Summer Place - Part Thirty-Two

Summer Place

Part Thirty-Two

            With a sensation that all oxygen was leaving the archive room I watched the historical society’s screen saver conquer the computer’s archive listing screen.  Light headed, I fantasized that the proper action to take was to call 911 and request a medical evacuation helicopter to land in front of the historical society and ...whisk me away... ‘to safety’... right now.  As that total body and mind fainting fantasy passed without either I collapsing OR needing to put my head down between my knees to prevent that faint, my ears... returned to the reception area’s conversation.  I had missed a snippet?  That could be for from what I heard now the conversational couplets were in ‘winding down mode’.

            “I DO thank you EVER SO MUCH for your donations.  (The assistant director) will come up tomorrow morning with our truck.  We will have everything taken care of tomorrow so you can be on your way.”

            “THAT is WONDERFUL.” said ‘Jenny’ putting her sunglasses back in her hair and turning toward the door out as... the director... still holding her mirror... started forward into her turn with the mirror and this ...acted to push ‘Jenny’ towards and then OUT of the front door as the director ...followed closely WITH the mirror continuing to... ‘push’.

            I... breathed through my mouth what tasted like fresh, cool air and... stood there.

After the exact amount of time it would take to SHOVE a large mirror into the back seat of ‘sports car’ from New York state, the director returned.  He came directly to  the archive room.  “Sorry about that.” he said.

I, in an ecstasy cloud called ‘reprieve”, stirred the kettle by saying “That mirror is 1950’s”.

            “I know but I can’t tell her that.”

            “I saw that at the sale.  Charles’ wife bought it new.  It was always in the living room.  Above the sofa.”

            “I have to say something nice.  When I have to say something nice... I SAY ‘VICTORIAN’.  What can I do.  She just gave us everything in her house for the benefit sale next summer.”

            “Really?  You did good.  And just as long as I don’t have to say anything nice I don’t care.”

            “You’d tell her the truth?  She just gave us a house FULL of that stuff.  First she wanted us to pick things out for our collection.  I had to tell her then:  There is NOTNING in that house we need for our collection.  THAT:  I did tell her THAT.”

            “Good boy”.

            “You’ve seen the house?”

            “Yes.  Most of it”.

            “We’ve already... SHE’S been bringing the stuff here for a WEEK.  We’re going to clean it out tomorrow.  Come here.  Look at this stuff.  I don’t know what I’m gonna do for space.  The sale is NEXT YEAR!”

            We left archive room, turned right behind the reception desk, went down a hall straight to its end and entered left into a large room... with a smaller room off of it... leading to an enclosed side porch... ALL jammed full of ... ‘stuff’.  The first thing I noted was that... a lot of the stuff... I recognized... as coming from Charles’ house; from the sale... WITH THE PRICE TAGS STILL ON.

            “Charles’?”

            “Too.  All of that’s coming too.  NOT this week I told them.  They’re selling the house.  Everyone’s selling their house.  ...And giving the stuff to us.  Where am I going to PUT a HOUSE FULL?  ON TOP OF ANOTHER HOUSE FULL?

            “You need a professional”.

            “Who?  YOU?”

            “Oh no; not me.  I LIKE seeing people like you MIRED in this crud.”  We both gazed out across the room... into the next room... and on to the stacked boxes (“those are mostly books”) and furniture on the porch.  I looked at the foreground; the immediate stuff in front of me.  It had arranged itself by chance.  That happens with decorator type decorative arts objects (often miss titled “ANTIQUES”):  Simply bunch them together and they LOOK like someone spent hours contemplating their arrangement... AND WAS PAID TO DO THAT.  Paid ‘a lot’.  The director watched as I reached out and adjusted a lamp shade so it was level.  “Quality” I said.

            “You better come to the sale.”

            “Not me.  You’ll sell all of it.  You always do.  Just tell ‘em it all came from the Captain Drinkwater house (Mr. Simon’s house; see Part Four).  I mean; it actually did.”

            The director gave me ‘a look’.  The ‘a look’ said ‘crossing a line again I see’ merged with the ‘unspoken I will be doing that unspoken’.  (How?  With ‘no one is supposed to know’; he tells the secretary that ‘no one’s suppose to know... that it all came from the Captain Drinkwater Estate... and... no one’s suppose to know’.  That becomes a local presale mantra that... ‘no one’s suppose to know’ that... either.  By the time this thought passes I’m looking on to a three... open top cardboard trays-made-from-cut down-cardboard boxes... gathering... of ALL ‘from kitchen drawers’ stuff ALL from Charles’ house... WITH the price tagging “ALL” for “$40.00” in thick black Sharpie taped to the trays.  The director looks at me looking and says:

            “SHE said there was a DESK for sale there that was SELLING for FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?  Did YOU see that?”

