The Yard Sale Caper and Other Stories

By Eleanore E. Smith

The Yard Sale Caper and Other Stories is a charming collection of stories featuring the adventures and exploits of an older couple, Henry and Lola. Both are retired schoolteachers who are also aspiring authors, always in search of new material for the stories they write.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491810682

Eleanore E. Smith

Eleanore E. Smith holds a master’s degree in Judaic studies from Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts. She is also the author of Plastic Flowers. Eleanore, an artist, pianist, and book reviewer, lives in Massachusetts where she teaches.

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© 2013 by Eleanore E. Smith. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/29/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1068-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

The Yard Sale Caper

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

A Wedding In Coppet

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Lola Makes A Match

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

The Choice of The Turtle

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

The House On Meeting Street

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Beshert

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Fame and Glory

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

The Hapsburg Connection

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Epilogue

Secrets

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Epilogue

The Clock

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Epilogue

Summer

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

A Throw of the Dice

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

The Yard Sale Caper

Henry Orenstein, a writer of short stories and novellas, had no success in finding a publisher. Other authors resorted to vanity presses, as did Henry, but how many of them had smuggled their literary creations into bookstores, discreetly placing them onto shelves next to the books of legitimately published authors. There is no way of knowing. He suspected that when buyers of his books, if there were any, presented his book at the checkout counter, clerks were mystified when the barcode failed to reconcile with their inventory. Henry wondered how the bookstores dealt with this eventuality, but that was not his concern. He self published under the pseudonym Henry O, placing his work on shelves near to those of Edna O’Brien and James Patterson. Granted, the possibility always existed that the identity of Henry O might be discovered, but as yet that had not happened. He was careful to place only one copy in each bookstore.

Among Henry’s relatives were doctors, lawyers, teachers, and composers of beautiful music. His forebears hailed from the shtetls of Russia and the city of Vienna. His maternal grandparents had lived during the period of the Hapsburgs, under the rule of the Emperor Franz Joseph. In fact, it was to this ruler that they abandoned all loyalty when they emigrated to America. Along with their allegiance to the Emperor and Czar, Henry’s grandparents relinquished the legacy of oppression they had suffered in the towns and cities of Europe. Arriving on the shores of the Golden Land, they were filled with the hope and promise of America. His father’s parents arrived on the SS Batavia; the distaff side came on the Nordam. According to family records, there were stops in Liverpool and Rotterdam. No fancy staterooms for Europe’s downtrodden; it was steerage all the way. A great uncle also left Europe with the promise of sending for his wife. Because Fanny had warts and an unpleasant disposition (the marriage had most likely been arranged) his great uncle refused to honor his promise. His sister, Henry’s grandmother, would not permit it, and so passage for the unsuitable woman was arranged. Henry remembered when they all sat in his grandmother’s kitchen drinking tea from glasses with a sugar cube clenched between their teeth. Henry never blamed his uncle for wanting to abandon Fanny. She was incredibly homely and stupid. Second cousins came home on leave from the army, and Henry remembered their splendid uniforms. Not being the possessor of an intrepid nature, Henry could only write about people who did heroic and courageous things. Smuggling books into bookstores was the most daring thing he had ever done.

This book received excellent reviews, Henry recommended to a fellow browser, referring to his own publication, which he held in hand.

Really? responded the woman, seemingly interested in discovering a good read.

I own a copy, countered Henry, and am considering buying it for a friend. The browser appeared interested.

What’s it about? she asked.

Disappointment and unfulfilled expectation, he told her.

Sounds rather dreary,

On the contrary, it’s quite interesting, and the prose is excellent. Take a look, and he handed the book to the woman. Henry hoped when the decision to buy his book was made the bookstore would order it, and through word of mouth his reputation would grow. This could be the beginning. The woman studied the book, all the while observing Henry’s unnatural excitement. Something was not right. He was too eager. She recognized the signs.

"You’re Henry O, aren’t you?’ she asked, looking him straight in the eye. Henry’s heart skipped a beat.

How did you know? he managed.

And you self published the book, didn’t you?

How did she guess? Some typos, perhaps, or the format?

And you smuggled it into the store. Right?

Was it that obvious?

I’ve been observing you because I recognize the signs.

What signs? Henry sputtered.

Don’t be embarrassed, she confided. I do it all the time. Henry nearly fainted.

Chapter Two

He regarded his writing as inspired, but friends of Henry who had read his work could not offer much, except to say, I wish I could write. The praise Henry sought was never forthcoming, yet still he wrote. Today he lived in the same town into which he had been born sixty three years ago. He had never married.

