by Raj, Carol;
“I can’t stop now, Muriel. My favorite soap opera starts in ten minutes. Anyway, a yard sale is no place to look for antiques. The better items are all in the consignment and antique stores. Yard sales just have junk. Like that mirror you always cart around.”
“Please, Roxanne. It’ll only take me five minutes.”
“Sorry, Muriel. We’re already past it. You certainly don’t expect me to turn around, do you?”
Trying to get Roxanne to do anything she didn’t want to do was like trying to stop an avalanche by standing in front of it. One would only get bowled over. Possibly annihilated. “How far are we from home?” Muriel had no idea.
“About a mile. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Just curious.” It would take Muriel a half hour to walk a mile back to the sale. What was the probability that the box of purses would still be there? Oh, pshaw. Nobody would want a whole box of purses. Surely there would be a few left over when she got back there. Surely, one of them would have a good clasp. This time Muriel would make sure. She would open and close the purse several times. Maybe hold it upside down and shake it.
As soon as Roxanne’s car stopped in front of her house, Muriel got out and hurried inside. She held a curtain slightly open and waited until Roxanne drove away. Soap operas! Muriel only needed five minutes to look through that box. Now she’d have to spend an hour on a round trip with no guarantee of success. Why didn’t anything ever work out for her? Oh, Lord, let there be a purse left for me. Just one. Please. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Though leather would be nice, if You wouldn’t mind. Leather lasted forever and looked good, too.
After twenty-five minutes of walking, she spied neon pink signs advertising the yard sale and arrows pointing the way. As she went around the final turn, she saw a man two blocks away carrying the box of purses. The whole box!
“Mister! Sir!” She yelled as loudly as she could, but he didn’t even look around. Either he was hard of hearing or he assumed she was shouting at someone else. As she picked up her pace, she saw him open the back of a tan SUV, put the box in, and slam the back closed. He pulled away from the curb and then drove off. She hurried to the middle of the road and waved both arms at the back of the car until it finally made a right turn and disappeared.
There was no point running after it. Lord, what are You doing? One purse. Is it too much to ask? Couldn’t that man have come five minutes later? Couldn’t I have arrived five minutes earlier? Why didn’t anything ever go right for her?
Perhaps the man left a purse behind. One that was too red or too reptilian.
A woman was sitting in a lawn chair next to a little table that held a cash box and a glass of iced tea. Muriel was too embarrassed to ask if there were any more purses. She looked at the table of Hummel figurines, the clothes rack with men’s suits and ties, and a big cardboard box full of board games and jigsaw puzzles. She didn’t need any of those things. Might there be one purse buried under the puzzles? She knelt down and started to dig through. Lord, I need a purse with a better clasp. You know I do.
The lady in charge was approaching her. Ice cubes clanked against the sides of her glass. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
Muriel rose. “I was looking for a purse. One with a reliable clasp.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had a whole box of them. But that was about ten minutes ago.”
Muriel gave what she hoped would pass for a smile. Then she started trudging back home. Now what, Lord? Why don’t You ever answer my prayers?
Oh, well. Roxanne’s trip to the television antique show was tomorrow.
Muriel would just use her old purse. She had no other choice.
29
The next morning Muriel was standing outside the front door to her house, key in hand, turning the double lock, when Roxanne pulled up to the curb.
“Do you have to bring all those things along?” Roxanne yelled out the passenger window. “They’re just going to slow us down.”
Muriel pulled the passenger door open. “Good morning to you, too, Roxanne.” She buckled her seatbelt. “And for your information, I didn’t bring a lot of things. I only brought my purse. And a book. I thought I might get bored while you’re off getting your collectibles appraised.”
Roxanne pulled out into traffic. “Muriel, how many times do I have to tell you? Each ticket holder is only allowed to get two items appraised. That’s why I’m bringing you along. I can get twice as many items appraised with twice as many people. I can’t believe I have to explain that to you again.”
