Keys

A short story about the quiet life of a gentle old man, remembering his past and an encounter that will change his future, from the perspective of an unusual, toothed metal character.

“Keys”

“The name’s Jim. Well, as I’m sure you can tell by my jagged teeth, metallic shine and dashing good looks that I’m a key. Yessir, I may not have the sharpest or the fanciest cut but… well let’s just face it, I’m as worn, dingy and useless as old Sam. Who’s Sam? He’s the crotchety old fellow who I’ve been with for the past… oh… It’s been so long I don’t remember ever not being with him.

Yes indeed, I’ve been with Sam longer than anyone else on this old ring. Stanley has been around almost as long as I have. Of course, just like me, he’s plum forgotten how long it’s been too! He’s a bit of an older key, formed from hard, black iron and all. He’s a bit smaller than me, and I must say, a lot more ugly. But we’re in it for the long haul with good old Samuel Nelson.

Of course, if that scruff headed coot is going to have us geezers around, he may as well have some keys that actually serve a purpose. Take Charlie over there, he’s in charge of locking and unlocking the musty little yellow cottage Sam calls home. Then there’s Stewart. He has the grand privilege of starting up that ugly, dented up old hag sitting by the curb outside. Yep, Sam’s got to get to work somehow and driving “Rusty Betty” is apparently the best he can do.

Oh, and of course there’s Charlie and his crew. Charlie opens the tan, worn out metal door at the front of Gray Hill Elementary. Along with Gary, Carl and Mo, he helps Sam through the long nights, opening the janitor closet, starting the buffer and jingling along with the rest of us as he shuffles through the dark quiet halls.

Then there's Edmond, we must not forget Edmond. Some of the keys are jealous of Ed. After all, his purpose is put to use every night before Sam retires to his little twin size bed. Each evening, when the ragged, oil stained custodian gets home from Gray Hill he is greeted by the quiet comfort of his little one-bedroom home. He doesn’t notice anymore, but a never fading aroma of over-cooked bacon and eggs, cherry pipe tobacco and stacks of old newspapers tells the story of his daily routine. Not that anyone else would know. No one else has even laid a foot in his sanctuary of solitude in… well, probably 20 years.

At any rate, each night he makes his customary bologna and mustard sandwich. Sometimes he gets a wild hair for adventure and makes liverwurst and mayonnaise. Then he walks back across his creaking wooden floors to his dusty brown armchair, which also creaks every time he sits his tired kiester onto the faded fabric. Just like everything else in his lamp-lit abode, this faithful little armchair bears the marks of countless years. The most notable of which are the cuts and tears on the left hip side where Stan, Charles, myself and the rest of the gang have unintentionally dug our teeth into the hapless piece of furniture. Of course, if the fool would ever remember to take us off his rusty old hip before sitting down…

Oh yes… Edmund. Edmund works with an old wooden chest. Sam keeps the beautifully hand-carved oaken box upon the mantle of his fireplace across from the time-worn armchair. He takes Edmond between his dry, calloused fingertips and opens that box every night. What’s inside the box? Well, I’d say it’s a box of useless trinkets if you ask me. Of course, they’re fine and nice and all, but... they just sat in that old box and never seemed to serve a purpose.

First Sam would pull out a lovely cloth all folded in such a manner of precision that didn’t match anything else that Mr. Nelson kept in his care. It was arrayed with radiant red and white stripes aside a big blue sky full of the brightest, silvery stars you’ve ever seen. In the box under that, was a dazzling golden heart. Well, at least it was in the shape of a heart. The purple and gold was nearly as shiny as those bright silver stars. There was also a gilded metal star. Upon it was mounted a majestic eagle who’s proud and determined gaze matched the face of old Sam whenever he looked upon it.

Yessir, he’d sift through an array of colorful badges and other old mementos, holding each one for a moment. Many nights, before closing up the old box, he would just stare into the bottom as though there was something more. I gathered there must be nothing since I never saw him take out anything more. With a sigh, he would return each item to their original place, gently close the chest and place it back upon the mantle. Through all the perplexities of our Sam, I never could understand his routine of looking at tired, useless knick knacks that no longer served a purpose.

