No one recognized Ruth, and she preferred it that way. Her mission was hardly one she wished to share. Nonetheless, retired teacher Ruth Armstrong did notice at least two familiar faces in the crowd: Jimmy Burroughs, who had pulled her pigtails in elementary school, and Susan Campner, who had been the most popular girl in the Class of ’38.
Ruth knew that Dr. Thomas Griffey had specified that everything in his parents’ estate was to be sold at auction. Nonetheless, she arrived an hour early to confirm that her prize remained on the block. The necklace had few qualities of distinction: a simple filigree design complemented a smallish diamond housed inside a heart. It was of fourteen-karat gold, to be sure, but of negligible value. And the diamond was no more than a tenth or a twentieth of a carat.
Ruth took a seat to the rear, beneath the shade of a huge oak tree. She watched as the larger pieces came first: furniture, appliances, two older automobiles, and a garden tractor. High school boys, hired for the day, transported items to the auctioneering platform like clockwork for display, bidding, and sale. Each item had been tagged and listed in the catalog made available to all comers several days earlier. Large mechanical numerals posted above the platform guided bidders to the number of each item as it came up.
It seemed to Ruth that things were progressing smoothly enough. The auctioneer expounded on the quality of a beautiful old dining room set, #132. Solid cherry, with eight chairs and a matching buffet. The bidding edged past three hundred dollars. Ruth tried to predict who would give in first.
“Miss Armstrong, have you seen anything that strikes your fancy?” a strong voice asked close behind her.
Ruth turned and smiled. “Thomas Griffey, you rascal, you haven’t changed one bit since tenth grade. You should know better than to sneak up on an old lady. You could cause a heart attack.”
Griffey laughed. “If you were anyone else, I’d be concerned, Miss Armstrong. But any teacher who could withstand my ridiculous high school stunts has to be one strong individual.”
As he moved off into the crowd, Ruth hoped no one saw her wipe a tear from her eye. Ruth had no regrets about her life. Sure, she had never traveled the world or married, but she felt her life had been full—full enough that she felt no regret.
The hot summer sun had shifted enough to the west that the tree no longer afforded protection. Ruth dabbed moisture from her forehead and glanced at her wristwatch. The auction headed into hour three, and the large numeral over the platform finally slipped past three- hundred. Ruth waited patiently for the only item that interested her—#326.
“Who will give me five dollars for this handsome antique necklace?” the auctioneer bellowed.
Ruth couldn’t believe it. Before she had her hand raised halfway, a much faster arm and a “right here” beat her to the punch. She recognized the bidder’s voice as one who had bid on numerous prior pieces, mostly jewelry and collectibles. Probably a professional looking for items he can resell.
“Five dollars. Who’ll give me ten?”
This time Ruth was prepared, and the auctioneer saw her outstretched hand. Sensing some competition, he jumped the price.
“Who really knows the history and value of this antique? It may well be priceless. Who will give me twenty?”
From the front row to her right, the other bidder struck again, with the identical staccato voice and words.
With his left sleeve, the auctioneer wiped sweat from his brow. “Let’s hear twenty-five,” as he glanced back in Ruth’s direction.
Ruth, knowing that she had to be quick, responded without hesitation but was getting worried. She hadn’t expected any competition. Although she was hardly a pauper, her schoolteacher’s pension allowed her few luxuries. She had budgeted thirty dollars for the purchase, but figured she’d need only a fraction of that amount.
Sure enough, her opponent signaled his intent at thirty. Ruth winced in disappointment. Precious seconds ticked by.
“Thirty once, twice.” The auctioneer stared steadily in Ruth’s direction.
“Thirty-five,” she called out as loudly as she could, even though the crowd was relatively quiet.
“Thirty-five once, twice …”
Ruth’s heart thumped in her throat as she strained to hear the auctioneer’s gavel that would signal her triumph. And then it happened again.
“Forty” came from the right front corner, where Ruth could now see clearly the middle-aged man with blondish hair.
“Well, that does it,” Ruth whispered, completely disgusted. Even before the auctioneer had time to look again in her direction, Ruth stood, turned, and walked toward the street. As she left, her mind withdrew, and she ignored the reality of a third voice that entered the bidding from the side opposite her original competitor.
* * *
Ruth’s thoughts held her hostage as she walked the half-mile distance toward her house. Her mission had been a simple one, but it had ended in failure. She barely heard the car that pulled up and parked behind her. And she scarcely noticed, or cared about, the opening and closing of the car’s door, or the steps behind her that drew closer and closer. Only a rather forceful “Miss Armstrong” drew her attention.
Thomas Griffey approached slowly as Ruth turned and, obviously startled, took a moment to recognize who had called her name. As she regained her composure, she instinctively wiped at her face. But not quickly enough that Griffey did not notice.
With a puzzled look, she stammered, “Thomas! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Miss Armstrong. I’m sorry I startled you like that. Are you all right?” He hesitated. “I can’t say I know why, but I sense my sister’s necklace means something to you. I arranged to have someone bid in my place when I saw your interest.”
Ruth saw that Griffey was reading her face, searching for a clue. After seconds of awkward silence, he handed over the necklace, turned, and returned to his car. As he did, her words forced him to stop and look back.
“Thomas. Thank you.”
Ruth walked steadily down the street, clutching the necklace tightly. She believed what Thomas said, that he didn’t know. She believed him because Thomas’s father had promised Ruth’s father forty-six years ago never to name the mother of the baby girl that the Griffey family adopted in 1939. Only her own parents also knew why Ruth waited a full year to start college after graduating in the top 5 percent of her class. The secluded stay at her aunt’s house in another town was well disguised as a year working out of town to save money for college.
Although no one in the 1980s would consider such deception necessary, the 1930s were a far different age and reflected a very different perspective. The shame of an unwed daughter’s pregnancy had deeply saddened her religious parents. Ruth’s father quietly arranged the adoption by one of the town’s leading citizens, an attorney. She remembered painfully that she had had no say in the matter.
Ruth climbed the steps to the porch of her home and sat on the glider. With tears now flowing freely, she unclasped her fingers and peered down at her grandmother’s necklace, her most valued high school treasure.
Memories of that day in March of 1939 flooded Ruth with both pride and sadness. Putting the necklace around the neck of her tiny infant was the final gesture of a teenage mother caught in a desperate situation that, then and later, foretold nothing but sadness. What could she have done then? What could have been done eight years later when God and pneumonia took little Eileen away?
As Ruth rose to her feet and entered her house, the pendant felt warm in her hand. She would once again put the past behind her as best she could. But for now, a small gift from Eileen, number 326, had been returned. She felt at peace.