Real Treasures

By Carol Kehlmeier

Barbara promised her father to keep Brewster Family Dry Cleaner open. She says it is her ‘calling’, but it has become her obsession–and not the only one.

The once family friendly neighborhood is changing, but it is the only home Barbara has ever known. Blessed with two daughters and a loving and understanding mother and husband, what will it take for her to see that her Real Treasure is right in front of her?

Written from the viewpoint of Maggie, nine years old and big sister to Sophie, seven, life in a decaying Ohio downtown springs to life in all its wonder and harsh reality.

Another stunning piece of Americana from Carol Kehlmeier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WoolysWagon ePublishing
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370045648

Carol Kehlmeier

Carol Kehlmeier is an extremely talented creator of characters. Whether set in the 1950's or today her characters move you, resonate with you and sometimes exasperate you. Regardless, they always ring true and never contrived. A former newspaperwoman and columnist her freelance work, both fiction and non fiction, has appeared in magazines, web sites, ebooks, newspapers, and anthologies. Her work has also been recognized at writers’ gatherings. She writes from Westerville, Ohio. Strawberry Season Stick Figures Real Treasures I Wanted to Write a Song A Christmas Medley http://woolyswagon.com/CarolKehlmeier.html Please write to Carol Kehlmeier and let her know what you thought about her book. Thank You! [e-mail]

Book preview

Real treasures

CAROL KEHLMEIER

WoolysWagon ePublishing

www.woolyswagon.com

[e-mail]

This book is a work of fiction except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form.

Copyright © 2013 Carol Kehlmeier

All rights reserved.

Published in USA

Mountain View, CA

Smashwords Edition

Matthew 6:19-21

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

CHAPTER ONE

Curled up on the blanket beneath the counter, I doubled up in piercing pain and heard Mama’s soft voice above me.

I kept little Maggie home today because she had a stomach ache, I heard her tell the customer.

I was burning hot and my mouth was parched, but I knew not to interrupt Mama when she was with a customer.

Closing my eyes, I could hear the steam hiss from the press where Grandma stood and ironed the garments customers brought to the shop.

I hope she feels better, the customer said.

She’ll be fine. Little ones do get bugs now and then, Mama said cheerfully. God bless you.

The odor of the cleaning fluid was making me nauseous. I felt my stomach churn, then vomit rise in my throat. I swallowed.

The bell over the door jingled as the customer made her exit.

Mama bent down and felt my head. Feel any better? I looked up to see her push her brown curls away from her eyes. You don’t look good at all. She stood. Mom, come look at Maggie.

I heard Grandma shuffle over and saw her big white apron hanging to her ankles. She bent over me and I felt her small icy hand on my hot head. Barbara, you better get her to the doctor. She’s burning up.

I gave her aspirin, she’ll get better.

Barbara! Grandma’s voice grew louder. Get her to the doctor. I’ll watch the shop.

I could hear Mama mumbling as she gathered up her purse and jacket. Her favorite place was the family dry cleaner and that’s where she spent most of her waking hours. I heard her say many times it was her calling.

Earlier, I heard seven year-old Sophie ask Mama, How’s Maggie? Is she well?

I heard Mama assure her I was fine. Now get to school or you’ll be late.

Sophie was my little sister and my constant companion. She was under my care when Mama and Grandma were in the shop. I couldn’t remember much of my life before Sophie. Who would look after her if I was sick? I wondered. What if I died?

Mama bent down and tried to help me to my feet. I hurt so badly I couldn’t move.

Come on, Maggie. She pleaded.

I groaned and tried to stand. The room whirled. The sensation inside me was of swords twisting and turning.

Barbara, call the squad! Grandma’s voice was demanding.

Mama’s feet echoed across the tiled floor to the telephone. The room continued to whirl. Grandma helped me back to the blanket. My stomach rebelled and Grandma tried to clean up the vomit on my pajamas.

