Chapter Eleven

Jane didn’t have a chance to talk at length with her sisters about the day she’d spent antiquing until lunch on Wednesday. Their guests had all checked out except for Ann Baldwin, who’d left the inn right after breakfast. They had time to relax for a while before new arrivals checked in, a family of three generations traveling together to Washington, D.C., who would occupy the remaining three rooms.

Their lunch was a simple meal, cottage cheese and fruit with toasted caraway rye bread that Alice had brought home from the bakery after her morning walk.

“I was proud to be with Ann when she told the woman about the hair brooch,” Jane said after telling the highlights of their trip.

“I don’t imagine everyone would be that honest.” Louise munched on a bit of toast, not showing much appetite.

“Probably not, but it made the day much more enjoyable for me. I like treasure hunting, but not if it means taking advantage of someone.”

“I haven’t noticed the frames anywhere,” Louise said.

“I put them in the shed temporarily. Some need the paint stripped. I’m not going to work on them until I feel inspired.”

“I am glad you took yesterday off,” Alice said. “You should do it more often whether we’re busy or not. You know the old saying about all work and no play.”

“Our Jane will never be a dull girl,” Louise said with a laugh.

“Here you all are,” Ethel said, coming into the kitchen from the front hallway. “I have something to show you.”

She plunked down an old shoebox and sat at the table with her nieces.

“You told me about your guest looking for postcards, and I remembered this box I’d stuck at the back of a closet shelf.” She removed the cover. “I’ve had these old cards for ages. They come from my Bob’s family, so I never had the inclination to part with them.”

“They look old,” Louise said, reaching over and pulling one out of the box. “This one was mailed to someone named Henrietta Blackwell in 1909. Do you know who that is, Aunt Ethel?”

“There were Blackwells on Bob’s mother’s side, but I can’t place exactly who she was.”

“I bet your children would enjoy seeing these,” Louise suggested.

“I’ve tried to give them to all three of my kids, but none of them want to be bothered with old stuff like this. There’s not a collecting gene among them, I guess. I’d kind of forgotten about this box until I heard about your guest and her postcard project. I wondered if she could use them.”

“I’m sure she’d be interested,” Jane said. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep them?”

“They’re just gathering dust in my closet,” their aunt said. “Might as well be doing some good. Is your postcard lady here now?”

“No, she went out early this morning. Why don’t you leave the cards here, and when she gets back, I’ll tell her about them?” Jane suggested.

“I had in mind to ask her about a few of them.” She patted her fiery red hair and straightened the collar on her lime-green blouse.

“I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you about them,” Jane said. “I’ll let you know when she gets back. If she has time to go over them, I’ll call you to come over.”

“I’ve never met anyone who likes old postcards,” Ethel said. “I’m curious about what people see in them.”

“Have you had lunch, Aunt Ethel?” Alice asked. “We just finished ours.”

“A long time ago. It’s late for you to be having it, isn’t it?” “A little,” Jane agreed. “We’ve been pretty busy.”

“When I was cooking for my Bob on the farm, supper had to be ready exactly at noon. You’d think the world would come to an end if he didn’t get his meal on the minute. That’s a farmer for you. When he came in from working, he was hungry. Of course, he got up so early to beat the heat in summer that he was running on empty by twelve o’clock. In all those years we were married and working the farm, I don’t think I ever missed getting it on the table on time. That’s one of the things about the old place that I don’t miss. Now if I feel like having lunch at eleven o’clock or two o’clock, there’s no reason why I can’t. Of course, I dearly miss Bob, but I don’t miss cooking meat and potatoes every day by noon.”

“That would be a chore,” Alice said sympathetically. “Oh, by the way, Jack O’Hara settled our fawn out at the Bellwoods’ place. It’s only a temporary arrangement, but she couldn’t have better caretakers than Rose and Samuel.”

“Your idea of feeding through the finger of a rubber glove saved the fawn,” Jane said. “I hate to think what would have happened if we hadn’t been able to provide some nourishment for her.”

“Yes, that is a wonderful procedure,” Ethel said with satisfaction.

“I’d love to chat longer,” Louise said, “but I want to drive around town and pick a good route for Diana’s third driving lesson tomorrow. I’ve learned not to take her on any road that I haven’t checked out first.”

“What are you going to do after you’ve given the three lessons you promised?” Alice asked.

“I wish I knew. She doesn’t seem at all ready to take another test, but I’m at my wit’s end how to help her. Maybe she just isn’t meant to drive.”

“Maybe tomorrow will be a breakthrough,” Alice said optimistically. “Well, I’ve been called to go into work this afternoon, so I’d better get ready,” Alice said. “One of the nurses in pediatrics is sick.”

