Dream In A Jar
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“The next morning, we woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. We could hear the coffee perking in the kitchen. When I went into the kitchen, I found a platter with fresh-baked rolls on it that had been sitting under the warm oven for an hour or so. There were also some hot cakes and sausage patties ready to be served. It was as if someone had planned my breakfast out of thin air.”
Weird? Yes. But not impossible, thought Morgan. The woman who lived here must have known exactly what he liked for breakfast. He’d never seen her before yesterday. She might be a housekeeper who took care of this place by day and stayed in the guesthouse at night.
That would explain why she didn’t seem surprised when he came down after having slept all night upstairs. But then, why hadn’t she asked him about his sleeping arrangements? Had she already heard from someone else that he was staying there?
Morgan poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from the woman while they ate. They talked about the weather, how the roads were looking ahead and whether any more storms were expected. After eating, Morgan helped her clean up the dishes and put them away.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” said Morgan, “but do you live here alone?”
“Yes, I do.” Her voice sounded sad. “There used to be another woman here, but she moved away.”
So it wasn’t just a coincidence that she knew exactly what kind of breakfast he liked, or that she baked him homemade bread when he came to stay. She knew he was coming. And she had been expecting him.
After she left, Morgan returned to the front porch where he sat reading a magazine. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that the sun was setting. Time passed quickly when you weren’t paying attention. As the sky grew darker, Morgan decided to head back to town. He needed to get to work tomorrow.
As soon as he stepped outside, the wind picked up and brought with it a chill. The clouds looked like they were going to dump rain on them tonight. He hurried down the steps to the barn. Just as he reached the bottom, his foot slipped on something wet.
Looking around, he saw that water had run downhill from the barn roof and collected in a puddle. He bent over and picked up a handful of straw that was stuck to the ground. His hand touched something hard and cold.
He held the object in his palm and turned it over to examine it closer. It was a small, silver-colored jar. With the lid off, he could see that the contents were a pale yellowish color. It looked like amber.
Amber! Morgan remembered seeing one just like it in a museum. This might be a piece of prehistoric rock. Or maybe even a fossilized insect.
His curiosity got the better of him, so he pulled open the barn door and hurried inside. He ran to the back wall and found a shovel. Then, taking the jar with him, he headed for the woods behind the barn.
The ground was soft underfoot in the wooded area. The trees cast deep shadows in the twilight. It was almost as if the forest had swallowed the sun. As Morgan walked deeper into the woods, he wondered what kind of creature might be living in these woods now. What would it think of him? Would it feel threatened by his presence?
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. Something was moving through the trees toward him. It looked like a giant spider. It had eight legs, two eyes on a stalk and a pair of antennae sticking straight up.
“Who’s there?” shouted Morgan.
“It’s me,” came the reply.
Morgan jumped back, startled. It was too dark to see who was talking to him.
“Where are you?” asked Morgan.
“Over here!” came the reply. “You’re standing right over me.”
“How did you get here without me seeing you?”
“I’m invisible.”
Morgan stared blankly at the woman. He’d seen her earlier today, but he hadn’t seen her walk out of the woods.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”
Morgan relaxed a little. He knew now that she was a woman. He hadn’t seen any man in the vicinity of the barn. Still, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy. He’d never met anyone who could make herself invisible before. But why would someone want to become invisible?
“Did you come here for a reason?” Morgan asked.
“No, I’m just curious about this amber,” replied the woman.
Morgan handed her the jar. She took it and peered inside.
“What is it?” asked Morgan.
“Looks like amber to me,” said the woman. “This looks like a piece of prehistoric rock to me.”
“Maybe it’s not amber,” said Morgan.
“I don’t know, maybe it is,” said the woman. “But it sure doesn’t look like anything else I’ve ever seen before.”
They stood staring at each other in silence for a few minutes until Morgan realized that the wind had died down. The temperature had dropped significantly since sunset. He glanced up at the sky. Dark storm clouds were rolling in fast. He’d have to hurry back to the house before the rain started.
“Why don’t we go back to your place?” suggested the woman. “Then I’ll tell you all about my job.”
Morgan agreed and led her back to his home. They entered the kitchen and put the amber on the table.
“That’s pretty amazing,” said the woman after she’d examined the contents of the jar. “Is it real?”
“I can’t say for certain,” Morgan replied. “It may very well be a fossilized insect or animal.”
“Or maybe it’s amber,” said the woman. “If it is, then it might be worth quite a bit of money.”
Morgan shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because amber isn’t easy to find anymore,” explained Morgan. “And even if you do happen upon a piece, there are no guarantees that its amber.”
“Couldn’t you try to sell it somewhere?” asked the woman.
