The Treasure Box

Wooden Antique Shop out of Lincoln, New Mexico, 2021

The summer heat was unusually pleasant for a July afternoon in the middle of the desert.

I'd taken two of my best girlfriends 3 hours east of the highway to the town of Lincoln New Mexico. The town where the notorious "Billy the Kid" shot and rampaged his way out his prison cell. The splintered wood timbers still hold up that old penitentiary to this day.

The town's bloodshed and ruins don't color its atmosphere nowadays, though it may have those things to thank for getting any amount of visitors. What this small stretch of mountain road really boasts is a set of locals you could count on 3 hands, wide open spaces, and the most gorgeous set of antiques I've ever set my eyes on.

The antique shop looks unassuming on the outside, namely because it's less of a store, and more of a home. The store is made up entirely of the personal collections of generations of family, who'd all taken up residence right there, in a little white wooden shack. They boasted an extensive collection of rocks and minerals, one of the largest geodes I'd ever seen; they fashioned jewelry out of torquoise, white buffalo, jasper, and other quite popular stones from all over the state of New Mexico. They even sold the flowers from their very own garden. But as I perused the sun-catchers bathing the white stucco ceiling in a kaleidoscope of rainbow light, a small wooden display shelf caught my eye.

Perched on the top of it was a heart-shaped wooden jewelry box, which felt delicate as a feather to pick up. Running my fingers along the edges was like rubbing a knit sweater the wrong way. The wood was so soft and aged, but someone had meticulously carved fingernail sized ridges encompassing the whole perimeter. On the lid of the box was a portrait, whose depth of detail stopped my breath in my chest. Hand-carved into the mahogany was a couple, adorning hats native to Apache culture. The woman stands slightly taller than the man, in a set of leg warmers, moccasins, a full-skirted dress, layers of long, puffed sleeves, and her hair in braids draped over her shoulders; the top of her head tucked into a winter hat. The man looks sweetly up at her as they kiss, adorning a matching winter hat, trousers, and a rope belt around the waist. They enjoy the air in front of their wheat field, their wickiup and fire awaiting them on their left-hand side. Opening the box, its hinges allow the lid to lay flat. Inside of the lid, reveals a message, each cursive letter traced delicately with fire:

For Rae

1913

By 1913 the war on the Apache would have ended, with many who were incarcerated, emancipated, and sent back home, to their newly designated reservations. Rae was ripped away from their family, and found their way back home, against all odds. Rae's lover worked tirelessly on this gift each day Rae was gone, etching and scraping each strand of hair in her braids, carefully placing each closed eye, remembering to add her smiling dimple on her left cheek. He snuck out at night while Rae slept, to carve under the stars, in the brisk desert night. At dawn, hiding the incomplete box in a hole in the ground, marked in a way only he could find. She stayed alone and carved each wheat stalk, as Rae went out to hunt for game, and one day went missing. She held this incomplete box close to her chest in her bed each night, softly crying herself to sleep, dreaming he may come back one day. Rae's lover wove the fibers of their home meticulously into the backdrop, adorning it with the light of a fire, making sure their love was kept safe, and warm. Rae's lover held his breath as he mustered the courage to present this labor of love to Rae, with a ring inside, asking her to marry him. Rae's lover slowed the trembling in her hands, as she hid in this box a hand-weaved tiny moccasin, and told Rae they were having a baby. Rae's lover handed this box to Rae gingerly, on the eve of their 30 year anniversary, remembering who they were when they were young.

What sweet, precious treasures, did Rae keep in this box? Did she treasure the thing keeping her treasures safe, as much as what it hid away inside?

I was transfixed by the joy, passion, and care, washing over me as I fell deeper into every fine detail. The shopkeep noticed me ignoring my friends, standing alone in the corner of the room, opening and closing the box, feeling the edge of her dress, and relishing in the gentle tapping sound the lid made as it kissed the body of the box. The point of the heart's edge felt, sharp against my thumb as I traced it. He told me he didn't remember where it came from, or how his family acquired it. I couldn't imagine how something like this could be left hidden away to gather dust on a shelf, overshadowed by wind chimes, dancing, and sparkling overhead.

"Perhaps it wasy waiting for you to find it." He remarked. I felt my eyes well with tears.

I followed him to the counter, holding the box stiffly with two hands, as if one of the wood-carved birds on the walls was going to swoop down and take it from me. I hadn't come to terms with it yet, but in that moment, I fell in love with the love hidden in this box. And I felt a very deep need to protect it. I watched unblinking as the shopkeep wrapped it in what was realistically an extensive amount of foam and paper. But at the time it didn't feel like nearly enough. I stared at that wad of paper in the backseat from my rearview mirror the entire drive home. I weaved my way through the mountain roads with much more care than I'd taken on the way up.

Every morning, I wake up and see this box. It stands out as the darkest wood in my room, sitting atop my nightstand, only accompanied by a lamp, a wood flower, my favorite perfume, and my current pleasure book. I have yet to find anything worthy to keep hidden inside.

The inside is for Rae. And the stories of love, lost to time.

What could be more precious?