ROCKING HORSE
The air was redolent with the smell of garlic, tomato and cheese as Alan took one pan of bubbly light gold lasagna out of the oven and put it on the warming element on the back of the stove. He reached in to grab the second pan and eased that one into the insulated container on the counter. He stood back and surveyed his creations with a satisfied air.
"One for Millie and me tonight and one for the boys, if they show up later" he thought.There was salad in the refrigerator and he put the wrapped garlic bread into the oven to heat.
He glanced at the clock and heaved a sigh of relief. He still had 15 minutes before Millie was due. If it were Margaret who was going to walk through the door… Once, not long ago, he would have pushed that painful thought aside, but now he allowed his mind to wander. She would smile that 1000 watt smile our son inherited and tell me how lucky she was to have a good husband and a good wife in the same person. She appreciated my cooking.
"Well, so does Millie", he thought. Not being domestic herself, she enjoyed home cooking even better than eating out, which was how he liked it. Preparing meals as an attraction to the boys was important. Charlie didn't bother to cook often and Don kept dropping by to make sure Charlie didn't eat too much. At least that was one of the reasons given.
The phone rang and for a moment his heart lurched in fear. Stupid reaction. Charlie was at a school conference and Don was trapped by paperwork. No reason to worry tonight.
"Alan. It's Naomi. " He recognized the voice as that of Stan's wife. He and Stan were partners in a consulting business, having worked together as city planners for years before retirement. Margaret and Naomi had been friends from the time both of them had been mothers of very small children.
"Hi, Naomi. Please don't tell me Stan's birthday is coming up anytime soon. It only seems like a couple of months since the last one." He usually heard from Naomi only when she was planning another "surprise" birthday party for Stan, which never turned out to be a surprise.
Her cheerful voice replied, "No, of course it's not his birthday. Actually, I need a favor." There was a small wheedle in her tone now.
Alan knew his voice was tinged with suspicion as he asked, "What can I do for you then?" He knew Naomi served on a number of charitable boards in the city. Margaret used to say that she had made a life for herself sitting on boards. What if she wants me to get Charlie to headline a fundraiser? No way that's going to happen.
Naomi laughed and said, "Don't worry, Alan. I'm not trying to get you to commit Professor Charles Eppes, math genius, to anything. I remember your saying something about appeals you get last time we had dinner. I want something else entirely."
"I'm all ears," Alan joked, still keeping an eye on the clock.
"We are holding a variation of Antiques Road Show as a fundraiser for the hospital. There'll be a banquet and exhibit. We're asking certain people to bring an antique to the show so it can be exhibited and appraised. We'll sell banquet ticket to collectors and interested parties, who will have the opportunity to bid on the appraised items. The person with the antique will pay 10 of the selling price if it sells or, if they decide not to sell, they will donate 5 of the appraised value to our charity for the service. The appraiser will be a reputable party and the buyers will be assured of getting a genuine article. Those who furnish an item for appraisal attend the banquet free of charge. That way, everybody pays something and the charity collects a lot of money, we hope." Her voice was eager and edged with a little concern. "What do you think?"
"Frankly, I'm not sure why you think I might have something that qualifies as an antique. Margaret and I weren't really into antiques as such; we bought our furniture more for comfort and style than for collecting. We acquired some nice items over the years, but…"
She interrupted. "Whoops, sorry, Alan. Stan says I never give all the information when I talk. We are raising the money for the children's cancer unit of ------------------ Memorial Hospital. So, we are talking about antique toys being brought for appraisal, not furniture and china and things. I suddenly remembered that sweet rocking horse that Margaret told me you two had gotten at a real steal in some little antique store. I wondered if you still had it and if you thought it might be of enough interest to warrant a small contribution." Her voice was hopeful.
"Well…." Alan knew he sounded reluctant, but he also knew that Margaret hadn't sold or given away that horse, not with the memories both of them had of a curly haired little boy, chasing bandits and bad guys by the hour from its back. "When do you need the horse?" He thought he knew where it was, but getting to it would be a pain.
"As I said, I remembered that you had it just a little while ago." Her voice was apologetic and a little anxious. "Actually, the banquet and show are Saturday night of this week. I know it's a lot to ask at the last minute, but we could use a few more toys to round out the display. I knew you would try to find the time because it's such a good cause."
Boy, does she know me? Cancer and children. That's a combination I can't ignore. "I can't promise that I can locate the horse tomorrow because I have a early appointment as well as a guest coming tonight. But I'll look and call you back by tomorrow night. Will that do?"
"Thanks, Alan. I would appreciate it very much, if you think you still have it. I wondered if you might have given it away, what with no grandchildren in sight. I actually have a couple of extra tickets if you think Don and Charlie might like to come with you. Just let me know."