Well… enough about Edmund and his silly box. Back to Jim!... That's me. I’m sort of the peace keeper around here. With Stanley by my side, I stand between the household duo (Charlie and Stewart) and the Gray Hill gang. They’re all pretty good kids, but when the ring flips around and they get together, you can undoubtedly count on shenanigans. You heard of the game “hide and seek”? Well, so have these hooligans, and they love to play it with Sam. They have their usual hiding places; between the cushion of the old brown chair, under Rusty Betty’s driver’s seat and in Sam’s coat pocket. As Sam get’s older, the kids are getting more adventurous with their hiding spots. On the kitchen table has become quite a successful location. Poor old Sam checked the chair cushion three times last week before he wandered into the dining room where he found us waiting.

Haha, well let me tell you... he once shuffled around the entire house looking in the most peculiar places for us. He went from the living room to the bedroom as many times as I could count. He lifted the area rug in the hallway, he looked in the kitchen cupboards, he even wandered about in the front lawn, muttering to himself and staring intently at the overgrown grass as though we might magically appear in the midst. Finally, as he placed his hands on his hips in surrender, he heard the jingle of his trusty comrades in his left hand. We’d been there the whole time! Ok, that one was a pretty good game.

Yessir, we’ve had some good times and we’ve had some not so good times with our old man. I remember not long ago, taking our usual evening trip to the elementary school. It was an ordinary quiet, star filled summer night in that little old town. Jim had gathered us off the dining table, started up the old hag and set out for another peaceful night of cleaning in solitude. Well, neither Jim, nor I, nor any of the others could have expected what would happened next.

Sam always went in late, after our little town had turned in so as to avoid contact with those pesky… what do you call them… oh yes, people. At any rate, we were driving by the Wilsons “Country Corner” shop when, by the light of the street lamp, Jim spied a group of youngsters having a scuffle right there off Main Street. Now, I’ve never known Jim to care much about any one person, but when he saw the three big fellows standing over the little guy and hitting away, well… That old man stopped the car so hard I swear old Betty just about fell apart. He swung open his door, took us up in his right hand and began a shuffling as fast as his old legs could take him.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard him shout so much, and I can’t say that I’ve ever heard some of those strange words he yelled at them boys. They paused for a moment when they heard his commotion, but as the smaller fellow tried to get away, one of them grabbed him by the arm and threw him back down. These overgrown suckerfish didn’t pay Jim a bit of mind. But, they learned the error of their ways right quick when he raised us above his head and sent us flying through that chilly night air like a warbird on a mission.

We struck the loudest, biggest, and I’d say the dumbest excuse for a young man square on the cheek! Now, Stanley will tell you a different story about “the glorious last flight of the ‘Iron Tiger’” (that’d be Stan if you hadn’t figured), but the truth is that these sawblades of mine laid a fine deep mark of justice on that boy.

Of course, that small victory wasn’t the end of the battle. Before we even hit the ground, those no good hooligans left that young kid alone and hurried straight after old Jim. If you don’t mind, I don’t care to say much about what happened next. I did my best to stay in front of Stanley and the rest. I couldn’t bear to watch, and I surely didn’t want the Gray Hill boys to see what was happening to our dear Sam.

Well, I’d say the young boy they were picking on had more heart than those three scoundrels combined. He took us up off the damp asphalt and stepped on toward the battle, in spite of his own bruises. “STOP THAT!!... I… I SAID LEAVE HIM ALONE!!” The lion hearted mouse shouted, wiping away his own tears as he came at them like a lone soldier on a suicide mission. I tell you, if it wasn’t for Officer Tucker, both Sam and that little red head boy would have been goners that night.

Just before the miscreants had a chance to finish up their dirty deed, the town's lone squad car came roaring in. Of course, the no good fools just scattered like cockroaches at a camp fire when those blue lights started flashing amid all that dust kicked up in the commotion. Sam just laid there still as a stone while Tucker and the boy rushed to his side. The good officer called in the ambulance and before we knew it, the night had come to an end… a dark, cold, and uncertain end.

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The next morning I woke to the sound of beeps and hums in small white room. The fluorescent lights flickered off the sterile linoleum floors. And there was Sam, on his back on the most comfortable bed I’ve ever seen. Then again, the only other bed I’ve seen is the bent up old thing that Sam sleeps on at home. He had all sorts of contraptions plugged into his broken old body, looking less like the Sam I know and more like a used up Commodore at a scrap yard. All we could do is just sit there on the little wooden end table and watch.

