A Drawer Full of Hope

As a child Vanessa liked to visit yard sales with her parents. She became adept at sanding, repairing and restoring worn pieces of furniture. She continued the hobby even as an adult, occasionally coming across bargains that she would never have been able to afford at full price. Vanessa’s online job made it possible for her to rent a bedroom and pay her share of the bills in a house she shared with four other women, and she could buy herself groceries and needed goods, but there was not much left over for extras. She was pleased to be able to support herself but looked forward to saving up enough to indulge in her favorite hobby – restoring old furniture.

She once found a promising sideboard at an auction and won the bid chiefly because the sideboard was painted a hideous shade – was that zombie green? - and a hinge on one of the doors was missing. She took it home, painstakingly stripped the paint, replaced the hinges and finished it with a clear varnish. The sideboard now sat in the house dining room where it was useful, admired and appreciated by all her housemates. Emboldened by this triumph, Vanessa’s next buy was a three-sided curio cabinet. She brought it home, replaced a few missing glass panels, restored the finish and sold it for a modest amount. This enabled her to acquire another piece of furniture, restore and sell it, and repeat the process several times. She kept track of her purchases and sales in a little black notebook, saving back a little bit at a time and hoping to expand to bigger and better things.

“Van’s got her notebook out today!” one of her housemates exclaimed. “Guess who’s going bargain hunting for treasures!”

She usually restored her finds on the patio off the back door of her home when the weather cooperated. It would have been nice to have a room just for furniture restoration, but neither her roommates nor her landlord would have agreed to that, and her bedroom was not big enough for most of what she brought home. She did what she could with what she had, and progress was onward but slow.

One cold and drizzly day Vanessa went to an auction in the high-end part of town. The auction was held in an expansive house that had once been a grand home, full of fine workmanship belonging to a more gracious age, and its collection of furnishings were all up for sale. The light fixtures were astounding, from the eye-catching crystal chandelier in the foyer to the ornate wall sconces lining the formal dining room. Multiple fireplaces exuding Old-World craftsmanship commanded several rooms, while interesting furniture from all over the world stood on display throughout the house. Dressers, wardrobes, sideboards, cabinets, chairs, divans – every piece suggested an interesting tale of acquisition, something she loved to try to imagine.

Many pieces were vintage, so restoration would bring down their value rather than increase it. Vanessa pulled out her notebook and wrote down only which pieces she intended to bid on. The list included a mantle clock set inside an ornately carved wooden carriage, and she had to hope it still ran because she had no way of repairing it herself. Another entry was a padded rocking chair she was sure she could reupholster. It was hard to say whether it was vintage, but to Vanessa it certainly looked comfortable. Someone could still get some use from it.

She could not help overhearing some of the family arguing in a small room off the great room. Their voices were thin and nasally, like mosquitos on an otherwise pleasant evening.

“Look, she was my mother too but let’s be honest: she didn’t plan ahead. There’s nothing in the bank and we’ll need to sell everything in this house just to get it fixed up to sell.”

“It’s just like Mother to leave us nothing but this mausoleum full of odds and ends! We’ll be lucky if we cover the auctioneer’s fee at the end of the day.”

“As long as it’s empty. I want to gut it and update it – put plenty of updated features in it like they do on those fixer-upper shows.”

“Dream on! Just how were you planning to pay for an update? Mother’s no longer here to just write you a check, and I’m not interested in gambling everything on a chancey real estate market.”

“You’d rather gamble in Vegas for the comp drinks!”

“Well, maybe if your kids had studied something other than Marrying Up in college, or getting more collagen injections, Mother’s investment in them would have paid off! Oh, except for Kenny, the Peeping Tom! You and the missus must be so proud!”

“Aw, c’mon, Uncle Ted, just sell the property to some developer. I know a guy. And make sure we all get an even share of the profits. Everyone had to put up with the old bat.”

This last comment received a roar of objection from the others, although no actual reprimands were made.

Vanessa shook her head and continued to look at the items up for auction. There were wonderful items she wished she could afford to bid on – a massive mahogany china cabinet, an ornately carved wardrobe, a teak tea table with an intricate design of ivory inlay. She was drawn to a little wooden bedside table, its beautiful walnut grain finished with a clear varnish. It had a single drawer and a shelf on the bottom. The legs were a little shaky but could be easily fixed by tightening some screws.

She bought the table for thirty-five dollars – it was the only piece she could afford. One of the daughters commented as Vanessa passed by with it, “Mother always liked that thing, but it didn’t go with anything else in her room and was falling apart. Pssh! It’ll look good on a beach bonfire.”

Vanessa took it home, but it was nearly two weeks of last-minute assignments from work and refereeing minor disagreements between roommates before she could really take the time to look at her find. The old house from the auction was already surrounded by a temporary fence with a Coming Soon banner announcing it would be replaced by luxury apartment units.

She laid a blanket on a cleared floor space in her bedroom, placed the table on the blanket, and inspected it. The screws holding the legs in place were indeed loose or missing, but Vanessa had extra screws from earlier ventures fixing furniture. The tabletop was flawless, the honey tone of the wood gleamed warmly with a brief polish. The drawer did not slide as easily as she would have liked; she imagined the wood was roughed with use and a little sanding might improve movement. She removed the drawer after a little difficulty, then turned the table over to inspect the runners. There on the underside of the tabletop someone had firmly taped a manilla envelope. Its size was what made the drawer hard to open.

“Well now,” Vanessa said to the table, “What’s this?”

She removed the envelope and opened it. Her jaw dropped open at the sight of hundred-dollar bills banded together. She opened the folded paper accompanying it; it was dated four months earlier. The message read:

To Whoever Finds This:

I am fairly sure whoever you are, you are not one of my family. If you are, well good for you but you don’t deserve it. If not, hurrah and surprise!

I have literally spent a lifetime watching the most ungrateful, privileged BRATS who ever lived, place a higher regard on their own comfort than in their fellow man or in any worthwhile venture. This money is from my rapidly depleting bank account and I would much rather see it go to someone who might appreciate it, rather than to grasping people who want for nothing yet always have their hand out for more. I hope you will be able to do something fun, do something unusual that you always wanted to do. Too much of anything is not good for the soul but a nice windfall can come in handy.

Blessings to you,

Lillian

Vanessa set the paper aside and then counted with mounting incredulity, twenty-thousand dollars in hundred-dollar increments from the manila envelope. She sat for a moment, gazing round-eyed at the floor before picking up her screwdriver and carefully tightened the table legs. She slid the drawer back in place and put the manila envelope and the little notebook in it.

With careful consideration and hard work, she could make that $20,000 go far. In her mind’s eye she saw classic furniture restored to greatness and sold to customers who appreciated such things. Historical pieces, simple but useful things, whimsical objects, items that would fit just perfectly in the spot their new owners bought them to fill. Someday she might get a house of her own and set up a business in it, a business new homes for furniture she admired, like a little walnut table with a drawer full of hope.

The End