Open Arms

"You sweep that side," I instructed my daughter, "and I'll do this side."  Spring had finally arrived and we were cleaning the dust and dirt of winter off the front porch and set out the chairs and tables in preparation for our first springtime guests.  The old Victorian mansion with its gingerbread trimmings and surrounding porch sat nestled in the midst of its manicured yard, well-groomed shrubbery hedges, and carefully plotted gardens of perennial herbs and flowers.  Each year when the daffodils bloomed, we opened the windows and doors and filled the house with the fresh air and scents of the outdoors.  When the tulips began to bud, we cleaned the porches and readied the house for the guests that poured in and out through the spring, summer, and autumn months. 

My great-great grandparents had built the house when they came to the United States from Ireland.  Great-great Grandpa was a sea captain and while the front of the house faced the tree-lined street with decorative gas-flamed lights, the back overlooked the bay in the distance, with its safe harbor and ever-vigilant lighthouse.  The house had stayed in the family, but as times got tight, it had fallen into disrepair and neglect.  Our family had moved further inland and as the generations passed, it was all but forgotten.  My siblings and I didn't even realize it existed until it was threatened with demolition.  We visited the home and were impressed by its grandeur, beauty, and potential.  Although none of us individually had the means to restore it to its original beauty, together, and with the help of local community organizations dedicated to the preservation of historic places, we were able to clean up both the house and the grounds and give "Open Arms" a new life as an historic Bed and Breakfast. 

Our Great-Great Grandmother had named the residence "Open Arms" because she wanted it to welcome friends and family, and particularly her husband when he returned safely from long sea voyages.  The house was situated so that he could see it from the bay and Great-Great Grandmother had always kept a light burning in the lookout deck perched high on the rooftop.  When Great-Great Grandpa sailed into the bay and saw that light he'd know all was well, and Open Arms were waiting to welcome him home.

"I can see it already," Lucy began, a far off look in her eyes.  "This year we should drape the tables with blue and white gingham table cloths with lace toppers, and we could make matching cushions for the chairs and benches."  Lucy stopped sweeping and leaned dreamily upon her broom while she spoke.  "We could make some blue and white festoons to hang over the front rails, tied with big blue bows.  We could get some blue and white china and use all of those blue glass pitchers for lemonade!  Wouldn't that be beautiful?"

"It would be lovely," I replied with a stifled cough from behind the cloud of dust I was stirring up.  I had swept that porch so many times I knew every contour, but as I reached the corner my broom struck something unfamiliar.  "I wonder if we have a loose board," I pondered aloud, getting down on my hands and knees to examine it more closely."

"Should I get the hammer," Lucy offered as she walked towards me. 

"No, but come here and help me a second," I answered.  The corner of a narrow paperboard box was protruding from between two of the porch boards.  "Someone wedged that in there good!" I exclaimed, grasping the corner and tugging.  "What could be in such a tiny box that someone would want to hide so well?"

The box seemed to be long and narrow and flat.  Gradually we were able to work its entire length free from the tight-fitting boards.  Together Lucy and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back against the house to rest and inspect our find.  "Open it," Lucy urged in breathless anticipation.

As I turned the box over in my hand I could feel the weight of its contents shift from one end to the other.  I carefully lifted the top and opened the yellowed layers of paper.  Inside were five old metal keys with barely legible paper tags.  Lucy shot a questioning glance at me and I responded with a raised eyebrow and a motion of my head.  We both got up and went inside to inspect the contents more thoroughly. 

With the paper spread out in the light we could read the faded handwriting.  "There is great danger from the war," it began.  "All valuables have been secreted away."  Some of the message had flaked away as the paper had grown brittle with age.  "Return safely, My Love.  Open Arms will always await thee."  It was signed "Your Violet". 

"That was your Great Grandmother's name, wasn't it?" Lucy asked.

I nodded and picked up the keys, holding each close to the light to decipher their tags.  "Let's start with this one," I said, choosing the one that read:  "#1:  Porch."

Outside, we inspected every inch of the porch and its surrounding lattice skirting.

"Look back there," I aimed my penlight at the spot.  We peered through the latticework at the stone foundation wall.  "There's a wooden panel with a keyhole!"  With great care we removed a section of the lattice and brushed the cobwebs from the door.  The key slid into the lock and turned with a gentle click.  We held our breath as the door swung open with a creak.  Inside was a small wooden chest with rusted metal banding.  Opening the lid we revealed ribbon-tied stacks of letters, legal papers, and photographs, topped by a neatly-written note:  "My love for you will always remain.  Follow the clues and return them to their places for the others to follow our path."

Lucy and I looked at each other with wide wondering eyes.  What would the rest of the keys reveal?

1000 words