            “Desk SELLING for fifteen thousand?  ...No.”

            “She said there was A DESK.  I didn’t see any DESK.”

            “Did I?” I said... as a question... while knowing I should be saying “I did” as an honest statement.

            “Well... she COULD HAVE...” he continued but was cutoff by my

            “NOT known what she was TAKING ABOUT?”.  I said definitively.

            “Why yes; that.  But.  I mean:  I DIDN’T SEE anything DID YOU?”

            “See a desk for sale?  Not any desks for sale.  They kept the one in the living room.  One of them KEPT IT.  Said she LIKED IT.”

            “Oh.  That’s probably it.  She probably saw THAT.  Did you buy anything?”’                        “Buy?  Oh.  LATER in the WEEK I went back and bought some dibs and dabs.  Nothing.  A chair for twenty bucks and some other trash”.

            “A chair.  You paid twenty?  What was it?”  Pause.  Eye contact.  “I know you.  If you paid twenty bucks for a chair it IS something”.

            “It was a chair in Charles’ tool shop.  Off the shed”.

            “Oh that stuff.  Tools.  I don’t need TOOLS.  But.  I guess we’re gonna get that too.  What’s left of them.  The men are going through them first.”

            “There’s plenty left in that house.  Your gonna need a truck there too.”

            The director gave me a frown and then said “IF ONLY we could just LEAVE the stuff in those places until just before the sale.  WHY do I have to WADE AROUND in this stuff ALL WINTER.”

            “Maybe you should have a sale after Christmas.”

            The director stood looking a me and my eyes past him to further view the mounds of stuff in the rooms.  Still looking at me he said calmly “That’s not a bad idea”.

            I glanced back to him and then returned to my scenic vista poise.

            “Let’s get back to those photographs.” he said.

            “Photographs?” I said

            “The Kimball house?

            “OH YEAH; yeah.  I forgot WHY I came; I forgot what I came for.”

            “THAT... is not like you.” he said from in front of me as we started up the hallway to return to doorway of the archive room.  Here he stopped.  In front of me.  Blocking the doorway.  “Look.  I didn’t see anything right off.  Give me a few days to think about this.  I probably have something.”

            “Well; I’m not holding my breath.”

            The director turns to face me.  “You never do.”

            “Oh no:  I hold it all the time.  I just held it HERE this morning.”

            “Yeah.  I saw that.  And:  I am sure it was for a good reason.  Or a BAD reason  Just probably not as BAD a reason as you showing up here today”.

            “A BAD reason?”

            “I can add.  You come today to see if we have photographs of the furnishings of the Kimball estate.  You tell me you just bought a chair.  That you bought that chair at the sale of the house contents of the life long caretaker of the Kimball estate.  And you paid twenty dollars you say.  (Pause).  I know you would usually only pay TWO dollars for ANY chair.”

            “The timeline’s wrong.” I said.

            “For the chair?”

            “Ah.  NO:  For the photographs.  Or any pictures.  Or list.”

            “Timeline?  Wrong?”

            “Yeah:  The Kimball place was sold in 1962.  This place; the historical society, wasn’t started until 1974.  That’s twelve years.  That house had already sold again.  AT LEAST ONCE.  Right?  You guys never got anything from there.  YOUR after the fact.  Maybe you’ve been up there?  Been through the house; the front rooms?  See anything?

            “I haven’t been in there in years”.

            “Right.  See?  You don’t know if the furniture’s still there?”

            “No... I don’t.  I don’t even know if it WAS there”.

            “And now I realize... that you probably never had anything HERE.  It was before you started up.  So...; no one would have... well... SOMEONE would have had to SPECIFICALLY cover it; that house.  The furnishings.  And no one has.  Because you’d know it; about it, IF someone from here had.  Right?”

            “Well... MAYBE there’s something.”

            “I bet it’s just general; you know... THE SEA  CAPTAIN MERRITT KIMBALL’S HOUSE ‘is glorious AND historic’.”

            “You know... STANDING here with you... the ONLY THING I can remember ever hearing about the house is how your GRANDMOTHER got everything that was any good out of there.  She got the whole house full FROM THE KIMBALLS themselves.  THAT’S WHAT I’ve ALWAYS heard.

            “Yeah.  But.  The FRONT ROOM furniture was kept; sold, TO THE SUMMER PEOPLE.  WITH THE HOUSE.  That’s what I remember.”

            “So you bought a chair you thinks from there?”  (Pause.)  “I’d like to see that chair sometime.  Bring it by.  I’ll ask them about the furniture when they comeback next summer.”

            “Next summer?”

            “When they come back”.

            “But.  Let’s just go up and look.  Who’s the caretaker?”

