The Promise of Home

by Darcie Chan

  “Before I do, maybe we should talk about what I’ll get in return,” he said.

  “What do you mean, what you’ll ‘get in return’?” Emily asked slowly. She put her hands on her hips and took a step back. “I thought you were doing me a favor.”

  “Oh, I am,” Matt said. “I was just thinking that maybe, in return, you’d be willing to let me buy you dinner sometime. Or lunch or coffee. Whatever you’d prefer. It doesn’t have to be anything big…I’d like to get to know you better.”

  Emily studied Matt’s face. His expression was relaxed but serious. There was no hint of a smile. Although his eyes still shone with a cheeky glimmer, she decided that this wasn’t a joke. “That’s sort of underhanded, don’t you think? Offering to help and then putting a condition on it? Especially a condition like that?” Emily struggled to keep her voice steady as she seesawed between feeling delighted by Matt’s interest and annoyed by his proposition. “Look, I’m not like most women. I’m very straightforward. I don’t like being manipulated or pressured into something. I don’t play games with people. And, I’m good with tools. The only reason I haven’t opened this briefcase myself is because I didn’t have what I needed. But now that I know what tools to get”—she glanced down at his kit—“I can easily order a set like that and open the damn thing myself.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Matt said quietly, still with the sparkle in his eyes. “The only reason I asked you out is because I suspected you are different than most women. And I’m sure you’ll be able to open this by yourself…eventually. It’ll take a little time for you to get a set of tools like these, though, and while you’re waiting for them to get here, you’ll be wondering what’s inside the case. I can tell you’re really curious about it. And even when you have the tools, like I said, the locks on this briefcase are old. You could break them easily if you don’t have experience opening locks. I’d hate for that to happen, since it belongs to your friend.”

  Matt’s tone was playful but sincere and not patronizing. Emily was torn. He was cute, definitely, but acknowledging that fact brought with it a huge wave of guilt and uncertainty. Plus, she hated having her prowess with tools called into question, and she had been completely caught off guard by his approach. Finally, her instinct to throw up a defensive wall won out.

  “I might’ve been interested in hanging out if you’d asked me straight up, without trying to coerce me. So, thanks, but no thanks. You can keep your sharp little tools. I can think of a few places they’d fit quite nicely.” She gently closed the case on his kit and pushed it toward him with a smile. “Have a nice day.”

  Before he could react, she picked up the briefcase and escaped to the back room. After a few moments, once she’d heard the bell on the door jingle, she peeked out to be sure that Matt had left. One of the store’s business cards was facedown on the counter with something written on the back. Grudgingly, Emily went to the register and picked up the card. There was a phone number scrawled on it, along with a short note: In case you change your mind.

  —

  Less than an hour after Kyle had dropped her off at her house, Claudia was headed out again. She carefully laid her plastic-covered wedding gown on the backseat of her car and drove the short distance to another house in town. Pauline Albury lived six blocks away, on the other side of Main Street. Claudia parked in the driveway of the neat two-story house. A colorful needlepoint sign in one of the windows read THE STITCHERY, and beneath that, a neon sign glowed in the shape of a scissor and the words TAILOR AND ALTERATIONS. She had just reached the porch with her gown draped across her arms and a bag containing her shoes looped over one wrist when the seamstress hurried out the front door to meet her.

  “Hello there, I’m Pauline. You must be Claudia. Here, let me help you with that.” Pauline held open the door and swooped an arm beneath the lower part of the gown to support it as Claudia carried it inside.

  “Thank you,” Claudia said once she was through the door. “It’s pretty bulky.”

  “Most of them are, dear. Let’s bring it over here, into the sewing room, that way,” Pauline said as she gestured toward a door leading from the foyer. “There’s a tall rack just inside here where we can hang it.”

  They entered a large carpeted room that looked like a newer addition to the house. Once Claudia had heaved the dress up onto the rack Pauline had mentioned, she took a look around the room and smiled. It was a cozy sewing heaven.

