by Solly, Clare
“A great charity?” she said showing offense.
“No, I mean. I’m not saying it right, I—”
“If you’re looking for a charity,’ why don’t you send a donation to underprivileged kids or puppies or something.” Dottie spat defensively.
“I mean, I want to help you—”
“Joseph Thomas,” she was suddenly formal, “that is very nice of you to offer your hard-earned money for this museum, but I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly as she started to put on oven mitts and walked over to the oven.
“Frank says that you’ll need a new roof and that the museum is closing. So maybe if I just get you a new roof until you can figure out what to do with all of this stuff—”
“This stuff? This stuff?!?” she repeated, her anger rising. “You mean the history of this town and this area?” She dropped the cookie sheet on the counter just a little too hard. “This is the whole problem. People like you who think they can swoop in and just fix things. When you well know that it’s just a temporary patch. We need a long-term commitment.”
He couldn’t be sure if she was only talking about the museum.
As she reached deep in the oven she spoke with strain in her voice. He wasn’t sure if it was from the weight of the cookies or the museum. “There are so many treasures here. So many things that have meant a lot to so many people over the years. They just don’t remember. This community is always there for each other. They just need to be reminded of that,” she said dejectedly with her back turned toward him. “As for moving it all out or leaving it all behind, I… I just don’t want to think about it yet. I’d prefer to think that we will find an answer. Somewhere. Somehow.”
“Okay… so how are things going with these cookies? Are you going to be marketing them to a bigger audience in order to make—?”
“Ugh! What is it with you men and the sale of these cookies? Harold wants me to sell them en masse and turn a profit from my family tradition. It was all Hetty’s silly idea to begin with. I’m not a baker. I mean just because I’m really good at the recipe that has been passed down for generations, doesn’t make me a baker,” she yelled. Dottie looked Joe in the eye. “Honestly, I don’t know how to get over that something I love so much won’t be a part of my life anymore. I don’t know that I could take something else from my life just being... gone.” She turned to him pointing a finger with accusation, “And you slapping a Band-Aid on it by tossing a donation my way isn’t really going to fix this,” she said motioning between she and him. “I just can’t,” she untied her apron and yanked it over her head slamming it on the counter. She looked him right in the eye. “Keep your money and your lousy suggestions. What I really need is a great idea how to keep this museum open,” she said as she stormed past him and out onto the porch.
He watched her walk the length of the porch through the window, and out into the yard until she disappeared into the trees.
Joe was only trying to help, and thought it was a good idea. Confused and unsure of what he did or said that set her off, Joe walked to the front of the house and out the door. He sighed and shook his head. The best he could do was to keep helping fix the things he could in the short time he would be here. He climbed up the ladder to find Frank.
Chapter Ten
A walk in the woods always made Dottie feel better. The trees and birds calmed her and gave her clarity. Maybe it was walking at a fast pace mixed with the forest scents, but it cleared her head and calmed her. Extra emotional, even as a child, Dottie could run away to the woods and regain sensibility. Even as a child, she snapped quickly and said things she shouldn’t.
As an adult she was better at it, except under times of extreme emotional stress. Dottie guessed she just couldn’t deal with both Joe’s return and losing the museum in the same moment. Both seemed wrong right now. Too many emotions were stoked, and she didn’t know how to fix either one.
She found herself at the small cabin her father even built was still her respite. Cabin being a loose term. A sturdy yet small enclosed building that was no more than a six by eight-foot room with a couple of stools and blankets. Over the years she had stocked it with bottles of water, candles and books so that she could escape here. Today, though it didn’t seem to help ease her frustration like it normally did.