Muriel cringed as Roxanne merged onto the highway. “Well, I suppose I can put my book in the trunk when we get to the show. But I have to bring my purse in with me. I don’t want it sitting out for hours in your car. I’d spend all my time worrying about it.”
“All right, all right. Bring your purse along if you have to. But hurry up. Because here we are.” Roxanne pulled into a parking garage and stopped in the first available space. She turned to Muriel and grinned from ear to ear. “Muriel, this is the dream of my life. Don’t screw it up.” Roxanne opened her trunk and fished around the back.
The items in the trunk looked exactly the same as the ones Muriel and Kevin had stacked up in Vernon’s field. She could even see the box of matches she’d used to start a fire. Had all that ever happened? It seemed so long ago. And were these really Roxanne’s collectibles? Or were they some sort of red herring in case a thief broke in?
Roxanne opened a brown paper bag and took out a red vase with a chipped bottom. She handed the vase to Muriel and grabbed three more bags from farther back. Then she slammed the trunk shut. “There. We’re off to make my fortune.”
Muriel peered at the two vases Roxanne handed her. They didn’t look like valuable antiques. They looked like junk. Muriel should be stocking up on groceries instead of going through this useless exercise. Now that Chloe was living with her, she needed to have something in the house besides chicken and salad greens. Especially milk.
Chloe was still not sure if she would keep her baby, but Muriel was determined to do her part to make it healthy.
She wondered if she could talk Roxanne into stopping at a grocery store on the way home. They would pass one that was much cheaper than the little convenience store Muriel could walk to.
The hall was crowded but orderly. There were a few big smiles from people clutching treasures close to their chests as they hurried toward the exit. But mostly, there were long lines of people shifting from one foot to the other, looking at their watches, and yawning surreptitiously. Here and there a TV camera whirred away as an antique owner chatted with an appraiser.
Muriel shifted the two vases in her arms. “What do I do now?”
“You’ve got two vases. See the big sign? Over there. Past the jewelry table. Do I have to take you by the hand? And Muriel, don’t forget to mention that the larger vase belonged to Marie Antoinette.” Roxanne smiled widely.
“Marie Antoinette?”
“What? You’ve never heard of Marie Antoinette? And you a high school teacher. She was a famous queen of France. Or maybe Spain. Well, don’t worry. I’m sure the appraisers will recognize the name.”
“One of these vases belonged to her?”
“Yes, Muriel. The larger one. It’s stamped 1967 on the bottom, but that’s just to throw people off who don’t know about antiques. The salesclerk swore to it.”
I’ll look like a total idiot. Marie Antoinette, indeed. Muriel cradled Roxanne’s two vases in her arms and started across the floor. Then she felt a pull on her arm. Oh, no. The clasp on her purse had come undone of its own accord. The mouth was opening wider and wider, the contents shifting, her whole carefully balanced load in a suddenly precarious state.
She tried to grab the purse’s mouth while simultaneously retaining control of Roxanne’s vases. No such luck. Both vases crashed to the floor. At the sound of breaking ceramics, everyone in the room turned to stare. The contents of Muriel’s purse spewed out and sprea
d in front of her like rose petals strewn by an overly enthusiastic flower girl. Lord, I told You I needed a new purse. Why didn’t You listen? Muriel looked around. Luckily Natalie’s mirror had landed on the corner of a thick Navajo rug that spilled across a platform from a vertical rack. The mirror was the first thing Muriel reached for.
But another hand beat her to it.
Muriel felt her heart stop. “That’s mine!”
“I know.” A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, distinguished looking in suit and tie, smiled at Muriel. “Don’t worry. I’m one of the appraisers here. And I can tell you right now that I’m very glad you brought this in.” He held the mirror in his left hand and peered at it through a magnifying loupe.
“But…”
“There’s no need for you to stand in line. You can sit right over there. That’s right. At the table with the blue cover. Right in front of the TV cameras.”
