Chapter 4, "The Tin Box Secret" (Re-posted)

Chapter 4                                        The Tin Box Secret

          Heather and I walked down the block toward Petra’s house, Heather swinging her Instamatic camera from its string.  Mrs. Conner waved “hello” as she meticulously washed the window on her front door.   I could see her father-in-law sitting in his wheelchair by the bay window and staring out at us as we passed their house.  A while back, he had had throat cancer and had to have his voice box removed.  I don’t know how he communicated with his daughter-in-law, but I suppose she did enough talking for the both of them.

As we neared Petra’s house, I felt a ripple of trepidation tingle up my spine.  The high Gothic windows embedded in the Victorian façade seemed to be watching us as we approached.  For twenty-five years this house had been left to languish and it was in sore need of repair. The worn roof drooped low, exposing gaps where lost shingles had long ago blown away.   Dark moss crept up the steep angles of the roof line.  Ivy grew on the tall chimney, choking the bricks as it wound its way up; the ivy’s appendages beseeching release into the sky.  This certainly did look like a house where a ghost would feel at home.  For the first time, I thought perhaps I should have listened to my father and met Petra at the library.

          “I wonder which window belongs to Petra’s bedroom.” Heather mumbled.   She lifted her camera and started snapping pictures. 

          “I just hope it’s not in the turret,” I replied.

Even before I knew that Petra’s grandmother had been found dead in the granny attic, this house had given me the creeps.   Miss Tandy’s simple clapboard farmhouse sat next to the daunting Victorian structure.  The cozy screened-in porch filled with piles of magazines and old newspapers was a sharp contrast to its imposing neighbor.  Miss Tandy had a hanging porch swing that she and I would sit on during hot summer days. There was always a cool pitcher of iced tea on the wicker table next to the swing, waiting for any guest who might stop by for an afternoon chat. 

Heather snapped a picture of the turret.  “What’s wrong with the turret?” Heather asked me.

“I thought you knew.  Petra’s grandmother poisoned herself in the granny attic.”

“No way!  Do you know why she did it?” asked Heather.

“I don’t know, but Petra’s mother was just a girl when it happened.  I heard that she found her mother’s body when she came home from school.”

“How horrible!  Who told you what happened?”

“It’s just gossip from the neighbors.  My mother told me about it, but it happened before my family moved here.”

 “Wow.  What a shame, it’s such a cool house!  Just look at all the property around it.  I bet you could have a mean game of ‘kick-the-can’ and there are plenty of places for all the kids in the neighborhood to hide out.”

 

          “Yeah, I guess.” I tried to take my mind off of the tragic history of the house and, instead, concentrated on spending the day with my friends. 

          As we walked up to the house, Petra came bursting out of the screen door.  She ran across the front lawn and collapsed in front of us in a fit of giggles.  We tried to help her to her feet but she wound up pulling us down on the grass with her.  Lying on her back, Petra pointed up to the sky, “Look at that!  It looks like Pegasus!”  Heather and I lay down next to her and looked up.  Large white puffy clouds broke the blue expanse that greeted our eyes.  Petra was pointing to a cloud that resembled a horse with wings flying across the sky.

          “Wouldn’t you love to fly!” she exclaimed.

          “Sometimes I dream that I’m flying above trees and buildings and I’m not afraid at all.”  Heather sighed.

           I thought about my own dreams but didn’t know how to explain them.  Instead I just said, “But then you have to land. That doesn’t scare you?”

          “No.  Whatever goes up; must come down!” giggled Heather.  Petra stood up and then said, “And whatever goes down; must come up!”  She pulled our arms until we were standing again.  “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you around.”

           Behind the front door was a large entrance hall and, beyond that, a stairway reaching up into darkness.  But the entrance hall was full of color, as the sun found its way through the old stained glass in the large windows.  There were beautiful urns and vases in a multitude of colors decorating the hall.  Statues from ancient cities stood guard on either side of the imposing stairway and it looked more like a museum than a house.  Petra’s mom came walking into the hall from a back room that I guessed was the kitchen. Delicious smells from the oven followed her into the room. She had an apron on and was wiping her hands on it as she approached.  She put out her dried hand and said, “I’m Lydia, it’s so nice to meet you girls.”  Lydia’s touch was soft, warm, and confident as she enclosed my small hand in hers.

