Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(40)

“We’re sorry,” the boys said in unison.

“Sorry?” Laricka repeated. “Sorry won’t fix the lamp!”

Caroline stepped into the fray. “No problem. A lamp is easily enough replaced.”

“But this was Miss Ida’s favorite,” Laricka replied mournfully.

Caroline knew there was no replacing a thing someone had treasured, so she began gathering the pieces from the floor. “Maybe I can have it fixed.”

After she’d scoured the floor on her hands and knees looking for stray splinters of glass, Caroline placed all thirty-six pieces in a box and headed for town. She planned to take the lamp to a jeweler she’d seen on the far end of Main Street, but as she drew near the shop where she’d bought the desk something caused her to pull over and park.

Although she hadn’t noticed it being on the window during her first visit to the store, it was there now. Right beneath Peter Pennington’s name the lettering read “Lamps Repaired.”

Caroline climbed out of the car and circled around to retrieve the broken lamp from the trunk. Before she could gather the box into her arms, Peter Pennington stood beside her.

“Let me help you with that,” he said and lifted the box from the trunk.

“But how…” Caroline stammered.

“Where else would you bring a broken lamp?” Peter said and gave a mischievous grin. He started for the store and Caroline followed behind.

“I don’t know if this is fixable,” she said. “But it was my grandma’s favorite, so I’d really like to…” Her words trailed off. Maybe it was hoping against hope, expecting someone to repair a lamp with pieces as small as a splinter. Caroline held her breath as Peter peered inside the box.

“It’s repairable,” he said and promised to have it by noon of the next day.

“Oh, bless your heart,” Caroline replied gleefully.

“Indeed,” Peter said, then asked about the desk she’d bought.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been writing,” Caroline said. “I think I’ve lost the inspiration.”

“Lost the inspiration? Impossible. That desk is full of stories waiting to be written!”

“With Grandma gone, I’ve got a lot of responsibility and not much free time.”

Peter nodded knowingly.

“And it’s difficult to write about a romance when—”

“Romance?” Peter peered over the top of the thick glasses he wore. “That’s not what you’re supposed to be writing.” He pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Haven’t you listened to the desk?”

“Listened to the desk?” She laughed.

Peter nodded. “I know you think it’s a silly idea, but try it. Sit there and wait. Let the desk tell you what it has to say.”

He was such a sweet little man, and since he was willing to repair the lamp Caroline didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship by laughing at how ridiculous such a thought was. “I’ll give it a try,” she said and, promising to be back tomorrow, left.

Peter watched her leave, sad because he knew his advice would go unheeded.

~

On Friday afternoon Caroline came back to pick up the lamp.

“Ready and waiting,” Peter said. He pulled out the same yellow step stool, climbed up, and retrieved the lamp, which sat on the top shelf. “Here you go,” he said and handed it down to her.

The lamp was perfect, exactly as it once was. No glue lines, no mismatched pieces, no evidence that it had ever been repaired. “How on earth…” Caroline wondered. She opened her purse and asked how much she owed him.

“One dollar.”

“One dollar? But this must have been hours of work…”

“Not so much,” he answered, then asked if she’d tried sitting at the desk.

“Um, not yet,” Caroline said. “I’m still learning to cook, and I spend most of my afternoon—”

“I know,” he said and gave a sad nod. “It’s a complex thing to let your thoughts fly free when your body is tied to the labors of life.”

“That’s true, but I believe it’s what Grandma would have wanted.” Caroline smiled as she thought back. “Grandma loved the residents, and I know she’d want me to take care of them.”

“Generous gesture,” Peter said. “Very generous.” He gave a thoughtful nod, then followed with a smile. “I’ve got something intended for your grandma, but now I’m convinced you should have it.” He pulled the yellow footstool to a stack of shelves in the far back of the store and climbed up.

From where Caroline stood the shelf appeared empty. Peter stretched his arm to the far back and pulled down a picture covered with dust.

“Mercy,” he said, “this looks like it needs a cleaning.” He pursed his lips, blew a few puffs of breath across the picture, then climbed down and handed it to her.

The picture was old, a faded black-and-white portrait from the 1920s or maybe the ’30s. Caroline looked at the smiling face of the young man. “Was this someone Grandma knew?”

“No,” Peter answered wistfully. “Your grandma never knew him, but I did. I knew both Will and his twin sister, Abigail. The picture belonged to Abigail and it was something she treasured.” Peter chuckled. “After she died the picture was tossed in the garbage. Knowing how precious it was I couldn’t let that happen, so I rescued it.”