He stood, his joints creaking, and cradled the music box in his arm. He was no expert on fine jewelry, but if that ring was genuine, it could be worth almost as much as the seed bill and mortgage combined and a good portion of their operating loan. His heart fluttered with hope as he plodded through the field toward the house.
When he thought of what he would tell Mallory, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile and his eyes sparkled, but then his steps faltered. He looked at the music box and sniffed. The jewelry belonged to someone, someone who would know what the box looked like.
He altered his course and ended up in front of the shed. He pressed his lips into a line and walked inside. The music box fit snugly in a corner between some clay flowerpots. Once he had hidden his treasure, Henry headed for the house, found a newspaper, and placed an ad in the classifieds.
For two weeks Henry waited, but only one person called about a missing jewelry box. They couldn’t describe it with any specifics so Henry dismissed the caller. Three days after the ad ended Henry went out to the shed and wrapped the music box in a blanket.
Mallory had pork chops frying on the stove, and Henry’s mouth watered when he smelled her baking powder biscuits browning in the oven. He cleared his throat and Mallory turned and raised her eyebrows.
Henry placed the bundle on the table. “I found something in the field a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh?” Mallory turned back to the stove and flipped the chops.
“I think it’s valuable so I placed an ad to see if anyone had lost—”
“With what money? We can’t afford to be placing ads for—”
“Will you just come take a look at it, please? No one claimed it and I mean to make use of it.”
With a huff, Mallory yanked the biscuits from the oven and set them on a cooling rack. She stalked over to Henry and folded her arms. “What is it?”
Henry swallowed and uncovered the music box. The latch clicked when he pressed the lever, and the ballerina came alive with the tinkling tune emanating from the chambers of the music box.
The light over the kitchen table illuminated the ring and bracelet tucked into the red velvet folds. Mallory leaned closer. She watched the ballerina spinning in her bit of white tulle and crouched down to see the reflection the slender figure made in the mirror.
She reached for the ring and then turned to Henry. “You found this in our field?”
Henry nodded. “You know that big boulder out by the east strip along the highway? I went out there to think and saw some cardboard sticking out of the dirt. I dug around and pulled out the pieces and found this.” He made scooping motions with his hands. “I really don’t know how it’s even in one piece. That must’ve been one sturdy cardboard box to protect this—I think it’s only made of pressed paper.”
Mallory took out the ring and examined it. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a ring like it before.”
“Do you think the stones are real?” Henry asked.
“What are you going to do if they are?”
Henry hesitated a moment before answering. “I thought we could sell the ring to raise enough money for seed and the farm’s mortgage this year. What do you think?”
Mallory wiggled her ring finger; the tiny specks of diamonds embedded in her gold band still sparkled. “I never was a gal for jewelry. Of course we should sell all of it.”
Henry beamed.
“But I don’t know about growing wheat again. There’s no sense in beating a dead horse.” Mallory hurried back to the stove and flipped the chops.
Henry stared at the floor and tapped the toe of his boot across the linoleum. He licked his lips but didn’t speak.
“We could clean up that jewelry box and sell it at the farm sale next month, too,” Mallory said.
Henry’s gut clenched when he thought about the pieces of equipment they had planned to include in the farm sale: the hay wagon, the broken-down horse trailer, miscellaneous pieces of hand pipe, and his John Deere tractor. “About that.” Henry pushed a hand through his hair. “I was hoping if these pieces are worth enough, I wouldn’t have to sell the tractor. Maybe hang onto a few things.”
Mallory looked at the ceiling and blew out a breath. “And then how will you afford to keep that bucket of rust running?”
Henry felt his face begin to flush with the heat of anger. He and Mallory had fought so much over the last six months as they watched their finances dwindle and looked at possibly losing their farm. That stubborn soil was all he knew, and a part of him was just as stubborn.
“I’m only asking for one more year. If we don’t profit, I’ll call it quits, but I’ve got to try one more time.” He ran a finger along the edge of the music box. “I feel like this is a sign from God, a gift. We’ve been given another chance.”
“Well, supper’s ready. Let’s put that up for now and not show the kids.” Mallory pointed at the jewelry box with her wooden spoon. “Sabrina, Garrison, the chops are done and the biscuits are hot,” she called toward the back of the house.
After grace had been said and everyone was busy forking through their supper, Mallory cleared her throat. “The farm sale is two and a half weeks away. I need you both to help me go through every inch of this house and find everything we can to sell.”
Garrison’s fork clattered to his plate. “You’re not going to sell my model airplanes are you?”
Henry frowned and bit into another flaky biscuit. Mallory pointed her fork at the boy. “Everyone needs to contribute. We’ve got to cover every cent of our operating loan from last year or we won’t even have a roof over our heads.”
Garrison’s face fell, and for a moment it looked as if he was biting back tears. Henry swallowed a lump of tears himself wondering why things had turned out as they had. Sabrina kept her eyes on her plate and chewed slowly.