She had fine laugh lines around her mouth and her eyes, where the skin crinkled when she smiled.  Her large eyes were a deep dark brown and she had lush auburn curls that hung to her shoulders and framed her pretty face.  Her dimpled full-lipped smile exuded a comfortable confidence that drew me to her.

          I wasn’t used to people touching me, so I looked down at her hand holding mine with uncertainty.  After an awkward pause, I stammered, “I’m Julie and this is my friend, Heather.”

          Heather tilted her face up toward Lydia and let go of one of her brilliant smiles.  As Lydia released my hand, I felt bereft of the energy that had flowed from her hand into mine. Lydia took Heather’s hand in hers and said, “Pleased to meet you, Heather.  You girls make yourselves at home and when you are ready, come into the kitchen.  I already made some sandwiches, and I have some chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.”   Lydia walked behind her daughter and put her arms around her.  She caressed Petra’s hair and gently kissed the top of her head before walking back to the kitchen. When she left, it was as if the air had been sucked out of the room with her.  I felt a pain deep in my chest and a burning behind my eyes.  I looked at Heather and recognized the same agony in the rigid lines of her face.  Neither of us knew what it was like to have a mother like Lydia.

          “The library’s upstairs; come with me,” directed Petra.

Reaching out to Heather, I grabbed her hand and together we walked up the stairs.  Petra explained as we reached the second floor that this was where her bedroom was but we continued to climb up to the third floor.

“Half of this entire floor is the library and that door leads out to a veranda overlooking the backyard.  The other half of this floor is my parents’ bedroom.  Above us, on the fourth floor, is the granny attic with the turret.  There’s a cool widow’s walk looking over the back of the house.  My mom says that you can see the bay from there.”

“What’s a widow’s walk?” Heather asked.

“The story is that long ago, an ancestor of mine who was a sea captain had this house built.  The wives of sea captains often had landings that they could walk on, high on the outside of the house, near the roof of their homes.  When their husbands were at sea, they could look out over the bay and watch for their husbands to return.   Being a sea captain was very dangerous in those days, and often the men and their ships were lost. So landings like these became known as widows’ walks.”

We walked into the library and saw walls lined with hundreds of books.  Relics from foreign lands were placed on display, scattered around the bookshelves and hung on the walls. There were African masks, jewel-encrusted ornaments, and lengths of exotic fabric made splashes of color throughout the room.  Soft-cushioned dark brown leather chairs were placed beside small reading tables with green-shaded desk lamps.  Petra had turned all of the lights on and a warm glow filled the large room.  I walked to one wall and gently ran my fingers over the bindings that read, Bronte, Browning, Crane, Chopin, Dickens, Flaubert, Hawthorne, and Hemingway.  A light film of dust covered my fingertips and the smell of old books filled my senses.  Walking across the room I saw books by Shakespeare, Shelley, Steinbeck, Tennyson, and Whitman.  What treasures were accumulated within these walls!

          “Have you read all of these books?”  I asked in awe.

          “This library has been here in this house for a long time, but my mom has always had plenty of books.  She says she can never feel at home unless there are loads of books surrounding her.  She’s been reading some of them to me since I was a little girl.  But of course, I haven’t read all of these books; although, I think she probably has!  My mom says that these books have the answers to all our questions. Like, once I asked her what it was like to live during the depression, the next thing I knew we were reading Grapes of Wrath; not my favorite book.  But just bring up a question to her and she’ll have you reading a book searching for the answer.”

“Which is your favorite?” I asked.

“Definitely, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, and also, the series of ‘Little House’ books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I’ll never forget reading The Long, Long Winter with my mom.  We called it the Long, Long, Long, Long, Long Winter.” Petra started laughing and shaking her head.  “I didn’t think it was ever going to end!  But it really made you think about how it must have been back then to live without all the modern comforts we take for granted now.”

