The Box
Chapter two
Ione
The garden is primed at least, the ground has been tilled and mowed and plots set. So, on this glorious Saturday morning, here I am, digging, pushing through dirt and clay just to make a good enough spot my lemon trees. Now, what I didn't expect was to hit something wood four feet into the earth.
"Hello Mrs. Davis," He picks up the on the third ring. "How are you, is everything ok?"
"Oh, perfect, I have a question for you though." The box continues to sit on the ground, and I lick my lips, fingers itching to pick at the wax sealed sides.
"Yes?" He clears his throat.
How odd does this sound? "You said you lived in this house since you were a boy right?"
"Correct," I shouldn't have done that, he's ready to spill into a story.
"My great-grandfather built that house and my grandfather added onto it.
Then my father finished the greenhouse and shed, not much but he did something.
" He laughs. "Now, he built that house in, well," He clears his throat again.
"He started building the house in 1887," He hums. "Yes, so many renovations. "
It is fascinating. "I was about to bury some lemon trees—"
"Oh? Lemon trees? Now, you know you have to bring me some? I make a wonderful lemon posset."
Lord have mercy. "I will certainly do that, it sounds lovely, but Mr. Barrow, do you remember anyone burying a box in the backyard?"
He hums. "A box? No, what kind of box?" He laughs. "Hope it isn't a beloved pet, now that is entirely possible. Munchkin, that was the name of a hamster I had. I did bury him in the backyard."
"No, this is a box with wax sealed sides and an engraving on the top." Walking back over, I read the top out loud to him. "Dignus est."
"For a worthy one." He sniffles. "That's what that means. It's Latin."
Humming, I cluck my tongue. "If I bring it to you, would it jog your memory?"
"No," He sounds resolute. "I would know, Ione," Funny, he used my first name. "Whatever is in that box is yours to bury again, or to keep. You know in the 1800s many people buried valuables in times of famine or trouble. It could be nothing but silverware."
"The engraved plate is silver." I answer.
"Then I would assume so." He sighs. "Many people buried such things. Or photographs, jewelry." He yawns loudly. "I have to go now, enjoy planting those trees, and your special box."
Before I can say more he hangs up, and I can't lie and say that's not weird, but this box is fucking calling me. I know exactly how Pandora felt, cause man this is agonizing. How have humans lived so long with this level of curiosity is beyond me.
"Curiosity killed the cat." I mumble to myself, placing my phone on a shaded chair. Picking up the first lemon tree, I heft it into the hole and begin place the soil back on top.
Two trees, a row of green beans, and two rows of potatoes later, I did not put it back. No, I showered, looked up an antique dealer and rode into the next city with the box sitting in my passenger seat. "Satisfaction brought it back." I mumbled pulling up to my destination.
Now, an old woman, aptly named Ms. Agatha, with glasses as thick as a 50s coke bottle is cleaning it off with a microfiber cloth.
"This is very old," She smiles at me. "Older than 1800s, that I can tell you.
" She hums while nodding. "See this wax?
This is tallow," She peels some away. "In the 1700s, candle wax primarily consisted of tallow, uh animal fat," She hums. "They also used beeswax, while the 1800s saw the introduction of spermaceti, which is whale oil, and later, stearin and paraffin wax. The consistency of this, is tallow."
Damn. "You really know your stuff."
She chuckles. "You don't get far in this business without knowing a thing or two, but it's also because I've seen a thing or two. Now, let's open this thing."
It takes a bit of prying, but soon the wax crumbles off, and my moment of satisfaction is finally upon me.
The box hinges fall off, leaving the top in her hand.
Looking down, we gaze at a single, silver ring sitting on a crip bed of crushed red velvet.
The room fills with a deep smoky scent, something in between hickory smoked bacon and brisket mixed with fresh soil.
"That is gorgeous." We say at the same time, smiling at each other.
"It certainly is, a very unique piece." Ms. Agatha nods. "Let me get my gloves."
The ring has a simple smooth band, but it's the face of the ring that holds my attention.
It's the face of a woman? A man? I can't tell.
Like a mask from a Greek tragedy, but the expression is neutral.
The face is wearing a headpiece that looks like antlers but it's gold.
As Ms.Agatha returns, she picks up the ring and clucks her tongue.
"This is a unique piece, and I will admit, I have never seen anything like it before." She turns it so we both can view it before holding the ring under a magnifying glass. "I can't think of anything like this, nor what it could correspond to. A Greek like mask, a crown of antlers."
"Is the gold and silver real?" As soon as I ask that I realize how dumb that might sound.
