CHAPTER ONE
“Mom. Can’t we just stop a few minutes to look around?” pleaded Stephanie as she gestured across the intersection toward the ‘Estate Sale’ sign. “It looks like they have some really nice stuff. They might even have a few genuine antiques.”
Mrs. Yung let out an exasperated sigh. “Steffie, you know how sulky your brother gets when we’re late to pick him up from soccer practice. I’m not in the mood to deal with that today. This is the fourth red light I’ve hit so far and it’s eleven o’clock. We’re already going to be late.”
“Just because Justin is determined to be abhorrent, it doesn’t mean we should cater to him,” Stephanie said with an air of authority.
Her comment did not elicit the desired response from her mother. Instead, her mother gave her a cold, ‘what did you just say to me?’ stare.
Stephanie tried a more creative approach. “Maybe you could just drop me off. Then, you could pick me up on the way back. Please, Mom? I see some pretty sweet stuff all the way from over here. Please, please, please…?”
Mrs. Yung knew she was fighting a losing battle. It was always impossible to win when Stephanie set her mind on something. “All right,” she conceded. “I’ll drop you off, but you only have about a half hour to look around. I don’t want to have to park the car, so you need to be standing on this corner when I come back. Don’t go buying a lot of junk, either. Your closets are bulging already.”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” chirped Stephanie as she opened the car door, “I only have twenty bucks in my wallet. Twenty bucks can’t buy that much.”
Her mother laughed and shook her head. “Remember! I want you standing on that corner when I come back or I’ll make you sit in the back seat and let your brother ride shotgun all the way home.”
“Eleven-thirty. I’ll be waiting.” Stephanie closed the car door behind her and waved as the light turned to green. She pulled out her cell phone and pointed at the clock on the front as her mother’s Subaru pulled away. Impatiently, she pressed the crosswalk button on the light pole and waited for the signal to change back to red.
The early October sun felt warm on her face, but the morning air was damp and chilly. Stephanie set her pack on the sidewalk and put on her favorite baggy, blue sweater. She pulled her thick, black hair out from beneath the collar. Eagerly, she slipped the straps of her pack over her shoulders. The light changed and a beep from the light pole signaled that it was safe to cross.
The lawn of 10257 Hawthorne Drive was cluttered with wood furniture and boxes of knick-knacks. Oak Bookshelves, cabinets, marble-topped tables, and tiffany glass lamps lined the stone walk that led to the front deck. Stephanie smiled as she felt the familiar surge of adrenaline she always felt when she went shopping for a bargain. Most of the smaller, affordable pieces were displayed on the broad deck in the front of the canary yellow house. Stuffed into washtubs and stacked on metal tables were candle holders, dishes, hokey coffee mugs with not so witty sayings, tablecloths, vases, pitchers, and several mixed sets of stainless steel flatware. Stephanie began to doubt that anything she saw was within her budget. Suddenly, she paused beside an old wooden washtub. It was crammed with china. She knelt down and began fishing through a sea of assorted place settings looking for a unique teacup to add to her collection. Carefully, she wrestled a hexagonal cup from the pile. It was lovely with pink peonies painted on each surface. The workmanship was very good, but it had a small chip in the handle. Stephanie placed it back in the washtub. As the cups shifted, she noticed a delicate demitasse with the tiniest blue forget-me-nots painted on it. Her fingers wrapped around the gilded handle and she pulled it from the heap. As she examined it closer, someone spoke from behind her.
“Aren’t they unusual?” commented the woman.
Stephanie stood and turned to face the woman. The lady was older but not much older than her mother. She had a pleasant face with a broad smile and a touch of sunburn on her cheeks. A pair of reading glasses held back her wavy brown hair that was streaked with grey strands.
“Especially this one,” said Stephanie holding up the demitasse.
The woman nodded. “I noticed that one when I was putting everything out for display this morning. I’m Barbara Jacobson,” she said extending her hand to Stephanie.
Quickly, Stephanie shifted the cup to her left hand so she could shake hands with the woman. “Stephanie Yung,” she declared. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Stephanie thought how pleased her father would be with her manners.
