“Exquisite is exactly the word I thought, too, Gwen,” Annie said.
“What perfect colors,” Kate murmured. “The dark background makes them sparkle like fireworks at midnight.”
“Have you seen these etchings on the box yet?” Peggy nudged Mary Beth’s arm. “I don’t think I’d be surprised if the crunchah jumped right off the bark and started galloping down the counter!”
“Crunchah?” Annie asked.
“You would probably say, ‘cruncher,’ Annie. It’s a wicked big deer,” Peggy informed the Texan.
“Annie,” Mary Beth said, after carefully examining both box and lid, “do you have any idea what you have here?”
”Not exactly,” admitted Annie. “Last night I wondered if Grandpa had made the box. But if I remember right, he enjoyed working with substantial blocks of wood. Something like this etching would have been too nerve-wracking for him. He had enough delicate surgery in his veterinarian practice.”
“Perhaps we should discuss this on the drive,” Kate suggested in her quiet voice, almost apologetically. “I’d hate to keep Stella waiting on us, if she arrives much before us.”
“I cleaned out the backseats of the SUV, so we can all ride together,” Mary Beth said. “You can chalk that up to a late summer miracle!” Mary Beth’s vehicle was usually a rolling miniature version of her store, so the women were duly impressed by her efforts. Annie gathered up her photos, not bothering to put them back in her bag. She knew they’d all be discussing them for a fair portion of the ride.
Just as the group reached the door of the shop, Alice breezed in through it. “Whew! Made it by the skin of my teeth … whatever that means. A new client called right as I was picking up my car keys. And wouldn’t you know, at eight fifteen in the morning she was totally confused about the hostess gift program. Go figure.” While Alice’s voice sounded a bit harried, her eyes had not lost their usual twinkle.
“For her heroic efforts to get here, come hostess or high water, I think Alice should be the one to ride shotgun,” declared Annie.
“Ayuh,” Peggy said in agreement. The others nodded.
“Thank you. Thank you.” Alice solemnly bowed to the group. “I will do my best to live up to this honor which you have bestowed upon me.”
Mary Beth gave her a playful shove on her back. “Walk and talk, Alice, or you’ll have Stella to answer to.”
“Oh, we can’t have that!” Alice strode to the passenger side of the SUV and climbed inside as soon as Mary Beth unlocked the doors. Once everyone was settled into their seats, Alice asked over her shoulder, “What do you think of Annie’s photos? Does anyone recognize any of the items?”
“As I was going to tell Annie before we left, I’m convinced the etched birch bark is an American Indian design because I’ve seen some other birch-bark boxes and baskets with similar types of construction over the years. But I couldn’t tell you where they came from, or when they were made.” Mary Beth kept her eyes on the road as she spoke, guiding the SUV along Main Street to head north on U.S. Highway 1.
“I’ve read a couple of articles about the beading traditions among American Indian tribes, but I’ve never seen anything like Annie’s piece before. Stunning work,” said Kate.
“Annie, may I see the writing and poem copy?” asked Gwen. Annie handed the photo and poem over the seat to Gwen.
“Read it for us, Gwen,” said Peggy, who was gazing at the photo of the box lid.
Gwen did as she was asked, her clear voice precisely enunciating each word with the exception of the words “sister” and “otter.” Those she pronounced as her Maine-rooted family always had, “sistah” and “ottah.” Annie hid a smile, thinking it wouldn’t be too hard to teach Gwen a good Southern drawl, if she had a mind to learn it.
Gwen turned around after finishing the poem. “Peggy, you were in school more recently than the rest of us. Do you remember this poem from any of your classes?”
A light blush dusted Peggy’s cheeks. “Well, no. But I was busy with cheerleading … and convincing Wally that he really was the only guy I wanted to date. Made it hard to concentrate in class.”
“I, for one, am thankful for all your hard work,” said Alice. “I can’t imagine Stony Point without the Carson family.”
“I agree. The Carsons are an important part of our community,” said Gwen. She lifted the photo in her hand, waving it gently. “I‘m looking at the photo with the handwriting. My guess is that this was written no later than the turn of the century—the twentieth century, that is. It reminds me of some of the DAR displays I’ve seen, as well as my father’s family Bible. The entries from the Civil War years used flourishes similar to this handwriting.”