Page 32 of Threads of Kindness
The shop walls were lined with honey-colored wooden shelves. Original wood and glass display cases stood two deep, back-to-back, in the center of the room. Behind their grimy glass was a mountain of shredded paper boxes and wrappers, once vivid with the colors of the candies they had protected. A vintage National cash register sat at the end of a wooden counter, its brass badly tarnished. Cobwebs hung from the rafters. A glass apothecary jar, supporting an accumulation of dust like unblemished snow, contained peppermint sticks. The tag hanging from the lid bore the price: five cents or three fora dime. In sharp contrast with everything around them, the red and white candies looked pristine and inviting.
Anita took two steps into the room, her shoes pulverizing the scat beneath her feet.
Tim switched on small LED flashlights and handed one to each of them. “The electricity hasn’t been turned on for ages,” he said.
“You didn’t exaggerate, Tim. This is pretty bad,” Anita said.
“I’m sorry to say this room is in better shape than any of the others. Are you sure you want to continue?”
“I do,” Anita said. She turned to Gordon. “This iswayworse than we thought. If you don’t want to keep going, I completely understand.”
“There’s no chance you’re proceeding without me,” Gordon said.
“Follow me,” Tim said, opening a wooden door at the back of the shop. Cartons that had once held candy were piled high along the walls. Some lay strewn across the floor. All of them had been attacked by rodents. Tim trained his flashlight on the far corner of the room. “This was where she stored her inventory. Can you make out that odd-looking door in the corner?”
Anita and Gordon both nodded.
“That’s a dumbwaiter,” Tim said. “It may be broken, but I think it’s repairable.”
“It looks like a large dumbwaiter,” Gordon said.
“I agree,” Tim said. “That might be a good thing if you wanted to put in an elevator. The space would probably be big enough.”
“If we use the second floor as part of our museum, I’d like to put in an elevator,” Anita said. “I want my museum to be accessible.”
“Whether that space works or you need to install an elevator somewhere else, I think this property could be modified toinclude one,” Tim replied. “Would you like to see the second floor?”
“Lead the way,” Anita said.
They backed out of the storage room. Tim led them to a partition that concealed a stairway leading to the second floor.
“Look at the beautiful carving on this banister,” Gordon said. He trained his flashlight on the wood and brushed off a thick layer of dust. “This is mahogany, for heaven’s sake. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“The stairs are extra wide too,” Anita said. “I’d still want to put in an elevator, but this would be a lovely way for visitors to get to the second floor.”
“Are the steps sound?” Gordon asked.
“They seem to be,” Tim replied. “I used them this morning.”
They climbed to the second floor and entered a room heaped with junk from floor to ceiling. The foot of a rusty iron bedstead and a molding mattress peeked out from stacks of newspapers, cardboard boxes, clothing, broken furniture, and more.
Anita gasped.
She and Gordon stood next to Tim as they surveyed the scene.
“Charlotte appeared to be a hoarder,” Tim stated.
“I had no idea,” Anita said. “This makes me so sad. I wish I had known.”
“People keep that quiet,” Tim replied. He pointed to the exposed mattress and then to an old refrigerator obscured by bags of trash. “I believe Charlotte lived up here.”
“I think you’re right,” Anita said. “I seem to remember that she resided above her shop.”
Gordon elevated his tall frame onto his tiptoes and pointed to the far wall. “It looks like there’s a door over there. Maybe that’s a bathroom.”
Tim said, “That makes sense.”
Gordon pointed to a dark stain running the length of the ceiling along the outside wall. “That’s water damage and possibly mold. I think the roof leaks.”
