Fiction

By Jennifer Rozens

The following is an excerpt from a future novel.

MOLLY Windell looked like a mess. Dark rivulets of mud ran down her sweat-soaked face. Her hair stuck to her head and bits of plaster stood out like huge flakes of dandruff.

Tearing down the wall had been difficult, but not as difficult as leaving her former life. The change from mental to physical exhaustion left her deliriously happy.

Seeing her reflection in the old mirror, Molly mentally saluted herself. Abandoning her job as the executive assistant to an executive assistant on Wall Street and choosing to open an antique shop in upstate New York had done more to erase her age lines than any botox clinic could.

Inventory posed no problem. Molly had collected for years and could sell many of her pieces. If I can part with them, she thought.

Starting to sweep up a heap of debris from the former wall, Molly noticed a glint in the dull, chalk-white of plaster. Stooping, she found a tiny ring. Very simple, she thought, just a gold band. There were markings inside, but Molly decided to get her magnifying glass before trying to decipher them.

Placing the ring on her work table, she walked through the old parlor, now returned to its original shape thanks to her hard work. Maybe Karl could help her with this.

Molly had met Karl within days of taking over the house she’d inherited from her Great-Aunt Franny. She smiled, recalling their first meeting on that wild, spring morning. Dawn had arrived long after she awoke. “Too much to do to sleep,” she’d mused. Now she knew that fear after her bold move kept rousing her too early. In the early hours, she still heard a voice saying, “What have you done?”

That day, Molly had watched the sun rise and then set to work at clearing the attic, a task neglected for at least three generations. After an hour, she’d heard shouting and furious pounding at her front door. Running down four flights of stairs had winded her, leaving her momentarily speechless after opening the door. It was a good thing too. She should have slammed the door on him.

A tall, thin man in his 30s, soaked, stood dripping on her porch. A white dog, loud and equally wet, accompanied him. They both shivered.

“Let us in, or we’ll die out here,” begged Karl. “Sorry! I thought today might be a good time to introduce myself. Then it turned bad in a hurry. I’m Karl Adamson, your competition.” He grinned. “This is Emmie, and she’s harmless.”

“Come in, please.” Molly peered at the dark sky. Lightning flashed across the road.

“Can Emmie sit on that rug?”

“Of course, she can. I’ll get you both some towels.”

“Is that coffee over there on that wonderful Hoosier?”

“Yes. Help yourself while I dig out the towels. Luckily, I know which box has them. I’ll be right back.”

At first, Molly didn’t see Karl when she returned to the kitchen with the towels. Then she spotted him on his back under her large kitchen-table.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s a habit. I’m looking for a furniture-maker’s label.”

Molly laughed. “There’s no label on that table. My Dad made it years ago.”

“Quite talented,” said Karl, still wiping rainwater from his face and hair.

“He is. I’m lucky to have several pieces of his work.”

“Is he a professional furniture-maker?”

“No, he’s a brilliant carpenter who wanted to be a cabinetmaker, but modern industrial practices put that out of touch.”

“Would he make me one?”

“Sure, if you’re nice to him and pay him. I’ll give you his telephone number.”

“Thanks. So why’d you move here? Or have you answered that question enough?”

“I’ve answered it once or twice. It’s simple. I inherited the house and decided I could live here and be much more content than in the city.”

Beginning that day, Karl stopped by three or four times a week, perhaps for coffee or to invite her to auctions or estate sales. Instead of acting like her competition, he’d become one of her best friends

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