The Widow's Box: A Test of Time

By Peter A. LaPorta

The women have gossiped with stories throughout history as if these walls could talk and they heard every word. The men regale each other with exaggerated stories assuming the mattress could not talk and challenge their boasts. What stories would the furniture tell if it shared the inside secrets? How many lives has it touched in the last 100 years? How many generations have touched the high gloss cherry wood finish and lived to tell the tale? Every scratch has a story, every blemish a punishment. True furniture endures the test of time and captures lifetimes of moments along the way.

A violent storm in 1916 destroys the southern ridge of the Blue Ridge Mountains but gives birth to furniture manufacturing. The very trees that threatened lives in the storm are transformed into beautiful furniture pieces with a hidden feature; A Widow’s Box. As the set is purchased and becomes part of the Papa family, the hidden box is kept secret. Some use the box to hide their past, some to save their future. Generations of family endure the struggle to maintain the furniture and protect the secrets within.

Come along on this magical journey through time as LaPorta whisks you away along the lives that are touched within a 100 years. Some will perish and other flourish but they all have one thing in common, the Widow’s Box. Will the secret within be carried to the graveyard of the landfill or will quality and love endure…the test of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665579926

Peter A. LaPorta

Peter A. LaPorta is the International Best-Selling Author of eight previous titles of Fiction and Non-Fiction. A former leader at Walt Disney World and Universal Studios, he is an award-winning speaker and leader heralded all over the world for his excellence and achievement. Through various mediums including print, television, and radio, his words have resonated to audiences around the globe. His breakout non-fiction book, "Ignite the Passion, A Guide to Motivational Leadership" was named by Amazon to be in the top 20 motivational leadership books of all time. He burst into the Fiction scene with "Normandy Nights", a finalist for Best Historical Fiction by Author Academy Awards. His follow up blockbuster, "The Card" was nominated for Best Thriller Fiction by Author Elite Awards. His suspense thriller, Turtle Master, A Passage through Time, brought audiences to the edge of their seats as they traveled the world with a serial killer. His latest work, The Widow’s Box- A Test of Time takes a more poignant turn as you travel through time and generations, promising to entertain you from this Master in Entertainment himself. For more information on Peter and his incredible journey visit http://laportaenterprises.com.

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Contents

1922

1

2

3

1939

1

2

3

4

5

6

1945

1

2

3

4

5

6

1964

1

2

3

4

5

6

1972

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

1982

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

1982-2016

1

2016

1

2

3

Author’s Note

To Schedule a Speaker Event, Book Signing or Seminar, please access

http://laportaenterprises.com

For

All the keepers of the set, part or whole, and

all the lives touched along the way

1922

1

"Grandpa. Tell us the story of the storm."

Oh, Frankie. Not again.

The Platas family proper, all twelve, were seated at the giant outdoor picnic table that was crafted by the patriarch himself, Frank Platas Sr. The typical Sunday afternoon feast was a time honored tradition that would transcend long into the next century. The belief was that the gathering of family to a Sunday dinner was essential to the blessings of any household, regardless of their immigrant status. The Platas family was like every other American family that kept the Sabbath day sacred, putting aside all work to worship The Lord and the family unit.

Much like any other Sunday, the family had gathered early in the morning and walked en masse to the Catholic Church that was close to three miles away. The feet were always singing louder than the voices of the choir by the time they returned home to the farm but there was not a complaint among them. Grandma and Grandpa always led the small convoy, setting the pace that could easily be overtaken by the group’s younger legs, spry with morning energy. Decorum had the two sons follow their father since they made up the latter half of the Frank Platas and Sons Furniture Company. Frank Jr. was the elder by a year and his charming wife Ethel walked on the outside left, never to come between the two brothers.

To Frank Junior’s right was his younger brother Benny. The morning walks often brought sunshine and smiles to the family faces but very rarely to the younger son. Benito Platas wore the hardships of life sternly on his face. He had fought valiantly in the World War but was sent home after only a year with a piece of shrapnel in his right calf. Though he walked with a limp he never once slowed the pace or offered grimace to their Sunday stroll to church. He was a hard man who went off to fight when his brother was deemed unfit for combat. Frank Jr. was missing the tip of what would have been his trigger finger due to a youthful error in his father’s toolshed. Both men wore their scars with dignity and neither showed any signs of weakness. They labored hard in their family mill six days a week and not a soul could say that they favored their shortcomings.

