Chapter 4

Luckily for them the ladder was just inside the garage. When Marc flipped the switch, the light was weak and flickery. He squinted; he couldn’t see across the space very well.

Like the house, the garage was crowded full of what looked like junk. There were gardening tools, mechanic’s tools, old furniture, lawn furniture, what looked like a table with a sun umbrella, boxes of every size and shape, dust, dirt, and spider webs. Marc shook his head. “I’m going to wait for a nice, sunny afternoon. We’ll open the front doors and get this place sorted out, but without some kind of light, it’s not safe here.”

Ralphie and Donna nodded. Marc picked up the ladder, closed the door, and followed them back into the house.

They traipsed upstairs to get the ladder on the landing. Marc climbed up carefully, but even with his feet on the second step from the top, he was still a couple inches from the hatch door with the ring. “Donna, Ralphie, hold the ladder steady, please. I’m going on the top step.”

Donna gripped her side. “Please be careful, Marc.”

“I’m being as careful as I can, sis.” Mentally, he made a note to get a long pole with a proper hook on the end.

He wobbled on the top step and inched his index finger through the D-ring on the hatch door. “Got it.” He pulled as he stepped down.

The door dropped down much faster than he’d expected, and he almost broke his finger as he jerked it out of the ring. “Dammit!”

“Marc, be careful!”

Leaning against the wall to keep himself steady, he looked at his finger. The knuckle was swelling, but it didn’t feel broken.

He stepped down a couple more rungs, then made it to the floor.

“That was close. Thanks for holding on,” he said, nursing his finger.

“Sure thing,” Donna said. A retractable ladder now extended from the attic door, and a rope dangled low enough that any of them could reach it. Donna pulled the rope, and the ladder unfolded into a slanted staircase with its feet firmly on the floor.

“Are we ready to investigate upstairs?” Marc asked, hoping to see two nodding heads. He did.

“Okay,” he said. “Turn on your flashlights.”

Marc started up the staircase first. “We should go one at a time.”

“Okay, Unk.” Ralphie grinned. “I’m so excited! I’ve always wondered what’s up there.”

Marc began the climb. The stairs were sturdy even though they were built in the early 1900s. He went slow and steady until he reached the attic. “I’m up!”

Ralphie was already climbing the attic staircase, more rapidly than his uncle had. “This is so cool!”

Marc took two steps into the attic and flipped on his flashlight. What he saw took his breath away. Furniture filled the space. Nothing looked recent, but he could make out midcentury; heavy, clunky bureaus; leather chairs; several wood and iron bed frames; and lots of chests—older, round-topped and flat-topped chests that looked as if they predated the house, modern travel chests; and dozens of cardboard and wooden boxes.

“Holy shit, Uncle Marc, this place is packed!” Ralphie had joined him and was turning his flashlight on everything within arm’s reach.

“Ralphie,” Donna said wearily as she reached the attic landing.

“I know, Mom, but it’s just the three of us. I don’t talk shit like this in school.”

Marc gave him a warning look that dissolved into laughter as Donna exclaimed, “Holy shit!” She’d flipped on her flashlight and was doing the same rapid scan of the room’s contents as Ralphie had just a moment before.

“Think any of it’s worth much?” Donna asked, her light lingering on a round-topped chest that looked like it belonged in a pirate movie.

“I’ll bring up my laptop later, and we’ll see. I think Grammom just bought stuff because it was on sale,” Marc said and then frowned. “Maybe she wanted to be an antique dealer. I don’t know.”

Donna opened a random cardboard box and picked through its contents. “We’ll never have enough time. There’s so much stuff everywhere in this house. How are we going to get it sorted before they want the paperwork?” Her frustration showed as she sat back on her heels “This box says doodads, but it’s full of clothing from the seventies with tags still on them.”

“How do you know they’re from the seventies?” Marc asked.

She held up a mustard and olive geometric print blouse. “With these colors and that collar? What else could it be?”

He laughed. “Okay, I concede the point.”

She slumped as she pushed the shirt back in the box. “Marc, how are we going to get through all this crap?” Tension he remembered from their childhood appeared in her eyes.

Marc made the “time-out” sign with his hands. “We’ll get through it. But I can think of only one way to go about this. We’ll each tackle a room and organize it to our best abilities. Big-picture organizing first. Put all the furniture in one corner, all the boxes in another. Anything electrical in another and individual non-sorted stuff into another. Then we work our way down from there.”

