Page 61 of The Party Line

Gina Lou and I pushed back our chairs and stood up at the same time. “What were you thinking about so hard?” she asked. “One minute, you were smiling, and then your expression turned like you were trying to get someone to answer a question.”

“Thinking about Aunt Gracie, for the most part.” I opened the squeaky door, and a heavy musty odor slapped me in the face.

“She was a great lady,” Gina Lou said.

“Yes, she was,” I agreed, shaking my head to dispel the fumes.

“This place smells like Miz Josie’s old cellar, where we go when the tornado siren blows,” Gina Lou said with an identical shake. “I can’t find the light switch, Lila.”

“There isn’t one. Like the rest of the house, you have to pull the string.” I found the thread spool and lit up the place—dim as it was. “There’s a cellar on Mama’s property, and it smells like this but not as bad. I figure it’s all the clothing or mothballs in those boxes that makes it so strong.”

As we descended the stairs, the air got heavier and heavier, as if there wasn’t quite enough of it. I thought I should bring a fan from upstairs to at least keep things stirred up a little.

Gina Lou grimaced. “This place is a mess. You sure you want to make wine down here?”

“Not make it; just store it. Once we have it all cleaned out, I don’t think it will be so stinky.”

I thought of the old barn that a tornado had destroyed, the place where Aunt Gracie and the boys had gotten drunk on their own homemade wine. Maybe I could have one built at the edge of my twenty acres and, with a little persuasion, get Mama and Annie, and maybe even Gina Lou’s mama, to help me in the wine-making process. That would be a part-time job for Mama and Annie, and they could still travel.

Gina Lou made her way through the maze of wooden and cardboard boxes over to the shelves lining three walls and wiped the dust off a quart jar. “If this is the newest of the lot, then we should get rid of all of them. This one is dated 1974. But that’s your decision. I’ve been here less than a day ...”

I held up a palm and shook my head. “I’m always open to suggestions, and you might know more about some of this stuff than I do. Let’s leave the shelves alone until we get everything else cleared out. Then we won’t be stumbling over boxes while we’re taking jars upstairs to clean them out.”

Gina Lou twisted her blonde hair up into a messy bun and held it there with a clamp she had had attached to the bottom of her T-shirt. “Where do we start? Back or front?”

“Let’s start closest to the stairs. We can each take a load up to sort.” I picked up the first two to carry them to the foyer. “I feel like I’m suffocating down here.” I wasn’t sure if it was the smell or if it was psychosomatic from all the ghosts I imagined hiding inside the boxes.

Gina Lou came right behind me with one in her arms. “Me too. This box is pretty light, and it’s not marked like the ones you are taking up. I wonder what’s in it.”

I set my two on the floor and brushed the dust off the tops. One said “Clarence’s coats.” The other said “Betty’s clothing.”

“Why didn’t they get rid of these things years ago?” I wondered out loud, then remembered the outfits in Aunt Gracie’s closet. She had had her reasons for keeping those things, so maybe her parents had theirs.

“Maybe whoever worked here back then packed them all up and stored them in the basement. Miz Gracie might not have even realized what was down there,” Gina Lou answered. “Hey, if the red panties aren’t the big secret, we might find a clue tucked away in all this stuff. Looks like someone in the family wore long oat-colored underwear, but I’d say this is all trash since there’s holes and patches on every single one.”

“According to what Aunt Gracie told me, for a long time after the Depression years, no one ever threw away anything, not even a foot-long piece of thread.” I pulled out a long gray coat with a plaid scarf still tucked around the collar. Both were dotted with moth holes. I wondered why whoever had packed them away didn’t at least throw in a handful of mothballs. Then I remembered that passage in Aunt Gracie’s diary about being so angry with her father.

She had never told me that the bedroom Gina Lou was using had once belonged to her father and mother, but it made sense. The closets and dresser had been cleaned out, and since she hadn’t forgiven him for whatever he did, then she wouldn’t have cared if his things were well preserved or not.

“Looks like what’s in this one goes to the trash, too. I’m glad we’ve got a big dumpster and not one of those little poly-cart things,” I said as I shoved the box to one side and opened the next one to find the same thing: woolen skirts and vests with holes eaten in them. “Let’s just carry these outside and bring up one more load. I’m tired and already feeling downright grimy from pulling weeds most of the day. I’m in desperate need of a long bubble bath.”

“I’m not as tired, but I am looking forward to sinking down in that big old claw-foot tub near my room and then climbing into thatheavenly bed with a book.” Gina Lou headed out the back door with her box in her arms. “Do you think that this is what we’ll probably find in most of what’s down there? Not much of a treasure trove, is it?”

“Nope,” I agreed.

“What are y’all doin’?” Jasper asked.

“Throwin’ out stuff that should’ve been tossed years ago,” I replied.

“How are you feelin’?” Gina Lou asked.

“Better than yesterday at this time. What’s in them boxes?” he asked.

“Moth-eaten coats and long-handled underwear with holes and patches,” I told him. “And there’ll most likely be more of the same. We are cleaning out the basement.”

“Why?” Jasper asked.

I kept walking toward the gate. “I’m going into the strawberry business, and I’m going to store my strawberry wine down there.”

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