filled with bread, hamburger buns, lettuce, and a bag of Goldfish, and gave her mother that look—that six-year-old look of impatience for “Let’s hurry it up.”
I need to save up money—and fast. A free attorney might be fine, if I didn’t really care about the outcome. But I cannot risk that with Ava. What if they don’t get the right medical records? What if they think that panic attacks can’t be cured?
She finally made it to Ava’s side. “Look both ways—twice,” Leslie reminded.
Ava did that, sweeping her head back and forth, back and forth. “No runaway trucks, Mom. Let’s cross.”
Maybe Jack knows a good attorney.…
Jack thought he had his dilemma figured out. He stared and thought and poked around, until he came up with a solution that just might work. Using clamps, he fixed the mirror to the wall, so he could see the reflection of the middle hinge. He then drilled a hole through the thick beams surrounding the door, several inches above the hinge and almost parallel to it. He took his fishing wire—the cable used to thread new wires through conduit—and attached a smaller wire noose to the end. He fed that wire through the second hole and, twisting it just so, managed to get that small wire loop over the head of the hinge pin.
It only took a hundred tries and a full hour—but I got it.
He pulled the wire tight, watching his progress on the small mirror, twisting his body this way and that, as if to help guide the wire to its goal. It snugged fast around the rounded head of the hinge pin. Jack pulled slowly and steadily. The hinge hesitated at first, then began to slide up and out. When he had the pin removed from the hinge, Jack let out a small whoop of pleasure.
He was sweating, his arms hurt from the prolonged tension, and his back was killing him from assuming an unnatural position for so long—but he had one hinge free.
Only two more to go.
Back at the apartment, Leslie put away the groceries, her mind in turmoil.
Maybe I could … just take Ava, pack our things, and take off and hide somewhere out west. Some remote town. Wyoming, maybe. Make a new start. Go somewhere where he’ll never find us.
Even though she knew it was a foolish, and probably illegal, plan, the prospect of never having to deal with this worry was so very, very attractive that she often considered it—even though she knew she would never do it.
I’m stronger than that. I’m the great-great-great granddaughter of a very stron
g woman.
But where am I going to come up with five thousand dollars?
Jack leaned back and heard the muscles and bones in his back crackle and pop in protest. It was now five in the afternoon. Following the same process as he had used on the first door hinge, he had the second one removed. The middle and the top hinges were free.
Now he was on his stomach, trying to get at hinge number three—the one closest to the floor. He feared that the last would be the hardest. It often happened that way in construction: The last of anything was the most problematic. Things broke, tools didn’t seem to work the way they worked at the beginning, and workmen grew tired and sloppy.
He checked his watch. It was a little after six, and his wire noose was around the head of hinge number three. He pulled. Nothing moved. He tugged again, wrapping the wire twice around his hand. Nothing moved.
He sat up, put his feet flat against the wall, leaned in, took up all the slack he could, and methodically pulled back hard, using his legs as leverage.
The pin squealed—he could hear it through the thick door—and moved a hair. Jack redoubled his efforts and pulled again, and the pin popped free.
Jack had done it—without destroying the door or creating a huge repair bill.
It had taken most of the afternoon and part of the evening, but he had done it.
Now all he had to do was push against the hinged side of the door. The deadbolts wouldn’t like it, and he knew that the doorjamb may suffer some damage, but it would be minor. It would be easy to replace a cracked doorjamb once the door was off—even if he did have to use a piece of expensive walnut or mahogany.
He stood up, anxious, excited. He looked back into the room. Frank and Alice had gone. He hadn’t noticed their departure and wondered if he should call them back for this moment.
But whatever is in this room doesn’t belong to them. I should call Leslie.
He considered it.
Maybe the room is filled with dead mice.
He decided not to call anyone.
Placing his shoulder against the left side of the door, opposite the doorknob, he pushed, steady, and the door gave way, with some squealing of hinges and wood. He heard some splintering from the strike pocket—the part of the door that the lock fit into—as it broke.
He forced the door open twelve inches or so, enough to get his torso into the room. He held a flashlight in one hand and clicked it on.
The room wasn’t large—perhaps ten feet by ten feet, about double the size of a standard walk-in closet.
No shelves. No hidden doorways. But against the far wall stood a dark object, tall as a man’s chest, perched on four legs the size of a man’s fist. Jack focused the light.
The object was a safe. A brooding, hulking, black safe, with a large numbered dial and a thick handle and some sort of faded painting on the front, perhaps an eagle and a sun.
The door of the safe was closed tight.
Jack squeezed back out the heavy door of the storage room and pulled it shut. He glanced out the windows. The sky was dark and the streetlights had just come on. The black fingers of the trees scratched out menacing shadows on the windows and floor.
It’s time to call it a day. I’ll come back tomorrow and get the door open properly.
Amelia Westland Middelstadt
Butler, Pennsylvania
May 21, 1887
Not a full year has passed since we were wed, and I am with child … great with child, and scarce can walk another step. I have been ill for much of my confinement and have taken to complete bed rest these last three months. Dizziness plagues me, and I find it difficult to discover a solid food that might take purchase in my stomach.