“Each of us? Each one gets a room?” Ralphie looked at the attic and sat on a cherry-stained bureau. He sighed. “I’ve got dibs on my room first then. I’ve already got the lay of the land down there.”

“I’ll take this stuff up here.” Marc looked around, more interested now. “In fact, if we get to keep the place, I’d like to move up here.”

“Okay, then I’ll work on my room.” Donna said. “Tonight will be just the big organizing?” She closed the box up and dusted off her hands on her slacks

“Yes, and before we tackle the organized parts, we’ll continue throughout the rest of the house. Organize one room at a time, and then tackle one room at a time to clear it out. Does that work for everyone?”

They both nodded.

“Good,” Marc said. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

They handed him their flashlights and both filed down the attic staircase as Marc made some space as he placed the extra lights on tables to illuminate the room. He stacked thirteen pieces of furniture in the corner nearest the front of the room. Along the back wall, he maneuvered about fifteen trunks of various styles; and in the corner nearest the stairs, he pushed about fifty cardboard boxes, with everything from art supplies to stuffed animals cramming them to the seams.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

It felt like he’d been working for hours, and Marc’s muscles ached from all the moving. But he felt encouraged; there was a small patch of bare floor visible in the center of the attic, and although the room was still crammed full of things, it felt more organized and manageable. He stretched, pressing his hands to the small of his back. Then he walked to the opening in the floor and called down to his sister, “How are you two getting along down there?”

Donna called up, “We’re both finished for now. I’m going to call it a day.”

“It’s a day,” Marc said as he descended. “My stomach is growling.”

Donna was waiting for him at the bottom of the extended staircase.

“Where’s Ralphie?”

“Ralphie went to bed an hour ago. But look at what he accomplished!” Donna had a smile on her face, beaming with pride. She pushed open Ralphie’s bedroom door for Marc to glimpse the room that had been a disaster area. It was now roughly organized. The overstuffed closet door was closed, there were piles of clothes around the edge of the room, and he’d stacked the suitcases on a chair under the window.

“He went to bed? It’s only like noon.”

“No, brother. It’s six thirty. We called you for lunch, but I seem to recall you saying something about not being hungry.” She closed the door quietly.

“His suitcases were overflowing when I looked in here this morning,” Marc said as they moved down the hall.

“I know! He cleaned out the dresser drawers and put his clean clothes in them. He’s convinced we’ll be staying.” She shook her head, smiled, and sighed.

“How’s your room looking? I remember you had issues in there too.” Marc motioned to her door with his chin.

“It was easy. I worked on your room also, figuring you’d want to sleep with as little mess as possible.” She moved out of the way. “Take a look.”

Marc reached for the door and took in a deep breath. “Sis, you’re a miracle worker.”

The room he’d left that morning had been significantly improved. Donna smiled at his compliment.

“I just did what you said. I moved similar things together. I lumped half-empty boxes together and then had some empties for the clothes. The electrical things that don’t work are in the corner nearest the window. We might just want to toss them out there instead of trying to lug them down.”

“You even made my bed?” The bed, which had been barricaded behind boxes and old furniture that morning, was going to be the centerpiece of the room once it was cleared out.

She smiled. “It’s fresh bedding. One box was full of shampoos, and it fell on your bed. Some of them leaked. So I used one of the other boxes of sheets to make it up again.”

“Oh, man,” Marc said. “I’ve got four boxes of various bedding upstairs. They were hoarders, but at least their stuff was clean. Have you watched that show?”

“I’ve tried not to,” Donna admitted. “But yes, I seem to remember some of them where the house moved and breathed because of all the bacteria inside. I’m glad we got here in time to take care of it before she passed.”

“Me too. I’m going to fall into this awesome bed now, if you don’t mind.” He sat on the edge of it and kicked off his shoes as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

He hung his head and whispered, “I don’t know if I can save it, Jed. Lots of crap, but nothing that could make this place historical.”

Donna knocked on the door. “Were you talking to me?”

Marc rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “No, I was talking to Jed.”

“Jed’s not here, honey.”

“He is, though. I still have him with me. Don’t worry, he doesn’t talk back to me.”

They both laughed lightly.

“Okay, night,” Donna said, leaving again. “I’m going to hop in the shower.”

“Sounds great, Donna. I’ll take mine in the morning. Use all the hot water you want.”

He spoke again once he heard the pipes singing as the water ran. “Jed. I’m going to do everything in my power to save the place. I know I’m back home here. I know it’s something I said I’d never do. But my sister and nephew need the help. They need this place. Hell, I think I need this place.”

