Two trees, a row of green beans, and two rows of potatoes later, I did not put it back. No, I showered, looked up an antique dealer and rode into the next city with the box sitting in my passenger seat. "Satisfaction brought it back." I mumbled pulling up to my destination.
Now, an old woman, aptly named Ms. Agatha, with glasses as thick as a 50s coke bottle is cleaning it off with a microfiber cloth. "This is very old," She smiles at me. "Older than 1800s, that I can tell you." She hums while nodding. "See this wax? This is tallow," She peels some away. "In the 1700s, candle wax primarily consisted of tallow, uh animal fat," She hums. "They also used beeswax, while the 1800s saw the introduction of spermaceti, which is whale oil, and later, stearin and paraffin wax. The consistency of this, is tallow."
Damn. "You really know your stuff."
She chuckles. "You don't get far in this business without knowing a thing or two, but it's also because I've seen a thing or two. Now, let's open this thing."
It takes a bit of prying, but soon the wax crumbles off, and my moment of satisfaction is finally upon me. The box hinges fall off, leaving the top in her hand. Looking down, we gaze at a single, silver ring sitting on a crip bed of crushed red velvet. The room fills with a deep smoky scent, something in between hickory smoked bacon and brisket mixed with fresh soil.
"That is gorgeous." We say at the same time, smiling at each other.
"It certainly is, a very unique piece." Ms. Agatha nods. "Let me get my gloves."
The ring has a simple smooth band, but it's the face of the ring that holds my attention. It's the face of a woman? A man? I can't tell. Like a mask from a Greek tragedy, but the expression is neutral. The face is wearing a headpiece that looks like antlers but it's gold. As Ms.Agatha returns, she picks up the ring and clucks her tongue.
"This is a unique piece, and I will admit, I have never seen anything like it before." She turns it so we both can view it before holding the ring under a magnifying glass. "I can't think of anything like this, nor what it could correspond to. A Greek like mask, a crown of antlers."
"Is the gold and silver real?" As soon as I ask that I realize how dumb that might sound.
"In a box buried for years, sealed with tallow, it better be." She whistles. "It has some weight to it, so that tells me it might be a yes. Let's test it." She picks up a magnet, setting the ring back on its bed of velvet. "Real silver isnt magnetic, test passed."
Reaching into her cup, she takes a piece of ice and places it on the ring. As it quickly melts, she explains. "Silver has high thermal conductivity, the ice melted, one more test."
She grabs a plate and scratches the ring against it before setting it down back on the box. "Nitric acid will tell us, and I'll do the same for the gold."
I have no idea what to look for, but that's why I'm here and from her hums and whistles, this is good. "It's real?"
"Very much so." Laying the ring back down, Ms.Agatha smiles at me. "Do not sell this, it belongs in a museum after someone dates the box and dates the ring. I've never seen anything like this, Ione."
"I haven't either." I admit. "A museum?"
"Yes," She places the ring back on the velvet, closes the top, and slides it to me. "Or keep in as a signature piece, either way, it's something beautiful to look at."
Back at home, I place the box on my vanity. It hasn't even occurred to me until now to try the ring on, but no. This is a historic piece, and I need to figure out what to do with it.
Right on time my phone rings, and Orlaya answers. "You sent me a picture of a damn box, a very old wooden box," She sighs. "Ione, what color are you?"
"Don't start."
"The box has a latin inscription, and you opened the shit?" Orlaya screams. "You want me to go into early labor, don't you?"
"No, woman, calm down. I didn't open it. Ms. Agatha did, and she touched it." Calling her on video chat, I show Orlaya the box. "See? Not opened."
"It's in the damn house! Girl, put the fucking—Ione!" She screams. "You're pissing me off."
"You are superstitious, southern grandma variety." I shake my head walking over to the box. "Look at it."
"I don't even want to do that." Orlaya closes her eyes. "Stop showing it to me."
I zoom in on the box a few times listening to her scream before turning it back to my face. "I will find a museum or a private buyer, I promise."
"You fucking better, I told Marco too." She sits up in bed. "Marco! Come tell Ione how dangerous this is."
Marco shakes his head. "Ione, I know younger sisters are the most adventurous and fun-loving, but there is a limit."
"Told you." Orlaya confirms. "I told your ass."
"You two are black. I am Mexican." Marco clucks his tongue. "It's a no, pendeja, put that shit back."