            “Ah.... I DON’T KNOW.  I can find out though.”

            “Just tell ‘em we want to go up there and look at the furniture.”

            “Can I see your chair?”

            “No.”

            “OH please!”

            “I’d just show you a different chair anyway”.

            “Your ruthless.”

            “I don’t want to take the furniture.  I just want to SEE it.”

            “Is it Victorian?” he says referring to my chair.

            “Go price your sale stuff.”

            “Sale stuff?  Price it?”

            “That crud.  For your new JANUARY sale.  JUST FOR THE LOCALS.  No summer people.”

            “I think that’s a good idea”.

Summer Place - Part Thirty-One

Summer Place

Part Thirty-One

            Next came ‘a twist and a turn’. Actually it was a turn and a twist.  The turn I heard coming.  And heard it took place.  The turn was that “the desk” was put in the back of an SUV and “taken out of state”.  I heard.  I did not ‘see’ or ‘know’ ‘this’.  I did not hear about this from the H&W trio.  For I… it was as if the desk became a pea that… when placed in the SUV… became ‘a pea under a walnut shell’ …among other walnut shells… with no pea under them.  “Out of state” (first New Hampshire, then Massachusetts, then back to New Hampshire… I heard) assured that I lost sight of both the pea AND its walnut shell.  I lost contact with the trio… too… for the ‘sale’ at the house stopped… and the ‘clean out’ stopped too.  The home was locked back up.  Its was ‘the Holidays’.  I had lost the desk?

            Again I remind that the time frame is short for all of this; November to pre Christmas in December 2012.  Not weeks, not days but often just hours separated the actual actions taken.  For example, the desk could visit three or four ‘out of state’ auctioneers in… one day.  But I was outside of any loop.  When I took the Roger’s group to the truck that day, that was the “last thing I did” “in” ‘all of this’.  I was resting on my laurels?

            Hardly.  I had a ‘dawned on me’.  Not much of one, but ENOUGH of one to absorb my thoughts, to time-travel in those thoughts, to think about taking action on those absorbed and traveled thoughts and… to do that; take action.  So a few mornings later I found myself driving to the Historical Society to inquire IF ‘anyone’ ‘knew’ IF it was TRUE …what I thought I remembered… from when I was eight years old… in 1962.

            I thought I remembered that ‘the original furniture in the front rooms’ of the Captain Merritt Kimball estate were sold WITH the estate BY the Kimball brothers TO the first set of ‘Summer People’ purchasers to ‘keep it (those rooms therefore the whole estate) the way it originally was’ (Part Six).  DID I remember?  Or did I… hear a ghost whisper that SAID “I remember”.  DID I… fit a piece into the puzzle of the ‘ponder’ of this the ‘has “schooled me” in the very subtle trademark traditions of this whole… Maine… romance’? (Part One)  Or did I conjecture a ponder too far?

            IF I carried the Roger’s group out because I ‘bought it’... because… it was IN the Charles’ workshop shed room and I felt (FEEL) that it was in that room because Charles brought it from the Kimball estate’s lady’s parlor WITH the desk… chair… lamp …and rug BUT that I FEEL this Roger’s group sat on a table ‘now lost’ BUT IF that table be… re-pondered …could it BE that the table BE STILL THERE; in the front rooms OF THE ESTATE with only the Charles and I ‘carrying off’ its Roger’s group?  COULD THAT BE?

            Sophia, the mother. was taken away.  HER desk assembly was attempted to be ‘taken away’ ‘with her’ too.  THAT fell back and in its rejection all came to Charles’ shed.  The fall back was settled by …the conversion… of the lady’s parlor to a television ‘den’.  COULD the original setting of the Roger’s group ON the table… have survived in the room and in its original place… THROUGH the Mother Sophia move AND the television den conversion AND… ‘stayed there’ until the …estate sold and the new owners-to-be; the summer people said “WE WANT THAT TABLE TOO” for the front rooms… here presuming that the table be, as the front room furnishings were (ARE).. ‘marble topped’ ,Victorian, walnut something’s, sort of and… “but we DON’T want THAT” (the Roger’s group).  The TABLE is moved up to the front rooms by Charles who also… “get rid of it” the Roger’s group by… taking ‘it’ ‘home’ to the shed room “TOO” where it rested until I… “CARRYING SOMETHING OUT OF A HOUSE TOO”.

            Reminding that one’s eight year old thoughts and their ‘remembered’ are very firm for us all, OF COURSE THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED and I… be on my way to the Historical Society to affirm those thoughts WITH their further confirmation of this all by having… ‘pictures’ of the ‘original front room furnishings’ of ‘The Captain Merritt Kimball Estate’.  Right?  Chipper and gleefully I drove to the Historical Society, parked and… stepped carefully down from the truck to avoid bumping the door of the …out of state plates “from New York” ‘sports car’ parked next to me that ‘has’ a large gilt gold framed bevel glass  mirror in the back seat… that… I say “didn’t I just see one like that huh” to myself as I closed and locked the truck door and:

            The TWIST began.

