The Christmas Box Read Free

our ne w r esidence in the Avenues. I parke d t he car out front and met Barry in th e d riveway.
    "Just pull it around back," I shouted , guiding the truck with hand gestures.
    He backed around to the rear of th e h ouse, pulled the parking brake, an d h opped out.
    "You're moving into a mansion?" h e a sked enviously.
    "Your blue-blooded sister found it," I replied.
    I released the tailgate while Barry untied the straps securing the canvas tarpaulin we had used to cover the load.
    "Here, give me a hand with this wicker chest. We'll take it straight up to the attic." Barry grabbed hold of the handle at one end of the chest and we lifted it down from the truck's bed.
    "Only one person lives in this house?" he asked.
    "Four now, counting the three of us," I replied.
    "With all this room why doesn't her family just move in with her?"
    "She doesn't have any family. Her husband died and she doesn't have any children."
    Barry surveyed the ornate Victorian facade. "There's bound to be a lot of history in a place like this," he said thoughtfully.
    We made our way up the stairs , through the kitchen, down the hall , then up the attic steps. We set th e c hest down at the top of the landin g t o catch our breath.
    "We'd better make some room u p h ere before we bring the rest of th e t hings up," Barry suggested.
    I agreed. "Let's clear a spac e a gainst that wall so we can keep ou r t hings all in one place." We began th e c hore of rearranging the attic.
    "I thought you said she didn't hav e a ny children," Barry said.
    "She doesn't," I replied.
    "Why is there a cradle up her e t hen?" Barry stood near a dust y d raped sheet revealing the form of a s hrouded cradle.
    "Maybe she's storing it for someone," I suggested.
    I lifted a small stack of boxes an d s et them aside. "I haven't seen one o f t hese for a while," I said, displaying my own discovery.
    "What is it?"
    "A tie press. It must have been her husband's."
    Barry hoisted a large portrait of a man with a handlebar mustache posing stoically for the picture. The portrait was set in an elaborate gold-leafed frame.
    "Look," he said, "their banker." We laughed.
    "Hello, look at this," I said, as I gently lifted what looked to be an heirloom. It was an ornate wooden box of burled walnut, intricately carved and highly polished. It was about ten inches wide, fourteen inches long, and a half foot deep, large enough for a sheet of stationery to lie flat inside. It had two large brass hinges crafted in the form of holly leaves. Two leather straps ran horizontally acros s t he lid and buckled securely into silver clasps on each side. The lid had a s killed and detailed etching of the Nativity. Barry walked over for a c loser look.
    "I've never seen anything like it," I said.
    "What is it?" Barry asked.
    "A Christmas Box. For storing Christmas things in. Cards, baubles , things like that." I shook it gently.
    There was no rattle.
    "How old do you think it is?" Barr y a sked.
    "Turn-of-the-century," I speculated.
    "See the craftsmanship?"
    While he took a closer look, I cas t m y eyes around the room at the wor k r emaining to be done.
    "We better get on with this," I lamented. "I have a lot of work t o c atch up on tonight."
    I set the box aside and we went back to organizing space for our things. It was dark outside by the time we finished unloading the truck. Keri had long finished unpacking the kitchen boxes and dinner was waiting for us on the table when we came down.
    "Well, Sister, what do you think of your new home?" Barry asked.
    "I could get used to all this room," Keri said "and the furniture."
    "You should see some of the things up in the attic," I said.
    "Mom, how will Santa find our new house?" Jenna asked anxiously.
    "Oh, Santa's elves keep track of these things," she assured her.
    "The trick will be how Santa's reindeer will land on the roof without impaling themselves," I joked.
    Keri cast a sideways glance toward me.
    "What's impaling?" asked Jenna.
    "Never mind your dad,