CHAPTER SIXTEEN
1983
It took three days for Joe to inventory the house. During that time, just as Pearl had promised, the dumpster arrived along with the rental truck. The truck came with a slide-out ramp, furniture dolly, and straps, as if someone had assumed he had the skills of a professional mover. He’d figure it out.
Pearl came by every day too, bringing him groceries and looking over the inventory sheets. She seemed pleased with his progress.
Each day, she made him stop working so they could sit at the kitchen table and talk. Sometimes he caught her intently staring at his face, and he wondered if she was noticing the resemblance between him and his father. Or maybe his grandfather? He had so many questions.
He took her visits as opportunities to ask her about the family history. For the most part, she was open to his questions. Joe kept them general at first, feeling his way forward. “We got electricity first,” she said, answering his question about the house, “and then sometime later, indoor plumbing. By the late 1940s, most houses around here had both.” She shook her head. “If you only knew how many hours we spent pumping and carrying water before then. Having it piped in was like a miracle. Of course, by then I was married, so I wasn’t living in this house anymore.”
“So how did you wind up owning it?”
“Dumb luck,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “I was the last one left in the area. Everyone else has died or moved. My father lived here right until the end.” She smiled, thinking fondly. “People did that back then. No one sent people away just because they were old. You just stayed in your own home and died where you’d been planted. So he passed away, and his daughters inherited the house. I sold my place and bought out the others. I’ve been here ever since. My old house, the one I lived in as a married woman, had lost its charm for me by then. I’d been widowed, and your father had left. Lots of bad memories.”
She told him about her sisters. “There were seven of us altogether, with me being the second oldest. Daisy was the baby, fourteen years younger than me. She was the only one besides me who had blonde curls like our mother.” She tossed her head as if her hair were still blonde instead of white.
Joe and Pearl discovered they had something in common. They’d each lost their mother when they were young. “It was hard,” she said, and he had to agree. “You lose a mother, there’s an empty place that can’t be filled.”
“Did your father remarry?”
“No. He never did. Stayed right in this house all alone and had Sunday dinner with the family members who still lived in the area. We had dinner around that dining room table, and afterward we visited and caught up on the news. Once we had electricity and a radio, we’d gather around and listen. We thought that was the greatest. We had no idea television would be coming along. My father was a quiet man, but he enjoyed having us here. He’d listen to us talk while he bounced the grandchildren on his knee. He had a special fondness for my Bill.”
It was odd for Joe to imagine his father as a little boy, perched on his grandfather’s knee. “So my father came here for Sunday dinner when he was a kid?”
She nodded. “Nearly every week for years. My sister Mae lived down the road at the time, and so did her twin, Maude. They married local boys. Brothers. We saw the others on some holidays when they could make the trek in. Traveling used to be much harder. Cars weren’t very reliable. It was a different world.”
“Are any of your sisters alive?”
“Daisy lives in Hawaii, if you can imagine that. They never have winter there, and she says she doesn’t miss the snow. Helen and her husband, Burt, live in Nebraska, and Mae and her husband retired to Florida. Everyone else is gone.” By gone, she meant dead, Joe realized.
“I just feel kind of bad going through all this stuff, knowing it’s going to be sold or tossed out, thinking maybe a relative might want it,” Joe said.
“Like what kinds of things?”
“Family photos, for the most part.”
“Don’t feel bad. They all had their chance when our father passed away. The whole bunch of them came and went through every room. Copies of photos were made. Keepsakes were snatched up and put in their cars before I could even see what they took.” She illustrated, pretending to grab something on the table. “It was like a swarm of locusts in here. No one is going to be mad at you, believe me.”
“There are a few pictures that I’d like. If I show them to you, can you identify the people so I can write down their names?”