you’re hearing. You get what you pay for. If you want a decent return on your investment, you won’t cut corners.”
And you won’t desecrate a historic landmark
. “If you want cheap and fast…”
Her gaze hardened.
“Any problem with securing this to the wall?” He gestured toward the peeling bead board that showed between the boards.
“No. Whatever it takes. I’ve got all my earthly possessions in Rubbermaid bins.”
He rapped his fist against the wood. “It looks stur—“The entire wall swung inward a good inch, banging at the bottom. “What in the…?” He looked up. The top edge of the wood hid behind a ceiling beam. “Do you know what’s behind this?”
She shook her head. As if needing to test the wall’s stability herself, she pushed the panel. Again, it banged at the bottom.
Jake stepped back. The shelves butted up to the adjacent wall on the left, but not on the right.
“Why don’t you stand back a bit? I’ll try moving this.” He grabbed hold of the freestanding shelving unit. It swayed side-to-side, but he couldn’t budge it away from the wall.
Emily stepped in front of him and placed her hands below his. Her ponytail tickled his Adam’s apple. She smelled like the lemon slices floating in the glass on the ledge. “One…two…
three.”
It didn’t move. They both stepped away. Jake looked again at the way the top of the wall was hidden from view. With one finger on his lips, he tapped out a nameless tune and then suddenly stopped. He took a closer look at the bead board. His breath caught. “There are two parts.” He pointed to the right side of the wall. “See if you can slide it toward me.”
“The wall?”
“Yes.”
Emily slid her fingers between wood and rock, pulled, and gasped. The entire thing slid, clanging into the far wall. “It’s a door!”
Cool, stale air wafted through the opening. “What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
Jake bent down and dug in his toolbox for a flashlight. He flicked it on and stepped behind her, lighting up the darkness.
“It’s a room.”
Tamping down his curiosity, he handed the flashlight to Emily. The light arced across rock walls. He tried to peer around her.
“Looks like an old cistern.” She slipped through the opening. “But there are shelves.” Her voice echoed.
Turning sideways, Jake squeezed through the opening and stared at the shadowy emptiness. Low, two-foot-wide boards braced with thick posts lined three walls.
Emily rubbed her bare arms. “It must be ten degrees colder in here. A root cellar maybe.”
He didn’t answer. The width of the bottom shelves reminded him of something altogether different—berths in the hold of an ancient ship.
The flashlight beam bounced from wall to ceiling and stopped at a square door in the wood above their heads. “Where does that lead? Wouldn’t it open under the porch?”
“It would now. Maybe the porch wasn’t there when the door was put in.”
Emily ran the beam across high shelves and a row of black hooks. “It looks like a coatroom like you see in old schoolhouses.” She lowered herself to a bench and scanned the room for a long moment then turned her eyes to him. “This feels significant. I can’t explain it. I guess that sounds crazy….” Her voice trailed to a whisper. She flattened her hand against a wall.
She didn’t sound crazy at all. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but the space almost vibrated with a sensation of—Emily had nailed it—
significance
. He reached up and touched the cold roughness of an iron hook. “I think you’re right.”
The flashlight painted the walls in systematic strokes. Floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor. When the beam reached the northwest corner, it stopped. The halo of light spilled onto the bench. Emily leaned forward then rose and stepped closer. The light concentrated into a plate-sized disk. She knelt.
And you won’t desecrate a historic landmark
. “If you want cheap and fast…”
Her gaze hardened.
“Any problem with securing this to the wall?” He gestured toward the peeling bead board that showed between the boards.
“No. Whatever it takes. I’ve got all my earthly possessions in Rubbermaid bins.”
He rapped his fist against the wood. “It looks stur—“The entire wall swung inward a good inch, banging at the bottom. “What in the…?” He looked up. The top edge of the wood hid behind a ceiling beam. “Do you know what’s behind this?”
She shook her head. As if needing to test the wall’s stability herself, she pushed the panel. Again, it banged at the bottom.
Jake stepped back. The shelves butted up to the adjacent wall on the left, but not on the right.
“Why don’t you stand back a bit? I’ll try moving this.” He grabbed hold of the freestanding shelving unit. It swayed side-to-side, but he couldn’t budge it away from the wall.
Emily stepped in front of him and placed her hands below his. Her ponytail tickled his Adam’s apple. She smelled like the lemon slices floating in the glass on the ledge. “One…two…
three.”
It didn’t move. They both stepped away. Jake looked again at the way the top of the wall was hidden from view. With one finger on his lips, he tapped out a nameless tune and then suddenly stopped. He took a closer look at the bead board. His breath caught. “There are two parts.” He pointed to the right side of the wall. “See if you can slide it toward me.”
“The wall?”
“Yes.”
Emily slid her fingers between wood and rock, pulled, and gasped. The entire thing slid, clanging into the far wall. “It’s a door!”
Cool, stale air wafted through the opening. “What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
Jake bent down and dug in his toolbox for a flashlight. He flicked it on and stepped behind her, lighting up the darkness.
“It’s a room.”
Tamping down his curiosity, he handed the flashlight to Emily. The light arced across rock walls. He tried to peer around her.
“Looks like an old cistern.” She slipped through the opening. “But there are shelves.” Her voice echoed.
Turning sideways, Jake squeezed through the opening and stared at the shadowy emptiness. Low, two-foot-wide boards braced with thick posts lined three walls.
Emily rubbed her bare arms. “It must be ten degrees colder in here. A root cellar maybe.”
He didn’t answer. The width of the bottom shelves reminded him of something altogether different—berths in the hold of an ancient ship.
The flashlight beam bounced from wall to ceiling and stopped at a square door in the wood above their heads. “Where does that lead? Wouldn’t it open under the porch?”
“It would now. Maybe the porch wasn’t there when the door was put in.”
Emily ran the beam across high shelves and a row of black hooks. “It looks like a coatroom like you see in old schoolhouses.” She lowered herself to a bench and scanned the room for a long moment then turned her eyes to him. “This feels significant. I can’t explain it. I guess that sounds crazy….” Her voice trailed to a whisper. She flattened her hand against a wall.
She didn’t sound crazy at all. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but the space almost vibrated with a sensation of—Emily had nailed it—
significance
. He reached up and touched the cold roughness of an iron hook. “I think you’re right.”
The flashlight painted the walls in systematic strokes. Floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor. When the beam reached the northwest corner, it stopped. The halo of light spilled onto the bench. Emily leaned forward then rose and stepped closer. The light concentrated into a plate-sized disk. She knelt.
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