“Thank you,” Mary Ellen called out to the locksmith as he climbed into his utility truck.

“Enjoy your new treasures,” he said, then slammed the truck door and drove away.

Mary Ellen hurried back to her den, where the newly-unlocked chest sat waiting for her discovery. She was just lifting the lid when her husband Patrick came home from work. “So, Speedy Locksmith came to the rescue for your flea market find?”

“Yeah, the lock was so old and strong, I couldn’t make a dent even with the bolt cutters.”

“And what’s in there?” Patrick asked, coming closer.

The big reveal is just about to happen. Want to stay and see?”

“Sorry, honey, I have to run. Toby’s waiting outside. Today’s Tuesday, after all.”

Mary Ellen smiled. “I know. He’s been hopping on one foot and then the other, waiting for you to get home. You definitely don’t want to miss your 5:30 ride with our little guy.”

Patrick grabbed a cold drink from the fridge, then headed off to change his clothes.

Though having Patrick share in the fun of her “find” would have been nice, Mary Ellen was secretly glad she would get to explore her new – old – trunk on her own. She felt a bit protective of the chest even though she had no idea what was in it or whose it had been. Still, the fact that the lock had been so strong suggested the contents were very old. Also, very personal.

She opened the lid and saw a stack of old brittle papers along with some black and white photos. One was of a pretty young woman with a child of around two in her arms. On the back of the photo, the name Francis Diane Morrison with John, Jr. was written in perfectly formed cursive.

Mary Ellen dug deeper and found a silver rattle with the initials, JJM, Jr. The silver was tarnished but the rattle still worked when she shook it. The date etched under the initials was 1902.

She also found an invitation to a christening for John Jacob Morrison, Jr.

Again, Mary Ellen picked up the photo of mother and son and looked closer at the little boy his mother was holding. Such a sweet face. Big round eyes and a smile on his little lips.

Looking further in the chest, Mary Ellen found a small scroll fastened with a black ribbon. She unrolled the scroll and her heart lurched into her throat. It was a death certificate with little John Jacob Morrison, Jr’s name on it. The date was 1905 and the cause of death was “Accident.” The location was her little town, and it even gave the specific plot number for the grave in the local cemetery.   

Mary Ellen felt tears sting her eyes. How awful that must have been for that young mother to lose her darling little boy. This trunk clearly contained the memories of his brief but deeply treasured life.

Closing the lid, Mary Ellen walked to the garage, found her bike, and then called Patrick on her cell phone. “Where are you guys? I’m coming to join you.”

“We’ll swing back around right now and meet you at the east entrance to the park.”

“Do you mind if we ride through the cemetery?” Mary Ellen asked. “ˆThere’s something there I want to see.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and Patrick –”

“Yes?”

“You guys stay safe.”