Free Gilda's Locket by T. L. Ingham Page A

taxes rising every time you
turned around, and the cost of electric and gas going up as well,
it wouldn’t be long before her combined checks wouldn’t be enough
to cover the bills. And she wasn’t sure what she would do then. A
bridge she would have to cross when she got to it.
    At any rate, that day she did more than peer
in the windows. She went inside the dim little shop and waited a
moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light, then began
wending her way down the tight little aisles, admiring all the
little knick-knacks on the shelves. All the gleaming silverware and
delicate china dishes, the little porcelain dolls, the hand-tatted
lace doilies; many of the things from a bygone era that it seemed
only she and others her age could appreciate. She had been about to
leave, proud of herself for not spending so much as a dime, when a
flash of silver from inside a glass case caught her eye.
    She made her way to the case hesitantly and
then peered inside. There it was. It. The thing. The most
magnificent thing she had ever laid eyes on. A beautiful silver
locket, highly etched with an entwining rose pattern, complete with
thorns (she had noticed those only after she had put on her reading
glasses), and complete with a simple clasp and silver loop at the
top through which you could thread a chain. It was magnificent and
she hardly dared to breathe.
    The man working the shop instantly noticed
her interest and hustled over to assist. Gilda couldn’t remember
much if any of the conversation. She barely recalled allowing the
shopkeeper to extract the locket, barely recalled handling the
piece as if testing the weight, barely remembered opening the clasp
to look inside, it was empty, no pictures at all, but it seemed to
call out to her to fulfill its purpose and put some lovely picture
into its interior, bringing it to its ultimately intended
glory.
    Oh, how breath taken she was, how mesmerized.
And it wasn’t long until she had purchased the thing, and it had
been boxed and bagged, and there she was, exiting the store with
what amounted to two months worth of library paychecks dangling in
an eight inch bag.
    She should have regretted the purchase
immediately, though she couldn’t say that she did. True, she was
worried about pulling so much out of the savings all at once,
savings that would take more than two months to acquire again no
doubt. But still, she did not regret the decision. There was
something about this locket that called to her. It was as if it
sought her as much as she did it.
    Once home, she had removed it from the bag
and placed it gently into her mostly empty jewelry box where it had
stayed the whole weekend. Sunday, she had purchased the chain for
it, a thick chain that wouldn’t break; she was taking no chances.
But even then she did not lift the lid on the jewelry box; instead
she laid the chain on top. It wasn’t until this morning, after she
had cleaned up and dressed for work, that she had removed the
locket, beautiful as ever, (she could just hear the compliments
now), and threaded the chain through before slipping it over her
gray head. Now, she stood admiring it in the mirror, turning it
this way and that, caressing it between her aged fingers.
    It wasn’t until she had been at work and one
of her co-workers, (a young mother, pleasant girl but not terribly
bright), noticed her new jewelry and commented on it, asking if she
had a picture of her husband inside, that it had dawned on Gilda
that she had neglected to do just that. She quickly explained it
away saying she had been far too busy over the weekend to get out
all the old albums and that she had wanted to choose just the right
picture. She was determined to do exactly that as soon as she got
home.
    It was nearly bedtime by the time Gilda had
returned from work, cooked something for her dinner and cleaned up.
But she kept her silent vow and took the time to dig out some of
the old photo albums. As she sat in the threadbare armchair,