Walking on Benny’s right was his wife Harriet. She was a hard woman married to a hard man and her youth had dissipated quickly when her husband went off to war. They were barely married a fall season when Benny went off to fight and it was not until his basic training was over that she found out she was pregnant with twins. He never got to see her bulging at the seams since he was fighting on distant shores. She told him very little of her challenges through scarce letters but instead told Benny how the Platas family had rallied together to assist her, especially his only sister Sally.

Sally Delmonico, formerly known as Sally Platas, was the youngest of the three children. Two years younger than Benny, she held on to her youth the longest. When her brother went off to fight the war and her eldest brother took on more responsibility at the mill, the pressure was upon her to find a man and marry him so that he could help in the family business. Her newlywed bed had not cooled when Benny returned and her new found husband took a backseat quickly, never quite affirming himself in the regime. Timothy Delmonico worked hard none the less but his promise of being a leader in the mill had been nullified.

Each of the three couples had produced offspring. Frank Jr. and Ethel gave birth to the first grandchild, Frank Platas III. Benny met his twin children when they were three months old, annoyed at the way that Pat and Paula carried on while he was recuperating. He wasn’t happy about any of the children until Sally and Tim had produced Pamela Jane. It was always possible that he had started to mellow as time progressed but the family knew better. More likely was the fact that his little sister had made a girl of her own and it was that sole fact that cracked the stone face into a small smile any time Pamela Jane was around.

The twelve had returned home from church and the activities proceeded as usual. Grandpa Frank, his two sons and Tim drank fresh tea on the porch while Ethel, Harriet, Sally and Grandma Betty prepared the food in the kitchen. Depending on the weather and how much energy the men had, they would often gather on the side of the farm house to throw shoes. Grandpa Frank and Benny would roll themselves a cigarette with scorn as the other two were happy for the down time away from their children. The four grandchildren played in the dooryard until the dinner bell chimed and they all gathered around the picnic table.

Frank Sr. gave the blessing and the dining process began. The food was bountiful, not due to their limited affluence as business owners, but rather due to the hard work of the four women. During the week while the men were busy at the mill, the women worked the fields of the farm while tending to the small children. They grew fresh vegetables and raised chickens and goats to provide dairy and meat. Collectively, the family Platas was a well-oiled machine and they had much to be thankful for when counting their blessings.

Little Frankie. Why do you like that story so much?

The young namesake seemed to give the question much thought before coming back with a simple answer. Because it’s fun.

The response brought laughter to the whole table except Benito.

You wouldn’t have thought it was so fun if you were there young man.

Oh, Benny, leave the poor boy alone.

I wouldn’t think you enjoyed it either, Harriet.

No one enjoyed that storm Benny. But your father tells it so well.

Frank Sr. threw up his hands in defeat. Ok, ok. If the boy wants to hear the story again, who am I to deprive him?

The adults at the table all smirked and continued to eat. They knew all too well that Grandpa loved to be the entertainer of the group. It was Grandma who gave him the approval to do so at the table.

If you are intent on telling that foolishness again, I will not have the Lord’s blessings getting cold. You speak but everyone else keep eating.

Of course, my bride. You have worked too long in the kitchen for me to spoil the goat’s milk with my sour story.

Grandpa Frank took one final bite of his bread and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. Clearing his throat, he paused to take his mind back to that stormy day. It remained fresh in his mind as the greens on the plate in front of him. Looking at his grandson directly he began.

"The year was 1916 and we had just returned from our week off for the July 4th holiday…

2

It was July in the Carolinas and it was wetter than a mule in the pasture after a spring rain. The sweat was rolling off our heads like we were swimming in the creek. If not for all of the activity going on to prepare, the humidity would surely tell of the giant storm that was coming. Your Pa, Uncle Benny and me were all working over at the Biltmore Estate. Master John had a bee in his bonnet and wanted everything prim and proper before the storm came. We had spent the whole day in the gardens wrapping up the smallest plants and transplanting the big ones. I spent most of that day in the Italian Garden while the boys were inside the Observatory getting the glass ready for the storm. He came out and stood in the middle of the shrub garden like he was King Titan himself. He started yelling that everyone should come gather round for some instruction. Of course I was pretty much front and center since I was nearby but the boys took a spell to first hear about the gathering before coming over. John gave them a scowl before standing on a bench to yell at all of us.

