Spare Change

    Spare Change

Upon entering the over-sized wooden library doors, the warmth felt by the burning fireplace immediately surrounded Thomas. Pictures adorned the walls dating back to a day when the residents would all meet at the Ronald Hayes mansion. It was built with such incredible architecture. The elders of the town could still feel the presence of Ronald Hayes for which he praised for his desire to make the town the most prosperous land in New England. It seemed everything he touched turned to gold.

Unfortunately, his grandson did not acquire that charm. Sitting in the back of the library as always, Thomas Hayes, warmed up his cold hands from the winter’s fierce winds that evening. He had a rough time in the past year, losing his job, his house, and found himself in domicile. His grandfather had prospered from the farmland but in the winter of 1918, his grandfather succumbed to the flu leaving behind an unkempt farm. Thomas peered through the window remembering where the farmhouse once stood. It seemed like a pattern, losing his home, he thought to himself.

An elderly frail woman at the library desk approached and asked if he needed anything. She mentioned there was a box of newly donated items brought in by an old farmer cleaning out his barn and he was welcome to take what he could use. Thomas nodded and thanked her.  He noticed a wooden engraved box in the mix of things that were donated. He picked it up along with a pair of glasses and then exited the library.  When he got to the corner, he sat on the park bench and examined the box, opening it slowly. It felt to him as if something was inside. Placing the glasses on, he carefully opened the old box. The felt was torn and behind it was a coin, a very old coin. Barely being able to see the year, he wiped it with his shirttail, and what he thought he saw was clearer to him now. The coin had a date of 1889. Imagine that, he laughed. One coin got left behind in this old spare change box. 

Across the street from where he sat on the bench was a store sign that read “Rare Coins, We Pay Top Dollar” as if it was meant to be or some perfect coincidence. Thomas got up off the bench, put the box in his pocket, and walked across the street. The shutters were closed, lights out, looked as though it was empty but upon knocking, an older gentleman came to the window and motioned for him to enter.  Thomas explained to him that he had just gotten this old box from the donations at the library and showed him what he had found in it.  The man examined it with his spectacles. “Indeed”, the old man exclaimed, “I never thought this would pass through here.” He gave a big grin and said, “Young man, this coin is worth $50,000. I know a woman who has been searching for this box belonging to her deceased brother”, he said, “Here’s her number, go see her. She’s up the hill.”

“Would it be okay if I use your phone as I don't have change for the payphone”, Thomas stated. The old man, said, “Surely, you may”. The phone rang a few times and just when he was thinking the number wasn’t working, a woman answered, “Hello? Hello?” Thomas said, “Hello, Ma’am, I was informed by the coin store across from the library that you are looking for a wooden box that contained a coin? I think I have what you have been looking for.” He left thanking the old man for all his help. He said, “Good luck, son, come back again sometime.”

Thomas arrived at the home of 12 Baker Street. It was in a shambles. How could this person be willing to pay $50,000 for a coin? Cynthia opened the door, greeting Thomas with a smile, she said, “Please, come in and sit down.”  Offering him a cup of tea that she had prepared, they sat and she began to tell him a story. “You see”, she said, “he always had this box with his spare coins for the week and he had this one lucky coin, he used to call it, tucked behind the felt. When he passed from the flu in 1918, the box had disappeared. I never could find it among his belongings.” Thomas took out the box and she gasped, “That’s it!” She turned it upside down and there were the initials of her brother, R.H., Ronald Hayes. Thomas being very confused said, “That’s my grandfather’s name. He never mentioned he had a sister?” 

“I have been searching for the box my brother carried for a very long time. I will pay you from my savings for what it is worth, young man, as I wish to have Ronald’s last possession”, said Cynthia.  Thomas showed the coin appraisal at $50,000 and without blinking an eye, she sat down at the old desk, took out her checkbook, and wrote a check for the full amount. As she handed the check to Thomas, she said, “Put this money to good use, Son.”

The following day Thomas went back to the public library to thank the kind woman for allowing him to look through the donation box. He then explained to her that he was going to purchase the older part of the library that was for sale. I want to help the homeless in this town, give back what I've gotten, all the help I have received. I want to make the left-wing a homeless shelter so those in need won't have to freeze in these cold winter months and will have food for their children”.  

She looked up in amazement and said, “How could you ever possibly do that? You have no job, no home?” Thomas said, “I discovered a coin hidden in the box I took off the donation table. The coin store across the street told me about a woman, Cynthia, who was searching for this box. She paid me $50,000. The librarian declared, “Coin store? There is no coin store there. The last time that coin store was there was back in 1918! Are you sure it was across the street? It was owned by Cynthia Hayes. A good soul she was, always helping the needy. She passed in 1919 due to the flu, like her brother”. Yes, yes, that was her name, he declared. Feeling confused and startled, he got a chill and placed his hand in his pocket. A coldness crept into his body and suddenly, he felt ill. 

“Mr. Hayes, Mr. Hayes, are you okay? You must be starving, you poor man”, said the Librarian, “please help yourself to the hot plates”. He stayed for a while before pulling himself together and reached into his pocket for his gloves before going out into the cold winter’s night. Feeling something, he pulled out his hand and there he found the coin that he retrieved from in the box!  “I must give this to Cynthia. When she handed me the check, she must have forgotten to take the coin.”

Thomas hurried to try to make it to her house before dark. First, he ran across to get her phone number again from the coin shop owner. “Where is it? I know it was right across from the bench I was sitting on”.  All he saw was a car repair shop. “Did I exit the library from the wrong door”?  Fumbling through the streets, he hopped on a trolley car to go find Cynthia’s house. He told the driver where he wished to exit, I need to get off at 12 Baker Street, he proclaimed.  “Nothing is there but the freeway that brings you into the Town of Hamburg”, the driver told him.  Thinking he had just been there, a few hours ago, he said that’s impossible.  I must have the wrong address.  Stepping down off the trolley, shaking from the cold, he decided to stay at the library overnight. The storm is brewing and I’ll never make it there in time.  

Pushing on the big oak doors, they opened, luckily. He entered and passed a tall man with a beard standing in the doorway. The doorman approached him and said, “Welcome, Sir, to the Ronald Hayes House. Please feel welcome to stay the night. Thomas thought he was dreaming. Everything was so mixed up in his head! What has happened? Where’s the library? He ran to go to the men’s room to wash up with some warm water passing through the sitting area where he noticed all these pictures. He saw a picture of the woman who gave him the money for the coin. Underneath it, there was a plaque that read “Ronald Haye’s House dedicated to Cynthia Hayes, always caring for the homeless -- 1885 to 1919.” 

Thomas frantically asked the people around him, where is the library? Where am I? He told the doorman he was just there an hour ago and now it’s all changed. “You must be tired and cold, Sir”, stated the doorman, “please make yourself at home. You will feel better in the morning”. Removing his jacket, he remembered the check. I’ll show this to him.  I know I’m not dreaming. Yes, it was still there!   On the check next to Cynthia’s signature, it read, “The Bank of New London”. The doorman carefully looked at the worn-out check and stated, “This bank hasn’t been around since 1920”.

Written by Vicki Indrizzo-Valente