Assumptions

by C. E. Pietrowiak

Professor Embry walked in and sat at his desk unnoticed. He slammed a drawer. “Chapter twenty, people. Look alive,” bellowed Embry. The students jumped then scattered to their desks.

  Jordyn passed Will a note. So?

  Will shrugged. He returned the note. Can't be good.

  They opened their books and listened to Embry summarize the semester. The professor wrapped up his lecture fifteen minutes early. "How's that for an end of term treat?” he complimented himself. “I suggest you use the time to proofread your papers. Remember, they count for half of your grade and grammar counts. The last day of class is Friday. That would be the day after tomorrow. I expect them to be handed in at the beginning of the period." The students cleared their desks and filed out of the door, faces glum.

  Jordyn and Will packed their things and left the classroom.

  "What do you think it means?" asked Jordyn.

  "I'm not sure."

  "Maybe he's over it. He's back into his normal routine."

  "That was not normal, even for him. I need to talk to Professor Barrett. His office is downstairs. Come on." Will took off down the corridor.

  "Barrett?" asked Jordyn, trying to keep up.

  "He's my Deacon."

  "At church?"

  "Yeah."

  "I had no idea. Again with the surprises."

  "You should come with me. To Mass." They jogged down the stairs.

  "Me? No. Not my thing. Really."

  "You’re Catholic?"

  "I guess. Maybe by default or something."

  "How about Christmas? They sing carols. It’s nice. Very festive."

  "I sort of made plans. With Oisin."

  “Just so you know, this is where I am supposed to give you a hard time.”

  “I know.”

  “But I won’t.” Will grinned. “What time?"

  "What?”

  “What time are you meeting your boyfriend?”

  “Emerson! You said . . . He’s not . . .”

  “Sorry.” He sneezed out, “Sort of.”

  “Emerson!”

  “Okay, okay. What time?”

  “Oh.” She stopped walking. “That's a problem. I don't know. He had to leave. We never said."

  Will let her catch up. "Molly's is serving breakfast," he said.

  "On Christmas?"

  "We can stop by on the way to Mass."

  Boxes of textbooks spilled out of the loading dock into the corridor on either side of Barrett's door.

  "Some office," said Jordyn.

  The door was closed. Will tapped on the glass. "Professor?" He knocked harder and the door unlatched. "Professor?" He pushed it open and stepped inside. "He's not here."

  Jordyn stood in the doorway. The desk was empty except for Iain Pritchard's book, centered perfectly, sticky notes in every color marking at least fifty pages. Jordyn pushed past Will and opened the book.

  "We should get out of here,” said Will.

  “Don’t you want to see what he’s got planned for the last few days?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, we can’t all be culture geniuses like you. I’m looking.” She leafed through. “Covered that.” She turned a few pages. “Done.” The book fell open to a chapter called, “The Birth of the Museum Collection.” A newspaper clipping, folded up in a flat scroll, was taped to the upper margin. Jordyn uncurled the newsprint. “Look at this. It’s about that museum”

  Will read over her shoulder.

  Summer Fun in Small Town America

  “One person’s trash is another’s treasure,” Dorothea Whitford, the proprietor of a very curious museum, tells her patrons. Housed in a 1920s era theater, Dorothea’s Curiosity Shop and Museum of Unusual Objects holds treasures, to be sure, but what brings in most of the visitors are the Wunderkammer, or Cabinets of Wonder. Popular among the aristocracy and elite of Renaissance Europe, such collections were the precursors to modern museums. The small studios adjacent to the theater have been turned into these jewel boxes of natural history, art, and archaeology.

  The museum’s collection is large. Most of it is stored in crates in what was once the theater house. "The place is packed to the rafters. Sometimes I'm not even sure what all is in there,” Whitford confided. “Promise me you won’t tell National Risk.”

  Shhh. Don’t worry, we won’t. Displays rotate throughout the year, so be sure to call ahead.

  In one of the photos above the article, a round woman with black hair stood in a Wunderkammer, every inch of every wall covered by deer antlers and shark teeth, strings of amber and a still-life made entirely of beetles. The other photo was a close-up of one of the museum display cases.

