Key to the Future
She found it in the corner of the dresser she had paid fifty-three dollars for at the estate auction the day before.
Cecilia loved to cruise the rural sale ads in the Saturday paper and drive out into the country to an auction. She loved to stand in the shade of an enormous oak tree in the dooryard of a farmhouse listening to the auctioneer’s patter echoing off the wall of the barn and catching snatches of gossip from the people around her. “Mae always loved that bedroom set. Belonged to Charlie’s ma, you know.” Hearing things like that made Cecilia feel she was buying more than an impersonal table or dresser. It made her feel like she actually had family around her. She didn’t, not since Ryan had run off with his chippie of a secretary and left her alone and broke at age forty-two.
She had gotten the dresser as a place to store her sewing things in and found the key strung on a narrow black ribbon and wedged in the corner of the bottom drawer. It was one of those old keys they call skeleton keys, but it was smaller than a house key. She wondered what lock it opened and if there was even a lock left to fit it. Maybe someone who had been at the sale with her, or maybe one of Mae and Charlie’s children, if they had any, had whatever the key opened. Tomorrow she’d ask around.
Checking the sale ads in the paper the next morning she discovered that Mae and Charlie’s auction ran for two days so she had a quick breakfast, dressed in what she thought of as auction clothes: a pair of jeans and sturdy tennis shoes worn with a t-shirt topped by a flannel shirt, all of it purchased for less than ten dollars at the Goodwill.
There were cars parked along the side of the country lane and in straggly rows behind the barn, just as they had been the day before. Bargain hunters, she figured, hoping to find a jackpot in a box of mixed whatevers. She pulled into a spot next to a nondescript beige van she was sure she had seen the day before, but it was so plain and had no markings, so she couldn’t be certain.
Out in the country, away from the radiant heating of the city’s asphalt and without buildings to block the wind, it was cooler, so Cecilia pulled out the bright orange Florida Gators hoodie she’d gotten from the Salvation Army store for a buck. It was too big for her, and the orange color did terrible things to her rosy complexion, but it kept her warm and it was cheap; besides, she only wore it when she was grubbing around at garage sales and farm auctions.
She walked up the right side of the loose crowd to the auctioneer’s clerk’s table, where she registered for a number and looked at her fellow customers who were milling around. There were still a few minutes before the sale started so she walked down the row of items to see if anything was worth noting on the back of her number card and to see if there was anything that looked like a home for the key she’d found in the dresser drawer. As she made her way up and down the rows of jumble boxes and small furniture items, she stopped to examine any drawer or door that had a keyhole.
At the back, near the ramp up to the barn, stood a piece of oak furniture that looked like a cross between a dresser and a vanity. Three dresser drawers sat atop no-nonsense feet, the left side of the top was covered by a marble slab backed by an oval mirror with a carved flourish-shaped bracket perched on the side, and the right side held two small drawers surmounted by a square door with a keyhole in it. She stood back, frowning at it, trying to decide what it was for, and then she leaned forward to examine the keyhole, wishing she’d remembered to put the key in her pocket.
“It’s a man’s shaving dresser,” said a masculine voice at her side. She jumped at the sound and turned to look.
“Oh, you startled me.”
“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to.” He was about her age, middle forties, and dressed about the same in jeans and a well-washed denim shirt, with a tanned face and laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“It’s okay; I’m used to it. I startle so easily a person can walk up to my face, say boo, and I’ll jump.”
He smiled at her. “Must make life interesting.” He nodded at the dresser. “Thinking of buying it for your husband?”
“No. I came back looking for bargains,” she said with a laugh. “And you’ll probably think I’m foolish, but I bought a dresser here yesterday and found a key in one of the drawers. There’s no keyhole in any of the dresser’s drawers, so I thought maybe I’d find the lock that fit the key today. It’s silly to even hope. I’ll bet that key had been in there for fifty years or more and whatever it fit is long gone.”
The man gave a little chuckle, too. “Probably. Well, good luck.” He turned and walked away.
After she finished looking at the rest of the items and had all her notes about what to bid on scribbled on the back of her number card, she wandered back to the cluster of folding chairs set out on the dusty yard and driveway of the old farm. Choosing a seat in the second-to-last row, she glanced around for the nice-looking man she’d spoken with but didn’t see him. She chided herself for thinking she’d meet a first-rate man at an auction of secondhand stuff. As soon as she sat down, the auctioneer tapped the microphone and started the sale.
