The Ring

Every item in an antique shop has at least one story behind it; some have several.

There are the usual questions, where did it come from, who owned it, maybe even who made it, and what is it really worth?  It's all a mystery by the time you see it.

This particular story centers around a small, hand-made table. I should clarify - the table is not so much the story as is the ring which was left by a mug sitting on top of it.  The mug, at the time, held an odd smelling tea that was being casually sipped by a visiting gypsy.

Yes, I knew that would get your attention, and it's true.  None of the residents at the time knew the old woman in their midst was an honest-to-goodness gypsy.  Initially it was assumed she was simply someone selling something door-to-door throughout the neighborhood.

Not very far into the conversation, however, they begin to see as well as feel the powers emanating from their guest.  At one point she was offered a cup of coffee.  The old woman requested simply hot water, and when it was brought to her she took a small pinch of leaves from her handbag and dropped them into the water.

The tentacles of the conversation were touching upon pressure points with everyone in the room; not so much as to put them on the defensive, but enough that not a single person left the room.  No one had a more pressing issue to attend to, no one left to go to the bathroom and not a single one of them moved to answer the phone when it rang.

Something about this woman had them spellbound, for lack of a better word.

The gypsy's face seemed friendly and somehow familiar.  Her clothing, although a little flamboyant was also subdued at the same time.  Everyone could smell the strange blend of tea she occasionally sipped, and even that came across as a familiar scent, although it had more of a distant melody to it than an aroma.

For weeks after her visit various family members attempted to describe her and recount the conversation.  Each one was positive their description was correct, but each would have been wrong.

It was almost a month after their encounter with the gypsy when the housekeeper called Mrs. Arlene into the study.

"Not only will this stain not come off, but look at it.  No - look closer, get right up to it."

Mrs. Arlene bent down over the small table and studied the ring that had been left by the mug.  "How odd" she said and reached over and clicked on the light next to her.  It was like a small picture.  "I've heard of people reading tea leaves, but this..."

The more closely she studied the stain  - the more she saw in it.  The various shapes and varying degrees of shading looked as though they were miniature objects.  She could see very clearly her own house, even the trees, the sidewalk leading to the garage, everything.  Following the curvature around she could see her car.  It appeared to be in a line with other cars.  And she saw that the church at the end of the street was...

Suddenly she stood up straight.  The expression on her face startled the housekeeper.  "Are you okay Mrs. Arlene?"

"It's a funeral." was all she muttered and she slowly walked out of the room.

Over time, members of the family, the ones  who had been there when the gypsy had come to their house, came to examine the stain on the table.  What each one saw was as different as their description of the event.

Randy was positive that what he saw in the ring was someone falling from a rollercoaster, while Linda immediately got the jitters when she saw it.  The way she put it, she suddenly became very nervous - anxious, as if something was about to happen.  She hated it and refused to look at it again.

The events that transpired that year were chronicled in the local paper, although there was never mention of the visiting gypsy.  Each sad and unfortunate event with the various family members became news.

It was the family lawyer who arranged the estate sale.  Just prior to the sale the housekeeper was asked if there was anything she wished to have from the house.  She was quiet adamant there was nothing, and then added that she thought the family had been cursed.

The bulk of the furniture was bought by an antique dealer  and over time most pieces were absorbed into the community.  The small table with the mug stain, however, remained at a store called Fragments, an antique shop in the neighboring town.  Although a little faded, the stain could still be seen.  The little price tag dangling from a string tied to one of the legs read, $175.00

The old woman sitting at the cash register seemed to be an antique herself.  She had a shawl over her shoulders, a not very clean scarf around her straggly, gray hair, and when I first saw her she was sipping an odd smelling tea.  I'm not sure what kind it was but the melody seemed very familiar.