  The rack was to her left and positioned next to a good-sized fitting booth with a curtain that could be pulled across for privacy. Beyond that, in the corner of the room, were some steps leading up to a small platform and a three-way mirror. Shelves filled with bolts of fabric and packages of quilt batting took up the other corner. A plush-looking sofa was pushed up against the wall opposite her, beneath a window that was slightly raised to allow in some fresh air. To her right were a long quilting machine and a sturdy-looking sewing machine. On the wall above the sewing machine, a rack held dozens of spools of thread in every color imaginable.

  Pauline’s friendly demeanor and comfortable appearance coordinated perfectly with her work environment. She had a kind, smiling face and gray hair that she wore pulled back in a loose bun. A full work apron was looped around her neck and tied in back at her waist, and a pair of reading glasses hung from a silver chain against the top of the apron.

  “What a nice place you have here,” Claudia said. “It doesn’t look too big from the outside, but once you’re in here, wow. It seems like you’ve got everything you need to sew anything.”

  “You’re right, I do,” Pauline said with a proud little grin. “You said on the phone that Josie DiSanti told you about me?”

  “Yes. She’s my landlady, and as soon as she heard I was getting married, she mentioned you and how your work was always perfect.”

  A little color crept into Pauline’s cheeks at the compliment. “How sweet of her! I’ve done tailoring for Josie for a long time. And I’ve done lots and lots of wedding dresses for young ladies in town. Now, let’s get you into your gown, and we’ll see what needs to be done.”

  When Claudia emerged from the dressing room, Pauline clasped her hands and sighed. “That is a gorgeous dress. Where did you buy it?” She stepped forward to help Claudia fasten the row of buttons that ran up the back of the bodice.

  “You might not believe it,” Claudia said. She was holding up the long skirt, looking down at the low-heeled dress shoes she wore. “I found a place online that had some gowns on final clearance, and they had this one in my size. Except it’s too long, and it’s a little saggy around my shoulders.”

  “It’s loose here in back, too. But all those things are easily fixed. Could you come up here for me?”

  Claudia stepped carefully up on the platform in front of the three-way mirror. “How long have you had your shop here?”

  “Oh, about fifteen years,” Pauline said. “Just stand nice and straight, now, so I can measure for the hem.” She was crouched down at Claudia’s feet, moving slowly around the bottom of the skirt and pinning it so that it ended just above the floor. Pauline looked as though she was in her midsixties, at least, and Claudia was impressed at how lithe she was and how quickly her nimble hands placed silver pins in the shimmering satin. “I’ve always worked out of my home—lots of people in Mill River do. You know how it is in a small town like this. If your stove is broken or your pipes are leaking, there’s always someone who knows how to take care of it, even if they don’t have an actual storefront. You’ve just got to ask around to find out whom to call.”

  “Yes, or you hear about the person from somebody else in town.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t always have such a nice setup. I had to build up my business and save until I had enough to add on this sewing studio. It took a while, but it was worth it.”

  “Well, I’m glad I found you. I figured I’d need alterations for this dress, since I ordered it without trying it on. The price was great, though, a
nd Kyle and I are trying to stick to a budget. We feel like we should pay for our wedding ourselves, but teachers and police officers don’t make all that much.”

  “Oh, I know,” Pauline said. “It’s just not fair, if you ask me. Teachers and police and so many others with important jobs should make a lot more than they do. Your fiancé’s Kyle Hansen, you said? He’s only lived in Mill River a few years. How did you two meet?”

  “He came to my classroom to talk to my students about what police officers do,” Claudia replied. “And I chatted with him afterward, since his daughter was in my class at the time.”

  “Um-hmm, just a little meeting like that’s all it takes sometimes. He’s quite a catch, that fellow. Everybody in town knows he’s a real gentleman. All right, let me see if it’s even.”