  “Look at these frogs,” said Jordyn.

  “The article in the file mentioned them.” Will ran his finger along the edge of the grainy black and white photo. “That’s strange. Here.” He pointed to the corner of the frame. Next to the dancing frogs lay a small book with a stone in its clasp. Will looked at the top of the clipping. “This is from May, just before the storm. The book was there.”

  Iain Pritchard hung up his overcoat just inside the door of his apartment and took his newfound collection to the library. He taped and filed them in proper order then stood in the corner of the room to admire his work.

  The tape holding up a bag marked Soda (unfinished), 7 November, 08:37, Eastview gave way. It dropped to the floor taking three others with it. Pritchard backed up, pressing himself against the wall. He took a quick breath then dove into the sea of brown paper bags on the floor, searching frantically for the fallen among the cast-off bits. He crawled across the floor pulling up bag after bag, laughing and crying until his body ached. At quarter-past one he went to the kitchen for something to eat. He brought back a bottle of screw-top red instead. He drank half and passed out. The bottle tipped over, spilling the rest of the wine over his precious finds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: BLACK AND WHITE

  Will’s zipped the bag over his tuxedo. He pulled the small book out of his backpack and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his overcoat. He headed out the door. The term had ended and after the Black and White his obligation to Eastview would be over, at least for a couple of weeks. At the bottom of the stairs, the mail carrier jammed envelopes into the narrow boxes and sighed.

  “Busy this time of year,” said Will.

  “Busiest time of all. Do me a favor and take yours?”

  “Sure. Merry Christmas.”

  “You, too, Will.” She handed him a bundle of a dozen cards and letters. He jammed them into the back pocket of his jeans where they would go unnoticed by any holiday pickpockets on the el.

  Will rang the bell at Jordyn’s front door. She answered in one of her father’s button down shirts and pink sweatpants, her hair already twisted up in the back and piled high on her head. A few tendrils fell in graceful spirals around her face, just skimming her shoulders.

  Jordyn took Will’s tuxedo. “I’ll hang this in the guest bedroom upstairs. My dad’s coming from the office. We’ll meet him there. I have to finish up. Snacks are in the kitchen. Make yourself at home.” She ran upstairs leaving Will to fend for himself.

  Will went to the kitchen and helped himself to a bottle of imported water, the one in the blue glass. He tossed his coat over the top of a barstool and sorted through his mail, discarding the advertisements and opening the envelopes that looked like Christmas cards. Two came from their building tenants, one from the dentist, and the other had no return address. Will pulled the cards from their envelopes, “Season's Greetings” from the dentist, the Star of Bethlehem from upstairs, and a reindeer on a coffee break from downstairs. The card with no sender was white with simple red letters, J-O-Y; no sentiment inside, just a note, Peace be with you – TS. Will checked the postmark. Provident, Illinois.

  Jordyn's high heels clicked lightly on the wood floor. She walked into the kitchen. The silken folds of her white gown hugged her waist and hips, falling into a train flowing five feet behind her. Her shoulders and
breastbone were bare. Opalescent flecks sparkled on her toes and fingers and the faintest shimmer of pink iced her lips.

  Will stood, slack jawed. “Wow, you are a girl,” he said.

  "Emerson!"

  "Honestly, you look amazing."

  Jordyn curtsied. "Why thank you, sir.” She pointed up the stairs. “Your turn."

  Fifteen minutes later, Will came down the stairs, jacket in hand, bowtie draped around his neck. "It’s been a while since I tied one of these."

  "My dad can't ever get it, either." Jordyn, already in her coat, fixed his tie. She patted him on the lapel. "Not so bad yourself. Cab's waiting.” She handed him his overcoat. “Let's get out of here."

  The driver cruised south on Lake Shore Drive. Lake Michigan sparkled, reflecting the light of the city under a cold, clear sky. The cab pulled up to The Field Museum behind half a dozen more.

  Jordyn paid the driver. "We'll get out here. Thank you." She gathered up her gown and she and Will walked, fast as they could, to the entrance.

