Chapter Five
Grandma and Irene got to go home, while Paddy, Mary, Cyrus, and Polly took over. Grandma and Irene were in charge of dinner that night. They headed for the Clear Creek Inn but stopped when they were a block from Old Town.
“Don’t you want to see it?” Irene asked.
“See what?” Grandma started walking again.
“Your house, of course.” Irene sighed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the mercantile. It’s been decades, you know.”
Grandma nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “Irene, technically it’s only been months since we’ve been here.”
“You know what I mean,” Irene said. “We haven’t seen your house or the mercantile since we were here in the sixties, helping make a match. But that was what? More than fifty-five years ago from this time? Aren’t you the least bit curious? Maybe it’s not the museum anymore.”
Grandma licked her lower lip, thinking. “We never did pay it a visit when we were here working on the inn.”
“Nope,” Irene agreed. “And we really should find the museum; in case they did move it. None of us want to accidentally wander in there and cause a ruckus.”
“Oh, ruckus schmuckus,” Grandma said. “I doubt they have many pictures of us, and they’re probably so bad by now, no one would recognize us if they tried.”
“Hmmm, perhaps you’re right,” Irene mused. “So, we should go.” She marched on.
Grandma followed close behind. They headed straight for Old Town. When they reached it, they turned left, passing the old train station, then eventually came to the Van Cleet Hotel. They stopped and stared at it a moment in awe.
“It looks just the same,” Irene breathed.
“It sure does.” Grandma shook herself. “Come on.”
They continued on their way, going past the bank and other buildings. The old assayer’s office, theClear Creek Gazette, which didn’t come into being until the 1900s. They passed the saloon, which was a bar and grill now, then walked by a few boutique stores and stopped.
They stared across the street at Dunnigan’s Mercantile. Irene teared up. “At least the place looks nice.”
“Sure it does, Irene. The Cookes own these buildings, remember? They’re not going to let them get shabby.” Grandma took a deep breath and continued down the sidewalk. Soon they were standing in front of her and Doc’s home. The little whitewashed two-story house looked the same. There were a couple of rocking chairs sitting out front, and the picket fence was still there. She could see lace curtains in the windows, and a vase of flowers was placed in the dining room’s windowsill.
Grandma teared up. “It looks plumb decent.”
A sign hung over the porch steps. MUSEUM. They stared at the house, and Grandma realized it looked homier now, almost as if she’d never left.
“Well, are we going in?” Irene asked beside her.
Grandma took in the white paint on the door and nodded. “Yes, I have to see the inside.” They went up the porch steps tothe door. Grandma tried the knob, half expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. They stepped inside and were greeted by a teenage girl sitting behind a small desk dressed in late-1800s attire.
“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly. “Welcome to the Waller House and Clear Creek Museum.”
Grandma and Irene studied their surroundings. The last time they’d been here, the place had looked very much the same as when she and Doc lived there. Now the walls were papered, and Grandma studied everything with wide eyes.
Irene nudged her with an elbow. “Costs five dollars.” She pointed at a sign on the desk.
“That’s a suggested donation,” the girl said. “But if you’d like to pay more, the museum doesn’t mind.”
“Who runs this place?” Irene asked, looking around.
“The Cooke family donates a sum every month that helps maintain the house.”
“They own it?” Grandma asked.
“Along with half the town,” the girl said with a laugh. “I can either give you the grand tour, or you can look around yourselves.”
“We’ll take a look around,” Grandma said. “Can we go into all the rooms?”
