Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(9)

“Well, then, shouldn’t you be looking for him instead of this woman?”

“I haven’t been able to find anything on him, but I think Joelle may know where he is because they had a kid together.”

Ida gasped. “My James has a child?”

“That’s what it looks like. The superintendent said the girl was about eight or nine when Joelle moved out.”

“This girl,” Ida stammered, “she’s my granddaughter?”

Sam laughed. “So it would seem.” He said he would go to Cherry Hill in the coming week, and there’d be plane fare involved.

“Do whatever you have to do,” Ida said, disregarding the ridiculously low balance in her bank account. She knew somehow things would work out. She had a full house now and a successful pie-making business. Things would work out.

~

On Saturday evening after she’d delivered the week’s pies and collected all of the rents, Ida sat down at the table and again calculated her finances. Her earnings came to a total of two hundred and forty-five dollars, which didn’t take into account the two dollars for the newspaper ad and the additional groceries she’d been buying. As things now stood she would need to withdraw another two hundred dollars from what had quickly morphed into a very meager savings account.

They were so close to finding James and his family, Ida knew she had to continue. She wrote the check to Sam Caldwell, slid it into the envelope, and began thinking of what else she could possibly sell.

The bits of jewelry she once owned were already gone. The house was comfortably furnished but contained nothing of great value. The car, which was cranky about starting anyway, was worth next to nothing, and if she sold it she’d have no way to get around. Ida began to consider the possibility of doing yet another thing she never thought she would do: take out a mortgage on the house Big Jim had long ago paid for.

If she took in another boarder, she could make it through two more weeks, maybe three. Although she wouldn’t rent out the room that belonged to James, she was willing to move into the tiny attic room and rent out the master bedroom she’d shared with Big Jim. And she could reduce the household expenses—turn off lights that weren’t being used, cut back on groceries.

Ida sat there late into the night planning menus that would be filling enough and yet inexpensive to make. Meatloaf replaced baked ham on Tuesday’s menu, and Wednesday’s roast turkey became stuffed peppers. Friday’s baked fish became a macaroni and cheese casserole.

After she’d replaced the Sunday morning sausage and cheese omelet with homemade biscuits and gravy, Ida felt she had the makings of a workable plan.





Ida Sweetwater





Last night when I started to think about mortgaging the house, I half believed Big Jim would send down a lightning bolt to strike some sense into my head. He wasn’t in favor of such things, that’s for sure.

Jim was a self-made man, and he took a whole lot of pride in not owing anybody anything. Ida, he used to say, if anything happens to me, you won’t have a worry in the world because this house is bought and paid for!

That’s how he was, practical to a fault. Jim never did understand the difference in owning something and having it own you. Because of that he couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive our boy for leaving home. He thought James was walking away from the most important thing on earth. And James, well, he was every bit as obstinate, because he believed he was headed toward whatever was most important. The two of them were like telephone poles on opposite sides of the street, and I was the wire stretched between them.

The funny thing is both of them were wrong. What you own or where you go has nothing whatsoever to do with what’s really important.

I only wish I could tell Jim how wrong he was. Having this house is like having a fistful of hundred dollar bills in my pocket. Those bills are nothing but bits of paper as long as I hang on to them, but once I start spending them I can buy a whole bunch of happiness. The same is true of the house. An old woman like me doesn’t need a big house. Without Jim, all I need is a narrow bed to sleep on and an oven for baking pies.

The truth is I’d give this house and everything I own just to see James and his family. I know, I know, Sam Caldwell said they might not be married, but that doesn’t sound like my James. He might be the biggest flirt ever, but he wouldn’t be that disrespectful to a woman. For now I’m going to keep right on believing they’re married and that little girl is my granddaughter.

Granddaughter. Just saying the word puts happiness in my heart. How can I not believe in something that makes me feel this good?





The Girl





On Sunday afternoon Ida moved all of her things from the big bedroom she’d shared with Jim into the attic alcove where there was a narrow single bed, a chest of drawers, and a cord strung from one rafter to the other for hanging clothes.

With the steep staircase she had to stop and rest every four or five steps. It was almost six o’clock when she carried the last of her nightgowns and underwear up the stairs and set the basket down. Before she could catch her breath she heard the hallway clock chiming six gongs.

Minutes later Louie’s voice came hollering up the stairwell. “Hey, Ida, there’s no supper on the table!”

“I know, I know.” Ida came bustling down the stairs as fast as her arthritic hip would allow. “I was busy moving things around, so supper will be a bit late tonight.”