  They waited at the coat check, cheeks wind-kissed and rosy. Jordyn took off her coat and draped it over her arm. "Give me your coat. I'll check them. You can go find our table." Will took off his coat and handed it to her. He started to walk away. Jordyn felt something blocky on her arm. She reached inside Will’s coat pulled out the book. "Emerson!"

  Will turned around to see her walking toward him, book in hand.

  She slapped it into his hand. "Seriously. You have to stop carrying this thing everywhere.”

  Will shrugged and tucked the book into his jacket pocket.

  Jordyn went back to check their coats. When she reached the Great Hall, it was already crowded.

  "Jordyn," called a strawberry haired man.

  "Dad!" She ran and jumped into his arms like she did when she was three years old.

  He kissed her on the cheek and set her down. "Look at you!

  Jordyn grinned. “I was afraid I might not see you, tonight.”

  “How could I miss you? You’re the most beautiful girl, excuse me, young woman, in the place.”

  “Dad,” she whined. She adjusted his tie. “That’s better.”

  “Thanks, Pumpkin.”

  She took his hand. “Come on. I want you to meet Will. He's already in there somewhere."

  “Have you been in yet?"

  "Not yet.”

  "Then allow me to walk you in." M.L. Quig led his daughter into the museum hall.

  Faceted glass balls and twinkle lights hung from balcony to balcony, glittering above their heads. Near the center of the room, a big band played “Moonlight Serenade.” Silver-haired ladies in couture whirled around the dance floor with their tuxedoed gentlemen while most of the students slouched around the edge of the room talking with friends or twiddling the silverware, grudgingly waiting for the after dinner band.

  M.L. Quig introduced his daughter to two Aldermen, the Chief of Police, and the CEO of a multi-national. Before long a crowd formed around him.

  “Jordyn, do you mind if I meet you later?” asked her father.

  “No problem, Dad.”

  “Save a dance for me?”

  “Sure,” she said, but he had already been swept away, the group around him increasing until he was no longer visible. Jordyn watched for a few minutes, but he was gone, enveloped in his world, not hers.

  She surveyed the hall. Her eyes came to rest across the room on the back of Will's head and she smiled. Someone tapped her shoulder from behind.

  "Jordyn?" said Logan.

  She turned around. "You’re alone? Where are all your friends?"

  "They’re around. Nice dress."

  "Thanks.”

  Logan shifted his weight. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “That whole thing . . . in Geography.”

  “Me, too.”

  Alex, Jilly, and Cooper scurried up behind him.

  "Hi, Jordyn," said Cooper.

  Jordyn smiled at her. Alex shoved Cooper aside. “Saw your boyfriend.”

  “What?” Jordyn looked around the room.

  “Emerson’s a real hit with the gray-hairs. Such a loser.”

  Jordyn scowled.

  Alex latched onto Logan’s arm. “Where’s your little Irish friend?” she sniped.

  “What do you care?” said Jordyn. “She's not coming. Happy?”

  Alex snorted.

  “One less person you have to annoy. You'll have more time to party," said Jordyn.

  "Party? You have no idea. Come on, Logan. She’s not worth your time." Alex turned and strutted away. Jilly and Cooper fell in behind.

  Logan shrugged. "See you," he said and followed Alex into the heart of the hall.

  Jordyn made her way across the room, saying hello to the strangers who stopped her every few yards. By the time she reached the place she had seen Will, he had vanished. She wandered past a few tables, but did not see him in the crowd. She climbed onto a chair for a better view.

  Will stood in the middle of the room with two professors, talking and laughing, not as student and teacher, but collegially. Will spoke and the men were rapt.

  A husky woman bumped into Jordyn, making her reach down to steady herself on the back of the chair. By the time she stood again, Professor Barrett had joined Will and the others. Will shook his hand. He and Barrett excused themselves and found an empty highboy near the entrance. They spoke for a moment. Will laid the book on the table. Barrett touched the stone. He held it close to his face, examining the clasp with care. He laid the book back on the table, patting it gently. Will slipped it back into his pocket.