“I wouldn’t like your schedule, never knowing when or where I’d be assigned,” Ethel said. “I like to know ahead what’s going on.”

“Shall I keep the postcards here?” Jane asked.

“You might as well. I really don’t want to carry that dusty old box home again. Let me know when your postcard lady wants to have a look at them.”

“I’ll do that,” Jane assured her.

Her sisters and aunt had been gone awhile when she heard a knock at the back door. She went to it and found Jack O’Hara standing there in his uniform pulling on one end of his handlebar mustache, a sign that he had something on his mind.

“Jack, come on in. It’s good to see you. If you’re here about the fawn, Alice just left.” “I just wondered whether she’s gotten more of that formula to feed it. I’ll be over near Bellwood Farm tomorrow, so I could drop it off. One of their neighbors has complained about a dog killing a lamb. I have to check out claims like that and talk to some of the nearby farmers.”

“No, it hasn’t come yet. Would you like a glass of iced tea while you’re here?”

“Don’t mind if I do. I’ve been on the run all day. I keep telling the county I could use an assistant, and they keep telling me there’s no money in the budget.”

Jane motioned for Jack to sit at the table while she poured orange-spice tea into a glass of ice cubes. “I made some chocolate-chip bars this morning. They’re cool enough to cut if you’d like to try one.”

“Best offer I’ve had all day,” Jack said with a grin. “By the way, I hear Viola still has a kitten to give away. You’re not looking for a little friend for Wendell, are you?”

Jane laughed. “I think that would call for a family conference. I’m not sure how Wendell would vote. He’s pretty territorial.”

“Just a thought,” Jack said as he reached for a bar from the plate Jane had set on the table.

He didn’t linger after he had his treat. It seemed everyone she knew was especially busy today, and if she didn’t get her shopping list made, she might have a limited food supply on hand.

Ann didn’t return until early evening after Jane had finished clearing the supper table. She was in the process of mixing up some pumpkin bread that would keep well until the weekend. Seeing Ann reminded her that she hadn’t had a free minute to browse through the church cookbook she’d bought, but then there was nothing wrong with deferring some pleasures.

“How was your day?” Jane asked after she invited Ann to join her over cups of herbal tea.

“I took time out from antiquing to do a little sightseeing in Pennsylvania Dutch country. These lovely Danish pastries are from a bakery I passed on the way home. I thought you might like to serve them with breakfast tomorrow.” She pushed a large bakery box with a cellophane cover across the table. “I don’t want to interfere with your menu, but I couldn’t resist them.”

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you,” Jane said, admiring the luscious-looking pastries. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to freeze them for you to take home?”

“Oh, no thank you. So far my biggest souvenir of the trip is the weight I’ve gained. It’s back to salads and grilled chicken when I get home.”

“You didn’t have any luck finding postcards today?”

“No, I am getting a bit discouraged about that, but I’m having a wonderful time. My friend is going to be so sorry she had to miss being here.” “Speaking of postcards, my aunt brought some over that she hoped you might be able to use.” Jane picked up the box she’d set on the floor away from her work area. “I think she may be willing to donate them to your hunger auction.”

“Wonderful!” Ann began looking through them, pulling out several for a better look. “They’re all old, just what collectors want to buy.”

“I think Aunt Ethel wanted to show them to you herself. Do you mind if I call her to come over?”

“Of course not. I won’t look at another one until she gets here.”

Ethel arrived only minutes later, pink-cheeked and a bit breathless.

“I have so many questions about your project,” she said, hardly noticing the cup of tea Jane set in front of her. “After people buy them from you in your auction, what do they do with them?”

“A good question,” Ann said, laughing. “I think you have to be a collector to understand the urge to accumulate. Some people are nostalgic and collect postcards showing places where they’ve lived. Others have a taste for art and specialize in cards signed by their favorite postcard artists. There are hundreds of topics. I know of collectors who look for anything to do with ice cream, marbles, navy ships, rodeos—so many others I can hardly think of them. Santa and Halloween are favorites. Some of those are pretty pricey. Or they may pick a favorite publisher. An English firm named Tuck was especially prolific. Oh dear, once you get me started, I could go on all night.”

“Actually, I was wondering where they keep them. I must have moved this old box a hundred times,” Ethel said.

“I guess albums are the favorite way, although some people have special boxes or file drawers. That’s part of the fun of collecting, figuring out a way to organize them. There are probably as many different systems as there are collectors. I know of one collector who had her husband build special wooden boxes to house over one hundred thousand postcards.”

Ethel looked dumbfounded. “I never heard of such a thing. Is that a record for the biggest collection ever?”