            I start up the walk to the Historical Society’s offices as that door opens and DOWN the walk starts walking ‘Jenny’.

            Aside from proper ‘no escape’ sensations, the reader TOO remembers ‘Jenny’? She’s Mr. Simon’s granddaughter who was getting to the ‘about to’ sell Mr. Simon’s summer place when …I went there to… purloin antiques and did.  (Parts Twenty-A,B,C and D).  She looked the same except that it wasn’t summer so she… had a jacket and pants on below… the ‘her hair’ with the… sunglasses stuck in that ‘her hair’.  And SHE… did not as quick as I to her …remember me.  Today I was NOT jacketed and tied as I had been at my commercial visit.  I was ‘a local’.  In fact I probably could have pulled off a brush-by.  But.  I ‘just assumed’ ‘she’d remember’ me.  As if I needed that.

            SHE didn’t… but… because I did an on-the-walkway footstep stammer; a Maine man form of subconscious expression of uncomfortable-situation-here-we-go that is wicked hard to prevent or control… I ‘the jig-is-up’ totally and STOP when I …could have just… brushed-by into eternity and… she still didn’t know who I was though a hard looking she did at me with the appropriate ‘this guy is falling down?’ pause combining with the hand rising to the sunglasses and

            AND.

            AND.

            I TWISTED off of the walk sideways with my front side facing in and spread eagle arms saying “SORRY” and …I was by her… with her NOT turning to look or look back at me as I… gathered (collected) my flopping feet to accomplish myself my OWN pace away…too.

            I was fumbled.  I was stammered.  I lost my place of thought.  I forgot my mission.  I.  By the time those had flashed by I was at the Historical Society office door reaching out and turning the knob while re-purposing myself with “I AM HERE TO...” gathering thought strengths and... opening the door… step in to… see before me at the reception desk the secretary seated and the director standing… with both looking at me like they were expecting someone AND something else.  I know both well.  They know me well.  This ‘know well’, WITH the grip of my mission returned... ENDED my expression of trepidation and... THEIR expressions of trepidation.  Too.

            After a swift not-anything greeting I …saying at the forest fire of them already knowing that I was here on business …of some local historical note… that was of “NO PROBLEM EVER” …for I was always ‘stopping by’ and ‘doing that’ with this ALWAYS on a NOT THE WEEKEND and NOT during a ‘special event’ and, again, always a “NO PROBLEM EVER” so…we were all zeroed right then and there at the not-anything greeting and I said “ANY CHANCE you KNOW IF the ORIGINAL FURNISHINGS in the Captain Merritt Kimball house are still there?”  That got a heads-raised-looking-at-I attentive response with no utterance so I continued “OR happen to have any PHOTOGRAPHS of the INTERIOR?”.

            The director seized the substance of my double query for it WAS SUBSTANCE; a walk in the door historical society visitor asking a specialized query about local history that HE COULD KNOW and-OR answer.  “FLOP” like a life preserver tossed in the sea I flung and HE GRASPED and…

            He says “I DO… well I DON’T KNOW if that they are STILL there BUT WE DO… I believe have SOMETHING.  Pictures I think.  OF… well… let’s SEE IN HERE.” And he turns and steps into the computer workstation dominated ‘archive room’ off to the right of the reception center desk.  I follow.  He bends over the first computer and starts a ‘looking up’.  I stand saying nothing.

            The twist continues.

            The front door opens and in comes, WITH awkward fumbling, bumping, scrapping sounds and a sudden rise of the secretary from her desk... ‘Jenny’ ...carrying the ... heavy large rectangular gilt gold framed bevel glass mirror... I’d seen in the back seat of, I now affirmed to myself... ‘her car’.

            I turned into a ghost?  A shadow?  Either-both-ANY?  Fine with me.  The director left the computer and left the room.  I... denoting the opened space at the computer stepped TO THAT and ...intensely began peering at the screen with my back turned to EVERYTHING.  I pushed a scroll-down button.  More listed iota popped up on the screen.  All had little postage stamp size pictures to the left of each listed... iota.  I WAS OCCUPIED... therefore.

