The Cedar Chests, Chapter 1

My father is a construction tycoon and builds preponderantly commercial properties all over Kentucky and Indiana; he is also a tobacco grower. The construction and tobacco businesses go back at least three, and maybe four generations. Here in Kentucky people have the choice of any combination of three vices they wish to partake in – bourbon, tobacco, and race horses.

My father, Frank Jeremy Taylor, was born in Covington, Kentucky Covington is located at the confluence of the Ohio and Licking Rivers and has a population of approximately forty thousand. After college, the U.S. had just entered WWII and he joined the Navy and served as an officer in the CB’s (Construction Battalion). Dad is big man, a commanding 6’3” and 280+ pounds. He had a deep voice an is always clean shaven and always sports a crew-cut haircut. Physical hard work was never an issue for him. Mother to was also born in Covington. Her maiden name Susanna “Suzy” Lee Walker. She degreed in nutrition but has always been an at-home mom. She was petite 5’ 3” and was raised as a Southern lady. Mom and dad were childhood sweethearts. If fact, they attended the same schools; and they married soon after dad returned from the war.

I was born Thomas Robert Taylor and raised here Covington, Kentucky. It is about 15-minute drive to Cincinnati; to Lexington and Frankfort around an hour and a half; and bit longer to Louisville. For as long as I can remember I worked my Dad on weekends, holidays and summers I was basically a general laborer for my father’s construction company doing various jobs and in his tobacco fields and barns because my dad wanted me to experience all aspects of his businesses. I will eventually inherit his businesses and continue his legacy. I am now almost 21 and just graduated with a double major from UK in construction management and agriculture and minored in architecture.

The Story

It was a partly sunny early morning with the smell of honeysuckle vines aroma in the air. The temperature was in the mid to high 70s with light breeze on a June Saturday morning. Dew was still covering the blue grass that generated a low ground fog in the lower areas. I was out on one of my monthly chores to out check the fences, buildings, locks and look for any fallen trees on the roads; plus, to check if there were any illegal hunting blinds set up that need removed on my parent’s property. For all these years I thought I knew every inch of my parents 100+ acre land along the Ohio River. Just as the ground fog was just lifting, I noticed in the distance what appeared to be a house secluded by tall magnolia and poplar trees at the end of an overgrown dirt road. It appeared to be once a nice-looking house with large walk around verandas on each floor.

Getting closer, I noticed it was in desperate need of a good paint job. It was three stories and had a red brick exterior and surrounding the house was faded white-washed picket fence with honeysuckle vines entangled around it. There was also a separate nearby big building that I assumed to be garage or shed. Further back was a dilapidated barn that had a faded Mail Pouch (chewing) Tobacco advertisement painted on it I wasn’t sure the size of the lot.

I parked my truck and around back and walked around to the front I looked for a key under the door mat and finally found it above the door. As I opened the front door, the hinges creaked. Cobwebs were everywhere and everything was covered in big white sheets that were laden by years of dust. This place was huge house — 6 bedrooms and unsure of how many baths. Was this an old plantation home? I walked around and peeked under sheets of some of various items of furniture. The floors were thick heavy oak looking hardwood and you could follow my trail by my footsteps in the dust.

All of the top two floors appeared to be all bedrooms. One of the rooms must a have been a girl’s room from the big four-posted wooden bed that appeared to me to be made from hickory or ash with beautiful relief carving on each post. This was the only room that had assorted women’s clothing in the dressers and chest-of-drawers and cedar line closets. In two other rooms I found windowsill cedar chests that ran the length of the room and about three feet deep and wide. Each one filled with more clothing, parasols, and a lot of lady’s hats. All the other bedrooms closets where empty except for what appeared to be handmade wooden cedar clothes hangers. At the end of the hall to the southwest on the second floor there was a smaller room. Maybe a sewing or reading room, or perhaps a maid or housekeeper’s quarters.

I walked out back and found a cellar door leading underground and a rusted-over water hand-pump. I tried to move the pump handle, but it was seized-up. After about forty-five minutes of browsing I departed and went to finish my inspections then back to my parents’ house.

That evening during dinner I asked my parents about the house.

