Bringing Home the Duncan Phyfe: Chapter 21

The Only Catch

The classified ad that Mom had torn from the Times Herald had less than a dozen words and a phone number. “Good condition. Small mahogany Duncan Phyfe drop-leaf dinette table” and then, right in front of the price, was that word that signals a sure bargain: only.

The house was similar in age and size to the house in which their upstairs apartment was about ten eight blocks away. Dad pressed the doorbell twice, but the small button had been painted over many times and seemed stuck in place. Hearing no sound when he pushed it, he opened the screen and gently knocked on the door which immediately opened from inside, though only wide enough for an eye to peer through at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t think the door bell worked.”

“It works. Are you here about the Duncan Phyfe?” asked a voice.

“Yes. I called. I'm only looking for now—can't stay long.” Dad tried to sound half-interested to claim the upper hand as a buyer.

“Please go to the back door. My husband is in the mudroom.”

The closing door punctuated her words with a quiet thud.
.

“In the Mudroom?” Dad mumbled to himself, walking around back. “That doesn’t sound like a good place for a Duncan Phyfe.”

The back door was held open by a gray-haired man who beckoned Dad in with a smile. But for a few boxes, the mudroom was tidy and long since absent of any brooms and boots and crumpled coats that hinted at its name. There was also no sign of a table.

“It's right through here," the man said, "Don’t mind the mess. We’re in the middle of moving.”

Inside, his wife wove her way toward them through a maze of boxes with flaps woven shut. “Sorry I couldn’t open the door, but as you can see, the front room is stacked full.”

It’s funny how quickly perceptions can change. When Dad thought the lady was rude and the table was in a mudroom, his half-interest was easy to maintain, but seeing the couple standing there with warm smiles made him feel suddenly young and less confident. "Oh..." he stammered quickly taking off his hat, a custom he almost never forgot upon entering someone's home. Seeing the mahogany table, he stood there awkwardly as if waiting to be introduced.

“And here’s the Duncan Phyfe,” the lady sighed, dusting it off with her apron.

“Cute.” Dad said with a cough, almost choking on that little word. It’s not that the table was not cute—it was—but Dad almost never used the word “cute” and he had no idea it was in his mouth just waiting to jump out like that. Worse yet, the slip belied the disinterest he would need for dickering.

“It is a cute table,” the woman agreed, “but we just got a new Formica dinette set.” She pointed through the kitchen door to a small white table with a metal edge and chrome pedestal legs similar to those they had grown accustomed to.

“I've read about those new Formica tables. They can sure take a beating," Dad nodded. "About this one… Is this a real Duncan Phyfe?”

“Why sure it is,” the man insisted, but his wife interrupted.

“Actually... that depends on what you mean by real. If you mean was it made a hundred years ago by Duncan Phyfe himself. No, Dear. That would be in a museum. This is only about twenty years old, but it’s what anybody means when they say Duncan Phyfe. It's a design. The legs and lines and drawer-pulls…”

Dad began looking under the table as she spoke. “It’s nice and solid... dove-tailed drawers. Can I look at the chairs, or are they packed up?”

“Chairs?” the man asked.

"Yes. How many are there?" Dad asked.

“I'm sure the ad said 'table only.'"

Dad pulled the wadded scrap from his pocket. The words “table only" were indeed followed by a period, and then came the price.

“You're right. I thought you were emphasizing the price.”

“If that price included chairs, I'd buy it from myself!” the man joked.

Dad tried to laugh politely, but it was strained through a tight smile. Feeling foolish, he scratched the back of his neck and thought to himself out loud, “So there are no chairs… just a table."

“We had four chairs, but they matched my daughter’s Duncan Phyfe so we left them at her place for when they put the leaves in at Thanksgiving… Sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. If I'd only read the ad as you wrote it, I would've... Oh, well, thanks anyway.” He stepped toward the door and lightly by the brim flipped his hat back onto his head.

“Look, Son. You can always get some chairs later. You need a table and we need it gone. What if I said take it home today for…” he looked at his wife winked… “five bucks?” The wife nodded.

Dad looked at the table again and took off his hat. “Don't get me wrong. I can pay that right now... but I need to think about the chair situation. Can you hold it for thirty minutes?"

“Go.” the lady swished him out the back door. “Ask the wife. I’d want him to do the same if it were for me. We'll wait for you.”

Like most husbands of that time, Dad was a bit autocratic. It was not a natural thing for him to "ask the wife" about purchases, and in this case Dad wanted the table to be a surprise. He had intended to let Mom think he'd ignored her hint and dismissed the idea for lack of space. But this no-chairs thing changed all that. He envisioned her waking up Christmas morning to see the table with a big red bow. “Surprise! Here’s the Duncan Phyfe you wanted, Honey. Chairs? You didn’t say anything about chairs.” He smiled at the thought then shook his head. Christmas was no time for disappointment.

Mom was just getting pans out for dinner when she heard him coming up the stairs.

“Hi, Don. Don’t worry about being late. I’m running behind, too.” She sniffed a little, trying to hide her face.

.

"What's wrong, Bev."

.

"Mr. Kellerman told me I was done at Star Oil on December 21st..." she began to cry.

.

"I thought you were going to work at least through January."

.

"I never got to tell them that. He just told me today that they wanted to give me a month's notice."

"You're not due until April."

"I know. Will we have enough saved up?"

.

He held her in his arms and stroked the back of her head."We'll be fine. It's just a month sooner than we thought. I'll start working nights at the post office. I heard they were hiring for the holidays. We'll be alright, Bev. It may be for the best. You said last week that your dress buttons are catching on your desk."

.

"They do. I pulled one off today." They laughed. Dad looked at her stomach for the gap. "I already sewed it back on.... That's when it happened. I was on my hands and knees looking for the button, and Mr. Kellerman walked up and found it by the wastebasket. Then he said, 'Won't be long now, Bev—and oh, by the way, we think it's best if you finish up in December... so you can enjoy the holidays and get ready for that baby. Your last day will be Friday, the 21st."

.

"That's all he said? Was he pleasant like that or upset?"

.

"No. He just said it matter-of-fact and handed me the button."
.
She pulled the hanky from her neckline and blew her nose. Dad leaned back without completely letting go of her, and then to change the subject, he took the ad from his pocket and held it in front of her face.
.
“Does anything sort of jump out at you when you read this?”

“Oh, Don. You remembered! Don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.”

“You’d be surprised alright. Hypothetically speaking. If a person were to hypothetically purchase this table. Would you say it comes with or without chairs …hypothetically.”

“Without. It says right there— ‘Table only.’”

“So you knew when you tore out this ad that this table has no chairs—hypothetically…” he said blankly.

“Don. You said yourself we don’t have room for the table. Where on earth would be put the chairs?”

“Well..." he glanced around, "That's a good question, but what’s the point of having a Duncan Phyfe table if you can’t sit at it?”

“I've always wanted one for when we have company. For now we could use any ol’ chairs..." For an instant her eyes showed the weight of practical thought, but she blinked and shook it off with a gleeful smile. "Did you go look at it? What’s it like. Did you get it?”

“Bev, you can’t in one breath say you want to be surprised and in the next ask if I got it.”

“Forget the surprise part. Did you get it?”

“No…” he said, keeping his five-dollar secret behind a devilish smile, “...but we can go get it right now. He’s holding it for me.”

“Right now? Don’t we need to borrow a trailer or something?”

“There’s no time for that," he said, grabbing her coat from the closet. "These people are moving and want me to take it tonight. It’s only seven or eight blocks away. Button up. I'll need you to drive.”.

To be continued soon...