The older woman turned her attention back to the cup. “My aunt traveled quite a bit when she was younger. She brought back all kinds of unusual objects as souvenirs. It was pretty much an obsession with her. Judging from the pattern on this cup, I’d say she probably picked this up in Belgium or in France.”
“I collect teacups,” proclaimed Stephanie.
Barbara’s blue eyes sparkled playfully, “Then you probably know more about this stuff than I do.”
She knelt down by the washtub and began to dig deeply into the stack. “I had to put this estate sale together pretty quickly,” she confessed, “and I’m not positive, but I seem to remember a saucer with this particular design.”
“Oops,” Barbara said sheepishly as something clinked loudly. She dug her hand deeper and continued her narrative. “I didn’t get to visit my aunt that often, but I used to love coming here. She always had something new and interesting to see. I wish I could keep some of her things, but I have four boys and a rather destructive cat, so this type of stuff doesn’t stay in one piece for very long at my house. It’s a shame. Ah-ha! Success!” she exclaimed as she produced a small white saucer with blue flowers and gold edging from the depths of the washtub. She handed it to Stephanie.
The piece was hand-painted. Stephanie felt the thickness of the paint beneath her fingertips. “How much do you want for these?” she asked.
“Well,” Barbara responded, “all the cups in this tub are two dollars. Three, if they have a matching saucer. Is that what you usually pay for your teacups?”
“It’s a fair price,” said Stephanie. “I’ve paid more for some of my cups, but I suppose I shouldn’t tell you that.”
The woman smiled. “That wouldn’t be the best business move in this negotiation. Would you be willing to give me three dollars for it?”
“Yes,” Stephanie answered enthusiastically.
“Good,” said Barbara. She reached for the cup and saucer. “Let me wrap these in some paper so they don’t break on your way home. Do you live far from here?”
Stephanie shook her head. “No. Just a mile or so.” She took off her pack, unzipped the front pouch, and pulled out her wallet. “My mother will be coming by soon to pick me up.” Stephanie pulled out the twenty and handed it to the woman.
“I’ll get your change,” said Barbara. She turned and walked into the house.
While she waited, Stephanie paced aimlessly across the deck. The weathered redwood planks groaned beneath her feet. As she walked by a pine tea table, she noticed a small leather chest. It was about the size of a Nike box. The old, cracked surface arched gently over the lid and caught the autumn sunlight revealing a hint of the original deep burgundy tones. It reminded Stephanie of her birthstone, the garnet. She stepped closer and touched the smooth, cool surface. Her fingertips stroked the pliable leather exploring the metal framework beneath.
“Here we go,” called Barbara. Her voice startled Stephanie who turned to see the woman emerging from the kitchen door carrying a Nordstrom bag and a handful of dollar bills.
Stephanie held up the leather chest. “How much is this?” she asked impulsively.
“That?” Barbara put her hand on her hip and cocked her head thoughtfully. “I hadn’t really decided, yet. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to sell it. It’s not much use since I couldn’t find the key to go with it. I must have tried every key in the house, but none of them fit.”
Stephanie studied the small brass lock.
Barbara continued, “I suppose it could be an interesting conversation piece. There are some things inside. If you shake the box you can hear them, but it’s such an old lock I was hesitant to try to force it open to see what they are. It kind of makes the thing more mysterious. I’d say it was worth about two dollars if you are interested.”
“It looks well-made,” mused Stephanie as she turned the chest around in her hands.
Barbara agreed. “It’s nicely made, that’s the truth. I found it setting beneath my aunt Betsy’s nightstand. I have no idea what she might have used it for. She probably lost the key years ago. She was a bit forgetful in her last years. Aunt Betsy always had a pretty wild imagination and eclectic taste - as you can see from all the strange stuff she accumulated.”
Stephanie laughed. There was some pretty unusual stuff scattered about on the lawn.
“Even when she was younger,” Barbara said, “I wasn’t sure how firmly she was rooted in the real world and how much of her floated in some romantic fantasy world. I suppose writers are all a bit that way. She wrote romance novels for a living.”
“Really?” asked Stephanie.