Henry was slight of stature and wore thick glasses. A neurotic who worried about death and dying, he kept his daily pills in a long orange plastic box with separate compartments designating each day of the week. When he mixed up the pills he was often left confused as to whether he had taken too many or too few. Lately he had been bothered by a nagging ache in his lower left side and wondered if he should consult his doctor. Henry’s own father had been a physician, prompting Henry to suspect that he, himself, suffered from white coat syndrome. Days before he took his cat to the vet he developed symptoms of extreme anxiety. He experienced episodes of dry mouth, rapid heartbeat and vague stomach distress; every missed beat of Henry’s gentle heart conjured up the spectre of sudden death.

Lola Wantz would turn sixty next month. She had chosen the pseudonym, Clarissa Spencer, because she thought it sounded British. A short woman with thinning hair, Lola admired the English writers. Among her idols was the celebrated Ruth Rendell, author of numerous mysteries, the kinds of stories Lola aspired to write. Rendell’s prose and plots were inspired, but Lola could not achieve a similar effect. She read voluminously and wrote feverishly, dreaming up metaphors in her sleep, but the results were disappointing. That is why Lola Wantz resorted to the vanity press and, like Henry, smuggled her work into bookstores. Until Henry, she was certain she was the only one. Perhaps she and Henry Orenstein, as she eventually discovered to be the true identity of Henry O, could start a business in conjunction with other unpublished writers such as themselves. Lola, and surely Henry, had an inventory of vanity press books they had published, and others might, as well. They could discuss the concept over coffee. She would suggest it.

Oddly enough, they discovered that they lived in the same condominium complex. People who remained strangers to one another were always moving in and out. Both were retired schoolteachers. Coincidences like that did not often happen, and they secretly regarded it as an omen. Henry, like Lola, was a dreamer, always off somewhere in his imagination. At the moment he was in an ordinary bookstore, but his mind drifted off into the misty splendor of Swiss Alps and mountain lakes. It wound itself around snowy peaks, picturesque hillside towns and historic villages. The secret places of Henry’s thoughts were far removed from twenty first century stress. It was to other places he retreated to linger amidst the scent of pine and jasmine from nearby hills. The wistful beauty of the Alps accompanied Henry as he made his way through his own tedious life. Similarly, Lola found solace among imaginary landscapes. For her they were places of wonder, mystery and intrigue, backdrops for stories she would write that would never be published.

Chapter Three

Henry’s eyes were set too close together and he had a receding chin. He was nothing to look at. Lola had round shoulders and was not the type to draw a second glance. Her best feature was her dark brown eyes. Henry O and Clarissa Spencer were, respectively, the most exciting features of Henry and Lola, and it was through their voices that these two souls made themselves known. Henry’s characters lived lives of quiet desperation, as Thoreau might have said, while Lola’s people, like Hemingway’s, followed the call of adventure.

Over coffee they eased into conversation, not about themselves, but about the condominium complex where they lived. It was safe territory, and so they ventured into shallow waters, testing the temperature before wading in too deep. They talked about the generic subject of the yard sale that had been proposed by one of the residents. At first, the sale had seemed to be a low key, harmless venture, but at The Pines it had become a cause celebre.

I thought it was a good idea, Lola told Henry, until some women suggested it could attract unsavory elements to the community. There are many older widows who feel threatened by the idea of strangers among them. Henry listened and agreed.

What I heard, he told her, was that the proponents were upset when told that in order to hold the sale they needed the approval of the Board of Governors.

Lola told him that issues of Master Deeds and By-Laws were being invoked. Moreover, the community had split into two camps, one for the sale and one against.

Hateful and vindictive e-mails have been floating around, Lola informed him, and asked if Henry had received any.

As a matter of fact I just received one demanding the resignation of the entire Board of Governors, he told her.

Frankly, they should abandon the idea. Who wants criminal elements casing the place under the guise of bargain hunting?

You could be right, Henry agreed. I’ve heard stories about yard sales being followed by robberies.

So have I Lola informed him, becoming animated at the thought of the havoc a yard sale could pose. I call it the yard sale wars. It has a catchy sound: maybe I’ll write a story about it. We could even break into someone’s apartment and blame it on the sale. Henry laughed at the suggestion.

Chapter Four

The next time they met was for dinner. Over dessert the subject of the proposed break-in came up. Lola had intended the suggestion as a joke, but she picked up the threads of their earlier conversation.

Seriously, she told him, I think it could provide a research experiment. We could try, see how it turns out and co-author a book. We’d call it The Yard Sale Caper.

You’re joking, right?

No, I’m serious, she told him, clapping her hands with childish glee. Henry wiped his mouth with his napkin. I think it’s an inspired idea, in fact. Henry put down his napkin. Lola hadn’t touched her apple pie