The Little Black Book

Part 1, Savannah

Savannah. The antique of the South. As the oldest city in Georgia founded in 1733, I was thrilled to be walking the iconic streets lined with their massive oaks and hanging Spanish moss draped through the century’s old branches. I had only moved to Georgia the previous month, but Savannah was calling my name. Roaming antique stores was in my blood, and I knew Savannah had to have a unique and eccentric find in a dusty corner somewhere. As I meandered through the downtown area with its hipster shops, eateries, and beautiful park-like squares, I knew this was not the “Old South” I was craving.

Adventure and spontaneity as my guides, I decided to venture from the tourist area to discover the soul of Savannah. Not far from Whitefield Square, I spotted a street steeped in Savannah’s beauty. Jones Street. A few tiny shops sprinkled between antebellum homes were a balm to my senses. As I strolled past one gorgeous old home, I noticed a sign on the door. ANTIQUES. OPEN. How could I resist?

A sweet southern voice of a genteel, older woman welcomed me into the house.

“Hi, honey. I am Fran. Come on in and have a look around at my treasures.”

“Thank you. I can’t wait to see what you have here,” I replied. And I honestly was excited.

The first floor of the home was filled to the brim with antiques; I wandered from room to room, just soaking up all the history and stories these objects held. When I walked into the library, I sucked in a breath at the centerpiece of the room. It was a massive desk. Bigger than any desk I had ever seen. The dark stained wood was intricately carved on the drawer fronts, and the wooden rung across the bottom was significantly worn from years and years of shoes rubbing back and forth over it. The iron-like drawer pulls were almost heart-shaped in design, which was in stark juxtaposition to the masculinity the desk exuded. I knew I had to have it, but I was terrified to look at the price. Upon further inspection, no price was to be found anywhere; I went in search of Fran.

“Excuse me, Fran. May I ask about the desk in the library?” I questioned.

“Oh, that monstrosity? I got that from an estate sale probably 25-30 years ago, and it weighs a ton. It came from a plantation house where an elderly hermit had lived out his days. He had no living relatives, so everything was sold. I thought for sure someone would love it, but I’ve had no takers all these years.”

“May I ask how much you’re asking for it?” I questioned, ready to be disappointed at the apparent exorbitant price.

“No one wants these huge, old pieces anymore, so I would take $100 unless you think that’s too much,” Fran added. “It needs a good home, and you look like a lover of these antiquities.”

Without even hesitating, I told Fran I would take it.

Part 2, The Little Black Book

Fran was so happy to finally have a home for the desk she even had her husband deliver it to me. Thank heavens. It had to weigh several hundred pounds. Once it was home and in my office, I got to work restoring its beauty. I am always amazed to encounter a piece that people loved at some point but had clearly not cherished forever. I took out the drawers and thoroughly cleaned every nook and cranny. It was quite an ingenious desk. The only way to open the drawers was to pull out the central drawer; a locking mechanism required the others to stay in place until that one drawer released the lock. I spent several hours making sure everything was just as it was when hand-made years and years ago. As I was putting the drawers back in place, catastrophe struck; I dropped one of the them. As it crashed to the ground, I sunk to the floor with it. How could I have been so clumsy?

As I inspected the splintered drawer pieces, I was shocked to find it actually had a false bottom. Inside was a little black book. Not able to resist the lure of a little black book, I gently opened it. Inside the worn front cover was the name FORD BIRD 1855. It was in pristine condition, given its age. I carefully leafed through its contents. Ford had made notes and lists to himself. Each of them was dated. It looked like Ford had used this journal for more than six years! Near the end, it was obvious he was courting a young lady named Emeline based on some of his more personal entries. At the very back of the book was a small pocket for keepsakes. Inside was a small envelope. I pulled it out to find it was sealed and a bit lumpy. The front read, To My Emeline.

It felt like I was prying into the lives of these two lovers from the past, but I could not resist the urge to read what was written inside the letter. I opened it to find the beautiful script of a forgotten age neatly penned. It read:

October 17, 1861

To my darling Emeline,

Our country is being torn apart by war, and I must do my gentleman duty and help my fellow Southerners on the battlefield.