            OUT in the main room and before the reception desk ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE... from my perspective.  SHE (‘Jenny’), wielding the mirror with both arms began an ...obviously already broached query... of the rapid fire sort of ... “WHAT IS IT HOW OLD IS IT IS IT VALUABLE ISN’T IT WONDERFUL I BOUGHT IT AT THAT YARD SALE LAST WEEKEND FOR ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS DON’T YOU THINK IT’S MORE VALUABLE THAN THAT I’M GOING TO TAKE IT TO MY HOUSE IN NEW YORK HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ONE LIKE IT I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT PERFECT CONDITION ITS IN DO YOU KNOW WHERE IT WAS MADE DID IT COME FROM THIS TOWN I THINK IT MUST HAVE BECAUSE THE HOUSE HAVING THE SALE WAS VERY OLD.”

            The director was now holding the ...mirror.  “ The house IS very old.” he said.

            “But the MIRROR is TOO.”

            “Well it’s not as old as the house is.”

            “Oh well how old?”

            “Eighteen eighties I’d SAY.”
            “OH well I THOUGHT IT MUST BE older BUT in PERFECT CONDITION”.

            “Yes it is perfect; JUST BEAUTIFUL.  No chipping on the FRAME and the glass is PERFET.”

            “So OLDER TOO I’d say then.”

            “It IS ‘VICTORIAN’.”

            “They’d kept it IN the LIVING ROOM.  HAD HUNG THERE forever THEY SAID.”

            By this time I’d researched the ENTIRE archive of the historical society on the computer screen and was still hiding down at the bottom of the sea with my back turned and holding my breath and... had the forced epiphany of ‘remembering’ ‘where’ I ‘saw that’ mirror; at the H&W trio’s Charles’ house ... ‘sale’.

            “YOU KNOW THEY HAVE A DESK THEY’RE SELLING FOR FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS”.

            “I didn’t know that.” the director said.

            “THEY SHOWED IT TO ME.”

            “I didn’t see a desk in there.”

            “YOU WENT TO THE SALE?”

            “Ah... yes.  BEFORE the sale.  I previewed it FOR the HISTORICAL SOCIETY”.

            “OH.  OF COURSE.  It was a WONDERFUL sale.  SO MANY OLD THINGS from their FAMILY.”

            I turned to watch.  Her hand was rising to the sunglasses.  The director still held the mirror.  I turned away.  “I’m gonna die.” I said to myself.

Summer Place - Part Thirty

Summer Place

Part Thirty

            I was unable to watch.  I was ‘kept away’.  All I could do was ‘heard’.  Not hear.  Heard.  And that time frame of ‘heard’ was short.  Too.

            It wasn’t the season.  It wasn’t the ‘holidays are coming’.  It was ‘them’; the H&W trio.  They’d “discovered”, in a not focused but blossoming way, that they “CAN DO THIS”.  AND they did “do this”.  What is ‘this’?  “SELL ANTIQUES”.  They discovered they could “LOOK THINGS UP ON THE INTERNET” to find out “WHAT IT IS” and “HOW VALUABLE IT IS”.  And then ‘sell’ it.

            Fine.

            And they proceeded emphasizing the ‘not focused’.  Simply, a single item would, by the H&W trio, become ‘discovered’, be designated to be ‘antique’ and ‘valuable’ so worthy of ‘looking up’ to affirm these and… that actually worked every now and then so that… vintage nostalgic domestic iota… such as a ‘Sessions Electric Clock’ would be ‘fully researched’, ‘priced’ and ‘put in the sale’.  I’ll get to this last; ‘sale’, right along.  Most of the time though, the long flying arrow of success fell short during the ‘look up on the internet’ effort so was… “MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ANTIQUE” and… this ‘fell short’ item was… also ‘priced’ and ‘put in the sale’.  Too.

            And no one cared.  Including I for I understood that IF there are no ‘antiques’ to ‘wrong price’ …how can one, therefore, ‘wrong price’ an antique.  I did care about ‘the sale’.  THIS was, I heard, ‘coming soon’ ‘as soon as’ ‘we are ready’ “MAYBE” “next weekend”.  Not so:  Three days after I ‘last visited’ I HEARD that ‘people are’ “ALREADY” ‘being let in’ to “BUY THINGS’.  And they were.