"In a box buried for years, sealed with tallow, it better be." She whistles. "It has some weight to it, so that tells me it might be a yes. Let's test it." She picks up a magnet, setting the ring back on its bed of velvet. "Real silver isnt magnetic, test passed."
Reaching into her cup, she takes a piece of ice and places it on the ring. As it quickly melts, she explains. "Silver has high thermal conductivity, the ice melted, one more test."
She grabs a plate and scratches the ring against it before setting it down back on the box. "Nitric acid will tell us, and I'll do the same for the gold."
I have no idea what to look for, but that's why I'm here and from her hums and whistles, this is good. "It's real?"
"Very much so." Laying the ring back down, Ms.Agatha smiles at me. "Do not sell this, it belongs in a museum after someone dates the box and dates the ring. I've never seen anything like this, Ione."
"I haven't either." I admit. "A museum?"
"Yes," She places the ring back on the velvet, closes the top, and slides it to me. "Or keep in as a signature piece, either way, it's something beautiful to look at."
Back at home, I place the box on my vanity. It hasn't even occurred to me until now to try the ring on, but no. This is a historic piece, and I need to figure out what to do with it.
Right on time my phone rings, and Orlaya answers. "You sent me a picture of a damn box, a very old wooden box," She sighs. "Ione, what color are you?"
"Don't start."
"The box has a latin inscription, and you opened the shit?" Orlaya screams. "You want me to go into early labor, don't you?"
"No, woman, calm down. I didn't open it. Ms. Agatha did, and she touched it." Calling her on video chat, I show Orlaya the box. "See? Not opened."
"It's in the damn house! Girl, put the fucking—Ione!" She screams. "You're pissing me off."
"You are superstitious, southern grandma variety." I shake my head walking over to the box. "Look at it."
"I don't even want to do that." Orlaya closes her eyes. "Stop showing it to me."
I zoom in on the box a few times listening to her scream before turning it back to my face. "I will find a museum or a private buyer, I promise."
"You fucking better, I told Marco too." She sits up in bed. "Marco! Come tell Ione how dangerous this is."
Marco shakes his head. "Ione, I know younger sisters are the most adventurous and fun-loving, but there is a limit."
"Told you." Orlaya confirms. "I told your ass."
"You two are black. I am Mexican." Marco clucks his tongue. "It's a no, pendeja, put that shit back."
Rolling my eyes, I sit down in nearby chair. "Please, you two are doing too much."
As Marco and Orlaya continue to make jokes, I decide to take things a step further. Now, if I wasn't so impulsive I would have thought better than I was. However, I am, blame it on my Sagittarius sun. Setting my phone up, I walk over to the box, and open it up, snatching the ring out of the box.
"Stop!" Orlaya screams.
"Ay!" Marco adds. "Ione, we're serious."
Hovering the ring over my finger, I slip it up and down the middle finger of my left hand. Yes, I have plans to flick off my sister and her husband.
"Ione!" Orlaya places one hand on her stomach. "You're making your niece kick, stop."
Marco is laughing now. "Do it! Wake up tomorrow bald as hell."
"My hair is longer than both yours combined," Placing the ring on my finger, I give the bird to the both of them before dancing around the room. "Nothing is happening."
"Right now," Marco crosses himself. "I'm going to call the priest and ask him to pray."
"Bitch," Orlaya rolls her eyes. "I'm getting off this phone," She shakes her head. "Take that shit off and call me tomorrow."
"I love you too, bye." I chuckle, pressing the red end button.
But, what started off as funny is now slightly concerning.
I'm trying to pull the ring off to no avail.
I've used oil, soap, and the dental floss method.
It doesn't feel tight, it doesn't hurt. The ring is sitting comfortably on my finger, it doesn't feel too heavy, in fact, I love the way it looks.
But the fucking thing won't come off.
As panic settles into my heart, I realize this bite of fear is something I haven't felt in some time. A mix between forgetting to take the chicken out of the freezer, and getting caught in a lie. That haunting, 'what's next'?
As I stare down at my finger and wonder if the fire station can help me, cause I am not paying $100 at the ER, I don't notice the shadows creeping up behind me. I don't see the figure standing just outside my bedroom doorway either.
"Humans are still the dominant species? Fucking pathetic."
So this is what that deer in headlights feeling is. Fight or flight, and unfortunately, my body has chosen freeze with trepidation. Something like glacier melt water settles in the base of my brain before splashing into my stomach as I look up into my vanity mirror.
"Female, why aren't you bowing before you master?"