Searching For Treasure - By L.C. Davenport Page 0,14

to bed."

By the next morning she had decoupage pictures cut out of old calendars and magazines onto about two dozen of those squares and hauled them down to a nearby consignment shop to sell as wall hangings. By the time he got home from school that day, the house looked like a factory.

Jack told him years later that Dana had received a visit the day before from someone at child welfare services who was concerned about her ability to provide for a ten-year-old. Terrified of losing what was left of her family, armed with creativity and fueled by a fierce determination, she quit college and turned to the only thing her parents had left them: the contents of their house.

She went through all the closets, pulling out old clothes, cutting off buttons to sell to sewing and craft shops and used the fabric to make rag rugs. She finished up the scraps by using them to turn old picture frames into something new. Even the 1950s-era suit her mother had worn on her wedding day had been ruthless sold to a vintage clothing store, though it had broken Dana's heart to do so.

Her father had been an avid gardener, so she dug up his plants and sold them at farmers markets. She painted the rocks he had used in landscaping and turned them into interesting conversation pieces or paperweights. She took the junk he had never gotten around to discarding and turned them into birdhouses and bird feeders. She became adept at turning the leftovers and castoffs of her parents' lives into something beautiful or whimsical or useful and then selling it to someone by convincing them that they couldn't live without it.

Their mother had been a wonderful baker and had loved making her own jams, jellies and pickles. Knowing that she had passed this same ability to her daughter, Jack had suggested bake sales at local flea markets and participating in the arts and crafts show circuit. Eventually she gave up the handcrafts and concentrated on baking and canning.

Noah watched his sister beat back her fears with work and had been inspired to do the same. He held his own lawn sales, bargaining with the neighborhood kids over the price of old toys. He sold Kool-Aid and some of Dana's home-baked cookies on the sidewalk in front of the castle. He held puppet shows and magic shows in the backyard charging a nickel a head to anyone who would come. When he was older he had a paper route and mowed yards during the summer.

The first day he had poured out his accumulated pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters onto the table in front of his sister, his face had beamed with pride at his contribution. But Dana had not failed to see the traces of uncertainty lurking in his eyes, a fear that what little he had to offer wasn't good enough. Dana thanked him seriously and praised him lavishly for his cleverness and ingenuity. That night she cried herself to sleep.

Dana smiled at her brother, memories both bitter and sweet flowing thickly between them. Grace brought them back to the present when she asked, "What kind of things do you sell on the internet?"

"I have my own line of jams and jellies. I also dabble in pickles, relishes and hot sauce. One day, when I can reproduce my father's secret barbecue sauce, I'll add that to the inventory. I don't know when that will be. I've been trying for years and I still haven't got it right."

Jack laughed. "And I'm the scorched-tongued guinea pig to prove it."

Just then Mark rushed in, carrying an old book in his large hands. "Grandpa, guess what I found!"

"Boy, you're about to miss breakfast. I thought you must be sick. Not like you to miss a meal. What have you got there?"

"It's kind of a history book, except it tells you where people used to hide their money."

"Let me see that,”Rose commanded. Mark handed her the book and she flipped through it eagerly as Grace peered over her shoulder.

"According to the book, Grandpa,”Mark continued excitedly, "most people used the same kinds of places to hide their stuff. Like inside a well or cistern. What's a cistern?"

"It's a water tank," Henry answered.

"Oh. Well, they also liked to hide stuff in fireplaces or in a secret hidey-hole inside the chimney."

"That had to be a man,”stated Rose, turning a page. "What woman would want to scatter soot everywhere each time she wanted to get to her