“Son, if you can clean up your room and help me clean out the shed, maybe there’ll be enough to sell that you can hang onto your models. But as it is, I think Mom is only asking you to part with one or two.”
The relief glowing in Garrison’s eyes added to Henry’s heavy heart, and he glanced at the back room where he’d stowed the music box. It had to be a sign—a way to keep their family on this good piece of earth.
~*~
After the kitchen was cleaned, Mallory took a rag and some cleaner to the back room and began rubbing at the jewelry box. The construction of the box consisted of cheap materials, but they were sturdier than she would’ve guessed.
She pulled open the drawer along the bottom of the box and covered her heart. She’d been so absorbed with examining the ring and bracelet earlier that she hadn’t even searched all of the compartments. The drawer held several more elegant pieces of jewelry.
Necklaces, bracelets, and rings filled one side of the drawer. The other side overflowed with childhood trinkets. Mallory pulled out a March of Dimes pin, a tattered ballroom dance ribbon for second place, a charm bracelet, and a painted rock.
Some little girl had kept the items as mementos, was probably grown now and wondering what had happened to her beautiful jewelry and keepsakes. With a sigh, Mallory dropped the items into an old shoebox and wiped out the drawer.
Henry came through the door dragging some tack and leather polish. His face reddened when Mallory tsked at him.
“I’m going to clean these up while I watch the television.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Let’s just make sure we keep everything organized for the sale. Carl offered to auction off the big pieces and waive his commission. I’ll take care of selling the smaller things.” She nodded toward the jewelry box.
“That’s a good plan. I’m doing my best to section everything out.” He watched her rub carefully at a spot of dried mud on the outside of the box.
She lifted the compartment and dusted the inside with a cloth. The paper lined with faux velvet came loose and Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this?”
Henry dropped the tack on the floor and t
he bridles clanged against each other. He stepped closer to examine the piece of paper Mallory was reading. The paper looked old, light blue, and had been glued into the lid of the compartment.
“Don’t die with me,” Mallory read aloud.
Henry noticed the greenish tint of a piece of stationery glued next to the blue paper. “Forgive yourself—allow God to forgive.” He meant to mouth the words, but he spoke them aloud instead.
“There’s another below it,” Mallory said. She pulled the velvet backing further away from the compartment. In thick, dark pencil strokes, the words “Live to dance again,” had been written.
“What’s that?” Henry pointed at a bright green piece of paper tucked tight against the side compartment.
Mallory picked up the glossy paper, the same hue as a blade of spring grass. It was folded into the figure of a bird. She touched one slender wing. “That’s origami. I remember seeing it in a book Sabrina checked out from the library. It’s a peace crane.” Mallory unfolded the paper crane and held her breath. She read the words and then handed the paper to Henry.
“Listen close enough and you can change the world,” he read in his clear tenor voice.
“What do you think all of this means?” Mallory said.
“Do you think maybe this music box belonged to a preacher’s wife?” Henry asked.
Mallory laughed. “I don’t know many evangelists who can afford jewelry like that—unless they’re on television.” She concentrated on refolding the bird along the same creases and finally gave up and tucked it back by the other notes.
Henry grabbed a pencil and notepad from the counter in the kitchen and wrote down each message. “I think you should leave those papers in there,” he said as Mallory began to pick at the edge of the blue note.
“Whatever for?”
Henry tapped his pencil on the notepad and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. It seems like they’re a part of that box. Just leave ’em be and put that red paper back over them.”
Mallory raised her eyebrows. “Whatever you say, Tex.”
He smiled and bent over to retrieve the tack from the floor. He waved the notepad at his wife. “I’m gonna think on these.” Instead of heading for the den, he walked back outside toward the shed. The tack jangled when he set it on the worktable, and he pulled a stool across the dusty floor and sat down.
For a moment, he stared at the words he’d written. The smell of leather and horse made his nostrils twitch, and the rag full of polish evoked memories of the time he’d spent in a saddle riding around his farm.
Fellar, his favorite quarter horse, would be one of the first things to go, according to Mallory. The horse was getting on in years and the feed was too high a price to pay, not to mention the cost it would be to dispose of him if he kicked the bucket sooner than later. He’d raised Fellar from a colt and trained him on his own.
Henry banged his fist on the table. It was all his fault. If only he’d been a better farmer. If only the weather had cooperated. If the wind hadn’t blown out his first planting last year as well as this one. He remembered how Mallory had cried when he told her they’d have to replant.
He rubbed at his eyes, the sting of tears just below the surface, then he rested his head in his hands and stared at the words on the page. The phrases seemed to jump out at him, and he ran his finger over the short strokes of his handwriting.
“Forgive yourself—allow God to forgive,” he muttered. Then his eyes flicked to the last line. “Listen close enough and you can change the world.”
He closed his eyes and thought about the upcoming farm sale. Things he’d worked so hard for would be sold at a fraction of the original price. The door of the shed creaked and a gust of wind pushed through, disturbing the mounds of dirt on the floor.