Yet I feel this life growing inside, turning, moving, kicking, and when such things occur, my spirit soars, and I endure in spite of the illness. I am filled with wonder at the miracle of it all.
As I near my travail, I am exceedingly fearful, and pray unceasingly. O God, please bless me with a child of my own. This I vow, on this page, and on this date, that this shall be the last request I should ever trouble Thee with, O Great Creator—just one small child brought safe and well into my arms. May this stepmother live to be a mother, I pray.
Dear God, hear me, listen to my plea, have mercy upon me a sinner.
Catherine is ever by my side. I am overjoyed by her marriage to Henry Albertson, who is now in Samuel’s employ. I have told Catherine that if I were to pass on during my travail, she is to tell the child, if the child survives me, that I expect him or her to follow God, to pray always, to live a holy life, to follow one’s heart.
Thou shalt keep therefore his statutes, and his commandments,
which I command thee this day, that it may go well with thee, and with thy children after thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days upon the earth, which the Lord thy God giveth thee, for ever.
—Deuteronomy 4:40
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LESLIE AND AVA STOOD TO one side. Frank and Alice were on the other side of the door. Even Mike and Trevor were in attendance—all anxious, all excited, all ready to see the big unveiling.
Jack, once again, pushed on the left side of the door of the storage room. This time he was wearing his full tool belt. His big drill and reciprocating saw were at his feet—just in case he needed them. The door gave way, and Jack slid sideways into the dark space. Instead of a flashlight, he carried a battery-powered lantern for better illumination.
The door closed behind Jack as he wedged into the darkness. From inside the storage space came the sound of a drill, then tapping, and then the drill again. Jack had told everyone when he called him or her Sunday morning that he should be able to make short work of the locks, and perhaps he wouldn’t even have to loosen them—just slide the door out of the way.
Now they had all gathered to see what was behind the big old door.
Less than five minutes passed and the door rocked a bit, then began to slide away from the opening. Jack had his hand at the top and the side. The door backed away and he hefted it sideways, out of the opening, and into the empty store.
Everyone crowded around to get a look at the now-open storage area.
“It’s a safe,” Alice said.
“That is exactly what Jack said was in there,” Frank answered. “How perceptive you are, Mrs. Adams.”
She gave him a playful but almost powerful sock on his shoulder. “But it’s a big safe. A huge safe. I was expecting something smaller.”
“Have you tried opening it?” Leslie asked Jack.
“No. Not yet. I wanted witnesses, in case there’s nothing—or something—inside.”
The room, wallpapered in a dark green William Morris pattern similar to the pattern carved on the door, was devoid of any other items—just the safe, which stood flat against the rear wall. No pictures, no papers, no shelves, no lamps—just the safe. The very large safe.
They all crowded into the small room as best they could, watching intently, hoping for some absolutely fabulous treasure hidden all these years.
Leslie had confided in Jack, when he had called earlier in the morning, that if the safe were full of diamonds, all her worries would be behind her.
“But I don’t have my hopes up,” she had added.
Jack knelt at the safe. He tried the handle first. It moved up and down. He turned to look at the chorus of hopeful, excited faces. He pulled the handle … and the door opened almost effortlessly.
The chorus all but gasped in unison.
Jack grabbed his flashlight and focused it on the safe’s interior.
There was another gasp from the audience, this time, subdued, softer.
The interior was completely empty. There was a small niche in the upper right-hand corner of the safe, with a separate door. That was already open and th
e interior of the small cubbyhole was also empty.
There was nothing inside.
Nothing at all.
The chorus groaned a sigh of regret and disappointment.
Leslie elbowed her way to the safe. “Nothing at all?” The disappointment was obvious in her voice. “Nothing? Not even an old newspaper? Or a few dollar bills? Nothing?”
Jack appeared confused. “Why go to all that trouble—for an empty safe? I don’t get it.”
Leslie stood up from the safe and edged back out of the storage room. I was so ready for some good news. For some jewels or something of value. Now … I’m back at square one.
She sat on the folding chair outside the little room and wished things had been different.
From the front of the building, Alice ran back to the safe in the storage room. A few seconds later, she ran out again, hurried to her laptop, tapped the keys, waited, then let out a whoop.
“It’s a Diebold Bankers Safe! With original paint. And the combination was written in pencil on the inside of the door.”
Excited, she hurried back to Leslie and said, “You hit the jackpot!”
“What do you mean? It’s just an old, worthless safe with nothing in it.”
“Oh be still, my heart. You, Mrs. Ruskin, are a rube. A nice rube, but still … I know that might hurt, but you are one. The two words that never go together are old and worthless.”
Alice grabbed Leslie’s hand and pulled her into the storage room. “See the painting on the front door of the safe—the eagle and the sun? See the gold striping along the edge? See the decal of the company who made it: Diebold Banking Systems, Inc.? You have one rare safe on your hands.”