Things moved faster on the second day of the sale; there were fewer bidders and the bids were lower. Keeping to her notes on the back of her card and how much she’d decided she could spend on each, Cecilia soon found herself surrounded by five boxes of mixed household items at two dollars each and a walnut rocker she had gotten for only fifteen dollars.
When the shaving dresser came up, she spent a moment agonizing whether she could get it into her van, but she’d removed the seats when auction season began, so there was plenty of room. She probably wouldn’t get it anyway, she thought; it was too nice. But she was wrong. The bidding was sluggish; the auctioneer worked hard to wring over twenty-five dollars out of the crowd. She didn’t bid until just before the hammer fell, surprising the auctioneer and silencing the rest of the bidders. It was hers for only thirty dollars.
There were only three more items sold before they moved into the barn to sell tools and implements, so there was a break while the auctioneers moved the chairs into the barn.
Cecilia stood in line at the clerk’s table, settled up her bill which was a satisfactory fifty-five dollars, got some help loading her van, thankful to have the old blankets and rugs she left in the back to protect the dresser. The nondescript van had gone. Once she had everything loaded, she went back into the farmyard to have a hot dog plate in the tent run by the altar society ladies from the local Catholic church and then left for home.
Once or twice on her way into the city she thought she caught sight of the plain beige van in her rearview mirror but then she reminded herself that there were probably thousands of beige vans in the metro area and besides she didn’t know if that nice handsome man who had been so helpful was driving it or not.
When she got back to her home, she called a couple of the neighborhood boys to come and carry the heavy dresser and the boxes inside for her.
“Man, Ms. Porter,” said Marc from across the street as he and his friend Jacob carried in the dresser, “you sure got some nice stuff this weekend.”
Jacob said, “You sure did. D’you ever find anything valuable in anything you bought?”
Cecilia laughed and reached into one of the boxes they had put on the kitchen table. “You mean like this set of false teeth?” The young men’s eyes bugged a bit, and she could tell that they couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be grossed out. Since there were no young ladies in the vicinity to impress, they laughed.
Both of them stood beside her and helped poke through the items in the boxes. “Anything else in these like that?” asked Marc.
“I don’t really know,” Cecilia said. “Let’s look.”
She and the boys sorted out the quart jars of buttons and assorted screws and nails; the dozen empty Mason jars spread out over her five boxes, and the double handful of mismatched flatware. There were various kitchen implements from spatulas and scrapers to a pair of nice bone-handled three-tined forks, a Depression glass juicer, and a couple of clear quart milk bottles with the little cream bulb on top. The boys were interested in the filthy canvas bag of glass marbles, the broken-handled tools, and the old Instamatic camera with a flashcube still attached. Cecilia liked the figured planters that looked like they might be McCoy pottery, and the cigar box filled with what looked like the sort of Cracker Jack prizes she remembered from when she was a girl.
She paid Marc and Jacob with cans of soda and a handful of cookies each. Once they finished eating and drinking, the boys left to go back to playing basketball in Marc’s driveway. Cecilia surveyed her table covered with things she and the boys had taken from the boxes. She ran a sink full of hot, soapy water and got busy washing the flatware, the milk bottles, and the Mason jars. Disappointed that neither of the planters turned out to be marked McCoy, she washed them anyway, determined to look them up online to see if they were worth anything. While she washed her finds, she could see the boys playing across the street and noticed a beige van drive by slowly, once each way. On the third pass, it pulled up and parked in front of her house. Cecilia saw the man from the auction get out and stand in the street next to the driver’s door, staring at her house. She shivered and realized that he must have followed her home. Who was he? What could he want?
While she watched, he seemed to come to a decision because he nodded his head, walked around the front of the van, and started toward her front door. She quickly dried her hands, checked in the mirror that she didn’t have dirt on her face, and started toward the door. The bell rang. Cecilia hesitated before opening it. What if he was one of those men who preyed on middle-aged women, emptying their bank accounts and then disappearing? She shook off the fanciful thought and opened the door.
“Hi,” he said. “I probably seem like a stalker, but I had to leave the auction before I had the chance to talk to you again.” He extended his hand with a card in it. “I’m Steve Harrington. I watched you checking out all the items for sale, making notes, and then buying carefully. I didn’t want to crowd you, but I’m interested in maybe joining forces.”
Holding tight to the storm door, Cecilia said, “What do you mean?”
He smiled his engaging smile. “May I come in?”