His voice rang through her head the entire hike to the cabin. How dare Joe call it “charity” and just blatantly offer her money! Of course, a big baseball star would just come home and see a poor failing thing in his hometown, toss a little money at it as a heroic gesture to make himself feel better before just disappearing again. Probably never to come back. She’d seen this plot in movies and read it in books. He would offer a glimmer of hope only to disappear into his big life and never look back. And never help or care again. How dare he think he could be her friend again after all of these years. He just dropped out of their lives and…
Dottie stopped abruptly. Why was she upset? Dottie reasoned that he was doing what anyone in his position would do. She reasoned that she was really just upset that the museum, which seemed to run flawlessly under her mother’s care, would be shutting down under hers. Once again failing her mother felt like a tragedy in Dottie’s life. True, the museum was old and not really a tourist destination. It had so many memories she wanted to preserve. And although her mother talked of closing it when her father took ill, Dottie refused. The museum was a magical place to her, and she would do anything to keep it open.
Reasoning again with herself, she knew she shouldn’t be mad. It would finally be a chance to leave this town behind and live in the big city like she always wanted to do. Harold was going to get one of these jobs and take her away from it all. And that is what she ultimately wanted. Right?
If she was honest, she had always felt like a failure, not living out her own dream. When her father had his stroke, her mother quit the museum to take care of him. Dottie took over for a supposed temporary stent. Then she and her mother decided the warmer Florida climate would do both parents good. And they were right. Her father now had a clean bill of health and there was no sign that he had a stroke. Her parents were thriving in Florida and sold their house in Connecticut. Dottie assumed the museum role full time. She would never admit it, but she was never sure what she actually wanted to do with her life. In taking the museum over Dottie always felt that she was running away to something.
“You hide in this museum,” Hetty said once accusing her.
“I do not!” Stubbornly refusing to admit it, Dottie lashed out at her friend.
“Yes. Yes, you do. You hide in what you claim to be your responsibility to this museum. I think you also hide how much you love this town, no matter how much you say you want to see the world.” Hetty’s words stung deeply.
Dottie didn’t speak to her for a while after that. Maybe Hetty had been right those years ago. Maybe Dottie was hiding. Question was, how deep did it go? Was she happy in anything she had including Harold?
With the time in her cabin in the woods not helping, and knowing she had more cookies to bake, Dottie started back to the museum. As she walked out of the clearing, she saw Joe on top of the museum. She tried to wave at him and get his attention, but he was kneeling and very focused below. As she got closer, she realized he wasn’t kneeling, but actually almost waist deep in the roof.
“Oh no,” she said out loud as she ran toward the house.
When she was closer, she saw the museum parking lot was full of cars. As she rounded the house, Dottie saw that all of the trustees were standing looking up at the roof. Could this get any worse? As if in answer, the whine of a firetruck got louder as it rounded the bend and turned up the driveway. This was becoming a full-on spectacle.
“What is happening?” she asked Mayor Santino who was standing out front of the pack.
“Hey, Dottie,” Replied the tall, dark haired, well suited man with concern. “Well, it seems that Joe and Frank were on your roof fixing it. Joe went higher to see if there were other places
that might need a quick patch, and he fell through up there. Luckily, he’s landed in the attic of the house. He seems to be stuck and they’re going to have to cut him out. Which means more repair for you,” Mayor Santino sighed and patted Dottie on the shoulder. She had put her head in her hands and was shaking in frustration and worry. Her shoulders began heaving as the ladder from the firetruck started to raise to the roof.
“Is there anything I can do,” Amanda Littleton, with her brown hair pulled tight in a French braid and her average height disguised with heels too high for the country said as she put her hand on Dottie’s shoulder.
“No. Thank you, Amanda,” Dottie said to the board member as she lifted her head. She seemed to be laughing.
Amanda removed her hand, “Well, I’ll be right here. I suppose we will be starting the meeting soon?”
“Yeah. Yes. We… should,” Dottie said remembering the meeting as she watched Aaron Kemper, one of their high school classmates, climb the fire ladder to her roof.