Muriel instinctively put her hand up to smooth her hair. “But…but…this is just…”
“You do know what you have here, don’t you?” The appraiser’s smile widened.
Roxanne was moving toward her through the crowd, one brown bag clutched in each hand. Her facial expression oozed disapproval. “Muriel,” she was mouthing. “Muriel.”
Muriel did the only thing she could think of. She smiled and waved.
Roxanne’s loud whisper sounded more like the hiss of an angry snake. “You were supposed to be having my vases appraised. Not your own things. I was the one who got the tickets. I was the one who drove all the way over here. Those two items are supposed to be mine. You promised.”
Muriel held one hand out to each side and grinned sheepishly. “It’s not something I planned, Roxanne. It just happened.”
One of the show’s officials herded Roxanne to the farthest corner of the huge hall.
Muriel had better not make Roxanne unhappy. If Roxanne left without her, it would take Muriel at least two buses to get home. But who was she to argue with the appraiser? He was so adamant.
Another official pinned a small microphone on the front of Muriel’s blouse while the appraiser continued to examine the mirror. He peered for a long time at each stone on the back. Then, without a word, he rose from the table and walked to the jewelry counter. There he stood in conference with other experts. He pointed every so often in Muriel’s direction, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head. Finally, he came back and sat down across from Muriel. When he started talking, the words came at Muriel so fast she could hardly understand them, let alone remember.
Late nineteenth century. Platinum. Five-carat flawless diamond. Blood-red rubies. Demantoid garnets.
Demon what? She had never heard the term. The words flowed over her, swirled around her, a mist of meaning. Muriel sat tongued-tied for a few minutes, answering each of the appraiser’s questions with just a word or two. But when he asked how she happened to own the mirror, her eyes lit up and her words poured out in an unbroken stream. In her mind, it was once again thirty-seven years ago and eight-year-old Natalie was going all by herself down the street to a neighbor’s yard sale. Muriel relived the whole scene as she recounted it. Once again, she felt the warmth of the spring sun. Smelled a neighbor’s new mown grass. Watched the bobbing of Natalie’s blond braids as she ran home, one hand behind her back, eager to surprise her beloved mother.
The appraiser nodded and smiled. “And you never suspected the mirror might be worth something? Not even once in thirty-seven years?”
“No, not once. How could it be worth anything to anyone but me? It cost seventy-five cents at a neighborhood yard sale. I was sure it was fake silver covered with glass bits.”
“And now that you know it’s worth so much, will you sell it?”
Weeks ago, Muriel would have said “Never.” If it made a difference to whether or not Chloe kept her baby, she would say “Of course.” But right now, she had only one thought. She was a rich woman. Whether she sold the mirror or kept it made no difference to her net worth. But it made a big difference to her life. Because now she could see Clarence again.
If he’d let her.
30
“You’re a wealthy woman, now, Muriel. Just think.” Roxanne maneuvered her car down the street leading away from the antiques show.
“I guess I am.” One minute a pauper, the next incredibly wealthy. Now she didn’t have to worry that people would think she was after Clarence’s money. Now she could date, or not date, anybody she chose. Marry, or not marry. Oh, my. A whole world of opportunities had opened up. Who would have thought? And all because the clasp on her purse was defective. Thank goodness there were no purses left at the yard sale. Thank goodness Roxanne refused to stop.
Thank You, Lord, for giving me what I need instead of what I ask for. Even though I don’t always understand at the time. And, Lord, could You do just one more thing? Could You give me a sign about Clarence? I need to know that You approve. So here’s my Gideon’s fleece. Make him quote scripture. Nobody does that anymore. If he quotes scripture, I’ll know he’s the right one for me.
Roxanne merged back onto the highway. “So when will you tell Natalie how much that mirror is worth? I can hardly wait to see the look on her face. I think you owe me that much. After all, you did break two of my collectibles. Not to mention the mileage you put on my car while you were gadding about.”