  Pauline had finished a complete circle around the skirt. The seamstress got to her feet and stepped back to inspect the future hemline. Tickled by her praise of Kyle, Claudia was about to gush something else about him, but when she looked at Pauline, she forgot what she was going to say.

  There were at least half a dozen silver pins protruding from the part of the apron covering Pauline’s left breast.

  “That’s pretty good,” Pauline muttered as she walked around Claudia, staring down at the pinned skirt. “Could you turn slowly in a circle?” When Claudia didn’t respond, she glanced up. “Honey, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen something awful.”

  “Pauline,” Claudia gasped, “your…pins. Doesn’t that hurt?”

  The seamstress followed her gaze. When Pauline realized what had alarmed Claudia, she let out a cackle and reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m used to everyone already knowing…I don’t have a real bosom on this side anymore, just a foam falsie. See?” She poked the area surrounding the pins to demonstrate its softness. “I had breast cancer and a mastectomy twenty-two years ago. I could’ve had a reconstruction, but it seemed like such a grueling process. Plus, the implants back then weren’t great. The saline ones leaked, and I didn’t want anything with that silicone chemical going into my body. So, I decided to stay with my falsie. Bob…my husband…always told me he’d love me the same whether I had one boob or two, or none, and he has, for all these years. Besides, it makes a real handy pincushion.”

  Claudia relaxed. Even though she was astounded by Pauline’s candor, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Obviously. Sounds like your Bob is a pretty good catch, too. How long have you been married?”

  “Going on forty-seven years. We were high school sweethearts. We got married at St. John’s a few years after we graduated. Father O’Brien said our wedding Mass all those years ago.”

  “I love hearing stories like that,” Claudia said. “Father O’Brien is going to marry us as well, so maybe that’ll help our marriage be as long and happy as yours. You wouldn’t have any advice for a bride-to-be, would you?”

  “Funny you should ask. I like to give all my wedding clients a little advice with each fitting. Hold your arm out for me, would you, dear?” Claudia extended her left arm, and the seamstress stepped closer, gently pulling up the fabric of the gown on her left shoulder and upper arm, trying to determine how much the material needed to be taken in. Pauline’s eyes sparkled, and a tiny smile puckered the corners of her mouth as she began pinning the material.

  “I’ve seen that look before,” Claudia said. “It’s exactly how a few of my students look right before they say something a little bit naughty.”

  Pauline chuckled. “I was thinking how some of my best advice fits with the little surprise I gave you,” she said with a glance down at her chest. “And that is for you to always be truthful to Kyle, and for him to be truthful to you. Falsehoods and little white lies never lead to anything good. And be careful when you decide what’s false and what isn’t. Sometimes things and even people aren’t what they seem.”

  —

  Late Sunday afternoon, Emily sat on the staircase in the McAllister mansion with the briefcase on her lap. Before closing Turner’s for the day, she had called the Home Depot in Rutland. Unfortunately and somewhat surprisingly, like the little hardware store where she worked, it had no lock-pick sets in stock. She was set on opening the case, though, particularly after her encounter with Matt. Despite the fact that she had three new pedestal sinks to install in various bathrooms, despite the painting of the recently installed drywall that needed to be done, she had been tinkering with the briefcase for the better part of an hour.

  Her toolbox sat open on the floor, where a hammer and a chisel tempted her from the top tray. I could just break it open and tell Ruth I found it that way, she thought. But she resisted. In addition to her love of all things old and vintage, she had always hated dishonesty. It made her feel fake and ashamed to lie about anything. Even her decision to delay telling Ruth about the briefcase was beginning to weigh on her, so outright lying to her employer and longtime family friend was out of the question.

  Emily sighed and stared at the briefcase balanced across her knees. If she ordered a lock-pick kit online, she would probably receive it within a week, possibly sooner with expedited shipping. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the card Matt had left for her. Maybe she shouldn’t have rebuffed him. She could have squelched her indecision, batted her eyelashes, and accepted his terms. If she had, she would have already found out what was in the briefcase, and she might have a date scheduled as well—what would have been her first date in years. Given the fact that she was on pins and needles about the contents of an old briefcase, she probably needed a date. Or something exciting.