Gritting her teeth, Dottie watched Aaron, who’s frame seemed too small for his muscles, edge his way down the slope of the roof to Joe. She thought she heard Joe say, “Do what you have to do,” and she saw the axe go up in the air when a hand pulled at her elbow turning her away.
“Come on, honey,” Hetty said, pulling Dottie toward the house. “You don’t need to see this.”
Sighing heavily, Dottie acquiesced and followed Hetty into the front room of the museum. Amanda, Mayor Santino, Robert Sampson, principal of Bacon High School, and Kathryn Taylor, another board member all entered the museum as well. Dottie set up a few chairs and just as they all sat, Hetty brought in some of the newly baked and decorated cookies with a pitcher of milk on a tray and walked around and handed everyone a cookie and a glass before setting the tray down and then filling each cup.
There was silence in the room and the ambient sounds of what was happening on the roof trickled down as they munched on their cookies.
“You’re making these as a fundraiser,” Kathryn asked.
“I don’t know. We are making as many as the two of us can,” Hetty interjected before Dottie could. “They’re very popular, we’re even getting advanced orders.”
“They are tasty,” Robert said. “But are they enough to save the museum?”
“Yes, but it won’t be something I can keep up with making while I run the museum and Hetty her diner,” Dottie said.
“Not to mention that the demand might lower after the holidays are over,” Amanda said. Then quickly qualifying as Hetty gave her a death stare, “Not to be negative, just stating the facts.”
“Well—” Dottie started but then was interrupted by a knock at the front door.
“That will be Frank,” Hetty said as she started for the entrance of the museum. “Come on in, Frank,” she said opening the door and letting him in. “We are all in here, she said motioning to the front room. Why don’t you come on in and tell us what you were telling me before?”
“Well,” Frank said has he walked in to the room, and then quickly removed his baseball cap to show manners, “Oh hey Mayor. Bob. Ladies,” he said acknowledging everyone with a nod. “Well, the roof needs work.”
Dottie let out a loud laugh. Everyone looked at her.
Frank continued, “but I don’t think it’s as bad as we previously thought. The whole north side looks like its sturdy and doesn’t have any issues.”
“But your man up there fell through and that hole isn’t going to be inexpensive,” Robert said.
“True. You’re right. But we were able to find some—” Frank was cut off as Joe walked down the stairway. A tension fell over the group. The kind where a celebrity suddenly appears in an unexpected place.
Dottie unaffected by the sensation. She stood up and felt a wash of relief, then ran over throwing her arms around him in a huge bear hug. “You’re loose! Are you hurt?” she pulled away and looked at him clinically.
As Hetty and Frank exchanged a look, Joe’s face turned crimson as he realized the front room was full of people.
“Oh, hey folks,” Joe waved at them. All of the board members stood stunned as they looked at Joe Thomas in the flesh.
Like a true politician, Mayor Santino crossed the room and shook Joe’s hand as Dottie stood a little too closely to Joe still assessing him.
“Welcome home, dear boy. We are so happy to have you back home in East Haddam, and in our prestigious museum,” the mayor oozed charm.
“I can’t believe it,” Robert said, and he ran across the room. “Mr. Thomas, I’m such a big fan. When you caught that high pop up in the sixth inning of the game with the Indians, I was holding my breath, but I knew you could—”
“My husband is a big fan—” Amanda chirped in.
“You are much more handsome in person,” Kathryn gushed.
“Please ignore my hair, with this rain it’s just a mess—” Amanda joined.
They all talked over each other, all trying to get Joe’s attention. He looked at Frank asking for assistance. Frank put his fingers up to his lips and gave a loud whistle. Silence fell.
“Now, Joe, was there something you wanted to tell us?” Frank asked.
“Um. Yeah. Sorry to interrupt your meeting,” Joe cleared his throat. He didn’t really like talking in front of a lot of people. He faked most of his post-game interviews. Most of the time everyone wanted to talk to the pitcher or the star hitter, so he ducked out of many. “When I got cut from the roof—”
A huge gasp filled the room, then all of the board members started speaking again at the same time.
