Free Spider Lake by Gregg Hangebrauck Page A

“Well, I’ll be, a dove-tail saw just like the one my own father used to use!”
    That night, at the dinner table, Ben brought up the box, and the carved peach-pit monkeys. “Dad, today Mister Regola and I were in the tool shed and we found grandpa’s tool box. Inside the box were all of grandpa’s old hand tools, and a tray full of carved peach-pit monkeys.”
    Ben’s dad raised an eyebrow. “Did you say peach-pit monkeys?
    “Yeah Dad, They are holding their tails with their hands and feet and they are sucking on their tails; and they have beads for eyes.”
    “Ben, do me a favor, go get the box and bring it here.”
    Normally, Ben would not be excused from the dinner table right in the middle of the evening meal, But Ben’s Dad was obviously interested in seeing the carvings. Ben hurried out the screen porch door. Ben’s mother looked at her husband with a bewildered expression.
    “Allie, I have never looked into Dad’s tool box. When I was a boy I was not allowed to open it, and after his death, it never occurred to me to look inside.”
    “Now John, you mean to tell me you never in all your life once looked into that tool box?
    ”Dad kept it locked Allie.”
    Ben opened the tool shed door. There on the low shelf where it sat originally, was the tool box. Sam had even replaced the moving blanket back to its place on top of the box. The box looked newer, not the old dusty box of this morning. Now it seemed to glow with a rich patina that made it look like a valued antique. Ben   noticed as he removed the tarp, that Sam had given the entire box a thorough cleaning. Ben lifted the box. It was heavy. This was a box for a grown man not a boy; and Ben wondered how old Sam could have hoisted it.
    As he left the shed, he looked over to cabin six. There was no sign of Mister Regola or his monkey. Making his way across the clearing, Ben’s arm and back muscles burned with the weight of the heavy box, and he was relieved to see his father making his way down the steps from the screen porch towards him.
    “Looks a little heavy Ben. Do you want me to carry it?”
    “No Sir, I can manage.”
    “Well, how about I take it up the stairs Ben. You can open the doors for me.”
    John took the box from his boy and carried it into the kitchen. He set it on the side-board which was cleared by Allie. John and Allie looked at the box, with it’s inlaid initials and it’s brass fittings and leather handles and both commented on its beauty. It was no longer the dusty old box in the corner of the tool shed, but rather an heirloom to be brought into their home.
    Allie wanted very badly to open the box, but she waited for her husband to unlatch the hasp. “John Fisher, are you going to open that box or are you just going to stand there!”
    John reached down, unlatched the brass hasp, and he very slowly opened the box. He was smiling, partly because of the off-limits, do-not-enter memories he had of the case, but mostly because he knew it was driving his wife nuts. When the case was finally opened, and revealed the beautifully carved monkeys, Ben seen something change in his father, and for the first time in Ben’s young life, he seen his father tear up. Ben looked up at his mother, not knowing what to say, and he noticed that she was just as moved to tears as his father.
    John reached down and picked up one of the exquisite carvings. He walked slowly backwards and sat at one of the kitchen chairs. He held the carving up to eye level, turning it over and over with his fingers to see it at every angle. Allie was still at the box marveling at the row of peach pits turned into works of art. John wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
    “Allie, I never once even seen my Dad whittle. He must have done these during his lunch breaks while on the job. They are beautiful.”
    It was discussed over the remainder of the cooling dinner, the possibilities of displaying the tiny works of art in various places in their home, but finally