“I’m sorry, but no.” She shook her head. “I don’t know you. You can say what you want to say from there.” It bothered her to see that the boys had ended their basketball game in the driveway across the street, so she didn’t have rescuers handy if she needed to cry out.
“Okay. That’s fair.” He tucked his hands into his back pockets, took a breath, and started talking. “I own an antique shop. Well, it’s more of a junk shop with a few antiques on the other side of town. I’ve seen you at a few auctions this fall and noticed that you have a good eye and good control. You don’t overbid and you don’t buy garbage. Business has been growing. I’m a one-man store, so to get to sales and auctions, I have to close and potentially lose business. I’m looking for someone to work with me, either to watch the store while I’m at sales or go to sales and buy for me.”
“Why pick me?”
“Partly because I like the way you look and partly because I like the way you shop.” He grinned at her. “Are those two planters McCoy?”
“They aren’t marked, but I’ve washed them and will look them up online.” It surprised her he knew what she’d bought.
“Could I see them? Maybe I can tell if they are or not.”
She debated inviting him in but said, “Wait here.” In a minute, she was back with the two small planters.
He carefully took the jade green leaf pot from her. “I’ve seen this one before and it’s the real McCoy.” He chuckled. “Sorry for the pun. I couldn’t resist.” Steve handed it back to her and took the pink dogwood pot. “This one is for sure, too. It’s from the sixties and should have a metal tripod stand. It probably broke or got separated. Too bad. That would have put the price up considerably.”
Cecilia took the pot back and said, “How do you know all this stuff?”
“My mom was in the business. I learned this stuff along with the alphabet and multiplication tables. So, what do you say…? I just realized I don’t know your name.”
She put down the leaf pot and extended her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m Cecilia Porter.”
Steve rubbed his hands together. “Chilly today. So, are you interested?”
“How can I make a snap decision? I don’t know you. I know nothing about you or your business.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you come down to the shop? I shouldn’t stay away much longer, and we could sit there and get to know each other. What do you say? The address is on my card. Or you could follow me. Let’s at least talk about it.”
Cecilia decided that visiting his shop might be interesting. “All right, I’ll come. You go ahead. I want to lock up, then I’ll drive over.”
Steve waved and backed down her sidewalk. “Don’t back out, Cecilia. At least come for a look at what I stock. You might be surprised.” He got into his unmarked beige van and drove away.
She went inside, locked the door behind her, and carried the maybe-McCoy pots back to the kitchen. “How can he say with such confidence that these are McCoy?” On impulse, she logged on to an online auction site and searched “McCoy planters.” To her surprise, both of the pots she’d bought that day were on there and the sellers weren’t shy about prices. “Okay, maybe he does know his stuff.” She brushed her teeth and ran a quick brush through her hair. He’d already seen her in her auction clothes, so she didn’t feel the need to change. Cecilia picked up her purse, lifted her keys off the peg by the door, and went out to her van.
It took her about twenty minutes to cross town to the small business district where Steve’s store was. She grinned when she saw the sign: Jane’s Junque. The neon open sign was lit, and she spent a couple of minutes surveying the items displayed in the windows in front of the store. She pushed the door open and stepped into a place that could have been hers. Every item she saw was something she might have bought. Even the shoebox filled with vintage postcards made her smile.
“You came.” Steve came out from behind the counter. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind.”
“I’m here. Tell me, who’s Jane?”
“That was Mom. She had a good sense of humor about the store’s stock. She knew she couldn’t afford to buy genuine antiques, so she said she had to ‘class up’ the store name.” He gestured to the room. “Look around. See if my taste and yours would be a good fit.”
“I can already see that we’re a good fit. When I walked in, I realized I’d have bought most of this stuff.”
He touched her arm. “Come. Sit. Let’s talk.”
Two hours later, they shook hands.
Cecilia said, “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
“You are. I’m so glad you’re going to give it a try. Come by on Monday afternoon and we’ll work out hours and salary and who’s doing what when.” He clapped his hands together. “This is going to be great.”
And it was great. Cecilia did the buying and Steve did the selling. Within six months, the store was making double the profit from before Cecilia joined the business. She had a real eye for what people wanted.
Steve had an eye for what he wanted, too. Cecilia’s Easter basket contained a porcelain egg with a diamond engagement ring in it.
She said yes.
Oh, by the way, the key Cecilia found in the dresser drawer did indeed fit the door of the compartment on the shaving dresser. And the dresser sold for the full price on the first day it was in Jane’s Junque.
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another fantastic story!!