Hickory Falls
June 14, 1953
Diamonds are such silly little things.
When cut just right, a diamond can capture a rainbow inside, an entire Crayola-box universe hiding within its angles. Some girls get absolutely giddy about their diamond rings and wave them in the air, tempting the sun’s rays to unleash their prism of light for others to envy. The woman nervously spinning the band around her finger right now wasn’t one of them.
A plain gold band from the dime store would have been fine. A little green tarnish never hurt anyone. And yet she loved this ring for what it meant today and going forward. Love. Stability. Happy endings.
She drew the lace curtain back with one hand and peeked outside, careful not to let him see her. Although she didn’t believe in bad luck, she wasn’t willing to tempt it. Not today.
The morning’s rain had been heavy enough to wash away a layer of dust left behind by gravel-road travelers, but light enough to spare the grass-hidden puddles or an unpleasant squish when she walked. The gray clouds in the sky had sailed on, leaving giant white puffs in their place. In one, she could make out the shape of a cat ready to pounce. In another, she saw a face, the eyes shifting out of place as the cloud lazily floated wherever the wind wished it to go.
The daffodils were in full bloom, and the crispness of their yellow, the green grass, and the blue of the small lake in the backyard made the scene look like a paint-by-numbers portrait. The white wooden folding chairs, four on each side of a narrow grass strip leading up to the oak tree, were the only foreign things in this snapshot of nature.
She saw him glance in her direction and quickly dropped the curtain to hide out of view, peeking between the folds to make sure she hadn’t been seen.
Looking in the mirror one last time, she smoothed her dress, out of nervousness rather than need, and patted a few loose hairs back in place with the palm of her hand. The contrast between her light green eyes and dark hair always got her noticed, but the navy dress seemed to highlight her unique coloring even more. Most first-time brides wore white, but she wasn’t like other women. She never had been. Traditions meant nothing to her; they were simply memories created by others who followed society’s lead. She chose to listen to her inner voice and live authentically. So, no, unless a white dress had called to her as “the one,” a navy dress and a bouquet of pink peonies would have to do.
The few hairs that had come loose from her side braid did not want to be tamed, so she decided to let them fly, knowing perfectly well that the wind from the water would loosen others soon enough. Grabbing the bouquet of pink peonies from the vase on the side table, she shook them gently to dry their stems, drinking in their sweet smell.
Before daffodils and a giant oak tree, they would begin their new lives together in the shadow of the tiny cabin on the edge of the lake. The objectors would have to lie silent today. Those who did not understand were not welcome here. That left very few, but she was fine with that. They had love, and she had to believe that, despite everything, love was going to be enough. It had to be. The gossip and rumors that had plagued their time together were not allowed up the gravel driveway that led to the red cabin door. The whispers had no power. Not today.
Chapter One
Baubles. Cora loved the word. It was one that sounded too cute to be real.
Baubles. The more she said it, the less real it sounded.
Cora topped her coffee off with a generous amount of cream and sat down at her kitchen table to explore the glass jar of colorful buttons, costume jewelry brooches, and gemlike trinkets that she had carried home like a treasure from the estate sale that morning. She had paid five dollars for the jar, prepared to go as high as twenty if forced to engage in a bidding war, but no other attendee seemed even remotely interested.
Cora had jumped up and down when she won, earning her a few judgmental glances from the men and women inspecting a table full of tarnished silver and gold-gilded frames. She now sat before the treasure of colorful plastic gemstones and metal that had turned into a kaleidoscope from the early afternoon sun that soaked her bauble treasure.
She’d found the estate sale while searching for a local tailor to see to a sizable hole that had appeared in her favorite sweater. The roads here all looked the same, and she found herself in a continuous loop through the small town until a final wrong turn led her to a gravel road. Cora found that to be one of the many odd things about Hickory Falls; a person could be driving on pavement one minute and merge onto gravel the next, without sign or warning. Because she had nowhere to be that day, she drove leisurely while looking for a place to turn around. The bright yellow estate sale sign had been a rather welcome surprise.
Now she sat, looking at her purchase with the glee of a child about to stick their hand into a prize box.
Cora had always been drawn to color, a fact that anyone would guess by looking around her apartment. Although the landlord had given her permission to paint, within reason, she had gone with an all-white pallet for the walls, choosing instead to incorporate bursts of color with flea-market artwork, pillows, and piles of books that served as both reading material and end tables. Her home was an eclectic yet chic happy place, and her new collection of baubles fit right in.
Cora had entertained the idea of leaving the treasures in the jar and using it as a bookend on one of the built-ins that surrounded the old brick fireplace, but her curiosity got the best of her. She might very well pour the trinkets back into their glass home after inspection, but for now she was looking forward to dumping the contents onto her kitchen table and exploring her morning’s find.
