I'm sitting comfortably in my favorite bought-for-a-buck from-the-old-library upholstered chair, which, oddly, I keep in the kitchen. Curled into it I enjoy gazing at the garden. Today, though, my eyes lingered on the antique Hoosier cabinet by the sink. I love its lines, and of course, its story.
One lovely July Saturday 41 years ago, Joe and I went rummaging. Foldout tables, with small children playing tag around them, displayed clothing, linens, knick-knacks and tired paperback books. Serviceable sofas and chairs were sprinkled about. Potted red geraniums and bright daisies decorated generous porches.
Near the main road a man was pulling out ancient farm machinery, kitchen chairs and old furniture from a large, ramshackle barn. A hand-painted "For Sale" sign was wedged into a wringer washing machine's barrel.
Just married, and nest-building, this place looked promising.
Another extremely old, bent man waved his cane, acknowledging our arrival. He didn't speak. His son (no spring chicken himself) grinned and adjusted dusty, well-worn overalls. "We're selling lots of goodies. Look around ..." We stared at treasures he'd dragged into the sunlight. A thick film of dust covered press-back chairs, a generous, well-scrubbed kitchen table and two ornate brass bed frames. But one particular cabinet caught the sunlight, and my eye. I gasped, walked around to its front ... and fell in love. Hard.
While Joe and the younger man entered the barn to admire an old motorcycle, I caressed the Hoosier cabinet, thrilled. The old man watched me quietly, then spoke for the first time.
"Today's my 94th birthday, young lady, and I asked Ethan to clear the barn. Funny sort of present, but it's what I wanted." A pause. "You like this." It was a statement, not a question.
I nodded. Oh, I coveted that cabinet. I'd sell my soul for that cabinet. But could we afford it?
"I'm tired. It's past time to clear out things I've been holding close for too long. Like this Hoosier cabinet." He sighed. "Sixty-five years ago I married my first wife. Julia was a lovely girl, and when she finally agreed to marry me, I was a happy man. I was considered a good catch back then, young lady, as I was able to offer her a small farmhouse, land and dairy cows." His twinkling eyes and toothless smile flashed, briefly. "This cabinet was meant for our kitchen, and I can still hear her laughing as she planned where to put it. Choosing it really made Julia happy." He looked away, and continued.
"On the way home from church the day we married our carriage horse bolted. Julia was thrown out; she hit her head on a big rock, and died, right there, still in her wedding garb. I thought I would die, too. Wedding guests following us tried to help, but it was too late. I don't remember much after that, for a long time."
He rubbed his eyes. "Eventually I married again, and my wife and I had Ethan, here. But I'd never let her use this cabinet ..." His voice trailed away.
Then -- "You're newly wed, aren't you?" Amazed, I asked how he'd known! He threw back his head and laughed, then thought a minute, nodded, and leaned toward me, eyes filling.
"It's yours. IF -- you promise never to sell it. Tell future children its story. You must promise me."
Stunned, I promised.
His face shone; suddenly serene, he said, quietly, "Julia is pleased."
He walked very slowly toward his house, cheeks wet with tears, but not from grief.
We both knew that something wonderful had just happened.
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are at 325 Sixth St. in Traverse City. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.
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