By Sara Ray
It was beautiful and seemed to call me from the display window across the street. I hesitated, but the pull of curiosity got the better of me.
I walked across the cobblestone street to get a closer look at the vase that had captured my desire. There was nothing special about it, just a tiny silver vase with a design etched to tarnished to recognize.
It was right, I did desire it. Digging through my handbag for loose change that jingled around in the bottom. I counted three dollars and seventy-five cents. I hoped it was enough.
Slowly I turned the door knob to the second-hand shop. Holding my head up high, I assured myself it would be enough. Confidently I entered the shop.
Inside all was quiet not a creepy quiet, a calm welcoming kind of quiet that seemed to enfold me as I walked across the wooden floor. “Hello?” I called out softly.
“Yes? came a tiny reply from a curtain. Oh, you made it! Have you been waiting long?” The voice continued.
Confused I asked. “Were you expecting me? I was across the street and noticed the tiny silver vase in the window.”
“Yes, it may not look like much but to the right person it could become a cherished treasure.” The voice replied.
“How much?” I asked
“Three dollars and seventy-five cents” Replied a tiny old woman as she carefully removed the vase from its spot in the window.
I am still unclear what happened next when I found myself once again on the other side of the street. Shaking my head in confusion I continued on my way to my destination. I was looking for a stone cottage believed to have housed my Great Grandmother in her youth. I was hoping to get a recent photo to add to our family history I was working on to pass on to my children.
The locals pointed me north just outside of town when I showed them my Great Grandmothers photo. “You can’t miss it they all said a place like that will be around forever.”
It was smaller than I had imagined. The description that was written long ago in my Great Grandmothers hand had also included a photo she sent to my Great Grandfather and describing in detail the little cottage that was now before me.
Pulling out my Great Grandmothers photo again to confirm, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. Cradled gently in her hands was a tiny silver vase…not just any vase, the same vase I had just purchased for three dollars and seventy-five cents.
The stories of my Great Grandmother being a Gypsy, I had never doubted. But Magic? I was quickly becoming a believer.
Before returning home to the States, I had a local take my picture in front of the cottage and I was holding the tiny silver vase.