Sins and Needles

by Monica Ferris

  “No, that’s a Martin Sharp. He was a lot edgier than Peter Max.”

  “They don’t exactly go with the décor of this room,” noted Lexie. “Are these your posters, Aunt Susan? You’re from that era.”

  “No, when these were popular I was an old married woman with two children and not coming out here to stay any more,” said Susan.

  “Mom, are these yours?” asked Ronnie.

  “No, I never had a room out here,” said Jan, who remembered that era from an early-teen perspective. “Besides, I was in elementary school when Jimi Hendrix was huge.” She looked at the posters again. “These must have been bought by Aunt Edyth. I guess she was wilder than we knew.”

  “Naw!” growled Jason. “Aunt Edyth was never wild!”

  But Susan, remembering Aunt Edyth’s motorcycling days, smiled. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said.

  Ronnie said, “Can I have this?” He was touching the narrow frame of the Martin Sharp poster.

  Jan said, surprised, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I like it. I like it better than anything else we’ve seen in this whole house.”

  Stewart said, “You have an eye, my boy. Those posters are worth about two grand apiece.”

  They all turned to stare at him. “How do you know that?” asked Susan, narrowing her eyes at him.

  “Because I looked it up,” he said smugly. “I was out here a few weeks ago, helping out around the place—you know that. I’ve told you all that—and I came in here and saw them, and I was kind of surprised, but I figured she had them for a reason, and I checked them out on the Internet.”

  “Uncle Stewart, you never fail to amaze me,” said Jason. “I bet you’ve looked up a lot of things from this house on the Internet.”

  “I resent that,” Stewart said with a frosty glare, but Jason merely met it with a look of his own. To everyone’s surprise, Stewart backed down first. “Oh, what the hell. All right, I looked up a few things. If I was to choose the most valuable thing in the house, it would probably be that bed in the front bedroom. It’s worth close to a hundred thousand dollars.”

  There was a collective gasp, then Susan demanded, “So why didn’t you—”

  “Because if I did, and you found out its value, you’d be all over me for a gold digger, that’s why! So I made up my mind that I’d pick something I liked.”

  “Well, we’re about done going through the house. What do you want? What’s your choice?”

  “I don’t know. I want to think about it.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s go eat.”

  “But we haven’t looked in the attic yet,” said Jan. “From what we’ve seen down here, there are probably some amazing things in the attic.”

  “Have you ever been up there?” asked Katie.

  “Well, no.”

  “I bet it’s hot, and dusty, and full of discards,” said Katie. “I agree with Dad. I think we should eat lunch, then tackle the attic.”

  But Susan said, “I think we should at least take a quick look. Not more than ten minutes. If Katie is right, then we won’t have to come back.”

  Everyone sighed but followed as Stewart led the way to the back bedroom, where the let-down ladder to the attic was hidden in the ceiling of the closet.

  “How did you know about this?” demanded Susan.

  “Aunt Edyth sent me up there with a broken rocking chair a few months ago.”

  “I suppose you took the opportunity to look around there, too?” suggested Susan heavily.

  “Oh, yeah, naturally. But I didn’t see anything interesting. Of course, I wasn’t really looking.” He gave her a wide grin, and went first up the ladder.

  Stewart fumbled around for a couple of minutes, muttering to himself, before he found the switch. Three 40-watt bulbs came on, casting a gloomy light down the center of the long, broad, but low-ceilinged attic. The air was still, dusty-smelling, and very hot.

  In the middle of the room were three big chests made of rough boards gone gray with age, a female dress form distorted in the way a severe corset deformed a woman’s torso in the late nineteenth century, suitcases, a free-standing oval mirror with a crack across the bottom, an oddment of mismatched chairs, and a rocking chair whose wicker seat had been worn through.

  “See?” said Stewart. “Nothing of interest up here.”

  But Susan didn’t like being told “See?” and so she went determinedly to the nearest wooden box and lifted the lid. Inside were neatly folded cloth winter coats and out-of-fashion wool dresses and suits, all smelling strongly of camphor. Undaunted, Susan dropped the lid and went to the second box. Inside were hats, lots of hats, some with feathers. She picked up a particularly large purple one with ostrich plumes drooping off one side of its brim. She made an exclamation of pleasure and went to the mirror to try it on. She turned this way and that, by turns mugging and serious. The hat, while ridiculous, was also magnificent and gave her a certain air.