“Yes, but it wouldn’t pay you much,” replied Morgan.
“How much would you ask?” asked the woman.
“I’m not sure how much an authentic piece of amber from the Cretaceous period would be worth, but I’d guess it would be around a hundred dollars.”
The woman gasped. “That sounds like a lot of money.”
“Well, it depends on where it’s sold,” replied Morgan. “For example, in some places, people collect amber jewelry. That’s probably what would bring the most profit. And it might even fetch twice that amount.”
Morgan thought for a moment and added, “Of course, I’ve only seen pictures of amber in books and magazines. It’s hard to know exactly what kind of price to charge.”
“Would you take fifty dollars for the amber?” asked the woman.
“No,” said Morgan. “That’s not enough.”
“You’d need more than that,” said the woman.
“I suppose so, but I’m not interested in selling it.”
“Why not?”
“I found it,” replied Morgan. “I didn’t buy it.”
“So, why are you holding onto it?”
Morgan shrugged. “There’s something special about having found it myself.”
“You sound proud of yourself,” said the woman.
“I am,” admitted Morgan with a smile. “I’m also happy to have finally learned something about my past.”
***
After Morgan returned to his home, he went upstairs and changed out of his work clothes. Then he walked into the parlor room and sat down in a chair by the fireplace.
He lit a fire in the hearth and watched the flames dance. He tried to think of some way to convince the woman that there was nothing to gain by trying to sell the amber to anyone else.
Morgan turned on the phonograph and played a recording of a popular song:
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie …
The song ended and Morgan smiled. He loved music, especially when it was played on the old phonograph. He wondered if it would still be around if the Internet had never been invented. He’d always enjoyed browsing through his father’s library of books and magazines.
One day he’d decided to search one of the many shelves for his favorite authors. His father had written several novels over the years, all mysteries, and Morgan had read them all. But none of the books were shelved in alphabetical order, which made finding them quite difficult.
After ten frustrating minutes of searching, he gave up. So he’d gone downstairs to his father’s study. He’d noticed a stack of paper lying on top of the desk, so he’d picked it up and opened it. There were letters and bills and newspapers. And there was a note scribbled across the top. ‘Dear Morgan,’ it read. “Please forgive me for leaving you behind. I love you and will return soon.”
Morgan hadn’t known what to make of his father’s letter. Why would his father write him a note? And why leave him in this house alone? Morgan had searched the entire house for any sign of his mother, but he’d come up empty-handed.
As Morgan listened to the music playing on the phonograph, he remembered the note that his father had left behind. He’d assumed it meant that his mother had died and he was now a single parent. He’d been sad to learn that his parents were separated, but he hadn’t given much thought to the fact that they were divorced.
Morgan had spent a few hours reading the stacks of papers. The first thing he’d discovered was that his father had been arrested for stealing cattle. The story went on to explain that his father had stolen two dozen cows and killed a rancher who’d caught him in the act.
The sheriff had taken him into custody and Morgan had gone along. They’d traveled to Denver City for trial. Morgan’s father had been convicted and sentenced to three years in jail.
Morgan had tried to find information about his father’s imprisonment, but he’d never come up with anything useful. His father’s name wasn’t listed in any of the prison records, nor did he know where his father was being held or if he’d survived.
So after two months, Morgan had given up and continued to live as best he could. He’d learned to do without his mother, whom he’d only seen once since she’d left.
Morgan glanced at the clock and realized that it was time for him to head back to the store. He put the phonograph away and got ready to leave. When he looked outside, it was raining again. A cold wind blew in from the west. As he walked across the yard, he noticed that a few trees had lost their leaves. He hoped this storm wouldn’t ruin his crop before it could be harvested.
Morgan went through the front door of the general store and headed for the back room. He saw that the woman was sitting in her usual spot. She was wearing a light blue dress with white flowers embroidered on the collar. Her hair was swept up in an elegant bun.
“What can I do for you today?” asked Morgan.
“It’s about the amber,” said the woman. “I’m wondering if you might be willing to part with it.”
Morgan shook his head. “That’s impossible. It belongs to my family.”
“But you’re not the only one who wants it. If I were to offer you twice its value, would you consider selling it?”
“No,” Morgan replied firmly.
The woman sighed. “Well, then, how about three times its value? You could sell it to me and still make a profit.”
“Sorry, but no sale.”
“Fine, but don’t expect to see me again. This won’t take long.”
The woman rose to her feet. She took a small package out of her bag and handed it to Morgan. “Here is the money you agreed to pay me. I’ll be waiting outside.”
She turned and walked toward the door, but suddenly stopped and turned back around. She looked at him and smiled. “Oh, and just so you know,” she said, “there are others who want this amber—very badly.”
The End