Trust Naomi to rub it in just a little. She and Stan had three grandchildrenand carried tons of pictures around "Talk with you tomorrow," he said, just as the doorbell rang. He put the matter out of his mind and went to welcome his guest.
"Now comes the challenge," Alan muttered as he walked into the garage the next morning and faced Charlie's precious boards and workspace. He knew that his son could live in the midst of chaos, but touch his precious blackboards and Charlie lost his cool. He depended on his boards to be exactly where he needed them when he turned from the equations on one board to continue his work on the next one. And the area Alan needed cleared was behind several of those blackboards. Not to mention the boxes that were stacked behind the boards, out of the way.
Carefully, he put chalk marks on the floor where the base of the boards went. Then he numbered each box sequentially and prepared to shift everything out of the way. Hidden behind all the paraphernalia was the door to a small storage room that had originally been intended to hold yard and garden tools. Alan remembered the days when he had cleaned the room, built a little table, chair, and a small bunk bed so that Donnie could have some private space of his own, particularly as Charlie had gotten older and couldn't be kept out of his brother's room. Don had played in his bunk house as a child, and used the space in his early teens for his sports equipment. When he had gotten older, Margaret had turned the room into storage for the boys' old toys, books, and keepsakes. He hadn't been in that room since long before Margaret had died. She had kept it organized herself, seeming to find comfort in the remnants of her boys' pasts.
Alan glanced at his watch. He needed to do this and be out of the house within an hour. The boards were heavy and cumbersome, but he managed to slide them aside enough to have space for the boxes to be shifted. Soon, he could manage to get to the door and pull it half way open. He flipped the light switch and peered into the dusty little room.
The first thing he saw was a box of photographs on top of the bunk. He smiled as he picked up the top one. Just then he heard a voice calling him.
"Alan, are you in here?"
It was Amita, Charlie's former student and current girlfriend, who poked her head around the door. "I didn't know this room was even here," her soft voice exclaimed. She slipped into the room to stand beside him. "Oh, how adorable he is." She took the picture from his hand. "I didn't know Charlie was into playing cowboys."
Alan knew she had looked first at the riotous black curls on the small dark eyed boy who was waving a cowboy hat with one hand and pointing a six shooter with the other, while holding the reins of a sturdy wooden rocking horse in the gun hand. He smiled, waiting for her to realize her error.
"Wait, that doesn't look like Charlie's other pictures. Is that …Don? I can't believe all those curls." Her voice was incredulous.
"That was taken about the time Charlie was born, and don't you dare tell Don that you saw a picture where he had curls. He always hated them and had us give him a "big boy" haircut before he ever started school. I tried to tell him the girls would love the curls, but he wasn't into girls then. By the time he was interested, he'd listened to too many women gushing over Charlie's curls to want anything to do with that hairstyle."
"Did you need something, Amita?" He took the picture from her and put it back in the box. Glancing around, waiting for her answer, he saw something covered with the quilt that used to be on Donnie's bed. Bet that's it.
"Charlie left his notes for his noon planning meeting here and he's got class this morning. So I volunteered to come pick them up." He waited for her to go to Charlie's desk, but she stood, just looking around.
Alan pulled the quilt off the rocking horse, folded it and put it on top of the photographs. He knew he didn't have time to examine the pictures right now, but figured he'd take the box into the house and go through them later. Picking up the toy he walked past Amita into the garage proper.
"That's such a … sturdy looking horse," was the only thing she could come up with. Why are you looking for it?"
Alan put the horse down and returned for the box of photos, which he also placed on the garage floor. Having turned out the light and closed the door, he began to shift the boxes back into place, explaining as he worked.
"It's for a toy antiques road show fund raiser Saturday night. A friend knew I still had the toy, and when Margaret and I bought it the seller told us it was a somewhat rare item. So, Naomi wanted me to bring it to the banquet to be appraised and see if she can squeeze some money out of me for the Children's Cancer Fund. There's a dinner and appraisal event this Saturday night. I have three free tickets, but I doubt the boys will want to attend."
Amita picked up the folder from Charlie's desk and followed him into the house. Quickly he put the horse down in the dining room and went back for the box.
"I've an appointment downtown in just a few minutes, Amita. Did you get what you needed for Charlie?" He locked the back door and grabbed his coat, moving her toward the front door.
"Why don't you invite Charlie to attend, Alan? I'd like to come too and before you offer, kindly remember I am a full professor at CalSci now and can afford to buy a ticket of my own," she said with a note of laughter in her voice. "I'd like to see if the toy has any value. Do you have a picture of Charlie riding it?"
