Page 50 of Threads of Kindness
Anita glanced toward the door. “It’s not like Maggie to be late,” she said to Josh. “Do you know if something came up at the college?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “We talked about coming here tonight. She and John are?—”
The door opened, and a gust of wind pushed Maggie and John inside.
“Sorry we’re late, everyone,” John said, holding up his hands. “It’s all my fault—I got tied up at the animal hospital.”
“It’s not a problem,” Anita said. “We’re glad you’re here now.”
“You’re more understanding than my wife has been,” John said, winking at Maggie. “She’s so eager to get into those crates, I thought she was going to explode.”
Maggie cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. “Iamlooking forward to seeing what’s inside. I kept texting, asking when you’d be home because I didn’t want to delay everyone else.” She smiled at the group. “If we were going to be much longer, I was going to tell Anita to proceed without us.”
Anita threw her arms wide and hugged them both at once. “I’m so glad you’re here. We would’ve waited. The reveal wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Gordon took their drink orders, and Anita insisted they help themselves to food. She then walked to the far end of the room. “I have a few words to say before we go downstairs.”
The group quieted as she spoke.
“I want to thank each of you for your friendship and encouragement.” She turned to Gordon, her smile landing on him like a spotlight. “I’m especially grateful to Gordon for suggesting this museum and insisting I could pull it off. I’m so happy that each of you could join me tonight.”
She raised her glass. “Here’s to all of you.”
“Hear, hear,” Gordon said, raising his glass and tapping it against hers.
Her friends raised their glasses. Everyone took a sip.
“And now,” Anita said, eyes shining, “I think it’s high time we found out what’s in those crates in my basement!”
Anita walkedto the door leading to the basement and flung it open. The battery-operated lanterns Gordon had placed on the steps and hung from hooks in the ceiling illuminated their path. Sam and Jeff brought up the rear.
Each person gasped in astonishment as they stepped off the bottom step and into the basement for the first time. They lined up along the far wall, facing the unmarked, rough-sawn oak crates.
Maggie leaned into John, bringing her lips close to his ear. “I feel like I did the first time I stepped into Rosemont’s attic. This is so exciting.”
John nodded.
“You’ve remembered something, haven’t you?” she whispered, studying his face.
John shrugged, raising his hands, palms up.
Sam and Jeff crossed the room to stand beside Anita.
“This is exactly what we saw when we came down here—twelve identical crates, six across and stacked two high.” She opened her arms wide to encompass the crates behind her. “They were nailed shut, and the seller refused to let us open them before the building’s purchase. We tried to see inside using flashlights, but there are no openings to give us even a glimpse.” She looked at Sam and then Jeff. “Believe me—we tried.”
A titter of laughter passed around the room.
“So, without further ado,” Anita said, “Sam and Jeff will now open the crates.”
She stepped aside as each man approached a crate, wielding a hammer and crowbar. They got busy loosening nails. Jeff’scrate came open first. He waited until Sam loosened his lid. They looked at each other, nodded, and lifted the lids.
Anita peered into Jeff’s crate. A thick layer of sawdust covered the contents. Jeff pulled a pair of work gloves from the back pocket of his jeans and handed them to her. She slipped them on and sculpted a divot in the sawdust.
“My hand’s connected with something,” she said over her shoulder. “It feels like a wooden divider.” She continued digging, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hand hit another object, and she used both hands to feel along its outline. Slowly, she pulled it an inch from its perch, shielding it from view with her body. Holding it with her left hand, she brushed away more sawdust with her right. Anita stared at the object, then threw her head back in delighted laughter.
Her friends leaned in like stalks of wheat bent by a strong wind.
Anita looked over her shoulder. “The history of this place just got a whole lot more interesting,” she said. She pulled an amber glass bottle from the crate. Shaped like an oversized flask and made of ornate pressed glass, it featured a capitalWoutlined by a circle in its center. Wax sealed the corked bottle. “I believe this place was home to moonshiners—back in the day,” she said.