  “Let me try it!” demanded CeeCee, dropping the golf club she’d found back in a corner.

  “Get your own hat,” said Susan, though not without affection.

  CeeCee hurried to the box. “Whoa, there’s a whole lotta hats in here!” She came up with a bright yellow brimless one decorated with a red bow. She tried it with the bow in front, in back, and to the side, then tossed it aside for an ice blue cloche with a tarnished silver stripe running front to back. Susan traded the purple for the yellow, and Jan came to select a cone-shaped hat entirely covered with a pheasant’s breast feathers. Bernie came to try on the purple hat, and soon everyone was laughing and handing hats around. Even the quiet Perry was persuaded to try on a big straw picture hat with a plaid ribbon band.

  “Oh, Mama, look at this!” It was CeeCee, who had quickly become bored with hats and gone off to throw back the top of the third chest. It was full of dolls, teddy bears, and books.

  “Oh, I remember some of these!” exclaimed Susan, coming to look. She was wearing a black felt hat ornamented with what looked like a cardinal’s wing. “This old chest was in the nursery when I was a child. Look, here’s Old Stiffy!” She held up a worn teddy bear with long arms and legs.

  “May I see it?” asked Jan. She took it with her to stand under the nearest lightbulb. “Look, it has a button in its ear—it’s a real Steiff!”

  “What’s a Steiff?” asked Lexie, coming to look at the bear.

  “It’s a German manufacturer, very famous. If this bear is as old as it looks, it’s worth a lot of money.”

  “It is?” That was Stewart, coming for a look. “How much?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly thousands of dollars.”

  “It was an old bear when I was a child,” said Susan.

  “Wow, all that money for a funny-looking old bear!” said Bernie.

  “Ma-ma!” said a new, high-pitched voice. They turned to see CeeCee holding a baby doll in a drop-waist dress and golden long curls. The doll was bowing deeply over CeeCee’s forearm, and when CeeCee made it bow again, it repeated the sound.

  “Isn’t this cute?” she said. “I love her dress.”

  “And look at it,” said Jan, taking it from her. “It looks brand new.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t in the toy chest when it was downstairs,” said Susan. “It must’ve been Aunt Edyth’s,” she continued. “Bought for her before her parents discovered she didn’t like to play with dolls.”

  “Why not?” asked Bernie, coming to take the doll from CeeCee. “I mean, I know she didn’t like men, but this is a girl doll.”

  “Because playing with dolls is how little girls practice to be mothers,” said Susan. “And Aunt Edyth wasn’t going to have any children, because she didn’t want to get married.”

  “Poor thing,” said Katie, touching her belly tenderly.

  “Look, a wedding dress for the doll!” said CeeCee, holding up a long white garment heavily ornamented with tucks and lace. The dress was split vertically in several places.

  “I don�
�t remember that, either,” said Susan. “May I see it?” CeeCee handed it over. “This is very old silk—see how it’s split? That’s called shattering.” She held the dress up to the dim light overhead. “But isn’t it lovely? Oh, that lace! CeeCee, this dress is older than that doll, I think. And it’s not a wedding dress. It looks more like a christening gown.”

  “What’s a christening gown?”

  “It’s like the beautiful dress you wore when you were baptized. You’ve seen that picture of yourself in it.”

  “Oh, yes! Did they baptize dolls back in the olden days?”

  “No, darling. But they sometimes dressed baby dolls in fancy clothes to make them even prettier. Is there another baby doll in there?”

  CeeCee obediently rummaged in the box. She found a jack-in-the-box, a flat basketball, more books, a Raggedy Ann doll with a torn apron and hardly any hair, a child-size baseball bat, but not another baby doll.

  “Maybe it got broken,” suggested Katie.

  “Yes, that’s probably what happened,” agreed Jan, speaking heartily. She was impatient now for lunch. “Dolls back then had china heads or even papier-mâché and were easily broken.”

