"Yes." I chuckle. "Make her relax, take a warm bath, go get a massage, anything."
"I'm trying, she will call you tonight." He huffs. "Don't you waddle away from me, 'Laya, hey! 'Laya!" He grunts. "Talk to you later, Ione."
"Catch her." I laugh beforehanging up.
Brushing my teeth, I stare at myself in the mirror and listen to the sound of the building storm outside. I'm gonna sleep good tonight. I have my whole three weeks planned out. Three weeks of PTO to get everything in order and begin my garden.
It's going to be great.
Chapter two
The Box
Ione
Ok,soitwasn'tthat great. I've stubbed my toe more times than I can count, jammed my finger twice. Gotten more splinters in my hands than I have in the 33 years before this point, and groaned in frustration at least 80 times a day. Nearly two weeks into PTO and I do not feel as though I've relaxed at all. No, I've been running around like crazy, buying things, moving others, and trying to make this place my own nook of wonder.
The garden is primed at least, the ground has been tilled and mowed and plots set. So, on this glorious Saturday morning, here I am, digging, pushing through dirt and clay just to make a good enough spot my lemon trees. Now, what I didn't expect was to hit something wood four feet into the earth.
"The hell?" The shine of the wooden box glared back at me catching a few rays of early morning sun. Wiping dirt and loam away, I can barely grip the sides of the box, but manage to pull it free falling back onto wet soil. "Damn."
Settling myself on my knees, I scratch at the caked soil with my fingers until an inscription appears. "Dignus est." The inscription is engraved on a silver plate, and the wax edges of the box are coming loose around the front. "Now, everything in me says to put this back, but I grew up in the suburbs and a sense of whimsy and adventure is taking over me." I say to myself with a chuckle. "Maybe it belongs to Mr. Barrow."
Setting the box to one side, I set my mind on finishing planting my trees and I'll call him later, but curiosity has always gotten the better of me. Sighing, I stand up and run to the porch to grab my phone, quickly dialing Mr. Barrow's phone number.
"Hello Mrs. Davis," He picks up the on the third ring. "How are you, is everything ok?"
"Oh, perfect, I have a question for you though." The box continues to sit on the ground, and I lick my lips, fingers itching to pick at the wax sealed sides.
"Yes?" He clears his throat.
How odd does this sound? "You said you lived in this house since you were a boy right?"
"Correct," I shouldn't have done that, he's ready to spill into a story. "My great-grandfather built that house and my grandfather added onto it. Then my father finished the greenhouse and shed, not much but he did something." He laughs. "Now, he built that house in, well," He clears his throat again. "He started building the house in 1887," He hums. "Yes, so many renovations."
It is fascinating. "I was about to bury some lemon trees—"
"Oh? Lemon trees? Now, you know you have to bring me some? I make a wonderful lemon posset."
Lord have mercy. "I will certainly do that, it sounds lovely, but Mr. Barrow, do you remember anyone burying a box in the backyard?"
He hums. "A box? No, what kind of box?" He laughs. "Hope it isn't a beloved pet, now that is entirely possible. Munchkin, that was the name of a hamster I had. I did bury him in the backyard."
"No, this is a box with wax sealed sides and an engraving on the top." Walking back over, I read the top out loud to him. "Dignus est."
"For a worthy one." He sniffles. "That's what that means. It's Latin."
Humming, I cluck my tongue. "If I bring it to you, would it jog your memory?"
"No," He sounds resolute. "I would know, Ione," Funny, he used my first name. "Whatever is in that box is yours to bury again, or to keep. You know in the 1800s many people buried valuables in times of famine or trouble. It could be nothing but silverware."
"The engraved plate is silver." I answer.
"Then I would assume so." He sighs. "Many people buried such things. Or photographs, jewelry." He yawns loudly. "I have to go now, enjoy planting those trees, and your special box."
Before I can say more he hangs up, and I can't lie and say that's not weird, but this box is fucking calling me. I know exactly how Pandora felt, cause man this is agonizing. How have humans lived so long with this level of curiosity is beyond me.
"Curiosity killed the cat." I mumble to myself, placing my phone on a shaded chair. Picking up the first lemon tree, I heft it into the hole and begin place the soil back on top.