“I don’t really recall.” Dad said, “I’ve completely forgotten about that house since you are out on the property so much these days. I think it may have been leased to my grandfather’s or great grandfather’s original tobacco plantation foremen. I believe his name was Henry Alexander. I’ve seen the name Hank Alexander on several old black and white photos in a back office. If I recall correctly from old records, or been told, he was a master carpenter and may have been a member of the Masons. I don’t recall his wife’s name and think they may have had an infant from other photos I’ve seen. What was her name?” as Dad turned to my mom.

“I really don’t recall either. It was such a such very long time ago. I don’t recall ever meeting them.” Mom replied. “I believe I was told by someone your great granddad had just finished building that place after he added the two new tobacco barns. Frank, wasn’t his wife a seamstress as well? I’m unsure, so don’t quote me on it. I heard Henry passed a long time ago and I have no idea what became of his wife and their child. I’ve forgotten all about the house too!”

By ritual, each night after dinner dad and I would sit in the living room with our after-dinner bourbon. He said I was close enough to 21 to drink. In fact, he told me that when I was 16 or 17. We’ve had many discussions about me leaving the nest now that I have graduated from college and live on my own – but would still work for him. Dad put his bourbon and Louisville Times newspaper down and turned toward me.

“Tom, if you want that place it is yours. I haven’t spoken to you mother about it, but I am sure she would always want you to live nearby.” Then thinking of a while he continued. “How’s this sound, I’ll sell you the place for one-dollar to make it legal? I will have my inspectors and surveyors look it over to see what needs done to it. I’m sure it will need a new roof, water heater, if there is one, new electrical and plumbing and paint for sure. I get the place fixed up to code for you. Would you be interested?

I was shocked at his offer. “Of course. Thanks dad.” I pulled a wrinkly one dollar bill out of my wallet and put in next to his bourbon on the table next to the reading lamp. But I still wanted to go back tomorrow and look it over again.

Sunday morning after helping mom clean up after breakfast and doing a few more chores, I headed back to the house this time with a flashlight and a face mask to prevent me inhaling the dust again. I took a notebook to inventory and sketch the layout of the furniture and other items. Upon arriving I checked out garage looking building first. It still had a few tools hanging on the walls; most of them had a light coat of spattered rust on them. Many of the tools I didn’t recognize or what purpose they were designed to be used for. I guess only a master Mason would know how and what to use them for.

I was still dumbfounded why the only clothes left was those of the mysterious wife or daughter. All the closets in the house all had the back wall made of cedar in them to ward off moths. There were blouses, tops, skirts and dresses appeared that they were obviously vintage. The top drawer or the first chest of drawers had a few strange looking bras — not like the molded and lace ones my girlfriend wears — some panties, petticoats, and bloomers. The bras looked more like some sort of chest binding. Each dresser drawer had a lavender smelling sachet potpourri in them. Was someone still living here? Where are they? What happened to them? Is this house haunted?

There was an overhead ladder that led to the attic. I jumped up and grabbed the thin rope cord and pulled it down and was greeting by an enormous downpour of dust. The mask was not match for the amount of dust. After sneezing, coughing and blinking a lot to get it out of my eyes I climbed up into the attic. There I was met by deluge of cobwebs, more thick dust and miscellaneous items of furniture plus two huge rectangular cedar chests that appeared to be about 6 feet long, four feet wide and three feet high. I gently wiped the dust off of the top of each chest with my hands. As I opened the first chest the combination of smells of perfume and cedar filled my nostrils. Inside were more lady’s long skirts and blouses.

The second cedar chest also had even more lady’s dresses and a bunch of leather shoes. Along the inside on the left of the second chest I found an eight by ten black and white photograph of a stunning young lady with dark lightly curled long hair that fell beyond the nape of her neck. On the back it had the name, ‘Savannah’ written in beautiful cursive handwriting. There was no date anywhere on the photo. I wondered if this was the lady that was in the bedroom on the second floor? Was it Henry’s wife? Their daughter? On the other side of the attic I found two big other boxes that looked more like old steamer trunks filled handmade dolls, and more assorted items. I took the photograph with me and returned home.

To be continued…

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Category: Fiction