The Heirloom

Blah, blah, blah. I am in physical pain from trying not to roll my eyes in boredom. Just order your drink and go already. Can you not tell by the complete lack of interest on my face? I have bigger and more pressing matters at hand than discussing your dreadfully boring… whatever it was that you were talking about. Your moustache is too long, and your ridiculous top hat might make others assume you are wealthy, but to me its just part of a façade. Maybe I should give him a drink on the house so he will go back to his table. I need to move this bracelet into the top of my corset so I can sneak it out of here before anyone notices that its gone. It almost feels like its burning my skin being visible to everyone!

“Oh that’s terribly interesting sir!” I loudly regale, “Thank you ever so much for sharing such a wonderful tale with me, it is an honor to be considered worthy for your time and conversation. Please, take this drink in gratitude, on the house!”

I hand him a Gin Rickey cocktail with a sickeningly sweet smile and promptly turn away to busy myself with cleaning and rearranging the bottles on the bar. Please take the hint that I no longer wish to discuss whatever it is I had just claimed to be so interesting and just go back to your table! Afraid to turn around or even look up into the mirror for fear Mr. Moustache would still be standing there. I turn around to pick up the bar rag and much to my relief, moustache man had finally sauntered away and was now boring the tears off some poor sweet girl who is doing a better job at looking interested than I surely had. Watching her reach across her beautiful gold beaded dress to delicately rest her hand on her wrist across her body, I remember the bracelet on my own wrist that I needed to hide.

I cant believe I found this on the floor while cleaning the bathroom. Solid gold, stamped with “14k” and the intricate design on it looks hand carved. Ducking behind the bar as if I had dropped something, I slip it off my arm and tuck it into the front of my corset. It has to be worth a fortune and selling it will finally help me get out of this place for good.

. . .

Little did the bartendress know, the sweet girl in the beaded dress was the rightful owner of the bracelet. As she reached across her body and felt her wrist, all the color drained from her face. She smiled sweetly at the man with the moustache and silly top hat attempted to wait for him to stop rambling but as the panic washed over her, the droning man didn’t seem to notice. She politely excused herself and scurried off to her table, frantically digging through her tiny handbag, around the table, under the chairs and then rushed to the washroom. Only a few moments later she was nothing but a gold blur leaving the bar to hail a cab out front.

The lights were dim on the drive, and it had rained while she was at the party, so as the car sluggishly made its way through the slippery streets, every bump and pothole came with an added splash. Slowly rolling to a stop in front of her brick townhouse, number 77, the one with the wide concrete steps out front with decorative stone railings on each side, leading up to the big heavy oak door. She paid the driver, gathered up her heavy golden skirt and sprinted from the car up the steps. The extra-large doorway with the chipping white paint looming as she passed through, slammed the door behind her as she raced towards the back of the house and into the study. She didn’t notice the pile of letters that were on the floor waiting for her attention, or the wrinkle in the faded oriental carpet runner through the hall that she nearly tripped on. The glorious curved wooden staircase and banister receiving only a side glance, so she didn’t run into it on her way through.

Bursting into the study by throwing the heavy wood and glass French doors with the eyelet lace curtains open. Out of breath, half from the sprint and half in fear that she lost the most precious thing she had ever been given, she glided across the dark, shiny hardwood to the bookcase and cabinet that once housed all her grandfathers’ best liquors. It was now where she kept her most precious belongings, where she had taken the bracelet from just hours prior. She knelt to the ground and with shaking hands slowly turned the delicate skeleton key to the intricate cabinet doors. She reached in to grab a medium sized jewellery box made of pure silver, with the most elaborate relief carved roses and filigree adorning every inch of the exterior and lined with a deep blue velvet cloth. With weighted breath, she traced her fingers over the carvings and slid the latch over the catch and closed her eyes as she lifted the lid. You see, that bracelet was her grandmothers hand carved heirloom that was a gift from her grandfather on their first wedding anniversary, and the thought of losing it had her paralyzed.

Her hands suddenly steady, she pulled out three photographs. One was of her grandparents on their wedding day, dressed in their very best, smiles so wide and eyes full of love. Another was of her parents, holding her as a baby in the hospital. Her moms long dark hair draping over her shoulders and her dads laugh lines so deep as he smiled down at baby her. The third was her as a young girl in a field of wildflowers, hair wild and spirit free. Underneath the photographs was a letter, holding all the love her grandfather had for his bride, even after 63 years of marriage. The paper was soft and yellowed, the folds so delicate from being unfolded and read so often, the ink even smudged in some spots, presumably from grandmothers tears after his passing. Under that was a pair of wedding bands, simple, golden, worn, and a tiny curly lock of her hair from when she was a baby, tied with a tiny yellow satin ribbon, but the bracelet most certainly was not there.