“That brings us to the topic of inventions,” I added.   She picked up a pile of books, "I found these books on inventions.  Here, let’s each take a couple and look through them.  I thought that maybe they might inspire our thought processes.”

          She handed me copies of The Fabulous Story of How American Dreamers, Wizards, and Inspired Tinkerers Converted a Wilderness into the Wonder of the World, by Mitchell A. Wilson and The Picture History of Inventions, from Plough to Polaris, by Umberto Eco.

Petra pointed to some notebooks and pencils on one of the tables.  “Let’s jot down some ideas and see what we come up with.”

After poring through a dozen books among us, and reading about the inventions of edible tie pins, an automatic hat-tipper, bed-wetting alarms, and an electrical bedbug exterminator, we started to get really silly.

I said, “How about a soap called ‘cheese’ that’s in the shape of cheese and lasts for exactly 365 days.  You only need to buy one bar a year!”

Heather chimed in, “And the smell drives all the girls crazy like in the Aqua-Velva commercials!”  She started going wild, attacking an imaginary guy who had just used our cheese soap.

Petra laughed and looked forlornly at her blank notebook, “Maybe we should be a little more practical.  How about inventing a machine that does your school projects for you?  All you have to do is just tell it what the topic is and it gives you all the information that you need and puts it all together.”

“Far out!  Then we wouldn’t have to waste time in the library and we could play outside.  It’s spring and I want to be out there!”  Heather walked over to the window.  “Hey what’s that?”

Petra and I joined her at the window overlooking the backyard.  There was an old wooden structure perched in a giant maple tree.   It was cradled in a web of huge branches.  Tiny green buds appeared along the maple’s outstretched limbs.

Petra explained, “It used to be my mom’s tree house when she was a little girl.  It’s been a long time since it was used so my dad wants to make sure it’s safe before I climb up into it.  He said he has to add extra supports and replace some weak boards.  Maybe, after he’s finished, we can decorate it together.”

“Count me in!” I screamed.

“This is so cool!”  Heather was so excited she tripped over a chair.

“Let’s go have our sandwiches, we need fuel to think.” Petra led us downstairs.

The kitchen had an old white enamel table with cold matching chairs placed around it.  Lydia set out a tray of plastic-wrapped sandwiches and glasses of milk as we sat down.  I looked around a room that seemed to be suspended in time.  The white cupboards and big farm sink were from a different era.

Lydia saw me looking at the kitchen and said, “We have a lot of renovation to do on the house, but I kind of like this old kitchen.  Although we have to update the appliances, I think I will keep this early 20th century look.”  She looked wistful for a moment as if happy childhood memories were passing through her mind.  I started to realize that Lydia had good memories of this house as well as the sad ones.  This is where she had been a child, where she had lived with her parents.  This was her home.

We sat at the kitchen table, enjoying our lunch.  Heather asked Lydia, “Would you take a picture of us?”  “Of course!” Lydia replied.  We smiled at the camera as the flash blinded our eyes.  Just then, a man and little boy walked in.  Through the dots in front of my face, I saw the shape of a man, his dark hair frosted with gray.  He wore glasses over his huge round blue eyes and he had a handsome strong jaw and a warm smile.

Petra jumped off her stool and ran over to the man for a hug.  Putting her arm through the crook of his, she introduced us, “Hey guys, this is my dad, John Racine, and this is my little brother, Jack.   Dad, these are my friends Julie and Heather.”

“Hello ladies!” her father spoke with a dreamy French accent.   He came over to me and took my hand and kissed the back of it.  He did the same to Heather and she giggled because it tickled.  Little Jack, who was a miniature replica of his father, proudly said, “Hi, I’m Jack.”

“How old are you Jack?”  Heather asked.

He took in a deep dramatic breath and shouted, “I’m five!”  He then ran over and hid behind Petra.  She picked him up, carried him over to the kitchen counter, and placed him down on a stool.   She announced, “Jack is the sweetest boy in the world!”  She protectively placed her arm around his waist to keep him from falling off the stool.  He turned in his seat, kissed her cheek and giggled.

“I didn’t know you had a little brother,” I said.

“Yeah, well, we try to hide him in the attic but he keeps breaking out.” Petra teased.