“Not by a long shot.” Ann was bubbling with enthusiasm for her subject. “In earlier days, mostly the first decades of the twentieth century, postcard collecting was wildly popular. People exchanged them for any holiday you can name, even Labor Day or Ground Hog Day. Greeting cards for those two are pretty rare today, but some like Christmas and Easter were made by the millions. A trolley ride to the other side of town was an excuse to buy and send a postcard. I’ve heard of collections that ran a million or more.” “My goodness! I guess people saved more of everything in those days,” Louise said, “but I can’t imagine a million postcards. You’d need a mansion to house them.”

“A dear friend visited Russia on a trip in the 1980s. She’d heard of a collector there and managed to find him. I always thought she would make a good investigative reporter, since it wasn’t easy to get away from an escorted tour in those days. He invited her to see his collection. There were no walls visible in his apartment, just rows of shelves holding albums with hundreds of thousands of postcards.”

“Where on earth would anyone get so many?” Louise asked.

“It was an organized hobby a hundred years ago,” Ann said. “There were collector clubs for people to exchange their duplicates. Sending them through the mail was especially popular.”

“Like some people exchange thoughts and ideas on the Internet,” Jane said.

“Yes, exchanging postcards was a good way to have contacts with people in other countries. Today postcard collecting is a worldwide hobby.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Ethel took a handful of cards from the box and started spreading them out on the table. “I think I remember a Halloween card here somewhere. Yes, here it is.”

She pulled out a whimsical card showing a little girl in a witch costume holding a black cat and a pumpkin.

“That’s a signed artist card. See, here’s the signature,” Ann said pointing.

Ethel held it close and frowned, then finally made out the faintly printed name. “Could this be valuable?”

“It could bring thirty to forty dollars in my hunger auction, especially since it looks to be in almost perfect condition. Damaged cards bring quite a bit less.”

“Just for this little piece of cardboard?” Ethel sounded skeptical as she pulled out several other cards. “What about these pretty flowers?”

Ann shook her head. “Those are birthday cards and are worth less than a dollar each. I would have to make a large lot of similar ones to get a decent bid.”

“I think it’s prettier than the Halloween,” Ethel insisted.

“It is a lovely card, but flowers are much more common. The value of a postcard depends on scarcity and demand. Lots of collectors want Halloween cards, but not many specialize in flowers.”

“That’s a shame. What about these?” Ethel pointed out several that were photographs of buildings and streets.

“They’re called real photos. Local photographers would print them on stock paper with postcard backs and sell them in the town. Not a lot were made in the smaller towns, so they have more value, depending on the view.”

“This one is just a picture of some women,” Ethel said.

“A lot of family albums have photos with postcard backs. I imagine people would buy a certain number and send the duplicates to friends or relatives, just like kids’ school pictures today.”

“I guess no one would want this kind today.”

“Some collectors do. They collect them for the period costumes. Look at the hat that lady is wearing.”

“It must have given her a headache,” Jane said, marveling at the concoction of ostrich feathers and fake flowers mounted on a huge platter-shaped hat. “And look at the fur muff on this card. I imagine it felt good to have one on cold days, when people walked or rode in unheated carriages.”

“Oh, look, a card with a picture of a baby carriage,” Ethel said excitedly. “My mother-in-law kept her old dolls in one just like it. I wonder what happened to it. I bet my husband wheeled it out to the trash when she passed away. He didn’t have much of an eye for antiques. I think I should keep this card. Maybe put it in the family album.”

“Do you know who this is, Aunt Ethel?” Jane asked, taking out another. “Goodness, I didn’t know little boys wore dresses and long curls in those days.”

“That little boy looks a lot like my oldest,” Ethel said. “Of course, my husband would have had an absolute fit if I’d put a dress on any son of his. Still, maybe I should try to find out who it is.”

“I told Ann you wanted to donate the cards to her hunger-relief project,” Jane reminded her aunt.

“I didn’t realize what was in the box,” Ethel said in a hesitant voice.

“Tell you what,” Ann said. “Why don’t you take the box home and look over the cards? I never encourage people to give away their family heritage. It sounds to me like there are some you should save.”

“I did say I wanted to donate them.”

“You still can, if that’s what you decide to do. But once I sell them, there’s no way to get family mementos back. Much as I would like to use them for world hunger, I can’t accept them unless you’re absolutely sure you want to part with them.”

Ethel carefully gathered up the cards lying on the table and replaced them in the box.

“Maybe I will take one last look at them,” she said. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Jane and Ann exchanged an understanding look as Ethel left for home.

“You must have a hard time getting postcards to sell if you talk people out of giving them up,” Jane said.

“Not at all. People are basically generous when they know it’s for a good cause.”

“Anyway, it was nice of you to give Aunt Ethel the chance to reconsider.”