“You were the one on the roof?”
“How long were you stuck?”
“Dottie, do you have the current insurance policy?”
“Son, you know the museum, nor the town have a lot of money. I hope you won’t sue—”
Another loud whistle came from Frank.
Joe looked at Dottie. He took the opportunity and said to her, “I think there is something you need to see.” He said taking her hand and pulled her up the stairs after him.
“Joe, we’re having a meeting,” Dottie protested as she gestured back to the faces below. Everyone watched them go, and Hetty and Frank shared another look and a smile.
“Joe, if the roof is that bad and we need to replace it, I just don’t know what to say. We have the museum board in today to talk about getting them to pitch in for a new roof. But as you heard the mayor say, the museum nor the town has the money. And if we’re closing at the end of this month, no one is going to want to pay to put a roof on the building—” Dottie stopped speaking when they reached the bottom of the pull-down ladder for the attic. She had always wanted to go up there when they were little. Hetty even dared her once. But her mother always told her never to go in the attic. When she was an adult and was here alone, she had pulled down the ladder a few times, climbed to the top of the steps and poked around the attic finding nothing. It was dark and was full of insulation.
“Want me to go first?” Joe asked, seeing the trepidation on Dottie’s face.
“Sure, I—”
Joe started up. “What are we going up there for, Joe?” Dottie asked.
“Just follow me,” he said excitedly.
When she reached the top, he held out his hands to help steady her the last few steps. “Only step on the beams or the boards laid out. I don’t want you falling through the roof.”
“Two of us doing that in one day doesn’t seem the best way to keep the bills for the museum down,” she said trying to make a joke. He gave her a short consolation laugh.
“Follow me,” he said masterfully balancing himself, and keeping a hand out for her to take. At first, she refused, but after taking a few unsure steps and almost falling off to the left, she grabbed Joe’s hand and let him safely lead her over to a far corner.
“I really don’t need to see the hole—”
“Here,” he said pointing a flashlight into the corner. She had to bend down as the
slope of the roof became shorter.
“Did you have to knock this down to get through?” she asked pointing at remnants of a short wall that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Yeah. I don’t know a ton about insulation, but it looks like this was put up to block the elements. From over at the pull-down door, you wouldn’t have noticed this, unless you got up really close,” he pointed. “But these are what I wanted to show you,” he said pointing his flashlight.
Leaning against the walls were a few dozen picture frames. They had been turned glass side to the wall. They didn’t reflect and Dottie couldn’t have seen them from only a glance around the attic. The first was covered with dust and she carefully turned it around to take a look at it. A man and a woman stood next to each other in a sepia toned photo. Dottie gasped as she took in the picture. She was in a drop waist dress that would be circa 1920s and held something in her hand. The man had his arm around her shoulders and was wearing a sweater vest with long socks and short pants that poofed like jodhpurs or old golf pants. Both were wearing school sweaters emblazoned with a large B on the chest. His arm was extended out to his side holding what looked like—
“A horseshoe?” Dottie asked the picture.
“Looks like it,” Joe said as he had come up to her side and shined the light over the photo.
Dottie reached for the next picture and she found a few at Gillette Castle, a few of people at the river, and a few of several people playing horseshoes. It looked like there was snow on the ground.
“I don’t remember hearing of winter horseshoes before,” Dottie said as if she were thinking out loud.
“My dad built a couple of indoor pits out in our barn. He liked to play the game to clear his head,” Joe said with a grunt as he picked up a box that was hidden under some of the frames. “There is also this,” he said starting to unfold the flaps. “Wow,” he said as he reached in. Dottie was still holding the snowy horseshoe photo, so she looked over her shoulder to see Joe holding up a paper bound book. He had cracked it and was carefully leafing through the pages. “It’s a Bacon High School yearbook from 1944. This is amazing. Look they even had a baseball team back then.”