last trio of rosebushes, when the shovel had rung out. She knelt down on all fours, picking up a small hand spade, and tried to clear away the soil that covered the metal object that was thwarting her progress. Thinking of Sam and Marietta, she dug with furious movements, showering dirt everywhere, some of it landing in her hair and on her clothes. Before long, the spade struck the object as well. She scraped aside enough of the soil to reveal a dark, rusty piece of metal. Curious, she continued to dig at the soil surrounding it. It was flat and smooth. She reached a curving edge and burrowed with her hands to grasp the edge of object. She tugged and pulled, and suddenly it came free, causing her to fall back on her rump. Dirt flew everywhere, and she laughed as she looked at the heavy object on her lap. A frying pan.
“Why would anyone bury a cast iron skillet upside down in the corner of a garden?” she wondered aloud. It was heavy and large, but there were no special markings on it. She set it on the brick walkway which curved past the area she was working on. She brushed herself off and looked into the hole from which she had pulled the skillet. A shiny object caught her eye, and once again she used the hand spade to clear the soil away. She soon had freed enough of the soil to see that it was the lid of a jar, and could tell that the jar was still attached.
Feeling a certain mild excitement, as if she were a backyard archeologist, she carefully worked around the jar, finally freeing it. She brushed it off with a gloved hand and held it up. A Mason jar, filled with old-fashioned buttons. The glass of the jar was thick, and she wondered how old it was. She set the jar next to the skillet, trying to make sense of them, and of their burial.
Unable to succeed in solving that puzzle, she stood up and went back to work with the shovel. But she had not been digging very long, when once again the shovel struck an object. She knelt again and went to work with the hand spade. This time, she found a small, crude wooden box, about the size of a shoe box. The blow from the shovel had splintered the lid, and inside the box was a small canvas bag filled with old marbles. She continued to use the hand spade.
An hour later, she had an odd collection on the walkway: to the skillet, the button jar and the marbles, she had added an old pocket watch, a wedding band wrapped in a linen handkerchief, a fragment of stained glass. The handkerchief bore pretty embroidery, and the initials “CG”; the inside of the ring was inscribed, “Chloe and Jonathan, 2-22- 41.” There was no inscription on the watch, but the crystal was cracked and the hands stopped at 6:10. Again she wondered why this particular group of objects had been buried here. A child might bury marbles, maybe even buttons, but a skillet? A wedding ring or a pocket watch? Why hide such objects? It was unsettling.
Leila continued to dig, and the next discovery brought her up short. The toe of rubber boot. She was afraid to touch it, afraid the boot would still be attached to the owner. She stared at it, wondered if she should call the police, then smiled to herself over this unexpected nervousness. Still, when she reached down to move the soil away from it, her hand trembled. The toe of the boot felt as if it had something in it.
Timidly, she used the small spade, afraid to reach down into the soil with her hands. But as she made her way through the layer surrounding it, she saw no bones or rotting flesh. She pulled it free and held it upside down, spilling most of its contents on the walk. The boot held a woman’s black leather shoe, and nothing but more soil. She pulled the shoe out. Further digging led to no new revelations.
Leila gathered the collection of objects and took them back to the house, where she cleaned them off as best she could. She poured a glass of red wine and sipped it thoughtfully while she took a long, hot bubble bath in her claw-foot bathtub. She climbed out when the water began to chill, and made her decision.
“I appreciate your coming by on such short notice,” Leila said to her guest, as they reached the back patio.
Alice Grayson smiled as she looked across the backyard, then back at the young woman who had invited her here. “You’ve done wonders with it.”
“Thank you.”
“As for the notice, I am no different than most old ladies; I have more time than opportunities. And I must admit your invitation intrigued me. Buried treasure in the backyard of the house you bought from me?”
“Have a seat, please,” Leila said, gesturing to a rattan patio chair that was next to a low table. The table, covered with a lumpy cloth, held what Alice Grayson assumed was the ‘treasure’.
Leila took a seat on the other side of the table and poured a glass of wine for each of them. “How long ago did you live here, Mrs. Grayson?”
“ Alice. No need for formality. And it’s Miss Grayson. I never married. And I never lived here.”
She laughed at Leila’s look of surprise.
“This house belonged to my uncle, and then to my brother. I inherited it from him.”
“Jonathan?”
It was Alice Grayson’s turn to look surprised. “How on earth did you learn his name?”
“I believe I found his wedding ring, along with a rather strange assortment of other objects.” Leila lifted the cover.
“Good Lord,” Alice said, and her blue eyes grew watery.
Leila watched her in silence, amazed at how discomposed the older woman seemed. She had met Alice Grayson only once before, when the escrow had closed, but had taken a immediately liking to her. Alice had told her that she was in her seventies, but Leila thought she seemed more lively and energetic than Leila did at thirty. Alice seemed to have liked her too, giving her a phone number to call should she have any questions about the house. Leila knew that she couldn’t have expected the questions which actually did arise.
“I’ll be happy to give all of these things to you,” Leila said. “They seem to mean something to you. But please, can you tell me why this particular set of objects was buried here?”
Alice dabbed at her eyes. “Forgive me. I’m sorry to be so emotional. After all these years, you wouldn’t think that I could react so strongly. Yes, certainly.” She sighed. “Where to begin?”
She reached over and picked up the gold band. “This was Jonathan’s wedding ring; his wedding ring from his first marriage, to Chloe Manning. Chloe was a lovely young girl. They were both young; she was nineteen years old, he was about twenty-one, I believe. It was just before the war.”
“In February of 1941? That’s the date on the ring.”
“Yes. That April, our uncle died after a long illness and left this house and his store to Jonathan, who had worked for him. Jonathan and Chloe were very much in love. She was pretty, and full of life and laughter, and she spoiled him rotten. She was an excellent seamstress.
“He thought her the perfect wife in all but one regard. She was a terrible cook. But Jonathan didn’t want to hurt her feelings so he always ate the meals she made for him with a smile. I lived just down the street then, and he’d come over to visit me after dinner, and groan and down bottles of antacid. She caught on, and one day gave him a large, heavy box with a big bow on it. There was a big, cast iron skillet in it. She laughed and told him she would help him run the store if he would help her cook.”
“Do you think this is that same skillet? Why would he bury it?”
“I would be surprised to learn it was not that skillet. As for why, well, perhaps it is best if I continue to tell you their story.
“In December of 1941, they had a little boy, William, named after my uncle. He was born two days before Pearl Harbor. Jonathan was drafted. They were very brave about it, as were most people then. Chloe and I ran the store, and Little Billy kept us too busy to feel sorry for ourselves.”
She paused and took a sip of wine.
“She was staying with me then; she had rented her place out to a group of women who worked at a war plant. One rainy night, after we closed up the store, Chloe told me she was going to stop by our little church on the way home. It was the winter of 1944. Jonathan had been wounded and was being sent back home. Chloe had been worried about Jonathan; said she hadn’t been able to sleep much, and wanted to pray for his safe return. Billy cried when she tried to get him to leave with me when we reached the steps of the church, so she took him with her. I still remember them standing under their umbrella on the steps, giving me a little wave.”
She stopped again, her eyes filling with tears.
“Please, I didn’t know this would be so painful for you,” Leila said. “Perhaps you’d rather tell me another time.”
“No, no, I’ll be all right. All of this happened almost fifty years ago. You’d think I’d be able to talk about it.”