            And this continued to be “THE WAY” with ever expanding access into the “HOUSE” for buyers.  The trio ‘started’ ‘selling’ from the front rooms of the first floor of the house.  They would restock the spaces created by successful sales with ‘more’ brought in from the ‘other rooms’.  This lasted a half day for not only did space from sales not open up fast enough but the work of “moving this stuff around” …disqualified that option.  Quickly, a potential buyer had the run of the whole house.  Oddly, no one seemed interested in the shed-summer kitchen-barn complex BEHIND the house that was “out through the kitchen”.  The kitchen was the staff headquarters for the H&W trio and their team of help, ‘brought in’ and this included twelve packs of soda.  And beer.  “THE GIRLS” held firm grip on the internet and pricing while designating active physical tasks for youth and manpower.  The youth held firm grip on their cans of soda.  The manpower held firm grip, court, “out-behind-the-building” and “cold one” on “THEIR” beer cans.  The system worked.  By the end of the ‘first weekend’ ‘of selling’ that was actually a five day stretch, “THINGS LOOK GOOD” with “A LOT” “SOLD” and …now “THE GIRLS” issued a proclamation that “LOADS” would now be “TAKEN” to “the transfer station” “BY THE MEN”.  The men did not ‘decide’ ‘what’.  They ‘loaded’ and ‘drove the truck’ with the ‘NOT THAT FAR AWAY’ designation allowing for keeping ‘a firm grip’ on “THEIR”… beer can.  Too.  The ‘staff’ at the transfer station ‘knows’ ‘everyone’ AND that included knowing Mr. Beer Can.  Too.

            I was kept away?  I kept away.

            By Monday afternoon a ‘during a lull’ had set in that was longer than previous lulls.  The manpower was sluggish from days of keeping a firm grip on their beer cans.  “THE GIRLS” were “exhausted” from “FIVE DAYS” of looking things up on the internet in the kitchen, pricing the ‘its’ and then selling (or better; trying to sell) the ‘its’.  HOW much of this was actually being ‘done’ by these “THE GIRLS”… I didn’t debate.  I just ‘stopped by’ “TO SEE” and …chatted.

Them up.  Patiently.  UNTIL:

            “THE DESK?  IT’S STILL”… right where I last saw it?  “Really?”

            “Really.  WE’RE TAKING IT TO AN AUCTIONEER OUTSIDE OF BOSTON WE THOUGHT.  BUT.  WELL.  ***** (the H&W team who lives ‘IN NEW HAMSHIRE’) IS GOING TO SHOW IT TO ***** (naming a well know Portsmouth, New Hampshire area auctioneer).  HE COSTS LESS.”  This I took to mean ‘commission / consignment’ ‘stuff’?  And drive time?  And… word was getting out fast about… someone finding ‘a desk’ “IN MAINE”?  And:

            I felt a firm grip on the back of my shirt collar as if… the ghost of my grandmother was grabbing me there just like the time when I was six years old and she removed me from playing in the mud pit I created in the little stream behind the barn.  She had grabbed my collar from the rear, lifted and reversed me and said “MARCH” …up to the barn where my clothes were stripped off and I was ‘washed off’ with the water from ‘the rain barrel’ at the front of the barn.  I believe I even heard the ghost whispered word “MARCH” right now.  Too.

            “MAY I PLEASE SEE the desk again?”

            “OH SURE JUST GO OUT THERE YOU KNOW WHERE IT IS”.

            I did.  ONE of “THE GIRLS” DID… come too.

            WE… found the desk to be EXACTLY where it was last AND I… I found that the REST OF THE ‘antiques’ that were there too… were… still THERE TOO.  “AH…” I SAID.  “How much is the chair?”  The ghost collar grip from my grandmother WAS CHOKING ME.

            “OH WE DIDN’T PRICE THAT!”  I’d already moved to the Roger’s group.

            “THIS TOO.  How much for THAT?”

            “I.  …I… HAVE TO ASK”.  WE FORGOT THAT.”

            I’d picked up the kerosene lamp. “I…”

            “THAT’S BROKEN.  YOU CAN HAVE THAT IF YOU WANT”.

            “Ah… SURE.  THANKS”.

            “MAYBE; I’ll go ASK THEM.”

            She left the doorway.  I looked at the desk.  I looked at the crumpled old oriental rug on the floor by the chair.  I looked at the chair.  Victorian?  Earlier.  Empire?  TRANSTIONAL.  English?  French upholstery?  I stared down at the moth eaten seat.  I looked at the shoulders.  “Soft shoulders” I said to myself.  Soft shoulders… just like Sophia’s …soft shoulders.

            OF COURSE this would have been the Captain Merritt Kimball “wrecker’s daughter” wife’s GRANDAUGHTER’S ‘chair’… most probably.  “Right?”  But SHE had ‘soft shoulders’.  Too.

            H&W girl one returned with …H&W girl two… saying, at the doorway:  “WELL THAT ONE.  We didn’t even get it OUT.  SO:  HE wants to know HOW MUCH.”

            “That one?” said H&W girl number two.  “Well.  WE HAVEN’T DONE VERY WELL WITH CHAIRS.  Selling them.  NOBODY BUYS THEM.”

            “Right.” I said.

            “I… don’t really mind saying… I UNDERSTAND WHY NO ONE would want to SIT in that.” she continued.  “It’s fine by me… let’s SEE… to LET YOU HAVE IT for TWENTY DOLLARS”.

