Realizing its significance, and that I was uncovering a historic time capsule, I couldn’t help thinking there was probably a whole lot more of it behind the façade of the wall. I felt my anticipation growing. “Wait!” I called out to Ryan as he started for the other side of the room, to talk to the other man on demolition duty. When he turned to face me, I excitedly held up the newspaper clipping. “Look!”
“Ah, this one used newspaper too?” Ryan asked, wearing an expression of mild interest as he faced both the men in the room.
The one nearest me nodded. “Found quite a few glued to the wall beneath these stubborn-ass boards!” The man held his crowbar up like he was ready to dig back into the wall again when I stopped him short by stepping in front of him. My attention, however, was on Ryan.
“You can’t just go in and demolish this room if there are ancient newspapers on the walls!” I protested. “That’s sacrilege!”
Ryan shook his head. “Peyton, it was a common practice hundreds of years ago to use newspapers as insulation. I’ve come across this situation countless times.”
“And you just trash them?” I asked, my mouth agape in horror.
“The newspapers are usually so torn up by the time we’re finished, we have no choice,” Ryan answered, not particularly bothered by the fact. “And homeowners rarely want to take the time to salvage somethin’ that usually is already illegible, owin’ to its age.”
“Oh my gosh,” I continued, shaking my head as I turned back to the pile of debris. “I can’t even fathom that,” I continued as I bent down and started rifling through it, separating out the pieces of antique newspaper as I came across them. Ryan wasn’t exaggerating—most of the newspaper was reduced to mere scraps, thanks to the demolition. I glanced up at him and frowned. “These newspapers represent moments in time that will never exist again,” I said in a hollow voice as I looked at the fragments of a bygone era surrounding me. “And time is so fleeting.” I glanced up at Ryan again and shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I always found history so fascinating and why I decided to major in it.”
Ryan nodded and then offered me a hearty smile. “You believe in preservin’ the past.”
“I do,” I agreed as I continued rummaging through the pile. At the bottom of the mound, I recovered a full page that was safeguarded by the wooden board it was attached to. Pulling it free from the wood fibers, I smoothed it out against the floor and found myself gazing at the portrait of what appeared to be a policeman.
If I had to guess, I would have deemed the article as dating from around the early twentieth century—the image just didn’t appear older than that. There wasn’t a title or a date accompanying the picture that might have given me an indication of the year it was printed, but judging by the officer’s somewhat contemporary uniform, I figured the article couldn’t have been that old.
As far as I could tell, the man was sitting (the article was ripped just above his hips) and his hands might have been clasped in his lap. He was facing the camera, and even though the clipping was incredibly old and faded, it was still very obvious that whoever this officer was, he was exceedingly handsome. He wasn’t smiling, but there was an echo of something flirtatious in his eyes. The longer I studied him, the more I wondered whether it was a “come hither” expression in his gaze, or a cold, calculating one. It completely depended on whether I imagined the person taking the picture to be a woman or a man. Regardless, he looked like he was in his early thirties maybe, and his clean-shaven face revealed a square jaw, high cheekbones, a pronounced but symmetrical nose, masculine eyebrows, and penetrating, large eyes. I couldn’t make out whether his hair was dark or light as it was eclipsed by the modern-looking officer’s cap. His shoulders were broad and his neck thick. His officer’s jacket was dark, maybe navy, black, or charcoal gray. Three metal buttons appeared on either side of his collar, and his badge shone on his left side, along with a nameplate above it. I strained my eyes to make out his name, but failed.
“What did you find?” Ryan asked as he approached me. I glanced up at him and offered him the newspaper. After studying it for a few seconds, he handed it back to me. “Hmm, cops back then looked pretty similar to today.”
I nodded and, gazing at the image again, felt myself zoning out on the officer’s eyes. That was when I remembered there was probably a whole minefield of undiscovered history still behind what remained of the walls. I darted over to the wall and shoved my hand behind the drywall that was still intact.
“Bloody hell, Peyton, you’re gonna snag yourself on a nail!” Ryan objected.
“I’m fine,” I answered absentmindedly, fingering the edge of a piece of paper attached to another board. I glanced at Ryan and beamed. “There’s more here!”
“Peyton,” he started and shook his head. “If we lollygag around with this, it’s goin’ to push your job out even longer!”
As soon as I recalled the officer’s eyes, I shook my head emphatically. It was a bizarre reaction I had to him—but I knew I couldn’t allow whatever existed beyond the walls to be further damaged. There was a calm certainty that took over me—an absolute assurance that I needed to make sure nothing else beyond the walls was damaged. It almost felt as if a foreign being was somehow in control of me. But of course, that was ridiculous.
“I don’t care,” I said with finality as I turned to face the men in the room. “I want these boards removed carefully.” I was quiet as I continued fingering the brittle pieces of newspaper when something dawned on me. “Ryan, these weren’t used as insulation.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they’re single sheets of paper, not entire newspapers.”
Ryan approached the wall and inspected it before taking a step back and nodding at me. “I think you’re right. Ordinarily, we find whole newspapers wadded up and shoved into the recesses of the wall.”
“But these are stuck to the boards, which tells me that someone posted them on the wall and then boarded them up later,” I finished.
Ryan cocked his head to the side before nodding. “Could be.” Then he sighed as he apparently realized what a behemoth undertaking he now faced. “Peyton, are you sure you want to bother with this?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately before offering him a big smile. “I can help.”
He shook his head, but his eyes settled on what was remaining of the wall. He was quiet for a few seconds before he faced the man nearer him. “The best way to do this is to remove the drywall first. Just be careful that you don’t go very deep. When you’re down to the whitewashed boards, lemme know.”
The man nodded as Ryan faced me again and expelled a pent-up breath. “Lunch is on you,” he said with a slight smirk, while poking me in the upper arm with his index finger.
“So what do you know about my house?” I asked Ryan, reaching for a French fry on his plate, before smiling apologetically for mooching it.
He cocked a single brow at me but smiled all the same. I thought lunch being on me meant that I’d buy all the guys lunch, but I’d come to find that Ryan had only meant him. It was just as well because I enjoyed any alone time I could get with him. I felt like there was definitely something between Ryan and me, but I wasn’t sure exactly what “it” was—just casual, innocent flirtation or something more?