  For a few minutes, Emily turned the card around and around in her hands, thinking. Then she set the briefcase on one of the steps and stood up. In one corner of the room was a trash bag into which she had been putting used sandpaper and other refuse generated from her renovations. She ripped the business card into tiny pieces and added them to the bag. I’ll just order the lock-pick kit through Turner’s and wait for it to arrive, she thought. In the meantime, there was work to be done.

  Emily was in an upstairs bathroom, hooking up the pipes to one of the new pedestal sinks, when she heard a man’s voice calling to her from the back door in the kitchen. Still holding a large pipe wrench, she hurried downstairs to find Matt in the doorway.

  “How did you find me?” she asked as he stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. She noticed that he held the lock-pick kit in one hand.

  “I went by your house, looking for you. Your aunt was on her front porch across the street and told me you were up here working.” He spoke quickly, the words tumbling out. “Look,” he said, “I feel bad about what I said earlier. It was pretty assholish of me to condition my helping you on a date. I don’t know what I was trying to do—be funny, I guess—but the more I thought about it afterward, the more I realized what a dumb move that was.”

  Emily squinted at him, trying to believe what she was hearing. When she remained silent, Matt hurriedly continued. “I’d be happy to open the briefcase for you. No strings or conditions.”

  Silently, she looked at him for a few moments longer and then shrugged. “Fine. I’ve got it in here.” She turned and led him toward the staircase in the great hall.

  Matt was all business as he sat down on the stairs and placed the briefcase across his lap, as Emily had positioned it earlier. While she watched with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, he opened the lock-pick kit and selected a thin instrument with a long L-shape bend at the tip. He inserted the instrument into one of the locks on the briefcase and tried to turn it gently one way and then the other. While keeping pressure on the first instrument, he took a second one from the kit, a long thin tool with a slight hook, and inserted it as well. He drew the second instrument forward slowly, listening as he did so. When the second tool was almost completely removed from the keyhole, he turned the L-shaped instrument a little harder. The lock opened with a sharp click. “One down, one to go,” he said.

  “
So you need two at the same time,” Emily said, more to herself than to Matt. He heard, though, and nodded as he worked on the second lock.

  “Usually. Most simple locks like these have pins of different lengths that come down and keep the plug—this middle-cylinder part of the lock—from turning. A key cut to reflect the lengths of those pins aligns them to allow the cylinder to rotate and unlock. If you don’t have the correct key, you use a tension wrench—the one shaped like a long L—to figure out which way the lock turns and then keep some torque on it while you push the pins up with your pick. Doing that lines up all the pins, just like a key would, except a pick does it one pin at a time. Once all the pins are up and out of the way, the internal cylinder is free to turn, and—voilà!” As he applied pressure to the tension wrench again, the second lock opened.

  “Wow,” Emily said. It wasn’t every day that she learned something completely new about tool use, and she had seen enough master carpenters and craftsmen at work to recognize genuine expertise. Matt clearly knew what he was doing, and she was impressed.

  He placed the lock-pick tools safely back inside their case and stood to hold the unlocked briefcase out to her. “I assume you’ll want some privacy when you open it,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she accepted the briefcase.

  “No problem. And again, I’m sorry about this morning.”

  Emily nodded, but she was no longer annoyed with him or focused on what he was saying to her. Her heart pounding in anticipation, she waited until she heard the back door close before she moved. Once she was sure he was gone, she glanced around the great hall, settling her gaze on a sofa draped in a white dustcover. She had already sat for a long time on the hard wooden stairs, and if she was going to park herself somewhere for another good while, it would be on something soft.

  She placed the briefcase on one of the cushions and took a seat beside it. Carefully, she positioned her hands on the two smooth leather corners of the lid and steadily raised it up.