Cheryl Ann Guido
Author & Poet
~Let Your Imagination FlyFree~
THE HOPE CHEST
“Nonna! Nonna! Look what Mommy found!”
I looked up from the old greeting cards that I was sorting through. I wondered what had ever possessed me to keep so many of them. In fact, I wondered what had ever possessed me to keep so many of the things we were cleaning out. I suppose that’s what happens when you live in the same house for sixty plus years. As I tossed the last card into a large green trash bag, my granddaughter, her mother, laid an old wooden trunk at my feet. She had brought it down from the attic, a place that I no longer was able to go. In the past few years since my husband died, my health had declined significantly and after a family meeting, it was decided that my house would be sold and that I would move to a nice assisted living facility near my family. My daughter and granddaughter had no idea how painful and difficult the move would be for me, but they were right in their decision. I could no longer care for myself, and as much as moving from this home, the home that held so many precious memories, would break my heart, it was what had to be.
“Open it, Nonna! Let’s see what’s inside.”
My great granddaughter Skyler was seven and full of life. Precocious did not even begin to describe this bubbly, bouncing child. I could not remember a day when her bright blue eyes did not twinkle or her high pitched, impish laugh was not infectious. At the moment, she was tugging hard at the clasp that locked the trunk, lips pursed, her nose scrunched up and a fierce determination that I imagined would serve her well when she was grown.
“Skyler, on my dresser there is a jewelry box. Inside, you will find a small tan envelope. Bring it to me.”
Without hesitation, she did as she was told and ran to my bedroom. I could hear her rummaging through my jewelry box as her mother spoke to me.
“Mom-Mom, is it even worth opening this old beat up thing? What’s in here, more greeting cards?”
Arianna was a good granddaughter and I knew that she did not mean to be rude. I laughed.
“No dear. This is my hope chest.”
“Your hope chest? But aren’t hope chests supposed to contain things you’re going to use when you get married? I mean, you and Grandpa got married what, sixty years ago? Shouldn’t you have used the stuff inside by now?”
“Actually, it’s closer to seventy.”
I grinned as Skyler returned and handed me the envelope. My hands shook as I tore it open and removed the big brass skeleton key that would open the mysterious box.
“Here, give it to me. I’ll unlock it, Nonna.”
Skyler snatched the key away, inserted it into the lock and turned. Using both of her tiny hands, she lifted the lid and her perfectly almond shaped eyes lit up. Before I could tell her to be careful, the big antique porcelain doll was in her arms and she was dancing across the floor, holding it high in the air by its tiny white china hands.
“Oh Nonna, she’s so beautiful. May I have her?”
“I can’t think of a better mommy than you, sweetheart. Just be gentle with her. She is precious and quite old.”
“Yay!”
Beaming, my granddaughter ran to the guest room. In my mind’s eye, I could see her, sitting on the bed, legs crossed with the doll on her lap as she ran her fingers through the sparse red wig that covered the doll’s head.
Arianna placed her hand on my arm. “I know you, Mom-Mom. I bet there’s a story behind that doll.”
I nodded and suddenly I was transported back in time, to a big ocean liner travelling from Italy to America, our new home. That day, the sea sparkled like an endless azure gem and the air smelled like salt. The sun blazed and I could feel its penetrating warmth on my bare arms as my sister chased me across the deck. I was taunting her, saying that she couldn’t catch me when I bumped into a tall, well-built man dressed in navy blue. Being small, the first thing that caught my eye were the gold stripes that ran down each of his pant legs. I looked up and marveled at the gold buttons on his jacket. He wore fringed epaulettes on each of his shoulders that were golden too and there were four shiny gold stars on his rounded collar. The white curls of his hair were almost hidden by a navy-blue cap and he sported a full, neatly trimmed beard. He was the Captain of the ship but I did not know that, all I knew was that he looked important and I hoped that I was not in trouble for not paying attention and crashing into him.
“Oh my,” he laughed. “You’re certainly in a hurry. But you must watch where you are going, little one.”
He patted my head and continued on down the deck. I breathed a sigh of relief. Not understanding English, I had no idea what he had just said, but I could tell by his smile that I had not been admonished for colliding with such an important man.
“Rosalina! Marietta!”
My sister and I turned to see our mother motioning for us to join her. I ran. Mama was leaning on a railing, smiling broadly as the sea breeze blew through her long, thick black hair. She loosened the brown muslin shawl she always wore and it slipped down a bit, partially baring her shoulders.
