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131 pages

English

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"If this furniture could talk it would tell so much."
Come along for the ride of 100 years in the life of a bedroom set and the lives they touch.
The women have gossiped with stories throughout history as if these walls could talk and they heard every word. The men regale each other with exaggerated stories assuming the mattress could not talk and challenge their boasts. What stories would the furniture tell if it shared the inside secrets? How many lives has it touched in the last 100 years? How many generations have touched the high gloss cherry wood finish and lived to tell the tale? Every scratch has a story, every blemish a punishment. True furniture endures the test of time and captures lifetimes of moments along the way.
A violent storm in 1916 destroys the southern ridge of the Blue Ridge Mountains but gives birth to furniture manufacturing. The very trees that threatened lives in the storm are transformed into beautiful furniture pieces with a hidden feature; A Widow’s Box. As the set is purchased and becomes part of the Papa family, the hidden box is kept secret. Some use the box to hide their past, some to save their future. Generations of family endure the struggle to maintain the furniture and protect the secrets within.
Come along on this magical journey through time as LaPorta whisks you away along the lives that are touched within a 100 years. Some will perish and other flourish but they all have one thing in common, the Widow’s Box. Will the secret within be carried to the graveyard of the landfill or will quality and love endure…the test of time.

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Fiction

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Publié par	AuthorHouse
Date de parution	12 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781665579926
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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The Widow’s Box

A Test of Time

Peter A. LaPorta

AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 833-262-8899

© 2023 Peter A. LaPorta. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/12/2023

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7993-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6655-7992-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023900547

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents
1922
1
2
3
1939
1
2
3
4
5
6
1945
1
2
3
4
5
6
1964
1
2
3
4
5
6
1972
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
1982
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
1982-2016
1
2016
1
2
3

Author’s Note

To Schedule a Speaker Event, Book Signing or Seminar, please access
http://laportaenterprises.com

For
All the keepers of the set, part or whole, and all the lives touched along the way