Cora flipped the jar over onto the tabletop and tried to stop a handful of marbles and buttons that rolled toward the edge, a few tiger-eye marbles a bit too quick for her as they fell to the floor and continued to roll across the room. She watched one disappear under the stove and a few more bounce off the baseboard before coming to a slow stop along the kitchen’s tile grout. Cora glanced in their direction and made a mental note to pick them up, but knew deep down that she would only remember when she stepped on one later.
With one hand cradling her coffee cup, she raked through the pile of remaining baubles on the table with her fingertips, careful to spread the delicate contents into a thin layer for easier viewing.
The first thing that Cora noticed was a jade brooch. It was oval and small in size, the smooth green of the center adorned by a chunky gold border
that, although aged, had not discolored the way that cheap metal does. The pin was secure along its back, and the piece was exactly the type of thing that Cora had hoped to find when she’d first spotted the goodies that morning.
She set the brooch aside, already thinking of how beautiful the green would look against the crisp white blouse that she had purchased the week before. The blouse was too plain on its own, and the brooch too beautiful to be displayed on anything but a blank canvas. This, Cora decided, was an indisputable fate in fashion—a sweet serendipity that only shopaholics would appreciate.
Buttons comprised the majority of the collection before her. Large, medium, and small. Round buttons, square buttons, and a few ornate buttons that fell somewhere in between. Among the standard colors of the rainbow, there were tortoise shell, silver, and a bright purple set with sequined edges. The number of marbles came in a close second, a few so large and beautiful that Cora couldn’t imagine they were ever intended for children’s play.
Because she had no expectations, Cora really couldn’t be disappointed. Among the finds was a group of safety pins locked together through a rubber band, a few pennies, one bobby pin, and a thimble that she set aside in case she decided to take up sewing someday. It was like a potpourri of mismatched and miscellaneous items kept in one location.
As she swept her hands across the table to gather the trinkets for a return to their home, the sun made contact with a little something that sent a ray of light across the room. Cora smoothed out the pile again, careful to stop the marbles from making another escape, and found what had demanded the sun’s attention.
It was a ring, incredibly small in size. Cora slipped it onto her pinky finger and got up to get a better view from the window. There was a single diamond, slightly raised and framed by the most delicate of detailed edging. The band looked silver, but had been worn and weathered, dirt shadowing some of its details. The dirt was like cement in some places and crumbled in others, a sweet earthy smell released into the air when Cora rubbed it between her fingers. She moved the ring under the light to get a better view inside the band and rubbed off the grime with a finger, to reveal engraved letters: V & N.
Or was it Y & M?
The letters had been worn smooth from contact and age, the tail of a letter here or a feathered arch there lost to the ages forever.
Cora returned to the table and continued searching for anything missed, now even more careful not to damage the remaining contents. That’s when she saw it, dangling from the edge of one of the safety
pins. Another ring, this one a band in matching silver and slightly wider than the diamond ring. Inspecting the inside, Cora noticed that it, too, had an engraving.
Alv w hay
She went back to the window, turning the band to and from the light to catch a glimpse of letters lost. There it was: Always.
Cora slipped the band on top of the diamond ring on her pinky. She felt different now; her fun little estate sale purchase that had been full of color and unknowns had handed her an incredibly old engagement ring and wedding band that did not belong here. The glass jar of baubles was supposed to be as silly as the word itself. It wasn’t supposed to make Cora feel unsettled and sad for a woman she had never met. But there she sat, feeling both. She turned the rings around her finger and couldn’t help but ache at the thought of how they had found themselves in such a place, so disrespected and uncared for. Somebody might be missing these heirlooms, their story one that some unsuspecting family member had yet to hear or even know about.
Cora wondered about V & N, or Y & M, two people who once shared something that she felt guilty being part of. Based on how old the rings looked, Cora could only assume that there was a time long, long ago when a gentleman got down on one knee and asked his love to join him on an adventure. She knew nothing about the woman who had worn this ring other than that at one point she had been loved.
Cora could have left it at that, a story that she could tell her friends and ponder possibilities over wine, with talk about a more romantic time. She could have put the rings back where she found them, surrounded by the colorful baubles that welcomed light into the room. She could have, but Cora knew she wouldn’t.
These were not buttons to fill a jar or brooches to hide a lost button on her winter coat. These beautiful little things were like lightning glass in a sandbox. They had been waiting for someone to find them.
Sitting at her kitchen table that day, Cora could not have known that mysteries and secrets in small towns come in all shapes and sizes, and sometimes lie hidden in the bottom of a bauble jar, just waiting for someone to breathe life into them again. ...
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