“Ever since her husband died,” answered Barbara. “Extremely romantic, historic potboilers. I don’t suppose that kind of stuff is very popular now, but she made a good living at it for a while. She traveled a lot to research her novels, but I probably told you that already.”
Stephanie tilted the chest. She heard the objects inside roll and tumble. The objects made different sounds. Some clinked like coins or glass. Others slid across the inside surface of the chest with the soft whisper of cloth.
Barbara raised her eyebrows quizzically. “Pretty baffling, huh?” she commented. “I guess you could say it’s sort of a grab bag.”
Stephanie’s curiosity nibbled at her. “If I ever got it open, this chest would be the perfect place to lock my journal away from my little brother. I’ll take it,” she announced.
Barbara separated two one-dollar bills from the rest of the change she held for Stephanie and put them in her pocket. “Two dollars. It’s a deal,” she said handing the remaining fifteen dollars to Stephanie. “I hope you’re able to get it open. You know, I’m curious myself as to what might be inside.” She held open the Nordstrom bag and Stephanie gently placed the leather chest on top of the wrapped china teacup and saucer. “I wish I were sticking around long enough for you to call me and tell me what you find.”
“Don’t you live here?” asked Stephanie.
“Oh, no, sweetie!” exclaimed the woman. “I’m only in Seattle to settle my aunt’s estate. I’m from Minnesota. I’ve been here almost three weeks and the natives back home are getting restless for me to get back there. My poor husband’s been holding down the fort alone all this time. I’ve got to head back soon, although I’d hoped the house would sell before I left. All the loose ends will probably take another week.”
Stephanie paused thoughtfully. “I’m sorry about your aunt.”
“Thank you, but not to worry,” replied Barbara placing her hand on Stephanie’s arm. “My aunt Betsy and I weren’t all that close, but from what I know about her, she had a full and happy life. I don’t think there was much she wanted to do that was left undone.”
Stephanie didn’t know what to say next. Her eyes wandered down to her cell phone. “It’s almost eleven-thirty. My mother will be stopping by soon to pick me up. It was nice talking to you.”
“Nice talking with you, too,” said Barbara. She spotted a young couple looking at a chest of drawers. “I guess I should get back to work.” She gave Stephanie a wink, turned toward the stairs, and walked down the sidewalk.
Stephanie paused for a moment to put the money in her jeans’ pocket, then slowly meandered to the end of the deck. Just as her foot was about to take the first step down the stairs, Stephanie noticed a small, red clay figurine on the table to her right. The piece itself was not that extraordinary. It was a Chinese lion, very similar to some of the jade and ivory lion sculptures her parents brought back from the trips they took to Hong Kong to see some of the Yung ancestral sites. This sculpture was about five inches high with just a few patches of blue, white and gold glaze. The rest of it was unpainted rose-colored terra cotta. The sculpture, however, wasn’t what attracted her attention. What caught Stephanie’s eye was the flash of something shiny inside the lion’s mouth stuck behind the clay teeth. She set down her bag and her backpack and cautiously lifted the sculpture in her hands for a better look.
“There is definitely something in there,” she thought and tapped the open mouth against her palm. After a couple of firm taps, she heard a clinking sound. Suddenly, on the fourth tap, a tiny brass key popped into her exposed palm. Immediately from its size and shape, Stephanie suspected it was the key for the leather chest. As she stared at the tiny key, her pulse began to race. She couldn’t decide what to do. Contritely, she stuck the key back into the figurine. Taking a quick look around the deck, Stephanie noticed that Barbara was several yards ahead of her on the walkway talking to the young couple. Stephanie took a deep breath.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Jacobson,” she called. “How much do you want for this little lion sculpture?”
The woman glanced back at Stephanie and squinted to get a better look at the item. She smiled and answered, “Why don’t you just go ahead and take it, sweetie. You’ve been my best customer all morning.” Barbara Jacobson turned her attention back to the couple that was testing out the drawers of an oak hutch.