He wiped away a tear that tracked down his cheek and sighed shakily. “I miss you, babe. I wish you could see all I’ve done. Tomorrow I’ll get the databases set up, bring out my camera, and get the websites uploaded with prices and pics. Even if we can’t save the house, we’ll have enough money to buy something…” He sighed again. “Something better. But I’m keeping the options open that we find something here that will let us keep this place.”

He undressed and lay on the bed, kissing the pillow beside him goodnight.

* * *

Sunday morning came sooner than Marc expected, but he was psyched to get the attic organized. This time he brought his laptop, a camera, and a framed picture of Jed. His plan included taking photos of everything in the boxes, sweeping up the floor, going through the furniture to find out what was good condition and what should be tossed out for firewood.

He placed the frame on the cherry dresser and got to work going through the furniture. With his browser set to an antiques-seller page he found, he would take a picture, upload it to Google, and see if there were similar pieces available. After that, he’d make a judgment call on price and search around for similar styles before deciding whether to list it on Craigslist or upload it to eBay.

An hour into this process, he heard Jed. It’s time, Marc. You need to realize that you didn’t leave me and I didn’t leave you. It was just time. That’s all. Don’t take the fall for everything.

Marc’s eyes welled up, and he blinked tears away. I know this in my heart and in my head, Jed. I just can’t let you go in my soul. You were my one, my only. You were my husband, my one true love.

There are other true loves out there, Marc. Other men who will love you just as much as I loved you.

Marc balled up his fists and said, “I don’t want anyone else, don’t you realize that?”

In sudden anger, he kicked the dresser. The picture of Jed fell off and landed on the floor beside him.

Oh no, I hope it didn’t break…

As he reached down to pick it up, he heard Donna behind him.

“Marc, you all right? I’ve brought coffee.”

He turned and shrugged. “I’m fine. I was just—having a disagreement with Jed.”

Donna nodded. He knew that nod; she had more she wanted to say, but she’d keep it to herself and stick to trivia so he wouldn’t go off again. “You like cream, right?”

“Yes, thanks.” He reached for the cup she held out and sat on the dresser where the frame had earlier sat with reverence.

She placed her cup on the floor. “What’s this?” She touched the back of the frame.

“It’s Jed. We were—just talking.”

“Okay,” she said, as if it were totally normal for him to refer to a photograph as if it was alive. She ran her fingers over the newly swept floor. “This floor is gorgeous, now that we can see it.”

He nodded, sipping his coffee. “Yeah. Maybe I can refinish it.”

She nodded, then ran her hands over the end of a board. “And what’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“This floorboard is loose.” She pried it up with her nails.

“Careful,” Marc cautioned.

“It’s fine; I’ve almost got it.” The wood floorboard lifted up, a small, five-inch by two-inch end piece. Donna pulled her iPhone out of her back pocket, turned on the flashlight, and shined it in the slot under the floorboards. “There’s something in here!”

He took her phone and aimed the light into the space, and she reached into the hole. After some work, she pulled out a flat black box, about the size of an iPad mini, with gold filigree around the edges. “Aha!”

“What is it?” Marc crouched on the floor beside her. “I’m sure it’s probably nothing huge. Knitting patterns, maybe?” He was joking, and yet he wasn’t.

She pried the lid off and discovered an oilcloth package. It was tied shut with a black leather thong.

The oilcloth was about the size of a bullet journal—boxy and rectangular. The knot was seized from time and other ills, and Donna cursed under her breath as she tried to untie it.

“Careful,” Marc cautioned. “It might be better if we?—”

Just then, the thong parted under her fingernails and fell away from the package, which began to unroll itself.

“Finally! That leather was unforgiving.” She set the package between them. “Do you want to open it, or should I?”

It wasn’t his first unpacking, but it certainly wouldn’t be his last. “Be my guest,” he said.

She unrolled it carefully; old paper crinkled.

She whistled. “This is a photograph—an old one. No, there’s two…” She marveled. “Wait, there are six pictures here! They’re stamped on the back… George S. Cook. And there are three, no, four letters here too.”

“Holy shit!” Marc was checking a few things on his laptop, looking back and forth from the small pile of possibility on the floor between them to the screen.

“Marc, language.”

“Can it, Donna. Ralphie isn’t up yet.”

“I am now,” Ralphie said, sticking his head into the attic. “What’s with the racket?”