“No I don’t!”  Jack took her seriously.  “I don’t like the attic!”

Lydia stepped in now, “You know I don’t like you teasing your brother” she admonished Petra.   Lydia picked up Jack, gave him an Eskimo kiss and placed him down in front of his sandwich and a glass of milk.

Petra shrugged, smiled at Jack, and blew him a kiss. Jack who had been glowering at Petra stopped sulking, smiled, and blew a kiss back to her.

Lydia spoke to Heather and me, “I tell Petra and Jack all the time how lucky they are to have each other.  I know sisters and brothers like to tease but . . . it’s . . . so hurtful when teasing comes from someone you love.”  Lydia tilted her head and looked pleadingly at her daughter.

“Sorry mom.”  Petra looked up at Lydia.  Lydia came over to Petra and placed her hand on Petra’s shoulder and gently squeezed her, “I know, honey.”

That was the end of it.  I couldn’t ever imagine a scene like that at my house.  For my sisters and me, teasing was a competition that we took part in daily.  As hurtful as it was, you just got caught up in the cycle.

 Mr. Racine asked, “So what are you girls doing inside on this beautiful day?” 

“We’re working on a project for school.  We have to come up with a product or service to present to our English class.  We’ve been looking through the library at books on all sorts of inventions but we haven’t been able to come up with anything that would really work,” explained Petra.

“You said it could be a service, right?” asked her dad.

“Yeah.” We all shook our heads.

“Why don’t you develop a research service where you girls would use our family library as the source for your research?  You could offer it as a service to your classmates.”

 “Dad, what a great idea!”

“Yeah, the public library is pretty far from here and the school library is closed on weekends.  We could be the local weekend library research center.”  I liked this idea; spending time around books was no hardship for me.

          “Kids could pay us to look up the information they need for reports.  Then we hand them the information and they write their own reports.  We could even loan out books.”  Petra was getting excited.

          Lydia frowned, “I thought this was supposed to be a hypothetical business?  I don’t know about loaning out our books for money.  You’d have to keep track of the books and what would you do if someone didn’t return a book or if a book got damaged?”  

          “It is just hypothetical!  We just have to develop the whole concept.  But you’re right.  Even hypothetically we’ll just offer to do the research for them.  We could charge by the hour or by the project, what do you think?”  Petra asked.

          “I’m not sure about this, it sounds an awful lot like plagiarism.” Lydia commented. 

         

“Oh, mom!” Petra admonished.

 Heather cut off Petra’s protest, “I think we should develop a price list for research that takes an hour, half a day, one day, or the whole weekend.”  Lydia smiled knowingly then walked over to the sink to wash some dishes.  I decided that I would ask Mr. Cabot about whether this really constituted plagiarism.

          “Good idea, let’s do it!” Petra ran up to get her notebook, and after we wrote down all of our ideas, we took the tray of cookies out to the backyard to have a picnic.

          Lydia gave us a blanket and we laid it down on the grass.  The birds were singing and tulips and daffodils were blooming around the edges of the house.  The trees around us were also budding and forming the skeleton of a canopy above our heads. 

          “How should we decorate the tree house?” I asked.

          “My favorite color is purple,” said Petra.

          “So is mine!” said Heather.

          “Mine is pink!” I offered.

          “Okay,” said Petra, “Then two walls will be pink and two walls will be purple.”

          “Neat!” exclaimed Heather.  “How about sticking some glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling?”

          “Cool!   We could use some posters too.  I have a Peter Max poster,” I offered.

          “Does the tree house have electricity?” asked Heather.

          “I don’t think so.”  Petra answered.  “But we can bring up battery-operated camp lanterns.”

           I asked, “Do you think maybe your mom would let us use an extension cord or even string some Christmas lights from the attic window?  Then we could get electricity to the tree house.”

          “Great idea!” exclaimed Petra.

          We spent the rest of the afternoon planning how we would decorate it.  When it was time to go home Heather and I thanked Lydia and John for letting us use their library.  “Anytime you need to use the library, you’re welcome to come over.  And if either of you ever wants to borrow a book to read, that would be fine too.”  Lydia gave each of us a hug and said, “Come back soon for a visit.”