Henry felt the cool breeze with the smell of spring on its back. He pondered what Mallory had said about trying a different crop. The wind tickled the back of his neck and he shivered and opened his eyes. There had been a sound—words on the wind, and as he listened, he heard it again and he knew Mallory was right.
To every thing there is a season.
Chapter 39 ~ Seasons
1972 ~ Henry
“One thousand dollars!” Mallory exclaimed with tears in her eyes.
Henry handed her the envelope. “I stopped at the bank on the way home and paid the operating loan and the mortgage.”
He had driven two hours to a reputable dealer of fine jewels to make his sale. The emerald ring, the bracelet, two necklaces, and another ring—all from the music box—had been sold. The cash in the envelope was the answer to all of his prayers for his family. He would be able to continue farming, and this time he planned to outwit the odds and be successful.
Mallory held the bulging envelope and flicked through the remainder of the bills. The amount of cash inside was more than she’d ever seen in one place. She embraced Henry. “It’s going to be better now, isn’t it?”
“I have something to show you.” Henry guided her to the back of his pickup and pointed at a pile of bags.
Mallory’s eyes widened. “Alfalfa seed?” She looked at the envelope of cash in her hand. “But how did you afford it and have any money left over?”
“I had enough to pay for half and the rest won’t come due until the end of the summer.” He put a hand on Mallory’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but I talked to a lot of people and I know this’ll work.
“I’ll seed the alfalfa right in with the grain and it’ll grow up strong next to those withering stalks. The alfalfa seed will be protected by the grain, and next year it’ll be mature enough to bring in four good crops.”
“You’ve always wanted to grow alfalfa. I just didn’t think we’d ever have the money to make a go of it,” Mallory said.
Henry smiled and the muscle in his jaw tightened. “The farm sale should leave us with a buffer.”
“I know you’re hankering for your tractor.” Mallory patted his cheek. “I trust your judgment.”
The surprise apparent in his eyes made Mallory laugh.
“We’ll see how things go,” Henry said.
“Then we’d better get to work.” Mallory linked arms with Henry. “I’ve got Sabrina and Garrison working on the basement. How about we venture into the attic?”
The day before the farm sale, Henry snuck into the back room with a bottle of rubber cement that Mallory used to glue pictures into their photo album. He held a piece of paper torn from his notepad—copper colored lines running across it. His hand shook as he pulled back the velvet lining of the compartment and pasted his note next to the others.
He stared at the words he’d written carefully as the glue dried. He opened the middle section of the music box where the ballerina danced.
With a few turns of the crank, the music began playing. The window in the back room was ajar, welcoming the warm breath of summertime into the home. As the music played it seemed to ride the breeze that spun around the room. The back door opened and the force pushed the song out the window.
“To every thing there is a season,” Henry whispered and he closed up the music box. After the sale tomorrow, he would start planting the precious seeds of alfalfa with his relic of a tractor, and this season he would find peace and joy with his family as new life began in the granules of good soil that made up his fields.
Chapter 40 ~ Returning
1972 ~ Sterling
He walked slowly toward the pile of goods for sale. If someone looked closely, they would see how he tried to disguise his limp, the way his right leg trailed a bit behind, how he worked to pull it forward inconspicuously.
The auctioneer rattled off prices for an antique sewing machine, and Sterling paused to hear the winning bidder cheer, waving her hand in triumph. He’d seen the sign for the farm sale and auction off the main road as he passed through town. It had been years since he’d been out this way, but business had pulled him from his small town. He stopped to see if there were any automotive parts o
r old fixer-uppers to be auctioned off.
Rebuilding engines and restoring cars was more than a pastime for Sterling. His skills kept him in high demand. It looked as if the auction had been going well. Many of the larger items were being toted off by jubilant buyers.
He rounded the edge of the drive and stood for a moment looking out at the fields. It didn’t look like he’d find any great treasure today to haul to his mechanic shop. Sterling turned to walk back toward his Cadillac parked near the grass by the farmhouse.
The wind picked up and blew fine grains of sand against his dark blue jacket. His eyes stung as the filmy dust lodged in his thick black eyelashes. Turning, he took a handkerchief monogrammed with the letter S from his pocket and wiped the dust from his eyes.
As he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket, Sterling heard something that froze him to the spot of ground where he stood. He cocked his head and heard the rush of wind tickle his ears. For a second he was certain he had heard it. He looked over his shoulder and noticed a table of smaller items for sale.
A young girl tugged on her mother’s sleeve and pointed at something on the table. The mother waved her off and continued talking to the woman standing next to her. The girl let go of her mother’s sleeve and reached toward the item. The wind jerked at the purple ribbon in her hair and Sterling heard the sound again.
Unfrozen now, he strode with purpose toward the table, his heart clenching in fear of what the girl might be looking at. If he could have run without risk of falling, he would have done so, but the ground was uneven and his leg had only grown less reliable over the years.
He reached the table just as the girl began tugging on her mother’s sleeve again.
“Mom, look. Look at this!” the girl cried. “Can I have this music box?”
The woman turned with an exasperated sigh. “What is it, Laura?”
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