Tom Edwards had served as night watchman for twenty-five years. What did his employer owe to him? What did he owe to himself, and his son?
From the Relief Society Magazine, March 1943 –
The Gold Watch
By Mary Ek Knowles
When old Tom Edwards, night watchman for Bryson and Laird’s department store, rang the station near the fur vault the first time, Ben Phillips was setting the time lock.
“How are things going, Tom?” Ben called.
“Can’t complain, Ben.” Tom’s voice lacked its usual friendliness. He couldn’t explain why, but instinctively he mistrusted the manager of the Ready-to-Wear Department. The man was just too good to be true with his perfectly tailored clothes, his sleek dark hair, his easy smile, and his smooth flattering voice.
“How is your wife since the weather got cooler?”
That question stopped Tom who was walking past as Ben locked the fur vault. His blue eyes clouded. “Not so good,” he said slowly. “The least chilly breeze is enough to cripple her with rheumatism for days. Last winter she had to use a cane. I’m afraid she’ll be worse this year.” Worry gnawed at Tom’s mind. Poor Annie! and with all her suffering, no whining, just a patient smile that fair tore your heart out.
“Why don’t you take her to Florida, Tom?” Ben Phillips pulled several brightly colored travel folders from his pocket and handed them to the watchman. “Look through these. Warm southern climate and sunshine are what she needs.”
Tom reached for the folders. “Why, thanks, Ben,” he said, looking at the younger man with kinder eyes. Perhaps his instinct had been wrong. After all, he had nothing against Phillips. Mr. Bryson and Mr. Laird trusted him. Ben had been with the store only one year, yet it was he who locked the vault and carried a key to the store on his key ring.
Tom took the travel folders and sighed. “Florida is the place for Annie, all right, Ben. But I haven’t the means. There’s been my son, David’s, schooling, and Annie’s doctor bills. No, Florida is out of my reach, Ben.”
Ben frowned and twirled his key ring. “You’ve been here twenty-0five years. Seems to me, Tom, a prosperous store like this should do something special for you. Tell you what. I’m going to suggest to Mr. Laird that you be given a winter’s vacation in Florida with all expenses paid for you and your wife.”
Tom’s senses reeled. A vacation in Florida with all expenses paid! Then the night watchman came down out of the clouds. The store owed him no such grand present! All these years it had given him steady work and a short vacation every year, with a turkey at Thanksgiving and a small bonus at Christmas.
“Thanks, Ben,” he said, putting the folders in his back pocket. “But the firm owes me nothing!” With a start he realized that he had halted on his rounds and there were some fifteen stations yet to ring in. He took a large gold watch from his vest pocket and looked at it. “I must be going. I’m a little late on my first round.”
“That’s an interesting watch,” Ben remarked.
Late or not, Tom had to tell the story. “It was given to one of my folks by King George III way back in 1732.” Tom Edwards displayed the black Roman numerals and slender gold hands of the timepiece that had ticked off so many hours of his sixty-eight years of life. He turned the watch over and pointed to the engraving. “That’s the Edwards coat of arms.”
“An oak tree and a sword. Honor et Veritas,” Ben read.
“Honor and Truth!” Old Tom interpreted proudly. “when my father handed me this he said, ‘Son, what I’m passing on to you is more than just a gold watch. It is a name untouched by shame or dishonor!’ And tomorrow,” the watchman told the department manager, “my son, David, gets this watch as a present when he graduates from medical school.”
Tom Edwards was a short man, lean of body and face, yet as he stood there, his straightness, something in the way he held his well-shaped head with its mane of white hair, gave him height and dignity.
“Quite an heirloom!” Ben said, “but doesn’t the loud ticking disturb you?”
Tom chuckled as he replaced the watch in his vest pocket. “So used to it, I never hear it! thanks again for the folders.” Turning quickly, Tom stumbled over a large suitcase, then righted himself and continued on his rounds.
Later that night he studied the travel folders while he was eating his lunch. He sat on the wooden bench at the foot of the stairs in the basement of the store and slowly turned the rainbow-colored pages. Florida! His wistful eyes read every line of description, missed no detail of the vivid pictures. White beaches and green water … palm trees against a blue sky … and sunshine, always sunshine! Annie could sit on the beach all day and feel the sunshine soak into her body.
Reluctantly old Tom closed the folder and set it next to his lunch box. What was the good of wishing for the moon. He had better forget Florida. He looked at his watch, 1 a.m. Time to start his round of the store again. He creaked to his feet, hooked his gun belt tighter, picked up his flashlight and started climbing the stairs.
