Surprise At The Museum
I awoke refreshed. With no dreams, visions or memories to disturb my sleep it felt to me that I was entering a whole new world. The sunlight gave the cottage a kind of cartoon brightness that inspired instant cheerfulness. While the view out the kitchen windows no longer held the cosmic and sexual charge that I had had defined my first experiences here, it was a pleasant view of a beautiful stretch of coastline, including a distant light house, and an expanse of open ocean. While I ate breakfast at the kitchen table, I looked afresh at the floors. Except for the bedroom and bathroom, the whole cottage was one big open space. I noticed that the kitchen floor was slightly different than the rest of the space. The main part of the cottage was a bit shinier. Not so much that it felt newer, although it did, but that it was made from different materials. This made sense from what Mr. Bouchard had told me about having the dog tags dug up. It also made sense to explain why this cottage was organized as an open concept long before open concept living was a trend. I suppose he was trying to save the developer a bit of money after having him bankroll the renovation. Still not exactly ethical, but at least trying to be thoughtful, I suppose.
I had slept later than usual, so got a late start on the day. Of course, the first thing I did was check in on Ben, but I knew my priority for the day was to head to the museum and open that package. When I walked in, it was as if an emergency were happening. Suddenly everyone was on alert, scurrying from office to office to spread the word that I had arrived. I didn't even make it to my own office before being hijacked by Heather. “You made it!”
She was fairly bouncing and making no attempt to hide her excitement. “I made it,” I chuckled.
I tried to continue toward my office but she had other ideas. “Oh no,” she insisted, taking me by the arm. “We've all been waiting on pins and needles since you ran out of here so abruptly yesterday.”
I noticed that we were not heading back to her office, but to the other side of the museum building, and asked, “Where are we going?”
“The conference room. We needed more space.”
“More space?” I asked, confused. “Why? The package isn't that big is it?”
“No,” she answered with a grin. “But word got out about this mysterious hidden treasure, so some of the other department heads and even the college administration wanted to be here for the opening.” We reached the conference room and I was stunned to see all of my co-workers, a number of grad students, departmental chairs, various deans, and even the president of the college waiting for my arrival. “It's turned into a big deal, really.”
“If I had known...” I stammered, “I wouldn't have kept you all waiting”.
“Not to worry,” Heather confided, “I know your normal schedule for a day off from when we lived together at the boarding house. They've only been waiting for about ten minutes, and they were all warned that the timing might be a little squishy.” She led me to the head of the large table in the center of the room, and motioned for me to have a seat. To my surprise, everyone else remained standing, even the president.
In front of me lay an unimpressive brown box, slightly larger than a file folder and about three inches thick. In the top left hand corner was a handwritten set of numbers that indicated that this was the second of two items, and in the center was a peeling label with my name written in the same hand. The box had been sealed with yellowing tape, and further bound with brown twine. A layer of dust coated the entire object, and a few cobwebs clung to the string. Only a few small patches of dust had been disturbed by the box's recent handling, otherwise it looked almost like something out of an Indiana Jones movie.
Beside it lay a number of small tools. Some scissors, a letter opener, some tweezers, and various other things that I could not instantly identify. “I hope you don't mind, but I invited Andrew from the archaeology department to be here to help opening it with as little damage as possible.” She nodded to a middle aged man who had positioned himself to my left, and he greeted me with a nod.
'Not at all, Heather. Pleased to meet you, Andrew. Have we met before?”
“Not really,” he answered, “At a couple of campus functions, but we've never really talked.”
“Well, we'll have to change that,” I smiled, shaking his hand. “Thank you for being here.”
“Enough with the niceties,” Heather interrupted. “We're all dying to see what's in the box. Open it already!”
A wave of light laughter passed through the room. “Alright,” I chuckled, turning my attention to the box. “Let's do this.” Andrew pulled up a chair beside me and we consulted as to the best way to proceed. Left to my own devices I would have just cut the string and sliced the tape open, but since it had become such an event, I decided to let the archaeologist do his thing and proceed slowly.
I noticed that a couple of the grad students were filming , and one was softly narrating under her breath. I wondered if she might be live streaming, and if she was who on earth would be watching. It crossed my mind that perhaps Kevin was watching, since he always seemed to be glued to his phone, but dismissed that idea immediately. I doubted that dry academic live streams were part of his regular viewing habits.
It only took a few minutes to carefully remove the string and peel off the dried up packing tape that held the box shut. The moment of truth was at hand. I gently lifted the lid to reveal the contents. I don't know what everyone else expected, but after all this build up I was hoping for something dramatic. Instead, there was simply a pile of papers and folders. On top was an envelope, once again with my name on it. Since this was obviously meant to be found first, I decided to open it immediately. Inside was a hand written letter signed by Mr. Bouchard. I invited Heather to unpack the rest of the box and lay things out on the table while I read the letter. It read as follows:
My dear Joseph,
Forgive me for imposing like I have, I could see no other way, but I hope the contents of this box will help make up for any inconvenience I may have caused. I'm sure I have done my best to answer all your questions by now, but if any uncertainties still exist, I hope you will be able to find the answers in the finished manuscript I have enclosed. I was afraid that had you known the full power of the danger facing you, you might not have been willing to continue, so I only made the partial manuscript available till now. Feel free to publish it if you wish. I know it will never be a best seller, and will only have a limited appeal, but a few scholars may find it interesting.