I lost track how many nights we stayed there in that little hospital room. We saw a pretty young blonde lady come in and out many times, checking up on old Sam and making sure he was as comfortable as an old man with a broken jawbone can be. She was as sweet and kind as she was pretty, but she was the only one to come and see the busted up old badger… Well, that is until Danny came by. You guessed it, Danny’s the stout young man who stood up for the rickety old coot that stood up for him.

Danny had a head of poorly cut, copper-red hair that complimented his messy, freckled complexion. He too was still bruised up quite right from the scuffle. But that was nearly a week ago now, and he still looked about as dirty and scruffy as a coon in a dump truck. His knickers were ratty and torn, his white and red striped shirt was stained and he had three sockless toes showing through a gaping hole in his left shoe. Most people coming to visit a beat up friend in the hospital would bring a flower or a balloon, or something. But I’m guessing the folded up piece of writing paper was all he could scrounge up.

Jim was still sleeping when the Danny walked in. The little ginger top boy didn’t want to wake him, so he looked up to the nurse for permission. She nodded and, with his head down, he walked over to the bedside. He fumbled with the paper for a moment as though he was unsure about the old man. He looked for a moment at the old man, with his swollen face and bruised eye, then slipped the paper under Sam's bandaged hand as it lay upon his chest.

Sam muttered and cracked open the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut and looked right at Danny. The boy turned for a moment as though to get away from an uncomfortable situation, but Sam reached out and took him gently by the hand. For the first time since that night at the Country Corner the old man had the strength to say something. Of course, with a busted jaw and all, nothing much came out but mumble.

It was then that I realized why the poor kid didn’t want to stay in that room any longer. One look at Sam’s face and the tiny titan fell apart. “Gosh sir… I’m really… really sorry.” He sniffed and tried to wipe away a flood of tears that just wound up falling off his quivering lips. Now, Sam would never admit it, but I know I saw a tear run down that old man’s face and onto his pillow. They just looked at each other for what seemed like an hour, then Sam mumbled and squeezed his hand again. Danny nodded, wiped his nose from the back of his hand to his elbow and walked back over to the nurse. She put her arm around his dirty little shoulder, walked back out and Sam slipped back into a much needed sleep.

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Another few days had passed and the doctor had given our sturdy old man the go ahead to get back home. Over the next couple days, Sam carried on his usual daily routines, which included a rousing game of hide and seek and the nightly look into the old oaken box. Only, this time he looked a little longer at each little trinket. I’m not going to say I was ever jealous of those old things but, I must say it took me by surprise when he put down that golden star, reached to his hip and pulled up this bunch of jangly misfits that we were in his hand.

He took me and stanley between his thumb and the side of his forefinger and sighed. I thought for a moment that he’d finally decided to do something with us and we’d know why in the world he’d kept us around for so long. But he just sat there, staring at the mantle and rubbing the two of us between his cracked old fingers. I’d figured by then that the wheels were turning and he’d finally realized that he had two useless keys still on that ring and it was time to do them away. Well, I guess it was our lucky night because he plumb forgot what he was doing, put us all away and headed to bed.

The next day was a beautiful Sunday morning. Autumn was just around the corner and the leaves on the maple trees were already starting to turn lovely shades of red and orange. Sunbeams danced through the tree branches and flickered through the dusty windows as we drove down that country road. It wasn’t often that Sam went anywhere on a Sunday. That was normally his day for reading the Sunday paper and doing a few chores around the house. Mostly he would just sit on his rocking chair on the front porch and fall asleep for a couple hours, wake up for a smoke break with his cherrywood pipe and nap again until it was time to make supper.

But today, we were mixing it up a bit. I guess the stay in the hospital got him itching for something different. And I’d say that “different” is certainly what he was aiming for. He pulled off that cracked old asphalt road and drove up to the little church building that sat at the edge of town. It was a quaint old place with whitewashed boards wrapped all around. The roof was covered with dried up wood shingles and had a belfry steeple perched at the top. He turned off old Betty, removed Stewart from the ignition and took to rubbing the two old, useless keys with his thumb again. He looked up at the old church building and, with a deep sigh stepped out and headed on up to the front door.

I may have mentioned once or twice that the old hound didn’t care much for people, so you could imagine it took me by surprise when the preacher at the door reached out his hand and Sam met it with a firm and friendly handshake. Granted, he didn’t say anything as his jaw was still so sore and all... that, and he’s a cranky old coot. He shuffled over to and empty pew in the back and sat himself down. The white-robed choir started singing and, some real lovely sounds began to fill that little one-room building. The sunlight transformed into beautiful shades of blue, red, green and gold as it passed through the stained glass windows, lit up the dusty air and painted beautiful, luminous pictures on the old wooden pews.