            I did not say anything.  THEN I said “And that?” gesturing to the Roger’s group”

            “OH THAT.  IT’S SIGNED!”

            “Yes.  A Roger’s group”

            “IT’S BROKEN”

            “Broken?”

            “YES:  LOOK at IT.  JUST AWFUL”.

            “Oh.  I see.  How much”

            “Oh… you.  NOBODY ASKED about IT.  So.  BUT:  THEY SELL FOR A LOT WE FOUND”.

            “A lot?”

            “BUT PERFECT CONDITION.  Nobody is going to CARRY THAT HOME like THAT.”

            “Oh.”

            “JUST:  You’ve been VERY HELPFUL so JUST TAKE IT AWAY and I won’t SAY ANYTHING.  Do you WANT the chair too?           

            “Yes.  I’ll buy that.  And the rug?

            “That?” followed by a long surveying-with-eyes pause.  “You can TAKE THAT TOO.”

            After five days of yard sale running.  After five days of ‘kept away’.  On day six I… what?  Got lucky that the WHAT was ‘still there’?  They had yet to even start to touch the ‘out there’ regions of the home.  They were MIRED in their current efforts and didn’t even know it.  They were already taking the stuff to the dump and needed another twelve pack of cold ones to do that and DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT.  They were… already… “exhausted” and had… barely started to clean out the house.

            “I HAD A DREAM ABOUT YOUR GRANDMOTHER THE OTHER NIGHT” one of the trio said as I came into the kitchen carrying the Roger’s group from the workshop to my truck.  I already had ‘loaded’ the chair, rug and lamp… in that order.  “I REMEMEBER YOUR GRANDMOTHER FROM WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL.  MY MOTHER KNEW HER.  YOUR GRANDMOTHER WENT TO SCHOOL WITH MY GRANDMOTHER.  MY MOTHER ALWAYS SAID:  I REMEMBER SEEING HER WITH MY MOTHER AND SHE SAID ‘THERE SHE IS ALWAYS CARRYING SOMETHING OUT OF A HOUSE AGAIN’.  SHE SAID THAT:  YOUR GRANDMOTHE WAS ALWAYS CARRYING SOMETHING OUT OF A HOUSE.  NOW YOUR CARRYING SOMETHING OUT OF A HOUSE TOO.  ISN’T THAT FUNNY!”

            I said “Yeah” and kept going.

            On the sixth day of a local yard sale I purchased Captain Merritt Kimball’s granddaughter’s desk chair, the rug it sat on, the lamp that lighted the desk and … the American decorative genre sculpture “Coming To The Parson” by John Rogers that …was probably on a Victorian table – now lost – (?) - as decoration next to the… “Sophia’s desk” …in the ‘Lady’s Parlor’ of the Captain Merritt Kimball Estate.  It wasn’t luck.

Summer Place - Part Twenty-Nine

Summer Place

Part Twenty-Nine

            Walking through, again, to be “shown” an undefined ‘we need help’ issue quickly showed I that they; the busy as beavers H&W trio, had rummage the whole estate, modestly removed a ‘what we want’ and …done nothing else except to, as skimpy here and there, “TRIED TO ARRANGE THE STUFF” (their words, as emphasized).  We walked through.  We did not go to the little shed off of the workshop.  This was not mentioned.  What was mentioned was that what they had done… and were now showing me… was “A LOT OF WORK!”.

            “Well it looks like your on top of it.” I said.

            “But we don’t know what to do NOW.”

            “What to do now?”

            “We don’t.”

            “Know what?”

            “To do.”

            “To do?”

            “To CLEAN OUT the rest of the ANTIQUES.”

            “Don’t know how to clean out the antiques?  You mean:  Clean out the house?”

            “ALL OF THE ANTIQUES TO SELL THE HOUSE”.

            “All this?” I said gesturing with one arm.

            “ALL OF THIS.”

            “Well… you could call a local auctioneer; maybe they’ll take it.  Or.  Just have a yard sale”.

            “Yard sale?  Now?  It’s gonna SNOW”.

            “It is?  I hadn’t heard that.”

            “NO.  It’s WINTER.  You can’t have a yard sale in the winter.  We already discussed that.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because its WINTER.”

            “OK.  So.  Have it in the spring.”

            “But we’re cleaning out the house NOW.”

            “So have a sale now.”

            “Here?”

            “Put price tags on the stuff and let ‘em in to buy it.  You should be fine.”

            “But how VALUABLE are the ANTIQUES.”

            “Not that valuable.  Except the desk.  What did you do with the desk?”

            “We don’t know yet.”

            “Where is it?”

            “Its STILL OUT THERE”.

            “In the shop shed?”

            “Yeah THERE.  We SET IT UP.”

            “Oh.  How’d it look?”