In a distance the screeching of the siren grew closer and closer, then the jangle of the bell above the door was followed by heavy footsteps.

Back here, Grandma called. Be careful, she’s awful sick.

How old is the child? A medic asked.

Nine, Grandma’s voice trembled.

As I was lifted up everything went black.

~~~

I could smell Daddy’s pipe before I forced open my eyes. I saw Mama in what she called her work dress. It was almost to her ankles and pale blue with the big wooden buttons all the way down the front.

Daddy was standing above me. He took my hand. How do you feel, Honey? His voice echoed from a deep tunnel.

I couldn’t speak.

My eyelids were heavy.

In the darkness behind my eyelids, I heard Daddy. Barbara, why didn’t you get her to the doctor sooner? She could have died. It’s that damn shop. You care more for it than the girls.

I’d heard it all before. Daddy insisting Mama sell the shop. Mama would whine and say she had promised her father on his death bed she would always run the Brewster Family Dry Cleaner.

The little bit I remembered Grandpa, I knew in my heart he would understand. I recalled one time when he closed up the shop and Grandma and he took me to the Christmas parade. Sophie was just a baby, so she didn’t remember. My grandbabies are more important than all the dry cleaners in America, he had said and Grandma agreed.

You know how kids are. They get sick, Mama’s voice grew faint.

Not that sick. Lucky for you your mother made you call the squad.

I didn’t know. Mama mumbled.

You have time for your prayer meetings and whatever else you do; you need to spend more time with our girls, Daddy’s voice rose in anger. Sell the damn shop.

But Mama always seemed to have excuses why not to sell the dry cleaner. We need the money.

I make plenty of money. This child is more important than that damn dry cleaner. I’ve told you before to get rid of it, now I’m insisting. Sell it! You need to take care of Maggie and Sophie. He continued holding my fingers in his big warm hand.

But we need the money.

We can get by on my salary. What do you do with all the money? I want that place up for sale and sold.

But it was Daddy’s. She was whining. I promised to keep it.

Daddy bent and kissed my forehead. The smell of his pipe tobacco was comforting. You’re going to be fine, Honey, you’re in the hospital. You just had your appendix out. It took all my strength to open my eyes and see him turn to Mama. It was about to burst!

As usual, Mama tried to reason. Little ones do get sick. It’s not usually appendix.

I heard Daddy tell her to sell the dry cleaner many times and heard many quarrels over it when they didn’t know I was listening. It was obvious Grandma felt the same way. When he wasn’t around, Grandma told her, It’s time, Barbara. It’s become a burden.

I had even heard Grandma telling her all the work wasn’t worth it. You hardly earn enough to pay the bills. And, Barbara, I’m getting too old to help. It just wears me to a frazzle.

Mama had a difficult time listening to anyone’s advice or suggestions.

Your father would have wanted you to sell the cleaners. Besides, this neighborhood is going to the dogs, Grandma told her. The girls need to be raised in a nice neighborhood and go to a nice school.

Mama would stiffen up, push her chin upward and go on about whatever she was doing.

Sophie and I talked about moving to a nicer neighborhood and a better school. We both had dreams of moving and each of us taking with us one of those red bicycles in Foster’s Hardware. Whenever we mentioned those bikes, Mama told us we didn’t have the money for bikes.

And don’t you bother your father about those bikes. He has enough on his mind. They just work the poor man to death and never give him a raise or bonus.

CHAPTER TWO

When I arrived home, there was a small hand written For Sale sign on cardboard in the big window of the Brewster Family Dry Cleaner.

The shop was on the first floor of the three story high building. Covered in blistering grey paint, Mama had talked many times about having it painted, but like many of her talked about plans, the paint remained wrinkled and peeling. To me, it was like the craggy faced old man with evil in his eyes I had seen wandering the neighborhood.

We lived above the shop in five rooms and a bath. The third floor was uninhabited and Sophie and I were forbidden to go