The choir and the preacher made a lot of mention of many things that I don’t quite understand. But I watched the old man’s eyes change throughout that hour. I’m not sure what was going on in his tattered old heart, but he’d taken me and Stanley again, rubbing away all the more toward the end of the sermon. The choir came back up and started singing a beautiful tune that’d even make a key want to sing out, if he could. But old Sam, he just sat, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Before I knew it, he’d dropped me, Stanley and the rest of the gang right on the floor. I looked up and that old fellow had tears falling from his eyes like a gully washer in April.

When the service was all over, Sam headed back outside, didn’t speak a word to anyone and took us and Betty back on home. Only thing was, when we got to the house, he just kept on going right past. I wasn’t certain what was going on but, figuring on how hard that old man cried earlier, I supposed he’d decided it was time to end it all. I know the dumb old broad couldn’t hear me, but I was trying my best to tell Rusty Betty that she’s got to stop! The clattering hunk of metal should have broken down years ago and I figured there’s no better time than now for her to finally kick the bucket before old Mr. Nelson gets to wherever he intended to sell the proverbial farm.

Well, as irony would have it, he finally pulled in through the grass grown dirt driveway of an old run-down... farm… well, what was left of it anyway. I’d never been to this place as far as I could remember, and I wasn’t sure at all what he was doing parking in front of that weathered old shed. The car door creaked, as usual, as Sam opened it up and stepped on out.

He walked through the knee high, brown autumn grass and stopped at a rickety, knot filled wooden door on the side of the old, oversized shed. He pulled out the trusty ring of keys and singled out old Stanley. Just then, I spied a heavy, iron padlock holding the door shut and I knew that this had to be what my old friend was made for! Sure enough, Sam slipped the key into the lock and, with a rattle and a shake from the old man’s hands, the lock popped open.

Sam grasped the iron handle, pulled the old door open and stepped inside. Shafts of light shot through the broken, weathered beams that made the place feel like some sort of mystical, forgotten cavern. I was so excited for Stanley that I had not yet noticed what was sitting right in the midst of the dust and weeds. I could hardly believe what I saw… It was Lilly!

If a key had a heart, it would have jumped right out of my chest… if I had a chest. My oh my… She was the most beautiful teal green Thunderbird you’d ever laid your eyes on. I know she’d been sitting in that old barn for a long long time and well, time hasn’t been too kind to any of us... but she still looked as lovely to me as she did the day we were made.

Sam walked around the fair maiden from one side to the other with his hand pressed gently against her as though dancing with a long lost love. He came to the driver's side door, brushed the cobwebs away from the handle and popped it open. The old car creaked from front to back as he stepped in for the first time in nearly 40 years.

He took a deep breath, placed his hand on the cracked steering wheel and reached for.. for me! He took me into his worn fingers, looked at me and smiled as though he’d never been so happy to see this useless old key. With welling eyes, he reached forward and placed this forgotten old key into the ignition. And suddenly, time just seemed to stop.

For a moment, we were both young and spry, the air was clear, Buddy Holly was playing on the radio and Lilly was young, beautiful and alive. Most importantly, she and I were together again! We weren’t the only ones together. In that moment I saw Claire! Yessir, Claire Renee Nelson was right there, as young and radiant as my Lilly. She sat in the passenger seat and laughed along with good old… well… young Sam. The stars danced in the night sky above as the smell of fresh popcorn and the sounds of the Twilite Drive In filled the air.

If there was ever a more special kind of love in the world, well… I’d never seen it. The way she looked at him with her bright hazel eyes under her velvet black hair was enough to make the hardest heart turn to marmalade. Ah yes, it was a wonderful time… and it was almost too good remembering it all. Before I knew it, in the stillness of the moment, Sam decided to turn the ignition and… well… there was nothing. No engine rumble, no Buddy Holley, No Lily, no Claire… just me and Sam sitting in a dusty old barn.

I remembered… I remembered everything. I remembered how lovely my sweet Lily looked with the white flowers all about her and the tin cans playing a song of new love behind her as we drove away from that old wedding chapel some 50 years ago. I remember the sound of laughter in that little one-room cottage as Sam and Claire chased each other around the oak dining table.

