Chapter 8

An odd thing about buying a property as is. You not only got the property, you owned everything that was left behind. I looked into the garage, of course, but it was full of what I thought was junk, so I left it alone for almost a year. Then I bought a motorcycle, and decided I was going to at least clean one bay so I could keep it out of the rain. It was after I had hauled four loads of trash away in my truck before things got interesting.

It was large, and covered with three layers of very old plastic, so old it split when I tried to remove it. Under the plastic was an antique sideboard, looking almost new. I regognized it instantly. My mother was a fanatic about antiques, and searched and bargained over the years until her dining room looked like it came right out of the roaring twenties. She had an oak table with two leaves big enough to seat twelve when fully extended, and twelve chairs to go with it. The china cabinet matched, sturdy oak with panes of glass so old they had a few wavy lines in them. All she needed for a complete set was the sideboard, and she was still trying to locate one when she died. They were sitting in my dining room now. This was the missing piece.

When I tried to pull it out to better inspect it, it wouldn’t budge. I opened the top drawer and found it full of silverwear, and I mean a full silver service. The bottom drawer held serving bowls, gravy boats, ladles, that sort of thing. The two doors held a complete service for eight, matching the bowls. A fine floral pattern, they had to be worth a fortune. I got a few boxes, padded them with blankets, and layered them in, moving them slowly into the dining room. The sideboard was still heavy, and I had to wait for the girls to get home from shopping to help me. It took both to carry one end.

They immediately took over, cleaning the sideboard carefully, until the finish matched the rest of the pieces. They they gently cleaned the service and polished the silver. They also looked everything up, and the whole package was worth over nine thousand. I had to threaten to evict them to keep them quiet.

I got the bay cleaned out and got my motorcycle inside. Lindsey was almost quivering to help empty the other two bays, and Jen matched her enthusiasm. Jen and I had a rare Saturday off coming up, so we set that as a target. I woke to the smell of bacon and looked at the clock. 5:30! It was still dark outside. I stumbled into the kitchen to see both girls wearing old jeans, ratty tee shirts, their hair covered with bandanas. Both had work gloves hanging out of a back pocket.

I got good morning hugs and they practically rammed the food down my throat, they were in that much of a hurry. I opened the door to the second bay and gave them a lecture. “We are not going to hurry! Go gently. It might be nothing but junk. If there is something valuable in here, we don’t want to ruin it by being impatient. Understand?” They nodded and promised.

We may as well have used a bulldozer for the first two thirds. Nothing but junk. Then it got interesting. Lindsey found a small vanity, marble topped, with matching chair, under a tarp. We slid them to the door gently, to get a better look. It was in very good condition, the mirror still intact. It had two drawers and I let them each open one. Lindsey went first, gently pulling it out. Inside was a matched set of brushes and combs, silver with ivory inlays, that looked brand new. The handles were embossed with initials, A J M, in flowery script. I knew instantly they belonged to Agnes. Her full name was Agnes Jane Merchant. I knew from one of their letters that her husband had sent them to her while he was still in service, and that they were Italian. There was also twelve assorted hat pins, tipped in ivory and stones. I knew we would be looking them up soon.

When we fully exhausted that drawer, Jen eased hers open. She pulled out a small jewelry box, frustrated because it was locked. I shined my light into the drawer, and there lay the key. I gave it to Jen, and her hands shook so bad it took four tries before she got it open. Both girls stared, wide eyed and speechless. A string of pearls. An elaborate broach, made of what I later discovered to be garnet. Pearl, ruby, and emerald rings, a garnet ring to march the broach, a diamond pendant on a fine gold chain, another necklace made of garnet beads. That was just what was in the top drawer.

She slid the second open, and both gasped. Two matching bracelets, gold and encrusted with small diamonds in twin rows. Tennis bracelets, I think they’re called. They were very substantial and had to be worth a fortune. There were a few more slender bracelets, but if you had asked us a week later, we couldn’t have told you what they were. I watched them, the hunger plain in their eyes. “Stay right here,” I ordered, walking into the house and heading for the attic.

I kind of felt foolish, but I knew in my heart Agnes could hear me. “Agnes, I want to ask a favor. Would it offend you if I gave the girls a bracelet apiece? I know they would treasure them. They’re good girls, Agnes. They work hard, don’t complain, try to better themselves, are kind and loving to their friends and family. Both came from modest backgrounds, and could truly appreciate how special they are. Do I have your blessing?”

I stood for a second, and watched, stunned, as a couple of photos floated down from the rafters. The first was Agnes and her younger sister Elizabeth, standing in front of a Christmas tree, holding up their wrists, so you could see the bracelets. The other wasn’t actually a photo, it was a receipt, noting the cost for the engraving inside the rings. “Sisters Forever”. I realized two things then, that Agnes could really hear me and was watching over the house, and that she approved of my idea.

I walked back out to the garage. “Girls, I just talked it over with Agnes, and she says the bracelets belong to you. All she asks is that you read the inscriptions inside and honor them, and that you treasure them, and only way you ever turn them loose is when you give them to your firstborn daughters. Will you agree to her terms?”

First they were silent. When they tried to talk, all that came out were sobs. They had just calmed down when I showed them the inscriptions, and then they started again. No more work got done that day.

Sunday morning they had calmed down and surprised me, trying to give them back. “Don’t you like them?”

“We love them, Dean. That’s not the point. The point is we looked them up last night, and got a pretty accurate guess on what they would cost if we had to buy them. Never in our lifetime could we ever own something like that unless we married really, really well. You need to save these, pass on to your family.” Linds was sniffling, holding out the bracelet like it weighed a ton. I looked at Jen.

“You feel the same?” She nodded, unable to talk.

“Well then, I guess that’s settled then. You’re right, the bracelets should stay in the family. That’s presisely why Miss Agnes and I decided you should have them. I don’t have a family, my only living relative is a grandmother that lives in another state. I love the old girl, but if I gave her something like this fights would break out as soon as she passed, and I couldn’t deal with that. Since you obviously don’t understand, I guess I need to get crayons and draw you a picture. First though, I have to talk to Miss Agnes.”

They followed me into the hall and up to the portrait. I didn’t recall her ever looking so haughty. “Miss Agnes, I’m afraid I have some bad news. The gift you gave in a loving gesture is being returned. I guess they really didn’t deserve them after all.” I paused, for dramatic effect, while the girls hung on every word. I pretended to listen, and sighed. “You’re right, but then you always are. If you insist. I’ll try one more time.”