Gadding about? It was hardly the same thing as being carjacked. Muriel ignored the comment. “I already thought about when to tell Natalie. I have the greatest plan. I’m not telling her right away. And don’t you mention it either, Roxanne. Not one word. You have to promise. Cross your heart and all of that.”
“I promise.”
“You don’t have your fingers crossed or anything?”
“Of course not. I haven’t done that since I was in grade school.”
“Here’s my plan. I’m going to invite Natalie to watch TV with me the night that program airs. Can’t you imagine the look on her face? She’ll be so surprised!”
“That program won’t air for another seven or eight months,” Roxanne said. “Can you keep that big a secret all that time?”
Muriel nodded. “Absolutely.”
Roxanne was now driving through the last commercial area before they reached their residential neighborhood. A fast food drive-thru sign towered ahead. Right in. Right out. That was how Roxanne liked it. “Is it too early to stop for dinner?” Roxanne asked.
“Not too early for me. I’m starved.”
“Me, too. Must be all the excitement. But it’s not even four o’clock.”
“What difference does that make?”
“What do you mean ‘what difference’? You’re the one who always says you eat like clockwork. Six, noon, and six. How many times have you told me that?”
“You’re right, Roxanne. I used to eat like that. But that seems like a lifetime ago.”
Roxanne turned the steering wheel to the right and pulled into the parking lot which was, at that early hour, almost deserted.
They did indeed have dinner. Dessert and all. Muriel’s treat.
And Muriel ordered their largest sandwich and french fries to take home to Chloe.
31
“My treat,” Patrick finally said.
How could Muriel argue with that?
When he’d first suggested to Muriel that they go out to dinner, she’d refused. It seemed ridiculous to sell a valuable antique to pay one restaurant bill. She dared not suggest a fast food place. And what did “going out to dinner” mean these days? Etiquette had changed so much since she was young. She didn’t want to presume anything.
But if dinner was to be Patrick’s treat, it would be a nice change. She hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to call Clarence. How could she tell him that she was now a wealthy woman? It seemed like bragging.
If only he would call her. But he wouldn’t. Because she had asked him not to. And he was too much of a gentleman not to honor her request.
“Dress nice fo
r dinner,” Patrick said.
She found a black pencil skirt and a blue blouse with a little bow at the neck in one of the far corners of her closet. They seemed presentable enough as she pirouetted in front of the full mirror.
Chloe, who was also dressing to go out, smiled in approval and gave her two thumbs-up.
Patrick and his wife both said how nice Muriel looked when they came to pick her up. But once Patrick pulled into the crowded parking lot of the Landry Conference Center, Muriel wished she could go back home and change. Her outfit, probably twenty years old, didn’t seem fancy enough for this place. The center was either very popular or there was some sort of function going on. She didn’t want to stand out too much. Make other people uncomfortable. Muriel eyed the cars in the parking lot. “This place seems really crowded. Maybe we should go somewhere else?”
Patrick and his wife exchanged glances. They were up to something. Patrick smiled, his mouth going up in one corner more than the other. “Don’t worry. I’ve made reservations.” He held the door for the two women.
They entered the conference center, gave their coats to the coat check girl, and started into the main hall.
Muriel gasped. Over on the side was a table full of leis. Not the cheap plastic ones like the store in Village Square used to sell, but leis made from real flowers. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. It was just how paradise would smell. She was sure of it.
Patrick smiled. “Which one do you want? That red one? Here. I was ordered to put it around your neck with my own hands. Then we’ll join the crowd.”
Crowd? Muriel glanced around the room. Everyone was wearing a lei. Most of the people also wore a nametag that specified Memorial High School and…and…she squinted at the nearest one, which Patrick had slapped on his chest…the year they took geometry from her. She also recognized fellow teachers. The twelve students she was currently tutoring sat with Kevin at two tables in the corner. They all looked so grown up in their suit coats and neckties. At least until they stood, and she could tell they’d borrowed their fathers’ dress trousers. The hems fell at wildly differing places on their legs. And they all wore white sneakers.