Stephanie was barely able to conceal her excitement. “Thank you,” she shouted in as calm a tone as she could manage. She felt like a poker player sitting on a royal flush. With shaky hands she placed the lion carefully in the Nordstrom bag. She thought herself very cunning as she virtually danced across the dewy grass of the front lawn and down the pavement. She jogged across the crosswalk to the opposite corner. Stephanie couldn’t wait for the opportunity to sit down and try the brass key, but just as she was ready to set down and open the bag, a rust-colored Toyota Corolla pulled up beside her and stopped at the red light.
“Need a lift?” shouted a familiar voice above the noise of the engine.
Stephanie looked up and saw Mason Biggs’ face peering out of the passenger window. He was grinning and displaying a hitchhiking gesture with his thumb. Mason was her best friend in school, but she wasn’t always appreciative of his sense of humor.
It always seemed when he tried to be funny, it came off more like awkward.
“Hi, Mase,” greeted Stephanie as she slid a thick curtain of her black hair behind her ear.
“We’re just on our way to the JV football game,” Mason explained. “We thought we’d grab some quick lunch first. Tim can give you a lift if you need one.”
Mason’s friend, Tim Jelinski, gave her an acknowledging wave from behind the steering wheel.
“No thanks,” said Stephanie. “My mom is coming back to pick me up any minute. I just stopped to get a look at the garage sale across the street.’
Mason looked at Tim and shook his head. “I don’t know what it is with women and garage sales. Most of that stuff is just junk that somebody else wants to throw out, you know. My mom and my grandma are always bringing home piles of it.”
Stephanie disdainfully crossed her arms. “I happened to have discovered some unusual, and possibly valuable objects over there. And perhaps if you when you are being a little less of a tosser, I might let you see them.”
Just then, Stephanie’s mother pulled up to the curb behind Tim’s car and beeped the horn.
“Gotta go,” said Stephanie gathering up her things. “I’ll tell you more about it in Chemistry on Monday.”
“See ya,” called Mason as the Toyota pulled out leaving behind a strong odor of burnt oil.
Stephanie reached toward the handle on the front door of the passenger’s side of the car when she noticed her brother was already in the seat. “How come you get to ride shotgun?” she asked.
“I twisted my ankle at practice,” said her brother smugly. “Besides, you weren’t here.”
Stephanie pretended to be upset for a moment, but actually was almost grateful for the opportunity to sit in the back seat. It gave her a chance to look through the bag of new treasures she’d bought – especially the leather chest.
As soon as her mother pulled into the driveway, Stephanie bolted out the door. She had just placed one foot on the main stairs to her bedroom when her grandmother’s shrill voice called from the kitchen.
“Steffie-ya?”
Stephanie paused for a moment, wishing she didn’t have to respond, but reluctantly answered, “Yes, a-ma.”
“Come into the kitchen,” commanded the old woman. “I need you to clean the prawns for dinner.”
Stephanie grimaced. Her grandmother always preferred to have Stephanie help in the kitchen instead of her mother. Although they had a fairly good relationship, Stephanie’s mother always suspected that her mother-in-law did not want to give her secret recipes to someone who wasn’t Chinese. ‘Just something between your grandmother and me,’ her mother always explained whenever there was tension between the two of them. ‘You remember the Chinese symbol for trouble, Stevie -- two women under one roof.’ Consequently, to keep the peace in the household, Stephanie helped her a-ma whenever the matriarch decided to prepare the meal. Usually, Stephanie didn’t mind, but this afternoon was an exception.
“Just let me wash up a bit,” Stephanie called as she sprinted up the stairway. “I’ll be right down.”
Hastily, she carried the bag into her room and placed it on the bed. With great care, she removed the teacup and saucer, unwrapped the protective newspaper, and placed the acquisitions on the pine curio shelf along with the collection’s other cups. Then, Stephanie turned back to the bed. She seized the Nordstrom bag by the handle and stuck it as far back into her closet as possible. She tightly closed the closet door and, when she was satisfied the latch was secure, headed downstairs.