1922

1
“G randpa. Tell us the story of the storm.”
“Oh, Frankie. Not again.”
The Platas family proper, all twelve, were seated at the giant outdoor picnic table that was crafted by the patriarch himself, Frank Platas Sr. The typical Sunday afternoon feast was a time honored tradition that would transcend long into the next century. The belief was that the gathering of family to a Sunday dinner was essential to the blessings of any household, regardless of their immigrant status. The Platas family was like every other American family that kept the Sabbath day sacred, putting aside all work to worship The Lord and the family unit.
Much like any other Sunday, the family had gathered early in the morning and walked en masse to the Catholic Church that was close to three miles away. The feet were always singing louder than the voices of the choir by the time they returned home to the farm but there was not a complaint among them. Grandma and Grandpa always led the small convoy, setting the pace that could easily be overtaken by the group’s younger legs, spry with morning energy. Decorum had the two sons follow their father since they made up the latter half of the Frank Platas and Sons Furniture Company. Frank Jr. was the elder by a year and his charming wife Ethel walked on the outside left, never to come between the two brothers.
To Frank Junior’s right was his younger brother Benny. The morning walks often brought sunshine and smiles to the family faces but very rarely to the younger son. Benito Platas wore the hardships of life sternly on his face. He had fought valiantly in the World War but was sent home after only a year with a piece of shrapnel in his right calf. Though he walked with a limp he never once slowed the pace or offered grimace to their Sunday stroll to church. He was a hard man who went off to fight when his brother was deemed unfit for combat. Frank Jr. was missing the tip of what would have been his trigger finger due to a youthful error in his father’s toolshed. Both men wore their scars with dignity and neither showed any signs of weakness. They labored hard in their family mill six days a week and not a soul could say that they favored their shortcomings.
Walking on Benny’s right was his wife Harriet. She was a hard woman married to a hard man and her youth had dissipated quickly when her husband went off to war. They were barely married a fall season when Benny went off to fight and it was not until his basic training was over that she found out she was pregnant with twins. He never got to see her bulging at the seams since he was fighting on distant shores. She told him very little of her challenges through scarce letters but instead told Benny how the Platas family had rallied together to assist her, especially his only sister Sally.
Sally Delmonico, formerly known as Sally Platas, was the youngest of the three children. Two years younger than Benny, she held on to her youth the longest. When her brother went off to fight the war and her eldest brother took on more responsibility at the mill, the pressure was upon her to find a man and marry him so that he could help in the family business. Her newlywed bed had not cooled when Benny returned and her new found husband took a backseat quickly, never quite affirming himself in the regime. Timothy Delmonico worked hard none the less but his promise of being a leader in the mill had been nullified.
Each of the three couples had produced offspring. Frank Jr. and Ethel gave birth to the first grandchild, Frank Platas III. Benny met his twin children when they were three months old, annoyed at the way that Pat and Paula carried on while he was recuperating. He wasn’t happy about any of the children until Sally and Tim had produced Pamela Jane. It was always possible that he had started to mellow as time progressed but the family knew better. More likely was the fact that his little sister had made a girl of her own and it was that sole fact that cracked the stone face into a small smile any time Pamela Jane was around.
The twelve had returned home from church and the activities proceeded as usual. Grandpa Frank, his two sons and Tim drank fresh tea on the porch while Ethel, Harriet, Sally and Grandma Betty prepared the food in the kitchen. Depending on the weather and how much energy the men had, they would often gather on the side of the farm house to throw shoes. Grandpa Frank and Benny would roll themselves a cigarette with scorn as the other two were happy for the down time away from their children. The four grandchildren played in the dooryard until the dinner bell chimed and they all gathered around the picnic table.
Frank Sr. gave the blessing and the dining process began. The food was bountiful, not due to their limited affluence as business owners, but rather due to the hard work of the four women. During the week while the men were busy at the mill, the women worked the fields of the farm while tending to the small children. They grew fresh vegetables and raised chickens and goats to provide dairy and meat. Collectively, the family Platas was a well-oiled machine and they had much to be thankful for when counting their blessings.
“Little Frankie. Why do you like that story so much?”
The young namesake seemed to give the question much thought before coming back with a simple answer. “Because it’s fun.”
The response brought laughter to the whole table except Benito.
“You wouldn’t have thought it was so fun if you were there young man.”
“Oh, Benny, leave the poor boy alone.”
“I wouldn’t think you enjoyed it either, Harriet.”
“No one enjoyed that storm Benny. But your father tells it so well.”
Frank Sr. threw up his hands in defeat. “Ok, ok. If the boy wants to hear the story again, who am I to deprive him?”
The adults at the table all smirked and continued to eat. They knew all too well that Grandpa loved to be the entertainer of the group. It was Grandma who gave him the approval to do so at the table.
“If you are intent on telling that foolishness again, I will not have the Lord’s blessings getting cold. You speak but everyone else keep eating.”
“Of course, my bride. You have worked too long in the kitchen for me to spoil the goat’s milk with my sour story.”
Grandpa Frank took one final bite of his bread and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. Clearing his throat, he paused to take his mind back to that stormy day. It remained fresh in his mind as the greens on the plate in front of him. Looking at his grandson directly he began.
“The year was 1916 and we had just returned from our week off for the July 4 th holiday…

2
I t was July in the Carolinas and it was wetter than a mule in the pasture after a spring rain. The sweat was rolling off our heads like we were swimming in the creek. If not for all of the activity going on to prepare, the humidity would surely tell of the giant storm that was coming. Your Pa, Uncle Benny and me were all working over at the Biltmore Estate. Master John had a bee in his bonnet and wanted everything prim and proper before the storm came. We had spent the whole day in the gardens wrapping up the smallest plants and transplanting the big ones. I spent most of that day in the Italian Garden while the boys were inside the Observatory getting the glass ready for the storm. He came out and stood in the middle of the shrub garden like he was King Titan himself. He started yelling that everyone should come gather round for some instruction. Of course I was pretty much front and center since I was nearb