“Guarda, guarda,” she cried as she pointed to an enormous sized green statue of a lady holding a torch. It was then that I knew we had finally reached America and we were about to embark at Ellis Island, New York where we would reunite with my father.
“Mom-Mom?”
I shook my head as I realized that my granddaughter was still waiting for me to tell her about the doll.
“Sorry, I kind of got caught up in an old memory. That doll was a present to me from my father. He was a merchant who came to the U.S. and then sent for my mother, sister and me to start a new life here. After we were processed through Ellis Island, he gave that doll to me and also gifted one to my sister, Marietta.”
“Marietta? I thought your sister’s name was Mary?”
“Well, when we were processed, we were told that our Italian names were too hard to pronounce so they were changed to something that sounded more American to the people who worked there.”
“You’re kidding. That’s terrible! So, they just arbitrarily changed your names?”
“Yes. That’s what they did back in those days. That’s how our names were recorded on the official immigration documents.”
“So, your name really isn’t Rose?”
I chuckled. “Yes and no. My birth name was Rosalina.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Rosalina, is a beautiful name. I don’t understand why they did that. It’s a shame that you have never been able to use it.”
I shrugged my shoulders as she reached inside the chest and removed a large, rectangular envelope. Inside were my copies of the immigration papers I had received so long ago. A small, picture partially sticking out of the envelope caught my eye. After removing the photograph, I handed it to Arianna.
“That’s us in the parlor of our first home, two rooms and a kitchen in a basement apartment in Fort Lee, New Jersey. I was seven, my sister was six and the woman is my mother.
Arianna frowned. “She looks so stoic.”
“I suppose she does. I don’t remember her ever looking different and she rarely smiled. You see, shortly after we arrived, my father left us. She wouldn’t tell us why, but I always suspected that there was another woman. Anyway, all I know is that he left and I never saw him again.”
“You’re kidding. How did you survive?”
“Well, since the streets were not paved with gold like we all thought they’d be, my poor mother worked her fingers to the bone, taking in laundry, making dresses and even cooking sauces that she could sell. I didn’t realize at the time that it was a terrible struggle for her, but she never complained, not once.”
Arianna’s eyes grew wide. "Oh my, I can't believe that people actually thought the streets here were paved with gold.”
I chuckled, “Yes we did.”
Then she frowned. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this before?”
“Those were hard times that I don’t like to speak about.”
I reached into the chest and withdrew a dress. I shook out it in a vain attempt to smooth the wrinkles that had formed from so many years of being packed away.
“My mother made this for me. Even though we were poor, she wanted her daughters to always have clean, neat clothes to wear. I only wore this one once, but it was the last dress she ever made for me so it is very special.”
I ran my fingers across the yellowed white lace collar perfectly hand stitched to the blue gingham bodice. A row of precisely lined buttons attached the short sleeved dress at the back and a white sash around the waist tied into a big bow. Once again, I was taken back in time. My mother sewed this dress for me to wear to a high school dance. I had received my first kiss at that dance by some boy that I don’t even remember now. On the way home, I was floating on air and could not stop chattering about him to my sister. When we reached our building, we were stopped by a policeman. He told us that there had been a drive by shooting. Some gangsters had shot and killed five people. My mother was one of them. She had been hit as she walked back from delivering some laundry. I cannot even begin to describe the heartbreak of losing my beloved mother, especially in such a senseless way and on that fateful day, my life was changed forever. I wiped away a tear before it could slip down my cheek for Arianna to see. I was not quick enough.
“Mom-Mom, are you okay? Maybe we should just close up this box and save it for another time.”
“I’m okay, Arianna. It’s just … it’s been a long time since I’ve looked at these things.”
I pulled out a stained and tattered white apron.
“Well, will you look at this. I forgot I put this in here. I wore this apron at my first job. I was seventeen and worked as a waitress at the Bus Stop Diner on Edgewater Lane.”
“You were a waitress?”
“I was, for almost five years. Then the war came and I worked in a factory that manufactured airplane parts. You see, our boys were all out on the front lines fighting. So many of them never came back. Many women took their jobs and worked in factories making items we needed for every-day use and weapons for the war.”
I rummaged around the bottom of the trunk until I found the aluminum rivet that I had kept to remind myself that I could do anything if I put my mind to it.
“We used these in the construction of bomber planes.”
“How cool, Mom-Mom, you were a regular Rosie the Riveter!”
