A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

in when making pasteles for Christmas.” The first time Sonja tasted the tamales filled with pork, chickpeas, yucca, olives, capers and other spices they’d become her personal favorite for the holiday season and other family celebrations.

“Ay dios mío,” Maria said, lapsing into Spanish. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Yo no sé,” Sonja answered. It wasn’t often she got to speak Spanish, because her mother and uncle, like a lot of New York Puerto Ricans tended to combine the two languages when speaking.

“I’m going to get all of her notebooks and go through them. After I decide what to include, then I’ll start writing the narratives. Thank you, baby, for giving me something to do other than sit on the porch and read or watch television.”

“Let me know what you come up with.”

“I will. I’m going to let you go because I know you have work to do. You can call me whenever you have some spare time.”

“Will do, Mami. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sonja ended the call, smiling. Placing the phone on the charger, she returned to the floor to examine the ticket stubs spanning decades. There had to be hundreds of them from operas, concerts, stage plays, state fairs, circuses, movie theaters, museums and auctions.

Sonja decided the clippings and stubs would take up too much time to catalogue at this time and put them back into the envelope. A collection of flyers garnered her rapt attention. Someone had crossed the Atlantic on a steamship to attend six world’s fairs, had taken the train across the country to attend two in San Francisco, driven to Philadelphia and had chartered a yacht to Havana, Cuba. She put them in chronological order. The first was in 1881 to Paris, France, for the International Exposition of Electricity and the last in San Francisco in 1915 for the Panama-Pacific International Exposition’s Palace of Fine Arts. She noticed three of the expositions were geared to electricity, and she wondered if the Bainbridges had an interest in Edison’s electric lighting system and subsequently invested in General Electric. The trip in 1881 preceded the completion of the château by two years. Where, she wondered, had the Bainbridges lived before that time? And where and how had they amassed a fortune of at least ten million to build their castle?

Taylor’s head popped up when he realized he wasn’t alone. The caretaker had entered the room he’d set up to conduct interviews. Earlier that morning he’d met with two licensed electricians and one plumber, and based on their prior experience he wouldn’t hire any of them.

“I just closed the gate,” the caretaker announced.

Taylor pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Thanks. Please sit down, Dom.” When Elise had talked about a resident caretaker he’d imagined a middle-aged or elderly man living in one of the cottages, not the tall, slender man in his midthirties with a black, lightly streaked gray man bun and dark green eyes in a deeply tanned face.

Dominic Shaw sat, stretched out his legs and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “How did it go?”

Taylor laced his fingers together atop the table. He liked Dom and had come to rely on him to be available when the applicants arrived for their scheduled interviews. He met them at the entrance to the property and escorted them to the main house.

“Although licensed, they are not what I need.”

“Not enough experience, Taylor?”

“It’s not that, Dom. One electrician admitted that he couldn’t get along with his last two supervisors, and for me that is a red flag for someone with a problem accepting and following orders. The other one once had his license suspended. It was recently reinstated, but I didn’t want to know why. To be truthful, I’m on the fence with the plumber. He’s young, licensed and hasn’t had much experience, but I may be able to hire him as an assistant.”

“Do you intend to supervise them?”

“Not directly. I’m hoping to hire someone I’ve worked with in the past to assist me.”

“How many general contractors do you need?”

Taylor angled his head. “Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

A hint of a smile parted the caretaker’s lips. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“You?” Taylor repeated.

Dom’s smile vanished. “Yes. I’m the fifth generation Shaw caretaker. I learned the ins and outs of repairs from my father and grandfather. They taught me everything about installing electrical wiring and plumbing. By the way, I happen to be a licensed plumber.”

Taylor knew the estate’s caretakers were paid from a trust set up by Charles Garland Bainbridge in 1898, and at least one Shaw male from each succeeding generation had accepted and maintained the position, including Dominic Shaw.

“Are you asking to work for me?” Taylor asked him.

“No. I won’t work for but with you,” Dom countered. “Conditions set out in trust prohibit me from working for anyone because my sole responsibility is taking care of the estate.”

Suddenly Taylor was intrigued with the caretaker. This was the first time they’d had more than a cursory exchange with each other, and Dom’s offer to help with the repairs was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. “If I agree to let you help with the restoration, what do you want to do?” His query appeared to shock Dom, and he sat up straight.

“I really like plumbing. I renovated my kitchen, put in a half bath, and updated the toilet and all the sinks in my cottage. Would you like to see it?”

Pushing back his chair, Taylor stood. “Sure.”

He left the main house with Dom and walked to the six two-story cottages situated far enough from one another for privacy. Dom opened the door to one and stepped aside to let him enter. Taylor wiped his booted feet on the thick straw mat and walked in. The spacious foyer with a circular pedestal table afforded easy access to the living room furnishings from another era. Taylor took in the overstuffed sofas and chairs covered with busy prints, rough-hewn side tables and built-in shelves filled with books, model