  Jordyn eased down from her chair and jogged across the room. She found Will and Professor Barrett, still talking.

  "There you are," said Will.

  "Good evening, Miss Quig," said Barrett.

  "Professor." Jordyn smiled politely.

  "Will was just telling me about your recent adventures," said Barrett.

  Jordyn shot Will an uneasy look. "Was he?"

  Security scrambled toward the museum entrance. A man in a black overcoat forced his way past them and into the hall.

  "Will!" the man shouted. "William Emerson!"

  "I think it’s Pritchard," said Will. Jordyn stood high on her toes, but couldn’t see over the people standing around them.

  Pritchard burst through the crowd and, for a moment, stood eye-to-eye with Will. Security pulled Pritchard back and zip tied his wrists hard and tight. They dragged him away screaming, "Will, it's real! I know it! The book is real! You must protect it. Your father will know what to do. Will! Protect it!"

  Will stood at the highboy, speechless. Jordyn tugged on his sleeve. "You okay, Emerson?"

  Will nodded. “So, maybe he is a little weird." He put his hand in his pocket. The book was gone and so was Barrett.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: CROSSROADS

  "The coat check!" Jordyn shouted. "He's leaving!"

  They sprinted after him. Barrett ran down the museum stairs to the taxi stand and jumped into a white car with 'AAA' on the side. It squealed away before the door closed.

  Will opened the nearest cab door he could find. He and Jordyn scrambled in. Will shouted at the driver. "North on Lake Shore Drive. Hurry!"

  "Where is he going?" asked Jordyn.

  "To a crossroads."

  Jordyn pointed ahead. "There’s his cab."

  The white cab exited at Foster Avenue. "Isn't this your neighborhood?" said Jordyn.

  Will nodded and leaned forward in his seat. “Get off here, then go north on Broadway," he directed the driver.

  He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Jordyn's bare shoulders. "We'll be there soon." He pushed some cash through the slot in the window separating them from the driver. "Pull into the church parking lot on the left, just past Catalpa."

  The church grounds were quiet. Will took Jordyn by the hand and led her through the courtyard, past Ita’s statue, up the steps. They entered the dark vestibule.
Will tightened his jacket around Jordyn. He whispered, “Go to the rectory. It's right around the corner. Get the priest.”

  “But, Will," she protested.

  “Just go. Now." He turned her body toward the door. She gave him an apprehensive look over her shoulder then disappeared through the doors.

  Jordyn stepped outside into the cold night. The stars, usually faded in the city light, shined with startling clarity, bright and abundant. She clutched Will’s jacket and took off down the stairs. The straps of her shoes cut into her feet and she began to regret her choice of footwear.

  It took only seconds for her to reach the front of the rectory. She rang the bell and pounded the door as hard as she could.

  “Hello!” she shouted. “Please, we need help! We need your help.” No one came to the door; no one turned on a light. She ran to the back door and repeated her plea. There was no answer.

  Will stood in the vestibule, listening to the faint shuffling of a single pair of shoes on stone. He cracked the door and slipped quietly into the nave, now decorated in the solemn pink and violet of Advent. Only the sanctuary was lit.

  Barrett covered the altar with a cloth and laid the small, dusty book in the center. He lit the candles.

  Will inched forward. "Professor Barrett?"

  "Stay where you are!"

  "You don't have to do this."

  "The book was meant for me, not you.” Barrett slipped a violet stole over his head.

  Will stepped forward.

  "Stop!" shouted Barrett. He paced behind the altar. "More often than I can count, Stillman sat in that office complaining about his job and confessing his sins. He couldn’t stay away from the boats and the horses. He needed the money. It was easy to convince him to recommend an appraisal to that old bat . . . for a price, of course.” Barrett chuckled. “And I gladly handed over every penny I had. Dorothea Whitford, she couldn’t have been more overjoyed to see him.”

  Will inched up.

  Barrett held up his hand. "I told you not to move!" He closed his eyes and put his hands together in prayer. He took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “I didn’t count on the storm, but, really, it was perfect.” He smiled for a moment.