We got a big one coming boys. The radio has been buzzing all morning from the ships on the coast. Big winds and ocean swells are going to wipe out the coast on this one. Yes, Sir. That’s what they are saying. We won’t be safe in the mountains for this one. Not at all. We might get wiped out. Only safe place is going to be in the main house. Once we get everything wrapped up good and tight, you can all bring your families in to ride it out. Lord knows we have the room. We will ride it out together.

Now I can tell you we were all pretty shocked. Master John had gatherings here and there for the staff but besides the house boys and ladies, no one had been invited to spend the night. The house staff had their own quarters and all and I can tell you it wasn’t too spacious for all of us to bring our kin a calling. My first thought was that we were gonna be like the cattle roped up in a pen but the Master had a point. The walls of that mansion were a lot sturdier than the likes that we had built and lived in. Your pop and I looked over at Uncle Benny and we all gave old John a nod. The time had come for us all to be spending the night in the big house. Little did we know that we would be holed up there for the next four nights.

The rest of that afternoon was hard work let me tell you. I had been through some big storms before but John had everyone worked up telling them it was gonna be the storm to end all storms. He said he wasn’t even sure if we would all be safe in the big house and looking up at those big stone walls it was hard to believe. Benny and I set about tying down everything in sight. John even wanted the stone benches secured like they were gonna float away like Noah’s ark or something. Your pop, Frank Jr. was working with some of the migrants taking down the wood trestles around the garden. The way John figured it was gonna be easier to replant the garden than replace all the wood once it floated down the river. Again, we all thought he was crazy of course. We were in the mountains. We were safe from great river floods and such, or so we thought. But we were the hired hands at that point so we did what we were told to do. By the time the light had gone down and he let us go home and fetch our kin, the wind was starting to kick up something fierce.

The three of us came home and got the wagon out of the barn and hitched up the mule. We could barely keep the clapboards on the sides as we loaded everyone up. Once we got going we were blown all over the place. There were trees and branches all over the dirt road that your Pa and Uncle Benny had to keep getting out and clearing for us. Grandma was fussing and carrying on…

I was not you old coot.

Don’t let her fool you. She was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs but then again we all were. That mansion never looked better than when we came round the back hill and saw the carriage house. That old mule was huffing and puffing but was pretty happy when we got him into a stall. No sooner had we got everyone off the wagon when one of the big pines came down and blocked the entrance. We knew that the Lord was watching out for us that night. We hightailed everyone up the back walkway into the main house before the devil could have his due.

Little did any of us know but the storm had hit Charleston by that point. The wind was kicking up something fierce but that didn’t matter much inside that big old house. We had boarded up the windows during the daytime so the night was just as eerie as could be. I know it sounds cooky but the wind was so strong it was almost as if those stone walls were moving. We could hear and feel the wind coming through the cracks and crevices but of course none of us could see anything. The house staff was going about like it was some kind of mid-summer soiree. They were bustling about and the women folk joined in to make everyone feel comfy like we were still on holiday.

Every time that wind would pick up the fireplaces would blow smoke back and cover us all with soot. By morning, we all looked like we were chimney cleaners with dirt and grime all over the place. With no way to tell what time of day or night it had come to be, it was Benny who acted like the rooster of the coup. See, ever since he was a wee lad, your Uncle Benny woke up as soon as the sun cracked open the dawn….

Get on with the story before we all fall asleep at the table.

Ok, Ok. The next day, which would have been the 12th of July in ’16, was a wet one. Once the house was up and about and everyone seemed to survive the wind, Master John wanted us men folk to go check out the damage outside. It was still raining pretty hard but none of us cared much. Like I said, we were all covered in fireplace ash anyway so why not let the Lord’s rain wash it all off.

Benny, Frank Jr. and me pulled up our bootstraps and went out. The other men were hemming and hawing ‘bout the weather still going on but we were happy to break free of the house. As soon as we went out the back steps towards the garden entrance we weren’t so happy anymore. It looked like the hand of God had come down and mixed everything up. There were trees down everywhere. Some had come down on top of the stone patio and blocked the way out towards the gardens. We couldn’t even see the carriage house from where we were looking but we knew it was there somewhere.