  “Can we go to lunch now?” asked Stewart plaintively.

  “Yes, yes, let’s go eat!” agreed Ronnie.

  The vote was carried by everyone’s feet, as they turned nearly in unison to march down the steep, narrow staircase that led out of the attic.

  Twelve

  LUNCH was a picnic on the grounds. Jan, Susan, and Terri each had brought an ice chest and a basket or shopping bag. Cold roast chicken, potato salad, cherry tomatoes, lime Jello with diced celery suspended in it, half a ham, a plate of smoked salmon, wheat crackers, bread and rolls, lemonade, beer, wine, and a couple of pies were brought out of the ice chests; three kinds of plastic tableware, paper napkins, a chess set and a Frisbee came out of the basket and bags.

  “The basement is all but empty,” said Stewart. “Nothing down there but an empty freezer chest and a furnace that’ll need to be replaced.”

  “Is there any room in that house you haven’t gone poking into?” demanded Susan.

  Stewart’s helpless grimace told her the truth before he could deny it. So he got defensive. “Well, so what? I’m nosy. Everyone knows that. I didn’t take anything, I just looked.”

  “And valued a few things here and there,” said Jan, dryly.

  He smiled at her. “Yes, I did. What’s the use of looking if you don’t know what you’re looking at? It’s another part of being nosy. I suppose you never looked around when you visited out here.”

  Jan said, “Of course I looked, but only at what Aunt Edyth invited me to look at.”

  “She never invited me to look at anything,” he said, “so I guess you can’t blame me for showing some initiative and looking for myself.”

  Susan sighed heavily, but Jan said, as she had on many similar occasions, “Now, Mother.” She continued, “Besides, I might have ducked into the library on occasion, just to find something to read while she took her after-lunch nap.” Jan had only done that once—but Jan liked Uncle Stewart.

  Stewart smiled and winked at her.

  “Are we done looking at things?” asked Jason.

  “No, there’s the garage and that big shed out back,” said Susan.

  “Do we hafta?” whined CeeCee. “Everyone’s picked what they want, haven’t they? I’m supposed to go swimming with Natalie and Abbey this afternoon.”

  “Yes, we ‘hafta,’” said Susan. “For one thing, we need to give your father a chance to make up his mind what he wants before we leave.”

  “Do I have to say what I want today?” asked Stewart, surprised.

  “Yes, you do,” said Susan. “The executrix wants to get started setting up an estate sale.”

  “‘Two executors and a steward make three thieves,’” quoted Jason.

  “What?” barked Stewart indignantly, and Susan laughed.

  “It’s just an old saying, Uncle Stew,” soothed Jason. “I learned it in law school. Dates to Chaucer’s time, if not earlier. A steward—and your name is, in fact, a corruption of that title—functioned like a foreman on a ranch, except the steward ran a lord’s estate. Or served a king over the whole kingdom. It was pretty much expected that these people would help themselves if they could.”

  “Do you think Marcia Weiner is a crook?” asked Katie.

  “No, of course not. I was just making a joke.”

  “Not a very funny one,” said Hugs, frowning at him.

  “I apologize. Now, can we go look at the garage?”

  “You all go ahead,” said Susan. “Jan and I will pack up here.”

  “I’ll help,” said Terri.

  “Thank you, by the way,” said Jason, “for a really excellent picnic.”

  There was a guilty chorus of agreement from everyone who had forgotten his or her manners as they set off for the garage.

  It was a lovely day, with temperatures in the midseventies, low humidity, and light breezes to make the flowers bob and the trees whisper. Jan, Terri, and Susan worked quickly, putting leftovers back in the ice chests or garbage and putting paper plates and plastic utensils into tall white plastic bags that Susan had brought.

  “I’m glad one of us had the sense to bring these,” said Terri, stuffing a wad of used paper napkins into a bag.

  “Mother,” Jan said, “why are you so down on Uncle Stewart? I mean, more even than normally?”

  “Because he’s up to something, I just know it,” she replied.

  Terri bristled. “Susan, you always think Stewart’s up to something.”

  “That’s because he generally is,” she replied without rancor.

  “He is not!”