...I remembered the day that Sam received a letter from the Selective Service, and the day he left for war. I did my best to take care of Clare and Lily those years, but… even the biggest, strongest key in town couldn’t have saved Sam’s beautiful bride. The doctors and nurses tried their best but, well… they sent for Sam to come home. As soon as I heard the news that Sam was on his way back, I knew that it was to say goodbye.

Claire was frail in those last days. The impact from hitting that old hickory tree busted her up real bad. I was there that cold February morning. Lily and I were driving into town to get some bread at the Country Corner. Claire was humming along to “You Belong to Me” on the radio and Stanley and I were doing our best to jingle along to the tune, when an oncoming pickup truck crossed the centerline. Claire swerved to miss and the icy roads sent us into the ditch where we were stopped by a sturdy old hickory trunk.

The next thing I knew, we were there in that little white hospital room, and Sam was right there by her side. Those good men and women did all they could to keep his true and only love alive, but the complications were too severe. In those last moments, even though she was broken and bruised, her smile was no less bright and beautiful than the day that she and Sam first met. I can’t say the same for Sam… She did her best to comfort him, and she told him of a wonderful place. She told Sam that she would be waiting for him there, but Sam… he just couldn’t say goodbye. With one soft, gentle hand clutching the little silver cross around her neck, and the other held tight by the hands of her dear husband, she smiled, closed her eyes and breathed her last.

Weeks later, on a cool spring morning, Sam signed the paperwork on the purchase of a little plot of land with an old wooden shed down the road from the cottage. Lily was carried past our little yellow house and to the humble farm. Though broken and beyond repair, Lily held their dearest memories. Like the trinkets on the mantle, Sam kept her as safe as he knew how.

So… there we were, sitting in the stillness with a flood of memories. As wonderful as it was to see Lily again, I can’t say that I much enjoyed re-living the pain of losing her… and I trust I speak the same for my good old man. The truth is, I remembered something that I had intended to forget. But now that I remember it… well, it’s something I don’t think I ever want to lose again. Judging by the smile on my old man’s face and the wet streaks down his dusty cheeks, I figured that he felt about the same.

With a long sigh, Sam removed the old keys and climbed back out. He leaned up against the side of the car, placed his hands on the cool teal hood and bowed his head. The old man took a deep breath and, like a school boy in trouble in the principal's office began doing something that I hadn’t heard him do much of in a long long time… that’d be talking. Only, there wasn’t anyone there that I could see for him to talk to.

He cleared his throat and muttered with a deep, cracking voice, “... I uh.. hmm… I don’t really know what to say…” He paused and wiped away a tear. “I… um… I need some help…” He cleared his throat again and reached to his hip and nervously clutched the bunch of keys hanging on his belt loop. “I’m not the sort of man I want to be… I don’t like people… and… I mean… what I mean is that… I don’t like me.”

I realized that, all he once had was taken away by someone else. People called him away from home and people took his darling from him. But he hated no one more than himself. He had fought to defend his country, but he couldn't defend that which he held most dear. But in that quiet moment, I saw the black, iron cast of bitterness fall from the old man’s heart.

His voice cracked as he held back another tear. “I um… I don’t know what to do any more…” ...The silence and serenity of the aged storage barn began to feel less like solitude and more like the comfort of a father’s embrace as flecks of dust twinkled in golden sunbeams shining like a picture of life and hope in a place where life, hope and treasured memory seemed all but lost.

Sam slowly lifted his head, wiped his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve and looked about as if to find some sort of sign written on the walls or something. Of course, there was nothing there but rusty tin cans, cobwebs and a few old tires. Sam stood back up, wiped his nose from the back of his hand to his elbow and headed back out the door. We stepped back out into the autumn sunlight, turned around and looked one last time on Lily and her memories before shutting the door.

Sam was just about to place the lock on when he heard a clatter inside. He popped the door back open and looked in to find a couple tin cans fallen from the wooden shelf. “Hello?...” He looked about through the dust. Yup, there was certainly more dust floating about in those sunbeams that before. Sam looked around for some sort of weapon. Of course, when there’s no weapon around, you just go with what you can find. In Sam’s case it was his keys.

Well I was sure ready for some action again when he raised us up in his hand. But it came to an abrupt end when a dirty little face popped out from behind the old Firebird. “I’m sorry sir… I didn’t mean no harm”. By golly, it was Danny!

