Boxed In(10)
“That’s right,” said Peggy. “It would be embarrassing to get it wrong.”
Stella nodded. “I would suggest the Abbe Museum in Bar Harbor. They have put together an impressive collection of Maine American Indian history, art, culture, and archaeology.”
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Peggy grinned.
“Road trip!” The Hook and Needle Club answered in unison.
“I’ll ask as soon as I get back to work about switching my days so I can go to Bar Harbor.” Peggy gathered her things and stood up. “And I better get back to start buttering up the boss.”
“Hey, for once we’re investigating something other than one of Annie’s mysteries!” Alice observed.
“Give her time.” Kate winked. “She just got back into town.” Laughter danced around the shop.
“The only two mysteries I’m working on for the foreseeable future are what crochet item I’m going to craft for the Harvest project and how to ready Grey Gables for two Texas cyclones named John and Joanna,” Annie reassured them. “I’m starting on the second one as soon as I get home.”
And she did.
4
Annie tightened the red bandanna that covered her hair as she gazed around the attic, that was brightened by the early afternoon sun. “Boots, where in this wild pandemonium of Gram’s curiosities should I start?” Sitting at Annie’s feet, Boots raised a dainty white paw for a quick clean. “Why are you bothering? You’re going to pick up a lot of dust, if you stay up here long.” She chuckled as Boots gently set the paw down, only to raise another one for similar treatment. “Fine, go ahead. It’s your saliva.” Annie’s eyes again wandered from pile to pile. “How I wish this attic was as easy to tidy as your paws.”
She decided to start by pinpointing the areas that seemed most likely to collapse under the impact of curious children. Some of the stacks appeared to defy gravity, forming shapes that would have impressed Solomon Guggenheim. Annie almost felt guilty to be modifying the delicate balances, but the safety of John and Joanna came first. She dove right in, disassembling and repositioning the first pile of objects which included a wire birdcage, an ancient camera tripod, and a tramp-art wall mirror with cracked glass. The pile was as tall as Annie.
That possible avalanche diverted, Annie moved on to her right, clapping dust off her hands. “Next time I come up, a dozen microfiber dust cloths are coming with me!” The next hulking silhouette belonged to a wooden rack with four shelves. The color of the oak wood whispered familiarity to Annie.
“Where have I seen you?” Annie’s head tilted to one side in contemplation. “Ah! The kitchen, of course!” She lifted a flap of old linens draping over the side of the second shelf from the top. Embossed in black were the words: Dresden Bakers Company, ME, 1912. Annie pictured in her mind’s eye that same shelf and the one above it filled with jars of home-canned goodness. When Annie first arrived each summer, she was greeted by the last two jars of rose-hip jelly. Betsy always made sure to save them for her granddaughter to savor on toast during the summer. In the last week before Annie had to return home for school in Texas, Annie and Betsy would pick the first batch of rose hips and make jelly.
Annie ran her fingers lightly along the wood, feeling as though she’d just found a long-lost friend. It had been years since the taste of rose-hip jelly had touched her tongue, but she could still taste the tangy sweetness. Like cheery sheep, beach roses ranged along the hill outside Grey Gables to the rocky shore. She realized it would only be a couple of weeks before the rose hips would be ripe enough for picking. The desire to introduce her grandchildren to that flavor of her own childhood charmed her.
“Now, Gram, I just have to figure out where you put the recipe.” Annie’s murmur had a rueful note to it. She knew that just because recipes would generally be thought of as a kitchen item didn’t mean Betsy stored them there. At one time, books on cooking, gardening, and homesteading had lined the bottom shelf of the baker’s rack, balancing the weight of the army of jars above. Now boxes of veterinarian tools and supplies that belonged to Annie’s grandfather lay there instead.
The more she thought, the more she wanted to bring the baker’s rack back to its former place in the large kitchen. While she might not fill the shelves with as many varieties of canned vegetables, Annie was determined to make a good showing of rose-hip jelly. The first step was to make sure the piece was still sturdy or if it was in need of repair. After making a visual check to ensure there weren’t any glass items on the shelves, she placed her hands on either side of the rack. The shake from side to side told her the maker of the rack had built it to last.