Marc pointed. “Your mom found something hidden under the floorboard.”

“What’d she find, some knitting patterns?” Ralphie laughed. “They’re everywhere.”

“No, some old pictures. Really old ones.” She held one up for him. Ralphie crossed the floor and squinted at the photo.

“Hey! That’s our backyard. See the shape of the fireplace?” He took the picture from her.

“No fucking way! Oh, my God!” Marc exclaimed.

“What?” Donna and Ralphie looked at him, shocked. He was staring at his laptop, not the photo of their fireplace.

“George S. Cook Photography—they were Civil War photographers. Were any of our ancestors photographers?”

“Aunt June did it for a hobby,” Donna said. “She took my terrible wedding photos.”

“Your wedding photos sucked because of who you got married to and where,” Marc said, only slightly distracted from his screen.

“Okay, you got me there,” Donna admitted. “I was in love, and I didn’t care where we got hitched.”

“Right, but the Eat ’Em Up parking lot probably wasn’t the best place.” Marc set aside his laptop and took the photo from Ralphie.

“Yes, whatever,” Donna said. “The love didn’t last long either. But I got the best gift from that.” She pulled Ralphie close to her.

“Mom…” Ralphie moaned.

She smiled and let him go. “So now what do we do? Is this important stuff?”

Marc raised one hand in a see-saw gesture. “Maybe. But it looks like we’ll have to do some research. I’ll contact Benjmain to look into them.” He pointed at the thin sheaf of parchment sitting next to the photographs. “What are those? Letters?”

Ralphie picked up one of them and read the fine, quill-scribed handwriting out loud.

My dearest Will,

Had I not known you the way I know you, I could never thank you for all you have done. Though the night will be less warm, I will know your presence to be close, even if you are not beside me through the night. I will have a part of you with me. I will have the closeness upon my shoulders. I will remember long walks through the woods, wild mushrooms collected for dinner, and the wildflowers we found.

As always,

My love, Samuel

The room remained silent until Ralphie asked, “Did they call girls Samuel back then?”

More silence.

“I don’t think so. I mean… I guess… maybe?” Marc scratched his head. “Didn’t you do one of those family tree things, Donna?”

“It wasn’t me, it was Mom and Grammom. I haven’t come across it yet.”

“Do we have any family members that might know?” Marc asked.

“I mean, I can call Aunt Jewel in Conway,” Donna said.

“Ralphie, what do the other letters say?” Marc asked.

“There are only two more,” Ralphie said, sorting out the parchment pieces. “One of them is ripped. It’s to Mr. William Shelby.”

“I wonder why it’s ripped? Give it to me,” Marc said, holding out his hand.

Ralphie gave Marc four pieces of the thin parchment, and while he put it together, Ralphie read the other letter.

My Dearest Will,

How could I not send a letter, or rather, leave a letter for you? If you are reading this, you found it. I hope you are reading this. They have sent us to the front line, and I wish you could be there beside me, protecting me with your strong arms, knowing you took a bullet for me to make certain that the picture would be set in stone. I stopped by to see you, but alas, you were asleep, and I did not wish to wake you. When this conflict is over, we will reunite. We will travel the world so I can show you the beauty in every spot. And I will teach you how to share your eye with the world.

All my love,

Samuel

Donna had tears in her eyes. “They were in love. These are love letters.”

Marc nodded. “Looks that way.”

“What’s that one say?” Ralphie asked.

To Mr. William Shelby,

These pictures were in a box with your name on it. The photographer, Samuel Posey, lost his life at the Battle of Prairie Grove. We thank you for your service. The Photography Corps also thank you for the protection you gave.

General Thomas Billings

February 5, 1865

“We need to find out about William Shelby. Maybe he’s the key to keeping us in this place after all. But it’s so sad to read these letters.” Donna wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Marc had found nothing in any of the records he could find online about the Photography Corps. He closed the laptop and put it to one side. “Do we have a number for Benjamin? Ah, fuck it.” He gave the pictures and the letters back to Donna. “Wrap these back up in the oilcloth and place them in the box. I’m going to run these over to him.”

“Wait! Let’s just look for the number,” Donna said as she wrapped everything back up and shut the box lid.

“I just don’t want this to get lost in this place. Knowing us, we’ll set it down somewhere and lose it. And I know a shortcut to his house.”

“Okay, but hurry back,” Donna said.

Marc grabbed the box and was down the staircase in seconds.