“Makes sense.” Dad nods. “Nobody trusted the Germans after all that.”
The next morning, I’m sitting in Bella’s shop recounting the entire tale again. “According to the German man, no one but the two of them actually saw the treasure. No other US person did, anyway. They had to take the word of a German soldier, but Feinster’s lawyer speculated that this particular German soldier was involved in heinous atrocities during the war and argued he was only trying to save his own skin.”
“Speculated?”
“That’s what it said.”
“Did any of the articles reveal anything about this treasure? Was it money? Art?”
I shake my head. “Nothing I’ve read so far described what it was, but they believe it was probably worth millions today. The German soldier thought it was mostly old jewelry, rings, and things of that nature.” I look down at my ringless hand and frown.
I can’t think about ringless fingers, so I keep talking. “Oh, and one recent article says that before the war, Feinster Junior was broke. That he sold shoes before he enlisted.”
“And after?” Bella is so into this story, she’s biting her nails.
“After the war, and after his trial, he traveled from Ohio to California where he made a mint making shoes.”
“He opened a business?”
“Ever heard of Finesse Shoes?”
“Finesse Shoes?” Bella’s voice is filled with shock. “Only the biggest tennis shoe company in the world? That company was owned by the old guy?”
“His son runs it now.”
“If he didn’t steal the treasure, how did he get enough money to start a company?”
I shrug. “The journalist wrote that she was unable to find out anything about the source of the initial investment.” The United States was thriving after the war. Tons of new businesses started up at that time. Maybe nobody cared where the money came from.
“Well, I bet he did steal that treasure.” She taps her short fingernails onto the table. “What happened to the German guy?”
“Funny. None of what I read even mentions his name.”
“Okay. That’s odd. Why not?” Bella’s got that look on her face, the one that tells me she’s getting emotionally involved. “I’d love to know if he stayed in the US. Maybe he’s still alive and we could ask him more.”
“There’s not many of those guys left.”
“So, for some reason, this son of Joseph Junior wants to buy the Little house?” Bella has moved around her worktable. Standing in front of me, she reaches out and touches my shoulder. Her eyes are on something else, though. “If this guy is as rich as we think, you should ask for more money.”
“Oh.” I laugh but it’s forced. “Right.”
Bella’s head lowers until our eyes meet. “Donottell me you don’t want to sell.”
The thing is, I love the Little house. More than love it. It’s been that goal, you know, the symbol of success. That house has sat empty most of my life. I used to sneak into it after school sometimes. Sitting on the beautiful staircase, I’d fantasize about living in the house, making lunch for my family, and fixing it up all by myself. Okay, with the help of my handsome husband.
Gah. Dreams suck.
It’s more than that, though. This house is it for me. There’s nothing that compares to it. And if I sold it before I finished it, well, that would be giving up. Throwing in the towel. Admitting defeat. I’m not ready to do that. Not for money. This is aboutwaymore than money.
“Lou Lou?”
I blink and focus on my bestie. “You know I love that house. Always have.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t give up on it.” The house wouldn’t like it. She and I, well, we’re buds. We get each other.
“You’re going to sell it anyway. Right? After you’re done?”