But the watchman could not forget Florida. The land of palm trees and sunshine continued to woo him. He finally gave up the brief struggle and lapsed into dreaming. He tried to picture the look on Annie’s face if he should walk in and say, “Pack your duds, girl. We’re going to Florida for the winter!” The brown eyes that suffering could not dim, would twinkle. “Tom,” she’d say, “how you do run on! Florida, land sake!” He would pick her up, then – she was such a frail little thing – “I ain’t foolin’, Annie. We are a’goin’,” he’d say. “Look at these folders.”
The watchman came to the top of the third flight of stairs. A sheepish grin overspread his face, and he pulled at his ear. He was a great one, mooning like a love-sick calf over Florida and his Annie until he clean passed the first and second floors. By golly, that was the first time in all the years he’d been night watchman that he hadn’t registered at the stations on the main and second floors first!
He was about to turn and walk down the stairs when a glow coming from the third floor fur vault attracted his attention. Tom’s hand went to his gun and he tip-toed noiselessly toward the light.
The partly open vault door revealed Ben Phillips. For a moment Tom stood and watched him, puzzled. Ben took a brown fur coat from a large suitcase, the very suitcase Tom had stumbled over, and placed it on a hanger in the vault along with dozens of other fur coats. Then he took a black fur coat from the suitcase and did the same thing. Next, he removed a shiny brown fur coat and a glistening black fur coat from their hangers in the vault, folded them carefully and placed them in the suitcase.
Tom’s hold on his gun tightened as he realized what Ben was doing. Swapping cheap furs for expensive ones! Tom pushed the vault door wide. “Don’t move, Phillips!”
The startled man straightened with a jerk, his eyes round with complete surprise. His face was a grayish white. Then his scared eyes appraised the watchman’s shabby clothes … his gray hair. The color returned to Ben’s cheeks.
“Hello, Tom,” he said shakily. “Just thought I’d better check over –”
“I saw what you did, Ben!”
Ben avoided the stony look in the old man’s eyes. He took a billfold from his coat. He extracted four bills and held them out. “Forget you ever saw me in here.”
Tom’s figure stiffened and the muscles at the sides of his jaw twitched with fury.
“Don’t be a sap, Edwards!” Ben croaked. “This is your chance to square things with the store. Twenty-five years you’ve worked for Bryson and Laird. You don’t live in a mansion on the hill as they do; your wife doesn’t wear fur coats and diamonds; your son didn’t have his education handed to him on a silver platter!
“I had everything perfectly planned. Listen – ” Ben’s cracked voice hurried on. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead as he explained his scheme for the perfect crime: the gaining of the complete confidence of the store’s owners; checking on the night watchman’s movements; and chatting earlier in the evening so that later, when the theft was discovered, Tom would testify that he had seen Ben locking the vault. But Ben had set the time clock for 1 a.m. and after switching the furs, he had planned to re-set it for the usual 8:30 in the morning so nobody would suspect him.
The travel folders! Tom no longer heard Ben’s smooth voice. Even they had been given to make Tom more friendly toward the man he distrusted. Yes, it would have been the perfect crime if those same Florida folders hadn’t made him walk as in a dream up to the third floor first, as he’d never done before.
“I can give you enough money to keep you for life!” Ben pleaded. “You could take Annie to Florida, Tom! Florida – ”
Ben Phillips hurried to paint on the watchman’s mind a picture of Annie walking along the boardwalk with him, or sitting in a rocking chair crocheting, while the kind sun beat down on her thin body. A life in cozy auto courts with red-tiled roofs; checker tournaments and horse-pitching contests; and old cronies to swap yarns with.
Tom’s Adam’s apple went up and down in his thin neck. Florida would save Annie. No more cold winters for her!
“No one will ever find out,” Ben argued desperately. “Why not take the money?”
Why not?
Then in the tense silence Tom heard the loud ticking of the gold watch over his heart. Honor and Truth! Honor and Truth! Honor and Truth! Louder and louder.
Tom broke out into a cold sweat. Perhaps no one would ever find out about the theft. But he himself would know. “What profiteth a man …” Lose his good name. Why, pride in a good name was the flesh and blood of a man, the strength of his bones. It was the set of his head, the firm, confident tread of his feet. It was long nights of untroubled sleep and looking at his fellowman in the eye without flinching. And he had almost thrown that away!
With one swift movement Tom slammed the vault door. The lock clicked. Then he ran to the office to telephone the police. Tomorrow Thomas Edwards would give his son, David, a gold watch, and with it a priceless heritage.