“She wasn’t real, you know,” I snorted, “she was just a symbol. It’s just a coincidence that we share the same name … really.” I winked.
Just then, Skyler returned. She sat on the carpet and carefully placed the doll on its back beside her.
“I think I’ll name her Molly,” she announced.
I nodded, “Molly is a good name.”
Then, Skyler reached into the chest and pulled out a worn, scuffed roller skate. She held it over her head, twirling the ball bearing boot by its stained white laces.
“Where’s the other one, Nonna?”
“It’s in there somewhere,” I replied as Skyler tore through the trunk looking for the skate’s mate.
“Mom-Mom, I didn't know you used to roller skate.”
“It’s how I met your grandfather. We met at a roller rink. That was where a lot of young people went to meet others back then. He was a wonderful skater and so handsome. He pretty much swept me off my feet. I knew he was perfect for me from the first time I met him.”
The memory of my dear sweet late husband filled my heart with joy. Tony was a good Italian boy, one who would have been whole heartedly approved of by my mother had she still been alive when we met. A baker by trade, he worked hard and never spent money foolishly. Once the war came, he enlisted. Shipped overseas, he saw combat, survived malaria and came back alive despite the fact that a supply truck that he was driving had set off a mine that threw him over the side of a cliff.
Again, I searched the chest until I found a tiny white jeweler’s box. After I opened it, my hand flew to my heart. There was Tony’s wedding band, bent and misshapen. It had caught on a branch, nearly ripping his finger off as he was thrown over the precipice. Sadly, he was never able to wear it again. But, neither of us minded because that ring had saved his life. It had saved both of our lives.
Arianna found another photograph near the bottom of the chest. This one was of myself, my husband and our daughter Antonia when she was a young child. We were all posed in front of our home, this home, the first day we moved in.
“Oh my gosh, is this mom?”
“It sure is.”
“She was such a cute kid. I can’t wait to show this to her when she gets here later.”
“It will be good to see your mother again. I’ve missed her.”
Arianna replaced the picture inside the chest.
“Well, we do live half of a country away. But now that you’re going back with us, we will all be together again.”
“Yes,” I said as I took out the last item. The little pink onesie still looked new. Its furry fabric was still just as bright and fuzzy as it was when I first put it on my baby daughter and took her home from the hospital where she had been born. Was it really that long ago? When you are my age, the days all run together and before you know it, you are old and celebrate each day as if it was your last, because it may well be. I brought the tiny garment to my nose and inhaled deeply. I swore that I could still smell, the lightly scented powder and oil that I so lovingly applied to my baby whenever I changed her diaper. But Antonia wasn’t a baby anymore. She was a grown woman, with a daughter and granddaughter of her own.
Once again, the sound of Arianna’s voice brought me back to my living room. “What a wonderful trunk of memories, Mom-Mom. There are things here from the beginning of each stage of your life.”
I nodded and picked up an envelope from the end table next to my chair.
“When we get home, I want to add this.”
Arianna took the envelope, opened it and removed its contents.
“This is your boarding pass for our flight home next week.”
“Yes. For many years I have hoped that we could all be together again one day. That piece of paper you’re holding will make it happen. Now let’s put all this stuff back into the chest and go get some dinner.”
~FIN~
This short story is dedicated to my mother who emigrated to the U.S. in 1928 at the age of 7. These are her memories. Although this is written as fiction, these are events that actually happened. Only the names have been changed.
A TOOL OF IMAGINARY PROPORTIONS
Nine-year-old Lainie Lewis tapped the flat head screwdriver against the surface of the old wooden table in the garage workshop. Her father said that he would be home by supper time, but it was now past seven and he still had not arrived. The two of them were to begin a special project and Lanie was rapidly becoming impatient.
Of the five children in the Lewis household, she was the youngest and the only girl. Early on, she learned how to stand up to her brothers when they taunted her. Unfortunately for Lanie, it happened a lot. The latest came after she asked her father to help build a racer for the Riverview Soapbox Derby. Billy, the eldest brother and reigning king of the Derby, had snorted that no girl ever won the coveted top prize and no girl ever would. The image of his smug face still fresh in her mind, Lanie narrowed her eyes, slammed the screwdriver onto the workbench and placed her hands on her slender hips.
“Well,” she hissed aloud, “he’s going to eat those words when I walk away with that trophy next week.”
