Absence of Faith Read Online Free PDF Page B

cemented to prevent
its collapse during hurricanes if the water rose high enough to
reach the house. However, there were no records that the water ever
rose that high.
    Carson pulled a small metal chain
hanging from the ceiling and a single suspended bulb came to life
revealing a tangle of furniture, boxes, and old lamps - objects of
many lifetimes. Carson stared at the potpourri of items wondering
what type of people used them, what were they like, and how they
lived. There were several generations of belongings haphazardly
strewn about. He wrapped his fingers around the brass neck of a
standing parlor lamp trying to imagine the time and the world this
lamp once inhabited.
    He took his hand away and worked
his way towards a crude, handmade workbench made of chewed and
paint-stained planks of wood. Small clouds of dust curled around
his shoes as he walked. He placed the paint cans on a shelf above
the bench and turned to leave, but stopped when he spotted an old
steamer trunk tucked away in a far corner. It had leather side
handles now dried and cracked. He had seen many of them at the Red
Bank antique center and he didn't think they were worth much. He
lifted the center hasp, and unlatched the metal side clasps, and
opened the large lid. A fold of white lace curtains that had since
turned yellow lay next to several issues of National
Geographic magazine. The dates on the magazines were from
several months in 1960. The forty plus-year-old dust from the trunk
smelled ancient and dry, and made him sneeze. Someone else's
junk, he thought. He moved the curtains and saw a large object
under them. He lifted it out and brought it into the light. It was
a hand-cranked coffee bean grinder with a small wooden drawer in
the base for the ground coffee. He knew what it was because his
grandmother had had one. He stood up and held it closer to the
light to get a better look. Suddenly the grinder spun in his hand
and he watched it fall to the floor and split in half.
    "Damn," he said staring at the
broken grinder. He stared at it for several minutes. Wait. It
shouldn't have broken, he thought, the dirt is soft. He
moved the broken grinder and pushed some dirt aside. It was hard
underneath. He got a small broom, brushed a small area, and found a
wooden plank. He brushed more dirt away and another plank appeared.
Slowly, as he brushed more and more dirt aside, other planks
appeared. The wood was placed together vertically with a single
small hole in the left side. Carson placed two fingers in the hole
and lifted. The stubborn hinges creaked, but Carson was able to
pull the door open. The door revealed five wooden steps that went
down into nothing. He went back to the stairway and took a
rechargeable flashlight from its charging base. As he descended the
steps into the subbasement, a cool, damp, musty smell flowed past
him. The subbasement was only four feet high forcing him to crouch
down. When he threw the light on the walls, the light reflected
back silvery light and colorful hues. Further in the walls were
lined with shelves holding hundreds of Mason jars filled with
preserves. All had crudely made hand-written yellowed labels taped
to the jars identifying their contents.
    "Linda! Linda! Come here! Quick!"
he yelled and raced back up the stairs towards the entrance of the
basement.
    "Linda! Linda!"
    "What is it? Where are you?" she
said in a far away voice.
    She came to the stairway and looked
down into the ancient basement.
    "Over here. Look, the rest of Mrs.
Hibbin's preserves," Carson explained. "This reminds me of my
grandmother. She had a canning cellar and we used to love to go
down there and pick out our favorite jam when we were kids. This is
great!"
    Linda reluctantly entered the
canning cellar brushing cobwebs out of her way as she navigated
into the dark hole.
    "Wow! Look at all these jars!
They're the same as the ones we found in the kitchen cabinet," she
said. "Are they any good?"
    "I don't know. The ones upstairs
were good,