Free Aloha, Candy Hearts by Anthony Bidulka Page B

Hearts

    moved on, the fruit trees matured and I’d snack on crabapples and raspberries. There was no mystery why my own backyard looked the way it did. I’d brought some of my childhood memories with me.
    As I sat there, appreciating the mini-park, a peculiar thought came to me. Suppose the old gal was grouchy for a reason.
    Suppose she’d been sitting on that same bench ever since whoever wrote this poem wrote it, waiting for a treasure hunter like me to come along and ask her to solve the riddle of this stanza.
    I smiled again at the woman. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of me ever since I sat down. Amazing, really, how she could knit and be a crotchety vigilante at the same time.
    “Excuse me,” I called across to her. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for…someone…would you?”
    She continued to stare and knit, but uttered not a single word.
    I got to thinking maybe she needed some sort of code word or something. “Margaret sent me,” I told her, my voice low and conspiratorial.
    The creases in her forehead deepened.
    “There it is,” I began, giving her a “y’know what I’m talking about” wink. “What it is.” Dramatic pause. “Where it is.”
    The busy hands stopped moving in mid-knit. The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits and her nose began to quiver. Ah hah! I was right!
    “But where,” I began meaningfully, “is what it is where it wasn’t?”
    She got up and left.
    Shit.
    I stood and looked around, hoping no one had witnessed the silly and ultimately fruitless exchange. Thankfully, it seemed I was alone.
    After a bit of a stretch, I walked around the property some more, waiting for inspiration. Eventually I found myself at the front of the house. There was a bronze plaque next to the front door. What would detectives and treasure hunters do without plaques? I read the first part out loud: “Built in 1884 by the Marr family, the Marr Residence is the oldest building in Saskatoon on DD6AA2AB8
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    Anthony Bidulka

    its original location and one of the first to be built in the settlement.
    During the Rebellion of 1885, the residence served as a field hospital for the Canadian militia.” Interesting, interesting, interes…wait…my brain was clicking now.
    There it is…the Marr Residence.
    What it is…the oldest building in Saskatoon.
    Where it is…on its original location.
    But where is what it is…the oldest building in Saskatoon…where it wasn’t?
    The poem wanted me to answer the question. The answer was where I needed to go next. That had to be it! Or so I hoped.
    I had an idea. According to what I’d just read, the Marr Residence was one of the first to be built…but it wasn’t the first. It was the oldest building in Saskatoon on its original location. Was there a house older than this one still standing in Saskatoon, but not on its original location? That would be what it is where it wasn’t.
    Wouldn’t it? My head was hurting.
    Fortunately this was a Sunday in August, which, according to a poster in the front door ’s window, meant the Marr House was open today. I pulled open the screen door, turned the knob of the wooden door behind it, and indeed, it was unlocked. I stepped into the porch and just as I reached for the door into the house, it opened, revealing a middle-aged woman with a beaming face.
    “Hello,” she greeted me warmly. “I saw you out here. I thought I’d come say hello. Have you been to the Marr Residence before?
    Can I answer any questions for you?”
    I debated using the code word thing again, but quickly abandoned the idea as passé. Maybe it worked for World War II double agent operatives and the Pink Panther, but it just wasn’t doing anything for me. Maybe one of these days…
    “Actually, yes,” I told her. “I see by the sign out front that this house is the oldest in Saskatoon on its original location. I was wondering if you knew whether there is an older house in town that isn’t?” Let’s