It was Grandma's

Summers were spent at Grandpa’s old farmhouse and running through heated fields of wheat and grass. Grandpa would spend sun-up to sundown in the fields or around the barn and us kids were expected to entertain ourselves. We would run through the fields, buzzing and jumping along with the insects that abounded in the summer months. And on the rare occasion that it would rain, we would spend those days up in the attic, exploring old trunks and boxes that had layers of dust coating them.

Julia and Hayden had already hurried to lunch, called down by Grandpa’s gruff voice at the bottom of the stairs and I could smell the warm scent of grilled cheese, the special way only Grandpa could make it, wafting up into the stale attic air. I turned toward the rickety ladder, the one that always gave me a slight pause before I stepped on it, and stopped. There, settled on top of two or three trunks, and tucked crookedly between several striped hat boxes, was a small, wooden box. I reached up on tip-toes and gently moved the box toward me with the tops of my fingers. Several careful maneuvers later, I held the small box in my hands. It was smaller than I’d originally guessed, about the size of the box my baby sister’s shoes came in. A cluster of roses and wildflowers was etched into the top, the etching a lighter wood to the dark stain that covered the rest of the box. A tiny golden clasp held the lid shut.

I tucked the box under my arm and carefully made my way down the ladder, then down the stairs to the lunch table. Grandpa and my cousins were all seated, grilled cheese crumbs littering their flower-patterned China plates. I settled in my chair next to Grandpa and placed the little box carefully on the table between us. Grandpa’s eyes settled on the box and he went still. My cousins were excused and ran upstairs to play with the dolls Mama said were hers when she was little.

I took a bite of my grilled cheese, the bread the perfect crispiness and the cheese was deliciously melty. Grandpa ran a hand lovingly across the top of the box, tracing the intricate flowers that were carved there on the lid. Mouth full, I waited to see what he would do next. The man who was as tall as a mountain and as steady as an Oak tree, seemed to wilt in front of me.

“This,” his voice was gruff, “was Grandma’s.”

I stopped chewing for a moment, not sure if I should say anything. It didn’t feel right to say anything.

“I gave it to her as a wedding gift, for her to keep her wedding jewelry in.” His rough, calloused, and scarred hands were gentle as they unclasped the box and lifted the lid. I peered over his strong arm to peek at the inside of the box. The inside was lined with a red fabric that looked incredibly soft. I resisted the urge to touch that fabric with my grilled cheese-greasy hands.

Grandpa’s fingers shook as he pulled the contents of the box out one by one. Three notes, each folded into a small square and worn with age; a pearl necklace; a thick ring with a large green stone on top and a number on the side; and a golden brooch with an ivory hummingbird set in the middle of the intricate design.

He smoothed his fingers over each piece, “Grandma and I met when we were in high school. She was the prettiest girl in school and spunky to boot.”

I watched Grandpa, wondering about the little shimmer that seemed to make his eyes shine. My grilled cheese was long gone but I sat quietly beside him until he cleared his throat and pushed away from the table.

“Keep an eye on that box Little Bit,” he called me by my nickname only he called me, “Grandma used to say it was magic.”

With rain pouring down outside and my cousins playing quietly upstairs, I sat with that box at the kitchen table, running my fingers over the pieces Grandma had treasured enough to put into a special box. The box was magic? Maybe so. It sure didn’t look magic, despite how pretty it was.

I took the box with me wherever I went for the rest of the day, making sure to keep it far away from Julia and Hayden who both tended to be a little rougher with their toys than I was. It settled beside me on my bed when I decided to read and it came back to the dinner table with me when we met for hotdogs and macaroni and cheese later that night.

After dinner, the rain had finally let up and we all stepped outside to enjoy the cooled evening air. Julia and Hayden went running through the yard, jumping in every puddle they could find and making a terrible mess of themselves. Grandpa and I settled ourselves on the worn porch swing and he tucked me to his side, the box still safe and secure in my hands. I closed my eyes as he started to swing us gently, up and down, his long legs letting him swing us without issue, unlike my smaller legs, which dangled several inches off of the porch.

“Grandma and I ran away together you know,” Grandpa said and I let his words rumble through me, “her daddy wasn’t my biggest fan, never had been.”

I couldn’t imagine anyone not liking my grandpa. He had always been a steady and comforting presence.

“Anyway, we bumped around for a little bit and finally landed here. She never once complained; always looked at life like a grand adventure,” he gave a little laugh.

“She sounds magical,” I whispered, thinking of the pretty little trinkets inside the box I held.

“Oh, she was Little Bit. Your Grandma was magical, still is. The world hasn’t been as special without her in it.”

I didn’t like the sadness that had crept into his voice. Shock thrummed through me as I looked up into his face and realized the shimmering in his eyes were tears. Actual tears. Grandpa didn’t cry.

I hugged him as tightly as my shorter arms could, wondering if he could feel the love I was pouring into that embrace.

As summer ended, and the cousins and I went back home, Grandpa pulled me aside before I climbed into my Mama’s car. Grandma’s treasure box seemed smaller in his hands.

“Take this with you Little Bit. Keep Grandma’s magic alive.”

I nodded solemnly, the weight of the task falling on my shoulders.

Years passed and each summer, that box went with me to Grandpa’s house and we would talk about Grandma, how much she would have loved us kids, how much she loved life, and how she saw magic in the simplest parts of life. When I was old enough, we read the folded letters together and I realized they were love letters exchanged between the young couple shortly before they ran away together. I wore the brooch and the pearl necklace to my high school graduation, in the same halls where Grandma and Grandpa had graduated all of those years ago.

Grandpa sat there in the front row, the day that I married my own high-school sweetheart, Grandma’s pearls resting at my throat and her brooch pinned at the shoulder of my lacy white gown. His old farmhouse sat, a constant presence, behind us, the front porch swing refinished specifically for this occasion. Grandma’s box sat in his lap, and I could feel a glimmer in the air like Grandma’s magic was here and swirling around us in the summer breeze. Grandma’s box came home with me and set in a place of honor on our mantel above the fireplace. It sat and watched over the magic that we built in our own home, witnessed our first holidays together as a family of two, then three, and five. And on the day that the world went dark for the first time in my life that I could remember, I took the box with me to sit on that old porch swing, alone.

My legs were long enough now that I could reach the porch on my own but it wasn’t the same. The space next to me felt empty, a big reassuring presence now gone forever. I lifted the clasp on the box and gently lifted the lid. Inside were those same familiar items that Grandma and Grandpa had loved so much. On top though, there was another note, the paper just as old and worn as the others. Without much thought, I knew it was from Grandpa, snuck into the box with everything else sometime since my wedding day.

With trembling fingers, I opened the letter, one fold at a time until Grandpa’s scribbly handwriting was before me, a letter he had written to Grandma long before my time.

Marie,

You once told me you believed in magic, the kind that could cause a man to lose himself and enchant the heart. Truth be told, I might have laughed at the time but now, I can tell you for certain magic exists. You have enchanted me and my heart is no longer my own. I give you this chest, a space to hold it near, and pray you keep it safe. Because I cannot breathe and my heart refuses to beat unless it is with you.

My heart is with you always.

Stanley

I clutched the box to my chest and let those tears that had been shimmering in my eyes, blinding the letter from my sight, fall. My heart is with you always. And while he may have been writing for Grandma, long before I came across this little wooden box, I can feel it in the warming summer breeze, his heart was with me then too.