          Heather and I walked home past Mrs. Connor who was now weeding the garden in her front yard.  “Hi girls, did you have a nice time today?”  “Oh yeah, it was a great day!” Heather gushed.

“You spent all day in there, what’s the inside of the house like?”

          I nudged Heather to walk faster, “Sorry, we have to get home.  No time to talk right now.”  I whispered to Heather, “Don’t even start with her, all she wants is gossip.”

          Miss Tandy was rocking on her porch swing.  She called, “Hello girls!  Enjoying the nice day?”

I spoke loudly so that she could hear, “Hi, Miss Tandy! It’s nice out today, but I can’t wait for summer!”

“Me too, be sure to stop by for some iced tea!”

“Okay, see you soon,” I replied.

We got to my house first and I ran up my front steps, “See you in school on Monday,” I called.  Heather waved goodbye as she continued on her way home.

Inside, my mother was getting ready for dinner.  I watched her as she set the table and I thought about my family.  My parents provided us with a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food on our table, and a good education.  So much more than Heather had.  And yet, still I felt so numb?  What more did I want?  But now that I had glimpsed the kind of love that families could share, I felt cheated.  It was hard to acknowledge this because I felt guilty about not appreciating what I did have.  Many nights I sat at the table and pushed the vegetables around on my plate and was told that “children were starving in China!"

I washed my hands and went to sit at the kitchen table. My father sat down, took off his belt and laid it across his lap.

“Mary, your mother told me that we’re almost out of shampoo again.  Are you still washing your hair twice each time you take a shower?  If you insist on doing that, then I’m going to take the cost of the shampoo out of your allowance.” My dad was annoyed with Mary.  Mary tried to explain that she had read the directions on the shampoo bottle that said you were supposed to wash your hair twice each time.  But considering that her allowance was only 25 cents a week, it would take two months to pay for one bottle of shampoo.  So she gave in and said, “I’ll only wash my hair once from now on.” 

My mother tried to change the subject as she placed the chicken cutlets on the table, “So how was everything at Petra’s house?”  

“Petra’s parents are really nice and she has an adorable little brother named Jack.  We decided to use a service for our English project.   We can use Petra’s library to do research for the kids in class.  By the way, Lydia said I could borrow books from the library to read.”

“Really?”  My dad was impressed.  My love for reading had been inherited from him.  One time he said to me that the worst thing that could happen to him would be to lose his sight.  He couldn't imagine not being able to read anymore.

Mary said, “You’d better clean your room before you start borrowing books.  You’re bound to lose them in that mess.”  Annoyed, I glared at her.  Why did she have to bring that up?  I was having such a great day, but now she had to ruin it for me.  I looked at my father to see if he was going to add to Mary’s criticism.

Angie added sarcastically, “More books!  That’s just what you need!  Like you don’t spend enough time buried in the ones you have.”  I felt like it was a physical blow.  This is what we did to each other.  In order to save ourselves, we threw each other to the lions.  Angie shook her head in disapproval and then reached for the bread across the table, “Juliana, you’re a cross-eyed bookworm.”

Every night, I automatically kissed my mother and father on their cheeks before heading up to bed.  It was expected and it was necessary.  Inspired by Petra’s family, tonight I felt bolder than usual.  My parents were watching television in the recreation room.  My mother was sitting on the couch and my father in his recliner.

I walked over to my mother and put my arms around her in a hug.  She pushed me away with a nervous uncomfortable laugh and rubbed her arms as if to rub off my touch. Flustered, she said “Good night and don’t read too late, we are going to ten o’clock mass in the morning.”  She dismissed me and looked back at her show. 

After that, my courage abandoned me.  I dutifully walked over to my father and kissed his cheek.  As I walked up to my bedroom, I brushed quickly at my eyes so that Angie wouldn't see the tears.   I wondered how I could feel so lonely when I was surrounded by my family, but the fact was, I did.  I said to myself, at least you have them, Heather doesn't really have anyone.  But in spite of that knowledge, I felt the emptiness engulf me.