For months I have longed to voice the emotions I keep bottled inside. I knew the evening I met you at my sister’s debutante ball that I loved you. Your genuine smile, ebony hair, and sweet personality won me over immediately. I want to spend every day of forever with you, my sweet Emeline. When this skirmish is over, I shall make you my wife. I have scrimped and saved every possible dollar to buy you an exquisite wedding ring. All the way from Tiffany’s in New York City! I look forward to the day I am able to put it on your finger in wedded bliss.

I will be missing and loving you until my return.

Always,

Ford

And there, carefully wrapped in the iconic blue pouch, was the most beautiful platinum ring I had ever seen.

Part 3, The Search

I’m not sure how long I sat there reading the letter over and over—thinking about the devasting loss of the journal, the letter, and the ring. What happened to Ford? Or Emeline? I made it my mission to find out.

I started my search in the 1860 census for FORD BIRD. I searched Savannah and the areas closest to it, and I hit pay dirt. I found Ford and his family almost immediately.

6 STEPHEN BIRD 54 M W Banker

7 JEMIMA BIRD 40 F W Keeping house

8 FORD BIRD 20 M W Banker’s assistant

9 JOSEPHINE BIRD 16 F W At home

I then found what I was desperately hoping I would not find…a record for Ford in the Confederate Soldier Death Record Index dated January 1862. He never made it back to Emeline.

Her story was a bit harder to track, but I eventually found her. I poured through Ford’s little black book again and again in the hope of finding some small nugget I might have missed. And there it was, staring me in the face.

1 Oct 1861 – 4 PM

Meet with Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler to ask for her hand.

I wasn't able to find a census record from 1860 with Emeline Wheeler and her family, but tragically a sad obituary in The Savannah Weekly Republican dated February 1870. It read…

Miss Emeline Wheeler, of the elite Savannah society, left for Heaven on April 3, 1862, to be with her beloved, Mr. Ford Bird. Miss Emeline was a beautiful and kind woman adored by many throughout Savannah. After the death of Mr. Bird during this terrible War between the States, she never did recover from a broken heart. Services will be held privately at the home of her parents, Mr. & Mrs. Zacariah Wheeler.

After several months, I had exhausted my search. Ford and Emeline did not have any living relatives remaining. The last one had been Ford’s nephew, William Lee Bird, who had died a bachelor at the ripe old age of 92. To confirm my suspicion, I checked with Fran, the antique shop owner. Sure enough, the desk had been purchased from the William Lee Bird estate in the late 80s or early 90s.

Was this the end of the search? I asked myself this question more than once. The desk had been a treasure to me daily as I work, and the ring holds a special place in my heart. But I knew I was not entirely satisfied with the “ending.”

Part 4, The Appraisal

After multiple inquiries, I finally made a contact at the nearest Tiffany’s. I walked into the elaborate store and passed beautiful jewelry cases with my heirloom gem tucked safely inside its light blue pouch.

“Hello. I have an appointment at 10:00 with Mr. Grant,” I said to the store clerk with nerves evident in my voice.

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way. He’s waiting for you.”

As I walked into the office, Mr. Grant rose from his chair and outstretched a hand.

“Hello, Mr. Grant. Thank you for meeting with me.” I didn't know what to expect from the meeting.

“Ms. Hamilton, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally. I have been looking forward to seeing this ring of yours in person since our phone call,” said the distinguished older man.

As I pulled out the ring and handed it to him, his eyes were wide with an appreciation for the magnificent heirloom. He carefully studied the ring for what seemed like an eternity.

“Your ring is exquisite. Unfortunately, I have not been able to track down any records regarding this particular purchase by Mr. Bird. It is most definitely an authentic Tiffany ring, but as you can imagine, records from the 1860s are not easily found,” stated the master jeweler.

“Oh. That is disappointing indeed. I was hoping to learn something more,” I said with a catch in my voice. I desperately wanted this story to have a happy ending.

And I was just about to get it.

“I do have some good news for you, however. This ring is in pristine condition; it is certainly one of a kind. In today’s market, you could no doubt fetch $20,000 for it,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t suppose you want to sell it?”

“Not a chance.” I smiled.

Part 5, The Epilogue

As I sit penning the twisted tale of love and loss at my antique banker’s desk, the platinum Tiffany band shimmers in the sunlight streaming through my office window. Some things are priceless. And the story of Ford and Emeline will live another day.