A Little River's Gift

The late afternoon sun trickled in through the canopy as Lydia fanned herself with the day’s newspaper. She always made a point to stop by the little convenience store on her way to the riverside to grab herself the latest print. Not that she ever read the news of course, but it sure provided the greatest relief from Alabama’s blistering summer heat.

She peered out across the water, its waves in shades of blues and greens as a group of kids floated by. From the uppermost branches, birds resumed their song, frogs and crickets not a moment behind as the sun began its steady descent behind the trees. With the last rays of light, the fishermen would come too, bringing with them the lovely aroma of rotten fish and mealworms.

Lydia crinkled her nose, deciding to hop into the river once more before their inevitable arrival. She tossed the newspaper onto the grass and padded over to the bank. Mud squelched between her toes until she felt nothing but blissful, empty cold all around. Nothing compared to her favorite sleepy little river in the heart of Alabama, with its cozy seclusion and charm. She rubbed the water from her eyes. It was what she looked forward to every year.

By the time she made it back to shore, it was nearly dusk. The riverside was deserted save for a handful of fishermen and their neon bait boxes. As she pushed herself up onto the bank, her feet slowly sinking into the riverbed, she felt a large, smooth surface beneath her right pinky toe.

Instinctively, she jerked away and then with little thought, shoved a hand deep into the mud where her foot had been. Her fingers wrapped around the object and she tugged repeatedly until it burst from the mud.

A bottle. An old, muddy, glass bottle. She rolled her eyes. It would seem litterer’s truly had no shame. Even in a place as beautiful and untouched by human development as the one around her.

She tossed the bottle onto her pile of things, making to pack it all up for the walk home, when she heard a faint jingle sound from inside as it landed. Gingerly, she plucked it from atop her damp towel, wiping away the dirt with the edge of her swimsuit. It was a dark, murky shade of amber and corked rather tightly. She shook it, the jingling louder this time and there was certainly no mistaking the small vibration that resonated through the glass.

Grabbing her key off the ground, she began twisting the pointed end into the cork. With a loud pop, it sprung from the bottle. She gave it a little wiggle and to her delight, a tiny object fell out, tumbling to the ground.

It was wrapped in tissue and bound by a single strand of yarn with a tag protruding off from its side. I have decided I am no longer interested in playing the game, the tag read in tiny, cursive lettering. Perhaps this will settle any lingering qualms you might have. Yours most sincerely, R.B.

Lydia delicately pulled the string loose, the tissue all but crumbling in her palm as she beheld the bijou diamond ring staring up at her. It was all she could do to not gasp at the sight of it. She glanced at her surroundings then, unsure whether to approach someone about her discovery, to ask what she should do with it.

Instead, she quickly dressed and slipped the ring into the side pocket of her blue jeans. Gathering up all her items, she stuffed them into her bag and disappeared from the riverside before the sun had fully set.

---

It was no later than ten in the morning, three days later when Lydia paused before the museum’s grand entrance. It’s stately, glass double doors rose up over the concrete staircase between her and the answer she was most curious to discover.

After arriving home from the riverside a few nights ago, she’d spent several hours researching where she might have the ring evaluated. Name after name of Alabama’s most reputable jewelry appraisers appeared on her computer screen, but it wasn’t until she stumbled upon a museum of jewelry, just thirty minutes away, that she decided undoubtedly where to go.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist as she ascended the stairs and entered the museum. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting within, she was blown away by the grandiose of the interior. Deep mahogany floors and intricately designed artwork hung from the walls. Glass exhibits were scattered about the rooms as she made her way to meet the woman she had spoken with on the phone an hour before.

Lydia peeked her head through an open doorway at the end of the hall. If her memory was correct, room 198 was her destination. “Good morning, my dear,” said a voice from inside.

Lydia stepped across the threshold. “Good morning, ma’am,” she replied. “I’m looking for a Ms. Griffin. Do you know where I might find her?”

An elderly woman with salt and pepper hair sat behind a desk at the back of the room. Her fingers moved vigorously at a computer keyboard as she glanced up. “Yes, I am she. How can I help you?”

“My name is Lydia Blake, we spoke on the phone earlier.” She pushed a strand of hair behind an ear. “About a ring.”

Ms. Griffin paused her typing. “Ah, yes. Why don’t you take a seat?” She gestured toward a large armchair opposite the desk.

Lydia complied, placing her hands in her lap as she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with them.

The elderly woman pulled out a small black notebook followed by stack of documents, placing the latter in front of Lydia. “Here are the appraisal papers followed by the lab report. We received them yesterday, along with the ring you sent off to be graded.” Ms. Griffin placed the ring, now snug inside a velvet holder, onto the desk beside the papers. “And as it turns out, it is of significant value.”

Lydia wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“It is a 3.04 carat old European cut diamond with a grade of VVS1 and a color grade of I,” Ms. Griffin continued. “It appears to be an engagement ring from the 1920’s.”

“I—” Lydia swallowed, straightening in her chair. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what that means.”

“That’s okay dear, it’s all just a bunch of complicated terms for simple things. Formalities and what not.” She said with a chuckle. “However, on behalf of the museum, I’d like to offer you $20,000 for it.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped, she couldn’t help it. “$20,000? Are you sure? That sounds like such a large sum for such a small thing.”

“We are absolutely sure. I can’t deny, however, that someone else might offer you more. But our establishment happens to be lacking in that era and we’ve been searching for a piece befitting of the time period.”

Without mulling it over, without thinking about keeping the too-small ring as her own, she nodded her head in agreement.

Ms. Griffin clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. Now, if you will just review and sign these papers here, we will be legally agreed.”

Lydia scanned the documents, struggling to keep her eyes focused as her mind spun with all the ways she could use the money. A perpetual supply of newspapers from the little convenience store or even log benches installed along the riverside. She almost shook with giddiness as she signed her name over and over through the course of the document.

“And we are all finished, Miss. Blake. We thank you for coming to us about this rare find.” Ms. Griffin handed a rectangular slip of paper to Lydia, her face soft and smiling.

Lydia turned the paper over in her hands, once, twice.

A check. A check for $20,000.

She smiled broadly. “I do believe I’ll go for a swim in the river.”