“D… Danny?” the old man inquired, lowering his weapon of mass destruction.

“Yes… I mean.. yessir.”

“What on earth are you doing in my shed?”

“I didn’t mean to… I mean… I didn’t know that this was yours sir… or anyones I guess”.
I don’t blame the kid. The old place looked as though it had been abandoned for a hundred years. Samuel clipped us back on his hip and rested against the inner wall of the shed. “Son, you just about sent me and my old heart back to the hospital.”

“I would never hope to do that sir” Danny stuffed his dirty hands into his pockets and looked ashamedly toward the weedy ground. He paused for a moment and looked back up at Sam. “I’ll go now”.

“Now wait son”... “just what are you doing around here, and how did you get in?”

“Well sir… I just wanted to stay warm tonight and… well I… I got in through the board in the back that’s all broken off.”... “but it was already broken sir." He assured the old man, afraid that he'd be in bigger trouble for busting up that busted up shack. "I… I just move it when I come in and out, but I always put it back” he insisted apologetically.

“Now just a minute… you move it when you come in and out?”

“... Yessir… but I sure won’t do it anymo…”

“Now stop right there” Sam interrupted. “Are you telling me that this isn’t the first time you’ve been in my shed?”

“No… I mean, no sir.” He hesitated. “I’ve tried other places to sleep, but this old car has the most comfortable seats and nowhere else feels as much like home”.

He looked back up at the old man. “But I swear sir, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

Sam looked down at the grass filled dirt floor and sighed. “Son, you know you can’t stay here”

“Yessir… you won’t see me here no more sir.”

“No son…” Sam insisted. “I mean, you… you...” He paused, stood up and looked the boy in the eyes as though he was looking in the mirror. “Come with me”. The boy lifted his head and looked about, unsure of what the old man intended to do with him.
Sam gestured to him. “Come son, let’s get you out of here”.

Without much to lose, the young man took his hands out of his pockets, wiped his face and brushed off his shirt as though to make himself more presentable to a judge. Sam closed the door behind them, they got in the rusty old car and headed back out down the old country road.

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Over the next few months there was a great deal of change in our quiet lives. Sam got all healed up and got back to Grayhill. The thing is, he didn’t go to that red-brick school house late in the evening for his usual, quiet shift. He went bright and early one morning. And he didn’t go alone. The tan metal front door of the school opened up, and in walked Samuel Nelson… and Danny Frost. Samuel had brought the boy in to get him started in school. Well, you may have guessed that only a parent or legal guardian could just bring a child on into the school to sign him up for class. Old Sam couldn’t afford much, but he had a place to stay and enough bologna and mustard to share, so it wasn’t long before he was signing another set of papers that changed Sam's name to "Dad".

Yessir, I’d say that Sam and Danny Nelson had both healed up quite right since they met under the streetlamp at the Country Corner. And by “healed up”, I don’t just mean all the bumps and bruises. The little ginger sprout may have still been unsure of what adventures awaited him ahead at Grayhill Elementary and onward, but no one had ever seemed to think he was worth anything… that is, until Sam came around. Danny learned a great deal of important things that year. Reading, Writing, Arithmetic and Mechanics. I know, Grayhill doesn’t teach Mechanics… but Samuel Nelson does.

On any given Sunday morning now, you will find Sam and Danny sitting together in that lovely whitewashed church. And on any given Sunday afternoon, you will find them together in that old wooden shed. Yes indeed, those two misfit boys are turning out to be as good for Lily as they are for eachother. As for me, well, I get to spend my Sunday afternoons hanging with the rest of the gang on the rusty nail by the shed door watching Danny, Sam and Lily.

And well, there’s something new for us old keys too. Right between Stanley and me is the most beautiful hazel-eyed woman you’d ever meet. Yessir, I knew there had to be something at the bottom of the old oaken chest! It was a lovely brass keyring locket with “Mark 10:9” engraved on the back. And there on the front is Samuel and Claire Nelson, as young and beautiful as ever.

Like the dust that had gathered on Sam's broken heart, the dust in the air of that old shed turns once again to gold, flickering in the sunbeams. Things once lost and forgotten have been found and are coming back to life. There were many doors that pain had locked shut for old Sam. But in this last game of hide and seek it appears that the key he really need had found him.