Page 31 of The Christmas Ring
After Howard took the woman to the old Bible section, he returned to the register. Finally the steady traffic had eased enough for Gary to get the ring from the cabinet. He held it up. “It’s a beaut.” He shook his head. “I never would’ve guessed it was real.”
“But it is. You’re holding twenty-five thousand dollars, cousin.”
Gary squinted at the inside of the ring. “Well, look at that. It’s engraved.”
“It’s not.” Howard leaned against the counter. “The thing is more than a hundred years old. That’s what the jeweler said. But it’s not engraved. Those are scratches.”
“Did you ask if it was engraved?” Gary looked up. He blinked a few times.
“Of course not.” He didn’t hesitate. “Why would I ask that? There’s nothing on the inside of that band. It’s scratched. That’s it.”
Gary studied it again. Two more customers entered the store. He shrugged and put the ring back in the box. “You might be right.” He locked it in the cabinet beneath the counter.
The first customer headed for Howard. She had a little girl with her. “We’re looking for an antique clock.” She smiled at the little girl. “For her daddy.”
“Ah, the gift of time.” Howard stepped out from behind the counter. “Follow me.” This time he looked back at Gary and called out, “I’m getting you new glasses for Christmas, Gary. You need ’em.”
Howard turned his attention to the woman and little girl. “I think you’ll find we have a tremendous array of old clocks and watches. Because the gift of time is the greatest gift of all.”
Howard led them to the right section. But all he could think about was the obvious. In three days he’d have that twenty-five thousand dollars.
And he’d be one day closer to that trip to Italy.
Chapter 11
They were still holding hands.
That was all Vanessa could think about as she and Ben walked into the oldest bookstore in Columbus. Ben still had hold of her hand. The touch of his fingers against hers, the way it felt to walk at his side with their hands connected... It was a feeling Vanessa never thought she’d feel again.
She had thought if they got to this point in their friendship, if things took a romantic turn, then she’d feel guilty about Alan. But she didn’t. Instead, the way her heart and feet floated along beside Ben made her happier than she’d felt in years. Happy and beyond hopeful.
Vanessa knew the old bookstore well. She led Ben to the back and a section of vintage poetry books. Ben’s eyes lit up as they reached the shelves. He reached for one by Walt Whitman. “Are you kidding me?”
“I saved the best for last.” Vanessa stood a few feet from him, studying him. Thrilled by him. “I figured they’d still have the Whitman book.”
Ben thumbed through it. “Most people don’t think Walt was a believer.”
“I’ve read that.” Vanessa angled her head, imagining the brilliant mind of Whitman and his complicated beliefs. “He’s credited with being a skeptic. The founder of a new religion that sort of broke the bonds of traditional beliefs.”
Ben glanced at Vanessa. “I don’t agree with all that. Walt believed God was in all created things. That always made sense to me.” He lowered the book and looked out the nearby window. “For me, I see God in the sky and stars, the flowers and fields. I see Him there because those are His creations.”
“Mmm.” Vanessa followed his gaze. “When Sadie was little, she would create these pretty paintings and we’d hang them on the fridge.” She smiled, lost in the memory. “When she’d be at school, I would walk by and see her creation. And I’d see her, too. Because she made that drawing. Everything about those art pieces had her written into the design.”
“I knew you’d get it.” Ben held up the book. “This one is for you.” He set it aside and turned his attention back to the shelves of antique books. “We always wanted a section like this in the store. There just isn’t room.”
Vanessa thumbed through a few of the titles. “My mom used to say if we lose the old books, we lose history itself.”
“And when do I get to meether?” He chuckled.
“Maybe the morning after the dance.” She smiled. “My parents live in Florida. They work full time for a church there. No retiring for those two.” She laughed. “But they’re coming for a few weeks on Christmas Eve.”
“Your mom sounds very wise.”
“They both are. I got my love for the poets and old writers from them.” Vanessa turned to him. “And you?”
“My love for poetry came from my dad. How he loves old things. But it was my wife who taught me the love of books.” He paused. “On our first anniversary she bought me a set of US history titles. No agenda back then. Just history.”
“Tell me about her.” Vanessa’s voice was soft. “Will you?”
