At the store

The chime jingled as I opened the door to ‘Quiet Treasures’.

“Coming, coming!” I heard the voice of Gertrude, the lovely older lady that ran the antique store.

I maneuvered myself in between the vintage furniture and recent drop offs.

“It’s just me!” I called, knowing full well she wouldn’t hear me.

We clearly had just gotten a delivery, as the normally one person path through the store was more difficult to traverse than normal - that and I didn’t recognize a number of pieces.

Gertrude came around the corner, stepping through a doorway that was opposite her desk - one of the two places where she lived - the other being in the back poring over her old catalogues to identify what comes in.

“Ah! It’s you!” She looked meaningfully at the grandfather clock beside her which has unfailingly been off since we acquired it.

“Little Ben here says you’re late” she admonished me.

I quirked a brow at it and looked at my watch. “Little Ben doesn’t think anyone’s on time” I teased.

She glowered at me beneath her thick rimmed glasses, folded her arms over her paisley blouse.

After a span of perhaps ten seconds we both burst out laughing.

This was our little ritual.

But it was a fun one, she always looked for an excuse to keep me here longer to help with cleanup, and I typically found an excuse to leave on time.

“Quite the batch we got” I commented, as I acquainted myself with what we had in.

Gertrude nodded vigorously, letting her grey bun bounce with enough **** that I feared it would leap off of her head and onto my face.

“We even got an almost complete set of Victorian Era dining table & chairs” she pointed to the mahogany that dominated the center of the “available” space. I could recognize the design at this point, having worked with her for almost two years.

“Is this from that estate sale? The one you’ve been talking about since you heard that one lady was nearing a hundred?” I asked.

Gertrude grinned, she managed to make it wolfish. “That’s the one my boy. And best of all! It even has the maker’s name on the table!” She clasped her hands mournfully “oh it cost me a pretty penny. But I’ll be able to get my value back out of it” she looked at me “As it cost me a pretty penny. I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you your weekly pay on Friday, it will have to wait until next week.” She looked at me solemnly for a moment “I am sorry about that dear.”

I nodded slowly.

The antique business was never what you call lucrative. For as much as one item might sell - you’re sitting on it and have shelled out money for quite a while before it finds a new home.

Gertrude hadn’t ever been rich, but her late husband had collected many things over the years and tucked them into a storage unit.

When he passed, Gertrude had little choice but to either give it away or become a business owner. She was too prideful and stubborn to forego an opportunity.

I said simply “That’s fine. Besides” said I, patting the table. “I’m sure this will sell soon. We always have a few people coming in for Victorian furniture - even if it’s missing a chair.”

Gertrude relaxed her shoulders, clearly worried I would be upset and glad for the positive affirmation.

“Right you are. In fact! Why don’t you be a dear and help set up the space better? I have some more acquisitions to identify.” And with that she moved into the back room.

The bulk of my day was re-organizing the space. After a couple of hours it was an almost respectable (and navigable) store.

Looking at the table and chairs, I thought “This really would make a fine sale, especially if she had that oth-“. I stopped that thought and looked around the room.

Trying to decide what to sacrifice.

I grinned when my gaze settled on it.

“That!” I said aloud.

Quickly using the Catcher I selected one of the Victorian chairs as the base item, and as I swung around to focus on the most ghastly item in the room - a hideous table lamp that was stylized with the likeness of a clown.

As I was pushing down on the button, those chimes dinged as the door opened.

I swung around, facing the newcomer and as I did I realized my finger was on the device.

It was one of our favorite customers Breanna Houston. A tall dark haired woman in her early thirties who was a realtor that focused on character homes. She walked in with a cream colored coat, light colored pants, and dazzled me with that smile of hers.