I have also enclosed a collection of various things I have acquired throughout my life, none of which were particularly valuable when I got them, but I believe that with the passage of time their value will have increased significantly, especially the real estate and financial investments. I have also included all the legal documents naming you as my next of kin, and giving you full power of attorney over my estate. Most of the actual deeds and certificates are in various safety deposit boxes, and if the current school administration give you any trouble about claiming the contents of this box have them look up the original donation paperwork, as well as the charter for this museum. Again, I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, but am hopeful that the financial reward will help make up for that.
I have tried to inconvenience those around me as little as possible, but I know that I will have laid personal and financial burdens on various people and institutions as I sought to protect those around me from the menace of Aitu. My final request is that you make as much restitution as possible for those effected. In this box you will find a list of those I think deserve some compensation along with details about why they deserve it, but use your own judgment in this. I would particularly point out your current landlord, who thinks he owns the cottages along the shore, and the nursing home, which I believe will provide me with the care I need to endure the long silent exile that now looms in front of me.
Thank you again for all you will have done by the time you read this. I and the larger community are forever in your debt.
Francis Bouchard
I didn't know what I expected to find in box, but it certainly wasn't this. As I considered what I had just read, Heather quietly brought me back to the present moment. “I think that's everything,” she said, softly placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at the array of folders, files and envelopes spread across the table, stunned at the sheer number of documents. Heather and our co-workers had organized them into categories, but it was still quite overwhelming.
“I'm going to need help with all this,” I muttered. “A lawyer or something.”
“We'll have the school's lawyers take a look,” the president interjected. “No need for you to get involved.”
“Actually...” Heather stepped forward and handed him a piece of paper. “I think he does need to be involved.” She looked at me and smiled. “I think the real question is does the school need to be involved.”
“What do you mean, young lady?” the president snapped. “Donations to this museum are the property of the school”
“Not this donation,” Heather replied. Turning to me she said, “I had a hunch, so I looked it up.” Then turning back to the president she said. “According to the original donation records, this box and all of the donations given by Mr. Francis Bouchard were never actually donated. To the museum Instead they were...'on loan, to be held in trust until the person named on the front of the box labeled two of two should show up to claim them, at which time they are to be released into his care so that the charter of the museum may be fulfilled'.” She read the last part directly from the paper she had handed the president.
He was not pleased. “Well, we'll have the lawyers take a look at this at once, but until then those documents remain the property of the school.”
“Well, actually...” The head of the museum stepped forward and spoke. “If you remember, the museum isn't actually part of the school. Legally we are a separate entity that works with the school, but the school has no authority to step in to our internal affairs, especially those concerning the collection. You may remember when you wanted to sell that rare ...” My boss led the president out of the room for a private discussion, leaving the rest of us to consider this new development.
Heather turned to me and said, “Well, What do you want to do with all this stuff? I haven't been given any instructions that would require me to deny them to you, and according to the official paperwork they belong to you. So?”
I was not prepared for such a weighty decision, and decided to err on the side of caution. “Let's box it back up and lock the entire collection in the strong room. I don't imagine the administration will try anything illegal, but just in case...” I turned to the grad students who were filming. “Would you document what is being put in the box and follow Heather as she locks them up?” They both agreed.
While this was going on, Heather confided, “I gave him a copy of the donation form, and sent the real one to your lawyer for safe keeping. Like you, I don't expect them to do anything stupid, but It's amazing how many old documents are accidentally damaged or somehow go missing.”
“I need to be listening to your instincts more often,” I joked as I helped put the various files back into the box. Then I turned to our videographers and showed them the letter I had read. “For the record, I am taking this letter with me. It is a personal letter from Mr. Bouchard to myself. Later today I will hand it off to my lawyer, but for now, I'm holding it on my person.” They both nodded as I held it up so the contents were visible, then turning back to Heather, “Just in case.”
Suddenly the rest of my day was filling up fast. Not only did I have an appointment with my therapist, but now I needed to speak to my lawyer. I wasn't sure that I was up for all the disruption this new development was going to bring my way, especially on top of dealing with Ben's recovery. I needed to see him before I did anything else. I needed to show him the letter and see what he thought of it all. I needed Phil and Helmut and their perspectives as well. I might even need to call my parents and get their takes on it. I called my lawyer on the way back to the rehab center to book an appointment and give them a heads up that I was going to be dropping off the letter later this afternoon.
Ben's mom was sitting by his side when I walked in. She got up and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “There he is! I was wondering how long it would take before my almost son in law would turn up. I hear there has been some excitement since I was last here, and it's so good to see Ben able to move his legs again, even if only just a little. But you've got some explaining to do buster! All those cut! What the hell has been going on with my boy?”
Neither Ben nor I could get a word in edgewise. The amusement on his face was unmistakable as he watched me face the onslaught of a doting mother, and it was all he could do not to laugh. “It's good to see you too, Sandra,” was all I could slip in before she started in again. It looked like a private conversation with Ben would have to wait, but there was time.
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