  “Hush, both of you,” said Jan. “Uncle Stewart is just being himself, partly because he can’t help it—and partly, Mother, because he knows it annoys you no end.”

  Terri laughed. “You are undoubtedly right,” she said.

  “Well…” grumbled Susan. “All right, he’s getting my goat, and he knows it.”

  “So just ignore him,” advised Jan. “There, are we done?” She looked around.

  “Looks like it,” said Terri. “Where are they? In the garage still?”

  “Yes,” said Jan. “Come on, let’s see what they’ve found.”

  They walked around the side of the house to the small wooden garage with its twin, pull-open doors. CeeCee was sitting behind the wheel of a huge Cadillac probably thirty-five years old, deep blue in color, with one flat tire. The roof and hood were coated with dust and bird doo. “Honk, honk!” she shouted, and then the rich sound of the horn really sounded. She squeaked in alarm and got out. “Sorry,” she said.

  “That’s all right, hon,” said Jason, grinning.

  “Must be some life in the old battery yet,” said Stewart.

  “Want to claim it, Stew?” asked Susan as she approached with Jan and Terri.

  “Naw,” he said. “But take a look at what’s right here beside it.” He edged in sideways and pulled an ancient tarp off something leaning against the wall.

  “It’s a motorcycle!” exclaimed Bernie. She turned to her Aunt Susan, grinning with excitement. “Is this the one Aunt Edyth rode on?”

  “Why, yes, it is. She must have kept it out of nostalgia.”

  Stewart supported the old machine by holding on to its handlebars, straddling the front wheel. Both tires were flat. It was painted a khaki color and had a large headlamp front and center.

  Jason approached, whistling in appreciation. “My God, it’s an Indian!” He came for a closer look, rubbing dirt off the gas tank. “I wonder if we could get it started.”

  “Don’t even try!” said his mother. “It would probably catch fire and burn you to a crisp!”

  “That’s my mom!” said Jason, laughing. “Still—” On the right handlebar was a cylindrical object with a stem on top of it. He reached out impulsively and pushed down on the stem. It resisted, then moved in
jerky stages, emitting a kind of crunching sound. He kept working it, pulling it up and pushing it down, and as the movement smoothed out, the crunch became a kind of rough bark or growl.

  “Stop it. You’re breaking it!” scolded Jan.

  “No, he’s not,” said Susan. “That’s the sound it’s supposed to make. It’s instead of a bell or horn.”

  “Too weird!” said Katie.

  “Enough, enough!” ordered Stewart, who was standing right over it. Jason obeyed, stepping back, but he still was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Can I change my mind?” he asked.

  “What, you want that old thing?” asked Susan.

  “Sure, it’s worth more than the Cadillac, probably more than the Hemingway book.”

  “You’re kidding, Jason,” said Katie, looking askance at the rusty, oily object.

  “No, he’s not,” said Hugs. “The Cadillac isn’t nearly as old as the motorcycle, and old Indians are very valuable.”

  “Aunt Edyth rode that thing until she was fifty years old,” Susan said. “She had a World War I pilot’s leather helmet and goggles and didn’t give”—she raised her hand and snapped her fingers—“what anyone thought of her. She could go pretty fast, too.” Susan was smiling in remembrance.

  Jan said, “I think Stewart should have first refusal, since he hasn’t claimed anything yet.”

  Stewart looked the motorcycle over with interest—he was pretty good with old engines—then shook his head. “I’d be scared to ride it. You take it, Jason.”

  But Jason was having second thoughts. “Tell you what, Ron, you give the poster back and take this instead, and I’ll help you restore it.”

  “You will do no such thing,” said Jan, in words that had thorns and icicles all over them.

  Ronnie rolled his eyes and gave a big, helpless shrug.

  “Oh, all right, never mind. I’ll take the bike anyway.” And he looked fondly at the ancient motorcycle.

  Susan sighed. “Well, on to the last place we have to look through.”

  The shed at the back of the property probably had started life as a two-horse stable. Its double doors were the Dutch kind, with top and bottom halves that can open separately. Hugs saw that the padlock had been left unfastened. He pulled the top half of one door open.