Remember When ? - Chpt 2

 

Chapter 2

 

    "Sign here please," he instructed.

    "Here we are then," she said happily, scribbling quickly across the paper, sending the young man on his way.

    "I thought everything had arrived already... I didn't know you still had stuff coming," I said with a touch of concern.

    "Just a few more things, glassware mostly," she returned with equal concern. 

    Cautiously, she slipped a knife into the top flap, freeing it from the tape that held it in place.

    "I'm afraid to ask.  What is it?"

    "A tea pot?" she questioned, sounding more surprised than I, lifting it from the carton to inspect it.

    "Did you order a tea pot?" I asked.

    "No, I don't think so," She returned.

    "Where did it come from?"

    "I don't know," she said, setting it down to search the carton.

    Styrofoam peanuts tumbled everywhere as her hand turned repeatedly inside the box, searching for anything that would give us a clue to its origin.

    "Ahh, here we go," she said removing a small red envelope.  "It's from Ann," she said, reading the accompanying card.

    "Your mom's friend, Ann?  The crazy one?"

    "One in the same," she returned.

    "Why would she send you a tea pot?"

    "She says it belonged to mother and that she wanted me to have it... says it was mother's prized possession," Valerie said, examining the vessel closely.

    "I didn't know your mother collected tea pots."

    "Neither did I," she said solemnly.

    "It's a dreadful looking old thing," I offered lightly.

    A part of me was concerned that its arrival would open doors to the past better left closed.

   "Not too dreadful.  I can kind of see its appeal," she said, turning it left and right, trying to find the 'pretty side.'

    Almost as large as a soup tureen, it was a dark, multicolored ceramic with an image of daily oriental life produced in relief along its sides. 

    "I have just the place for it," she said after a long pause.

    She made her way to the center of the dining room, setting the tea pot on the a shelf formed by the backs of three seats coming together.

    "It looks nice," I lied.

    "I think so too," she said, turning her back to the object.

    Valerie had been an stoppable ball of energy from the moment she and Bob Landers hammered out an agreement for the sale of the building.

    The structure I wouldn't have given a plug nickel for a short three months before was now a paragon of her drive and personal vision.

    The rotted floors were now covered with a new, shiny vinyl.  Two colors  to be exact.  A fresh, sparkling beige, fawn skin, I think they called it, with small, random, dark blue dots with a matching twelve inch border.  The walls, repaired better than new, had been painted a pale yellow.  A double, chrome chair rail held a soft blue detail strip around the dining room, the same color used to accent the booths.

    A rich, cinnamon brown wood paneling covered the west wall.  Hung there, dozens of pictures from our boys youth as well as a few black and white favorites from Valerie's childhood.  

    The front window, rebuilt from scratch, held the name of the restaurant, REMEMBER WHEN, constructed from stain glass,  and best of all, a whole new electric system.

    "Please tell me you didn't hire her," I pleaded, peering out the front window.

    "Gertrude?" Valerie asked, following my gaze.  "Of course I did.  Why would you ask?"

    "Dearheart," I struggled for a moment to find the right words.  "Don't you think she's... a little, you know."

    "Oh, hon, there is nothing little about Gertrude," Valerie teased, arranging plates and glass in a display cabinet.

    Truer words were never spoken.  Gertrude Oberdorf stood well over six foot six with shoulders as wide as any football player and hands so large they dwarfed mine by a power of two.

    For reasons I never understood, she and Valerie had been steadfast friends since junior high.  I had never seen her dressed in anything more fancy than a dull blue sack dress.  She either had only one and washed it nightly or a closet full of the exact same thing.

    With the lone exception of her beautiful, long blond hair, always worn up and perfect skin, she was simply a very large, plain, ordinary German woman.

    "I'm serious.  Do you really think she will be good for business?"

    "It's not a matter of her being good for business.  Its that the business will be good for her," she admonished lightly, waving  an accusatory finger in my face.

    "Dearheart," I began in earnest, looking quickly over my shoulder before Gertrude could enter the building.

    "Gertie," my wife called meeting her at the door.

    The woman stood stiffly, almost at attention just inside.  In her hand a small black duffel bag.

    "I missed you," my wife gushed, throwing her arms around her friend.

    Gertrude made no move in response but simply patted my wife on the back with a lack luster attempt at affection.

    "How was your sister?" Valerie asked unconcerned by her reaction.

    "Sister is good," Gertrude said flatly.

    "And the baby?"

    "Is like all German babies, perfect," she offered seriously, looking the place over.

    "Well, what do you think?" Valerie asked gesturing to the surroundings.

    "Looks like 1962 again," she said with a disapproving tone.

    "Thank you Gertie.  That's the nicest thing you've ever said," my wife gushed, hugging her again.

    "Strudel?" Gertrude asked.

    "We don't open until tomorrow," Valerie explained, disappointedly.