Lanie wandered over to the closed door of the garage. She grabbed an old ladderback chair, climbed up on the seat and peeked out of one of the tiny glass windows. Still no sign of her dad. Sighing, she carefully stepped off of the chair, walked back to the work table and picked up the screwdriver. A loud meow made her jump and she quickly turned to see Scamp, the straggly grey tabby cat who had been adopted by her family several years back after one of her brothers found him by the side of the road.
“Hey, what are you doing in here?”
She bent down and gently scratched behind Scamp’s erect ears. He acknowledged her affection with deep, loud purring.
Wondering what other tools, they would need to build the racer, she began to rummage through her father’s toolbox to pass the time. The screwdriver, which was still in one hand, diverted her attention. As she ran her thumb and forefinger over its smooth red ridges, her mind began to wander. The workshop faded and, in its place, Lanie found herself in a book filled study located in turn of the century London. The plain wooden ladderback chair had become a thickly padded arm chair and the work table had transformed into a desk made from the finest mahogany. A walnut edged blotter with a quill and ink jar sat on its smooth polished surface. On top of the blotter was a well-worn leather covered journal in which clues from various mysteries were recorded. Scamp, her trusted assistant, clad in his trademark brown bowler and tweed jacket, eyed her expectantly as rings of smoke curled upward from the briar wood pipe between his gleaming white feline teeth.
“My dear Mr. Cat, I believe that foul play is afoot! I shall use my trusty magnifying glass to search for clues.”
Scamp cocked his head as he watched Lanie poke here and there with the magically transformed screw driver. If there was a clue, she would find it. Master Detective Lanie Lewis always solved the case. She positioned the magnifying glass in front of her right eye and ran the tool across the bookshelf and up the adjacent wall. Satisfied that nothing useful had been found, she focused it on a low hanging shelf over the desk where she spotted a small scrap of white paper.
“Aha, a clue!”
Lanie’s fingers snatched the paper off of the shelf. It was folded in half and had her name written on it, along with a short note.
Lanie,
I have to work late tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but you were asleep when I found out this morning and I didn’t want to wake you. I promise that as soon as I get home, we’ll start building your racer. So, you better tell your mother to clear off a space on the awards shelf in the living room because we’re going to win this! See you then!
Love, Dad
Jarred back into the real world, Lanie folded the note and shoved it into the pocket of her overalls.
“Well, I guess that mystery is solved, Scamp,” she sighed, “I sure hope he gets home soon though. It’s getting late and I want to start building my car before I have to go to bed.”
Sighing loudly, Lanie plopped onto the seat of the ladderback chair. Inside the house, her mother was singing an aria from one of her favorite operas that was playing on the radio. Lanie smiled. Her mom’s voice was melodious and rich, every note perfectly pitched. In her youth she had wanted to become an opera singer but abandoned the idea after she met Lanie’s father, married him, then had five children in the space of six years. But she never stopped singing and had instilled the love of classical music in Lanie, her only daughter.
Lanie’s eyes fluttered shut. As she swayed in time to the music, she found herself dreaming of a famous concert hall. It was a cavernous place, with a stage shaped like a glowing ringed crescent moon. Life-sized golden statues dressed in Roman togas stood on marble platforms that lined the walls on both sides of the seating area. The classic sculptures looked down on the audience filled with men and women in formal clothing.
Wearing a black tailed tuxedo with a red cummerbund and black bow tie, Lanie entered the stage from the rear and walked through the center of the orchestra while they tuned up. She stepped onto the conductor’s podium and the audience rose. Thunderous applause filled the hall. She bowed to her admirers, turned to the orchestra and adjusted her sheet music. Nodding, she tapped her baton three times on the podium and raised her arms signaling the orchestra to be ready. The house lights dimmed and the symphony began.
First, the spotlight shone on a musician playing a short violin solo. As he returned to his seat, the light grew softer and widened, highlighting the rest of the violins, horns, cellos, oboes and percussion instruments.
Throughout the piece, Lanie led the musicians on their musical journey with great passion. The tight red curls framing her face tossed to and fro in time with the melodious highs and lows.
In the audience, heads nodded their approval and some were even seen to shed a tear in admiration of the extraordinary talent of Lanie Lewis, world renowned conductor of the famous Riverview Philharmonic.
The symphony ended when Lanie threw her arms high in the air then lowered them simultaneously with the rousing crescendo of the drums. There were shouts of ‘bravo’ as everyone in the audience jumped out of their seats applauding with fervor. Wearing a modest smile, Lanie bowed to her fans, first to the right, then the left.
A soft giggle caused the little girl to open one eye, then the other. Red faced, she jumped off of the ladderback chair.
