The Porcelain Heart

The Porcelain Heart

           Roger compressed his lips in a thin line, staring down at the old valentine candy heart-shaped box sitting on top of his dirt-covered lap, his task of cleaning the attic vanished along with his anger. How long has this been here? Roger wondered. From the style and obvious wear, it just might be older than his age of thirty-seven. Dragging out his phone from the back pocket of his pants, he opened it up and began to search for answers. It did not take him long to find the exact replica of the heart-shaped box, shocked by what he found: the box he currently placed by his left knee as he searched was, in fact, a Valentine’s box from 1861.

           “Why keep this?” Roger asked himself, taking the box into his hands to examine the detailing on its outer layer.

His wife Michelle, currently in town, decided to run errands to avoid him instead of continuing the fight. After the fight earlier, he was glad he and his wife were apart to cool off. Even though they, at times, did not agree completely, he still loved her very much.

           Roger examined the box more closely, discovering that at the bottom of the box, a handmade engraving, imprinted by whom appears to be not the original craftsman, attention to feature still unmistakable. “To my heart. Love John,” Roger read aloud. The mystery thickening upon each discovery, Roger began to piece together who could be John and who was the receiver. This led him to his next thought, This is my wife’s family’s house. This must be one of her ancestors.

“What are you looking at Rog?” Roger’s wife’s soft-spoken tone broke him away from his thoughts. Roger looked toward his wife who was standing at the door, looking thoughtful and tired, bags under her eyes. When did those bags appear? I don’t think they were there earlier.

"Hi honey,” Roger began, smiling awkwardly, “I found this while cleaning. Do you know who this belonged to?” he said, holding it up toward her. He watched as she crossed the room, sat down by him Indian-style, taking the heart-shaped porcelain box into her awaiting hands.

Roger watched in silence as she too examined the box carefully before replying, recognition imprinted on her face and heard in her tone, “Yes! I remember seeing this when I was little. My Grammy told me the story of this,” Michelle looked up, gaging a reaction. When Roger did not comment, she continued, “she said her grandmother told her about her great-great-grandmother and grandfather who went by the name Ruth and John Conner, well-off plantation owners in a house just outside Alamo, Tennessee that immigrated to escape the potato famine that started in 1945. They arrived in America in 1947 after eighteen months of saving money for tickets to take the next available ship out of Ireland,” Michelle paused briefly before continuing, “Grammy also told me that it was during their third-year old marriage that John gave Ruth this heart-shaped box, made of porcelain and ivory, as a keepsake. My great ancestor every year after that, also according to Grammy, put a small trinket every year to keep safe a memory,” Michelle’s voice trailed off as she concentrated on trying to recall all details her Grammy shared with her when she was sixteen.

“How long were they married?” Roger asked thoughtfully.

“Sadly, not long. Ruth died in childbirth with their third child,” her voice grim, saddened by a heartbreak that took place over a hundred and seventy years ago. 

“Was this box ever opened after her death?” Roger could not help his line of questioning. What he thought was a simple love gift, turning into so much more.

“According to Grammy, yes. John placed Ruth’s wedding ring with a lock of her hair and a lock of their stillborn baby girl’s hair inside. Since then, Grammy said that John sealed the box so that it never can be opened,” Michelle finished her story, eying her husband who was eying the box.

“Underneath John must have engraved it. Did your Grammy mention that?” Roger inquired.

Michelle thought for a moment, her lips pursing in deep thought. Finally, she replied, “Yes, but she said that she didn’t know whether John did it himself or the craftsman that designed the box. Grammy did mention that the story that was passed down never revealed that piece of information,” Michelle shrugged, and Roger rubbed his face, pausing to rub the 5 o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin, reminding him that he forgot to shave this morning.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Roger frowned, sighing openly.

Michelle exhaled, gently tracing the box’s soft cool surface with regard. Will we ever know? She thought to herself. She knew if it remained sealed, its’ true contents would forever be hidden from daylight. “Maybe,” she said aloud, turning to her husband. She did not realize that he had gone back to working on cleaning, his back turned to her. Michelle set the Valentine’s box onto the attic floor, feeling the full extent of her exhaustion evading her bones. 

Roger’s sudden voice made her focus on where he was standing, looking through an old brown box, “Hun,” Roger began without turning around, “I’ve been thinking about our fight earlier,” he paused, this time he turned to face her. Michelle was shocked to see regret and sorrow in his eyes. He continued, “I’m sorry I was a jerk to you. I didn’t see how tired you were until now. I promise from now on, I’ll do my part with the kids and the housework,” he smiled sheepishly. 

Michelle’s chest swelled. Roger rarely apologized for his behavior. On the way home, she had rehearsed how she was going to confront him on his entitled actions concerning the house and their children. All her preparation blew away in the wind at his declaration. Michelle nodded, “I appreciate it. I know you work too, like me, but I believe we can work together to make it work,” she paused fighting back tears. She was about to continue when her husband walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her lovingly.

“You’re right honey. We can. I’m sorry for not doing my part sooner,” Roger tilted his wife’s head to meet his eyes with her baby blue orbs. “It starts tonight.  You go take a bath and I’ll handle the kids and dinner.  Tomorrow is Saturday, right?” he asked, and his wife nodded, so he continued, “We can talk about what needs to be done. Tonight though, let’s not worry about it. Sounds good?” he asked her the last part attentively. He was rewarded with a nod and a yes from her. Five years of marriage and twin four-year-old toddlers later, he was still in love with his wife.   

Michelle looked him over, “What about you?” she smiled, a hint of play in her voice that matched the twinkle in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about me,” he replied nonchalantly. “I got this.  I’ll wash up before I feed the kids make sure they have their baths. You just enjoy a nice bubble bath, light some lavender candles you love and forget about the world for a while,” Roger said as he motioned for his wife to move out the door by gently pushing on her shoulders.

“Alright, alright!” Michelle laughed. “I’m going!” she squealed when her husband tickled her right in the ribs where she’s the most sensitive.

Roger turned on his heels, looking toward the heart-shaped box Michelle left lying on the ground. Picking it up, he moved it to the window’s ledge where a thick layer of dust and dander from an unknown source rested amongst old boxes full of life from his wife’s family.  Roger smiled to himself. He knew soon he and his wife would add to the improvised time capsule that was the attic.  In time, it would see his son’s children. “What a great thought,” he whispered. 

A crash and screaming erupted, causing Roger’s heart to race, his attention moved toward the doorway that headed out of time itself. He sighed heavily, he turned on his heels yet again to make his way hastily out the door towards his twin sons and to whatever their mischief awaited him.   He would have it no other way because his family is his one true love.  

THE END