CHAPTER TWO
All afternoon Stephanie was uncharacteristically quiet. Her thoughts remained fixed on the tantalizing secrets locked in the old leather chest. Finally, six hours later, after lunch, Saturday chores, dinner, dishes, and obligatory family pleasantries, Stephanie excused herself and retreated to her bedroom. She closed the door on the muffled sounds of the sitcom that the rest of the family watched downstairs. Excitedly, she opened the closet door and removed the bag containing the chest and the lion figurine. Stephanie climbed on to her bed and sat cross-legged with the open bag in front of her. She took out the clay lion, turned it upside down and shook it over the bedspread. A bright brass key felt softly on to the power blue quilt. Stephanie picked it up and pinched it tightly between her thumb and finger. Next, she pulled the leather chest from the bag and set it squarely in her lap. Holding her breath, she slid the key into the slit of the lock. It fit perfectly. Stephanie felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. Her pounding heart ticked off the seconds as she carefully turned the key. From the inside of the lock came a resolute click. Slowly, she tilted back the lid.
It took a moment for the dim light of the room to penetrate the interior of the box. When all the contents were exposed, Stephanie finally exhaled. “Just a lot of little pieces of junk,” she said. She jiggled the chest to separate the various pieces. There were roughly fifteen or twenty items spread out across the felt lining of the interior. Among them was a little black cardboard box that Stephanie pulled out and set beside her. Other than that, the inside of the chest was crowded with scraps of fabric, about five different kinds of buttons, a thimble, a tinted glass vial with a small scrap of some kind of paper inside, and some foreign coins. In the collection were a couple pieces of what appeared to be antique costume jewelry, including a gold earring and a ring with a deep blue stone.
“Maybe these are worth something,” said Stephanie as she tried to slip the ring on her finger. It was much too small to fit over her knuckles, so she begrudgingly put it back in the chest.
She set the chest off to the side and opened the small cardboard box. Inside that, was a single cream-colored stone. It was about the size of an egg and looked like something out of her brother’s rock collection.
Stephanie held it up to the light. It was a little translucent, but otherwise not very distinctive. “Duhh,” she sighed, “Like there would be any kind of mysterious secrets hidden away in this neighborhood. What a dork I was to be all wound up about this whole thing.” As she studied the objects more closely, however, a bit of Stephanie’s skepticism melted away. Some of the pieces appeared to be genuinely old – perhaps a hundred years or more. It was such an odd mix of stuff.
“Why would anyone collect such a mixed-up bunch of things?” she said to herself.
She began to study the individual pieces. The thimble was made of silver and was engraved with an ivy design. There was a strand of blue satin ribbon and the ring with the blue stone had an engraving inside in some foreign language. There was a pearl hatpin and a button from some kind of military uniform. The more she examined them the more Stephanie began to appreciate the value of the collection. Her eyes kept coming back to the rock she had pulled from the box. She picked it up again and held it under the reading lamp on her nightstand. The light revealed carvings in the surface of the rock she hadn’t noticed before. They were geometric, sort of, but not totally. Some were spirals while others were sharp and angular. It was almost like writing, but not like anything she had seen before. Stephanie ran her thumb over the rock to see if she could feel the carvings, but the surface felt smooth and polished. She let it rest in her palm for a moment.
“I wonder if the markings rub off,” she mused to herself. Stephanie grasped a small square of embroidered velvet from the box. She began softly rubbing the stone with the cloth. The stone felt cool in her hand. The movement of the cloth over the stone seemed hypnotic. Slowly, her vision misted over as if Stevie were looking at her room through a photographic filter. Her peripheral vision began to blur and darken. The temperature around her began to rise and the color of the light in the room became warmer until Stephanie seemed to be surrounded with golden light. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, Stephanie was amazed to see a garden. There were flowers everywhere and bright sunshine overhead. She could feel the plush grass through cloth slippers. It felt like the most intense, sensual dream she had ever dreamt.
“When did I fall asleep?” Stephanie asked herself.
She blinked hard, twice, but the vision did not disappear. In the distance stood a wall covered with ivy and wild roses. It was wonderful. A cordial breeze stirred a pale, pink silk veil that danced about her face. Beside where she stood was a large bush covered in mid-summer roses. The bush extended a branch toward her. Each blossom was so full of petals they looked more like peonies than roses, but the smell was unmistakable. She reached out to pull the branch closer. As her fingers grasped the branch, she felt a sharp pain and her hand snapped back in a reflex reaction. Instantly, the vision vanished and she found herself sitting on her bed just as she had been before the dream.