“Oh … uh … hi Mom. I didn’t hear you come in.”
The youngster twisted the screwdriver in her hands while she bit her bottom lip.
“Obviously, Maestro,” her mother laughed, “no worries, this will be our little secret.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Lanie whispered as she threw her arms around her mother’s waist in a tight hug.
“I came in to tell you that your father called. He’s on his way home and should be here within the hour.”
“Yay!”
The screwdriver slipped from Lanie’s fingers as she clapped her hands with glee.
“In the meantime, I’m getting ready to bake one of your favorites, chocolate fudge cake with double chocolate frosting. Would you like to help?”
Lanie considered the tempting offer. As much as she wanted to run her finger around the frosting coated mixing bowl then savor the taste of the sweet chocolate topping, she did not want to miss the opportunity to start building her dream car.
“Nah, maybe next time.”
Lanie’s mother raised her eyebrows. This was most unlike her daughter.
“Okay, I’ll send him out here as soon as he arrives,” she said as she stepped back inside of the house.
The news that Lanie would not have to wait much longer only made her more impatient. She folded her hands behind her back and began to pace the floor.
Since the kitchen was on the other side of the connecting door, she could clearly hear the sounds of clanging pots and pans as her mother prepared to begin baking. She imagined her mom standing over the big stainless-steel mixing bowl, vigorously stirring the flour, eggs, water, sugar and cocoa with the white spatula that always hung over the counter.
On top of the wooden work table, there was an old plastic salad bowl that her father used to hold various loose screws and nails. Lainie picked up the screw driver from the floor and strolled over to the workbench. Holding it in her right hand, she began to stir the screws, ignoring the loud swishing noise they made as they bumped against each other. She was Mademoiselle Lanie Lewis, the most famous pastry chef in France and she was about to concoct a brand-new delicious treat.
Once again, she turned toward Scamp who was now curled up on the seat of the ladderback chair, eyes half closed with his head tucked into his tail.
Monsieur Scamp, you vill be zo pleased. I ‘ave pweepared someszing special for you today. Eet ees a delicious meelk pudding parfait.”
She pinched two fingers together and kissed them.
“Mwah! You vill luv eet!”
Scamp lifted his head and yawned. Lanie ruffled the fur on the cat’s back.
“You’re right, I’m being silly,” she laughed then grew serious, “I really wish Dad would get here.”
She grabbed the flat head screwdriver by its handle, scrunched up her nose and spoke to it.
“If only you were a magic wand, I’d say a spell and zap him home right now.”
Lanie shut her eyes and wished with all of her heart for her father to step through the door. Magic would come in handy right about now, she thought. She giggled as she imagined that she was a wise old hag living in a tiny cottage in the woods where people from all over the country sought her help.
The cabin was stocked with every kind of ingredient to make all sorts of potions for every type of request imaginable. Reaching up to one of the shelves, she ran her fingers across the various jars until she found the particular item she needed. It was right next to the one that contained the magic beans which, after planting and a short magic spell, grew into money trees. The single red rose had been plucked from her own garden and was still as fresh and fragrant as the day it was harvested.
Burying her nose in the delicate petals, she inhaled its sweet-smelling perfume, then placed the blossom inside a conjuring bowl. Next, she opened one of the table drawers and took out an antique pocket watch and placed it next to the rose. The last ingredient was the most important. She shuffled over to an old wooden trunk, removed the key that always hung from a chain around her neck and opened it.
“Ahh perfect.”
Her gnarled old fingers snatched up the jewel covered vial and she returned to her cauldron, opened the vial and emptied the single drop of clear crystallin liquid into the black cast iron pot. Holding the magic wand over the ingredients, she chanted:
“Red rose from home find he who roams
Vessel of time thy power is mine
Baby’s tear command him to appear”
Eyes still tightly shut with her right arm outstretched, Lanie drew a circle in the air with her magic wand, then aimed it at the connecting door. The scraping sound of wood against concrete made her heart flutter. Her eyes flew open, then grew wide as she focused on the entryway and her jaw dropped. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked. Cocking her head, she looked at the screwdriver then at the figure standing in front of her and back at the old screwdriver again.
“You really are magical,” she whispered to the flat edged tool. “Daddy you’re home!”
Lanie’s father scooped her up into his arms and kissed her forehead.
“Hey sweetie, ready to build that award-winning racer?”
~ F I N ~
Imagination is an amazing gift. Use yours and it will take you to wonderous places!