            “LOOK?  It’s a DESK.”

            “Oh.  That’s nice.  Your keeping that?”

            “No one knows WHAT to do.  Nobody really WANTS it.”

            “Oh”.

            “I think we all want to sell it if its THAT valuable.  But we don’t know HOW?  HOW would YOU SELL IT.”

            “If it were mine I’d figure something out.”

            “Oh.  Well.  How can WE sell it”.

            “You’ll figure something out”.

            “WE LOOKED ON THE INTERNET.”

            “That’s a good start. Find anything?”

            “It’s a GOOD DESK because we found some just LIKE IT.”

            “Right.  Your off to a start.”

            “Start?”

            “To sell it.”

            “To sell it?  How much should we sell it for.”

            “Well:  As much as you can get I suppose.  Like I said last week.  That takes some skill.”

            “Some skill?   We found some people who would BUY it we think.  But we haven’t called them.”

            “Call them?”

            “WELL:  EMAIL.

            “Oh.  Right.”

            “BUT how MUCH is what we don’t know.”

            “Right.  Well:  Pick a price.  And start high.  Like I said.

            “YES we know THAT but some of us aren’t SURE.”

            “Sure?”

            “Well only YOU have LOOKED AT IT and SAID it’s GOOD.”

            “Oh I see.  Get another opinion.”

            “Appraisal we THINK”.

            “Oh.  Ok.  Can I see the desk again?  It’s set up?”

            “Why, ah.  SURE I guess.  WE DIDN’T GO out there DID WE.”

            Out we went; seven of us.  To the little shed.  We opened the door.  I, with the frontal H&W went in to behold while the other two couples hovered at the doorway.  I scanned the whole room fast, including the setup and pushed against a side wall desk.  The other antiques were all there, I believed, but had been ‘picked up’.  I focused on the desk.  It was as remembered though now setup.  Tambours, broken, had been fussed with slightly.  The center compartment door was of and stuffed in place.  Otherwise it was pure estate rough and tumble A-OK.  I said nothing.  Then I said “May I take a picture of it?”

“SURE.  I guess.”  I heard said from the doorway. 

Click went my cell phone camera.  I looked at the image. “It looks good.  Thank you” I said.  I started to walk back out of the shed.  No one said anything and the doorway couples parted.

            Then came from behind me “But WAIT”

            I stepped into the workshop and then stopped saying “Wait?”

            “THE DESK is STILL VALUABLE?”

            “Oh yes; absolutely”.

            “Absolutely?”

            “The best thing in the estate.”

            “Oh.  OK.  We’re just not SURE.”

            “Well you don’t have to believe me.  Anyone who knows will tell you that.”

            “Oh.  Well.  That’s what we need to DO, I guess.”

            “Right.  You’ll figure it out.”

            “YOU don’t want to BUY the DESK?”

            “No,”  Pause.  “It’s too good for me”.  Pause.  “It’s a good one”.

            “HOW would YOU SELL IT?”

            “Me?  If it were mine I’d figure something out”.

            “WOULD YOU AUCTION IT?”

            “Maybe.  But carefully.”

            “WE’RE GOING TO SEE SOME AUCTIONEERS like you SAID.”

            “Like I said?”

            “IN THERE; ABOUT THE ANTIQUES IN THE HOUSE.”

            “Oh.  OK.  Yeah; good.”

            “Do you think they’ll know what to do?”

            “Depends on who you get.  I’d treat that carefully.”

            “Carefully?”

            “Who I show it to; the desk”

            “OH WELL we were just going to send some PHOTOGRAPHS FIRST.”

            “Yeah? Even that too:  Carefully.”

            “They’re just pictures to FIND OUT.”

            “Find out?”

            “IF it’s REALLY valuable like you say.”

            “Oh.  OK.  I get it.  That’ll do it.”

            “We haven’t done that YET; just ONE;  THE AUCTIONEER from YARMOUTH.  He does APPRAISALS.  HE’S COMING TOMORROW.”

            “Like I said; that’ll do it.”

            I wasn’t kissing the desk good-bye with that.  In fact, the opposite.  I know the auctioneer.  I knew there that there is a big difference between my murmured ‘fifteen thousand’ and… what ‘HE’S COMING TOMORROW’ would say, especially if he went ‘snake in the grass” on these people.  In fact, I could figure if he came in a very ‘too low’ that THEY would go ‘snake in the grass’ on HIM,  But it is best to look at all of this as just the start.  They are just starting the football game with the desk.  They’ve receive the punt; the desk is the football.  Now they’re gonna move that desk down the field?  I do that all the time; move antiques down fields in play… to score a touchdown as cash in my wallet.  I see other people …trying… to do that all the time too.  I love to watch.