The wind had calmed down from bein’ so fierce but it was still a blowin’ pretty well. The three of us hunkered down in our jackets and got a movin’ around the property. We had a heck of a time getting around but we did it. Frankie stopped counting the tree trunks when we crossed the fifty tree mark but it was ugly. There was so much mess out there even though we had spent so long getting the place ready. Goes to show you that you can never be prepared for somethin’ like that. Just can’t. No way. No how.

After a couple hours had passed and we were soaked to the bones, we went back inside the house and told the story of what we found. Felt like we were special or somethin’ the way those folks all gathered around to hear what we seen. There was a bunch of head noddin’ and swayin’ like we were in a Sunday service but Old John kept calm. He knew what had to be done and he didn’t care if that Hurricane was still kicking around. He waited until we told everyone what we saw and he simply lit up his pipe. While there was murmuring off in all directions he just kept puffin’ on that pipe like the Holy Spirit Himself was flowin’ in the smoke. Finally, he tapped out his pipe onto this glass ashtray and he stood up pullin’ on the bottoms of his vest like he was getting’ ready to make a speech, which is exactly what he did.

‘Ok folks. Time to earn your keep.’

See John had a plan to use the trees that had fallen to build a wall around the property. He had this crazy thought that we were all gonna get flooded out. We were in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains and old John was worried about is floatin’ away like Noah’s Ark. He wanted us to hitch up the horses in the pouring rain. We was to cut away the trees so they could move and use the horses to build a fortress around the big house.

Well the migrants, they all thought he was crazy. They told him flat out they wasn’t gonna help him with his fool plan. They packed up their kin and said their farewells and left right then and there. They said they needed to get home and check for damage anyway so they might as well not wait any longer. John didn’t seem to wish them any bad wishes but he wasn’t too happy either. When all was said and done, it was just me and Frankie and Benny willing to work.

Now John. He wasn’t just a good man he was a smart businessman. He was a Vanderbilt after all. He knew what was needed and he knew there was only three men fool enough to do it. All three of them are right here at this table. But he also knew he had to sweeten the deal to get us to work like dogs. There were over 50 trees that needed to be hitched up and moved. It wasn’t just gonna take us a little while. If we survived it, the work would take us all day and into the night in the pouring rain. We weren’t even sure if the horses would last. But old John the businessman made us a deal we couldn’t refuse.

‘You do this for me boys you can write your own ticket. Use those trees to save my house and you can have them all when this is over.’

Your father and Uncle looked at me like we had found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. I was struck dumb and wanted to make sure we were hearing what was being said. So I asked him to repeat himself.

‘You heard me Frank. You and your boys can have every one of those trees to do with what you want if you use them now to save my house. You want to turn them into kindling, burn on. You want to sell them off for lumber, the profits are all yours. Heck, I don’t care if you turn them all into furniture. Right now, I just need them to protect my house and my family. Will you do that for me Frank?’

Heck, I didn’t need to stand there and squabble we had trees to move. I put my hand out and don’t you know that rich man shook it like he would a politician. He shook your Daddy’s hand and Uncle Benny as well. That’s all we needed. A handshake changed our lives from that moment forward.

The kitchen staff and the women packed us up some sandwiches in our lunch sacks and we went right back in that pouring rain. We got the horses hitched and got all the leather straps we could muster out of that carriage house and went about the work. Frank and Benny worked the crosscut saw and separated the first tree from the stump and I drove that horse team. The first tree took us over an hour to move and I for one had no idea if we was gonna get all the trees moved like John wanted. But we had that carrot danglin’ in front of us like we was the horses pullin’ the trees ourselves. We wanted all that lumber for ourselves and we would drop dead before we gave up.

After a while we got a rhythm down. The trees got easier to cut away and some of them didn’t need cutting at all. By the time the light faded for the day we had hitched over twenty trees and built a dam around the house. But it wasn’t enough. We knew it and John knew it. We brought the horses back to the carriage house to switch them out and old John was there with some of the kitchen folk, handed us some crock stew. He sat with us out in that barn, a rich man like that. He wasn’t eatin’ with us but he sure sat with us. For a few moments, we felt the same. He, a man that ate with Kings and Queens, sittin’ with us grunts while we ate cornbread and stew. We talked about the work we done and about what we had left to do. He used one of the riding crops to draw a map in the dirt so we knew where he wanted trees next. It was a heck of a plan, I tell you. I don’t know how he knew what was comin’ but he did and he wanted to be ready.

Before we lit our lanterns and head out