"Why don't you tell Charlie you want to come and explain the idea to him? I really have to go. I'll tell you about Charlie and Sport at a later date."
Saturday night and for a change, Alan knew where his kids were. For some reason, Don had decided to come to the fundraiser and so had Charlie. Amita was a given, as she had been the one to entice Charlie. Don, well maybe he just wanted to see Sport again. He hadn't gotten to the house before Alan took the horse down to the hall.
The food was typical banquet, rubber chicken with a cream sauce, a green vegetable with a starch and cheesecake for dessert. Actually it hadn't been bad, just not red meat. Afterwards, Robert Cullin, introduced as an expert in antique toys had begun his appraisals. He would call the owner up to hold his toy aloft, then take the item and check all sides to see if it had significant value. There were about 30 items. Each took three to four minutes to appraise, followed by a brief discussion with the owner as to where the toy was purchased, etc.
Sport was a late entry into the show, so Alan was called last. He held the toy up so the audience could see it, then rested it on the table positioned for the benefit of the expert.
"Humm." The sound was familiar, as Cullin had used it while he valued most of the toys. "Mr. Eppes, where did you acquire this rocking horse?"
"My wife and I bought it at an outdoor flea market, or rather at an antique booth in that larger market, back when our first son was about a year old. He actually saw it first and kept trying to touch it. The dealer said he hadn't come across one just like it before and it could be rare. We didn't care about that. We just knew Donnie really liked it." Alan didn't glance at his older son as the nickname slipped out. He knew the look on Don's face would chill his bones. He could get by calling him that at home, but not in public. Thank goodness none of his FBI team members were around tonight.
"Well, Mr. Eppes, this toy is one of a limited edition of rocking horses made in 1854 by a German toymaker and it is quite rare. Here is the plate indicating just JM, which are the initials used by Johan Meintz. It's really too bad that you didn't take better care of this item. It would be quite valuable if it weren't so well-used and worn, but it still has an appraisal value of approximately $4000. In mint condition, you could probably have gotten $7000 or more."
Alan's mouth dropped open and the audience gasped. It was the most highly appraised item in the roadshow and he was astounded. It was just Sport, Donnie's old rocking horse. "$4000!"
Then Alan got his brain back into gear and his mouth into motion. "Sport is not 'well-used, Mr. Cullin. He is 'well-loved." The audience snickered at the indignation in his voice.
The master of ceremonies stopped to ask if he was going to accept bids from the audience on the horse. The rest of the scheduled program was seeing how many of the toys would be sold at or close to appraised value to the antique dealers and charity patrons in the room. Belatedly, Alan remembered the charitable donation part of the program. If he sold the horse, he gave 10 of the sale price to charity and if he didn't sell it, 5 for the appraisal fee.
As people began to look at the toys and make bids, Charlie, Don and Amita walked over to look at Sport. Several other people were examining the horse by now and Charlie asked, "Are you going to sell, Dad? That's a chunk of change."
"Charlie." Amita's voice sounded surprised. "You really want your father to sell one of the family's favorite toys?"
Don and Alan looked at each other and grinned, waiting for Charlie's reply.
Charlie had inherited Sport when his brother had gotten too big to ride him. And Don knew all about Charlie's reactions to the horse.
Charlie had hated that horse. They had never quite figured out why, but from the time he was small, he swore the horse kept trying to kick him. Maybe it was because the first time Margaret put him on Sport, he had promptly fallen off. She had taken the horse out of Charlie's room within a few months.
"Well…" Charlie looked desperately at them, but Don and Alan kept silent. Naomi bustled over with a broad smile.
"Alan, are you going to sell the horse? I've seen several people who want to place bids." She knew full well that she had a good donation coming, at least $200 if he didn't sell and more if he did. "Besides, it's not like you have grandchildren to enjoy the toy." She glanced archly at Charlie and Amita, adding, "Though that might be more of a possibility that it used to be."
Don rolled his eyes and Charlie simply closed his. Amita shrugged, having listened to the brothers' Dad lament no grandchildren too often to pay much attention.
Hey, I'm the only one allowed to make grandchild cracks to my kids.
"No, I don't think I want to sell Sport. He's really a family treasure, as the appraisal testifies, and we might need him again. I'll write the charity a check, Naomi."
"Aunt Naomi, I'll write you a check for the same amount as Dad's, seeing as how I'm the one who 'well-loved' Sport enough to reduce his value." Don's voice was amused.
"Charlie, didn't you ever play on Sport?" Amita's voice was curious and Alan knew how persistent she was. Before the evening was over, they were going to hear all about that 'mean horse.' He just knew it. It could be a long night. But Sport was going home with his boy. Well, home to his boy's brother's house."
Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night.
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