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From:
Subject: Sunday Afernoon rocking
Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2001 14:41:33 EST

Today my column is at the request of Shirley Treadway, a reader.  She
has
wondered at the old jewelry items found at auctions, flea markets,
antique
shops…and the story such a piece could tell.  She asked me to take the
questions she had, and then weave a story.  And so I have…

The Wedding Band (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series)

1835

The day Daniel placed the gold band on Jane's finger, she twisted and
turned it, gazing with wonder upon it and proud that her husband had
kept
his word.  They had married in North Carolina and spent the equivalent
of
their honeymoon traveling through Cumberland Gap and then down the river
by
flat boat. Well she remembered the evening of the promise, when he took
her
aside at a brush arbor meeting, and she knew by the determination in his
stance and the serious set of his jaw, that he had come to a
decision.  "There ain't nothing for me here, Jane.  And I am aiming to
leave.  I want you to leave with me.  I have not much to give you, but
one
day I will have. And when I have made my place, one day I will put a
ring
on your finger."  And so they had married…without a ring. She made him a
promise the day he kept his.  "I will never take it off."

1866

Jane called Tom, her youngest son to her bedside, the day he announced
he
would be marrying Lavinia.  Well she knew Tom's circumstances…and her
own.  "Tom," she told him, "You got five youngins to raise and good it
is
Lavinia will take your family on.  But I expect you have no money for a
ring, and so I want you to hear me out.  I promised your Papa I will
never
remove this ring while I am yet living, and I will not.  But when I am
gone, I am telling you to remove it.  And place it on Lavinia's
finger.  You make her a promise, same as your Papa made me.  You have
not
much to give her, but this ring is a promise you will stick by her same
as
she has promised to stick by your youngins."

1895

Lavinia stuck by Tom's family. She raised them, and she raised the ones
she
and Tom brought into the world.  And Tom kept his promise.  He never had
a
great deal materially to give her, but he stuck by her, same as she
stuck
by his family.  All of her young years, Martha watched the golden band
glinting in the sun, the light of a fire, as Lavinia worked.  She
thought
as the years passed how strange it was that the band never lost its
gleam,
its luster…when the hands that wore them told such a different
story.  Lavinia's busy hands, the hands the children watched kneading
dough, firmly grasping a hoe, determined in their attack of a wash
board…slowly changed as the years went on.  They went from smooth and
soft,
to reddened and rough, and finally the busy hands lay gently clasped,
wrinkled and work-worn, on a chest that grew quiet.   Martha put the
ring
away.

1915

Molly loved to sift through the bits of treasures in Mama's trunk, and
sometimes if Mama was not too busy, she would sit beside her and tell
her
the stories of the treasures.  The pretty blue silk covered box, she
told
her, was from the pie supper where she met Papa, and the Indian head
penny
was what her uncle had given her the day she was born.  And the wedding
ring that just fit on Molly's thumb was her grandmother's.  "It was my
Mama's," Martha told her, "And it was my Papa's mother's before that.
It
came with a promise each time it was passed, and the day I kept it, I
decided on a promise of my own.  It will be passed right on, Molly, and
each time the stories of the promises can be told.  It is the story of
our
family in this place.  One day the ring will be yours."  Molly, raised
her
bright blue eyes to meet her Mama's, and furrowed her eyebrows in
concentration.  "Then, Mama," she proclaimed, "I promise to give it to
my
own little girl, and tell her all about Samuel and Jane, and the flat
boat.  And about Tom and Lavinia, and the poor little children without a
mama she raised."

1955

Molly never had children, and so she never kept her promise.  She kept
it
tucked away and now and then would see it and think perhaps she should
tell
the story to someone, perhaps Nancy, but somehow that time never
evolved.  It was her niece who cleared out the home Molly had known, and
distributed first one thing and then another to those she thought could
use
it, keeping only the things she would find useful herself.  When she
came
upon the wedding ring, she wondered where it had come from, for Molly
had
never married. It could not have been Martha's for Martha was buried in
hers.  Shrugging her shoulders, Nancy pocketed it and dropped it in her
jewelry box, never intending to wear it, but thinking perhaps one day
she
would have it melted down and something made of it.

1995

With Mother in the nursing home, and it obvious she could never come
back
home, all Jim knew to do was to clear out her apartment.  The bills at
the
nursing home were outrageous, and there was no sense wasting what little
money she had on utilities and upkeep for something she was not likely
to
ever return to again.  He saw no reason to upset her with his decision,
and
so did not tell her of her plans.  He quietly cleared out her
belongings,
storing some, and selling others.  Her care fund did not swell a great
deal
with the sales, but enough to help.  She did have some pieces of jewelry
that fetched a fair price, and a few that really were worth little, but
he
sold them as a lump.  He saw no reason not to do so, as he had no wife
and
no daughters. His brothers assured him the pieces meant nothing to them.
Nancy died and never knew her things were not still as she had left
them.  She could not have told the story of the ring anyway.

2001

Shirley stood in front of the jewelry case at an antique mall.  A visit
to
such a place was as much a walk through time as reading a historical
novel,
she thought…for when she held in her hands the bits and pieces of past
lives, she could not help but wonder the stories they could tell.  And
so
it was, a wedding ring gleamed softly in the light from a nearby
window.  And these were the thoughts she had, and the thoughts she wrote
to
me: "Obviously well worn. Was there really 'romance' in the eyes of both
the bride and groom when he slipped it on her finger? How much did it
originally cost? Hundreds of minuscule scratches could each tell a story
of
the original wearer of that gold wedding ring. How old is it, really?
Did
it remain on her finger when the meals were cooked, biscuit dough was
kneaded?  Was it there when clothes were hand washed on an old scrub
board?
Our great and great-great grandmothers could tell a story, but our
imaginations are vivid as we look upon or hold one of these priceless
rings. Why do descendants, sometimes, inherit something like this, and
sell
it at a flea market, or worse yet, throw it away because it may not look
like much?"

Just a bit of imagining…from both Shirley and myself,
jan

Copyright ©2001JanPhilpot
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