    "Half batch then?" Gertrude countered.

    "I'll make some coffee," my wife agreed happily.

    I was totally bewildered.  I had never witnessed anything more emotional between them beyond what had just taken place.  They were always the same... my wife giddy with Gertie's presence and Gertie devoid of any true reaction...  unmoved in any manner.

    "Bean counter," Gertie said, addressing me with a slight nod as she followed Valerie to the kitchen.

    "Looking good, Bruce," I returned, bowing politely.  It had become our little tit-for-tat over the past forty years.   She didn't like me and I didn't like her.

    She gave me a quick, sour expression over her shoulder, sticking her tongue out quickly.

    Reluctantly, I followed along behind them.

    Gertie tossed her bag on the counter, opening it. 

    While I hadn't expected it to be filled with lingerie, I did think she carried some form of personal item but I was wrong.

    She rummaged around for a moment and then, pulled out an old, well used, wooden rolling pin.  To my surprise, a large knife, a whisk, and several other stainless steel items followed,  all lined up in a nice, neat, straight line. 

    "Flour," Gertie ordered, holding her hands in the air like a surgeon about to operate, stepping away from the sink.

    I pulled a chair up to a nearby table to enjoy the show.

    The building filled with the smell of fresh coffee and not long after that, baked goods. 

    I had to hand it to Gertie, if there was one thing in the world she could do well, it was baked goods.  Donuts, strudels, turn overs, pastry of every description as light as a feather and as delectable as any that could be imagined.  Layers of buttery goodness that flowed from Heaven itself through Gertie's talented hands, making something as ordinary as flour the most satisfying sugary treat on the face of the planet.

    It was her one connection to the rest of the world beyond my wife.

    Each pulled up a stool, leaning on the stainless steel counter, sipping coffee, tasting the goods, speaking softly so I wouldn't hear.

    In all the years that had passed,  I had never heard Gertie put more than five words together at a time, but she and Valerie could carry on a conversation for hours. 

    "What was that?" my wife asked suddenly, turning her attention to the outer room.

    "I heard nothing," Gertie returned dully, sipping at her coffee.  She peered over her cup, giving me an odd look.

    I looked around feeling uncomfortable under her gaze.

    "I didn't hear anything," I exclaimed, almost feeling guilty.

    "It sounded like someone was at the front door," Valerie said, standing.  She brushed the front of her clothing before starting for the door.

    "I'll go," I said quickly, receiving a nod of agreement from Gertie.

    I had to admit. I had a level of concern and I had heard nothing.

    I entered the dining room, scanning the empty tables... just in case.  I made my way to the front doors, shaking them to make sure they were still locked.

    Nothing appeared out of place.

    "Must have been the wind," I said out loud, half trying to explain it, half trying to convince myself.

    At that moment, an odd sound came from behind me.  I turned searching for its source.

    Again, nothing.

    I searched high and low.  The only thing I could find that appeared out of place was the lid on Valerie's newly acquired tea pot.

    I couldn't remember seeing her set it fully on top.  Placed as it was now, it sat half on, balanced along the outer edge.  I pushed it back into place.  It made a scraping sound as it dropped into its niche.

    I took one last tour around the the main room just to make sure, shaking the front door for good measure.

    "What was the sound," my wife said suddenly there, startling me.

    "The lid on your tea pot was half off," I said, pointing at the vessel.

    "How could it have moved in the first place?" She asked folding her arms.

    "Dearheart, I have no idea.  It's the only thing that looked out of place.  The front door is locked.  There's no one here.  Everything is fine," I said, rubbing her arm. 

    She stood, arms folded, unconvinced.

    I shook the front door again to reassure her.

    She gave a nod of approval before returning to the kitchen.

    Behind me, the faint scraping sound from the tea pot repeated itself.  

    I glanced to the crockery and to my surprise, the lid was ajar once more.

    "Valerie must have... why would she? I couldn't remember her coming close to the damn thing but here it is," I argued with myself, running a finger around the container's outer rim.

    After a long moment I pushed the lid back into place.

    I stared at it.  I had no idea how long or, for that matter, what I was expecting to see.

    As time slipped away I became certain my imagination had gotten the best of me.

    Nothing.

    "I thought as much," I said with personal satisfaction, tapping the top with my finger, suddenly feeling very silly.

    The smell of coffee and Gertie's pastry pulled at me to return to the kitchen.

    "Richard," a woman's voice whispered softly as I turned the corner.

    Goosebumps rippled over me.  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.  I trembled inside as I turned to stare into the dining room again.

    Nothing.

    My blood thrummed in my ears and I waited... waited for someone to reveal themselves...  waited for the lid to move... waited for my name to be called again... waited for what? 

    I had absolutely no idea.

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

A haunted teapot?!! It's already past mid-night, but I have to find out.