A cold shiver ran up her arms and down her spine. The tip of her finger throbbed as if she had really been poked by the thorn, yet there was no mark to show that anything had pierced the skin. Her right hand still clenched the small stone and the scrap of velvet.
Stephanie sat up straight.
“I didn’t think I was that sleepy,” she mumbled out loud.
She opened her fingers under the light and looked at the stone. As she did she noticed the rich wine color of the velvet and delicate flower patterns that had been hand embroidered into it. It was a pity that it was such a small piece of fabric. A larger piece might have shown more of the pattern. Against the dark velvet the rock became more intriguing as well.
It had such an unusual color and had tiny crystals embedded in it deep below the surface that almost looked like diamonds. Even with all the carvings the surface looked smooth as glass. Stephanie used the velvet to rub the surface again and once again, the familiar surroundings of her room faded away. The fragrance of roses and lavender drifted around her. In the distance, she heard women laughing. Hesitantly, she took a step to turn around. Thick, weighty folds of wine-colored velvet grabbed at her legs. Stephanie looked down to see yards of the velvet draped around her. It was the color of the small swatch of fabric from the leather chest, but somehow it looked fresher and brighter. In the sunlight of the garden she could distinguish the embroidered threads of sage, rose, and silver stitched in intricate patterns. Her eyes followed the gathers up her body to her waist. It was belted in soft leather bands dyed silver and purple. A white linen sleeve spread up her arm from her wrist then disappeared in a cavern of the same wine velvet that composed her entire bodice. The sound of women talking interrupted her observations. Stephanie looked along the open row between the roses.
At the end of the garden was a huge lawn. Four young women dressed in ornate gowns of different colors stood in the grass. Two of them had pointed bonnets with long, translucent veils draped over the tips. The other women had less pointed, but equally odd, veiled headpieces. They were shooting arrows toward a target about thirty feet ahead of them. Beyond them was a wall of thick stones that stretched well above their heads and was solid except for narrow open slits spaced equally along the face of the rock. The women gleefully squealed and gasped whenever an arrow hit the target. One of the young women glanced in Stephanie’s direction.
The girl in the blue gown waved to Stephanie and called to her, “Wol ye no tak thy plase?”
“What a strange language,” thought Stephanie. “It sort of sounds like English, but not exactly.”
Stephanie stared at the women. Another girl turned and motioned for her to come closer.
The first girl spoke again. “Why bide ye yonder? Come. Tak thy pull.”
The girl in the emerald gown called to her, “Isabella. Quel est le problème avec vous?”
“They’re calling to me,” thought Stephanie. She began walking toward them. It was the strangest sensation – to be called by a totally different name, yet recognizing it as your own. Stephanie heard their voices chattering. The more she listened, the more their speech sounded normal to her ears. It was like when her grandmother started rattling on in Chinese. Somehow Stephanie knew what she was saying. It was like her ears were listening to one language, but her brain was hearing it in English.
Suddenly, Stephanie heard her own voice answer, “Peace, faire cosin, I come anon.”
Now, she was completely confused. She must have had an odd look on her face because the girl in the green gown looked concerned. She took a few steps toward Stephanie. Her face was pretty, but it was covered in paint and powder. It looked harsh in the daylight. “Isabella?” she asked softly.
“Steffie-ya? Are you asleep?” Stephanie’s grandmother called softly as the old woman rapped on the bedroom door.
Stephanie startled and blinked. She immediately found herself staring down at her closed right fist resting in the bright glare of her reading lamp.
“No, a-ma,” she answered mechanically, “not yet.” Stephanie opened her fingers and mutely gazed at the square of embroidered velvet and the luminous stone that rested in the hollow of her palm. “I’ll be turning out my light soon,” she said.
“Good. It’s very late,” called her grandmother and Stephanie heard the patter of her grandmother’s feet disappear down the hallway.
Stephanie looked at her hand. She could have sworn the rock was glowing. Quickly, it grew dim and cool again.
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