Back in the the mid to late 1930s, my grandparents gave my mother a gold locket. She wore it until she was an adult, and then gave it to me. It was my favorite, most cherished piece of jewelry, and I kept the tradition of passing it on to the oldest daughter and gave it to Sarah a few years ago.
Yesterday, I was in Iowa visiting her, and to my delight, I noticed she was wearing it.
For me, it was like seeing and old, dear friend again. I smiled and wanted to hold it in my hands and feel its weight and heft. I wanted to rub my thumb across the soft metal and feel the swirl pattern on one side, and the flower pattern on the other. Or open the locket and look inside again. It pleased me no end to see my daughter enjoying her grandmother's beloved heirloom.
Since it is old, that piece of jewelry has a history that I wanted to record before it becomes forgotten. And this history is connected to my horse, Amy.
I wore that necklace all the time when I was growing up, including when I was out horseback riding. One day I was out riding Amy on the gravel path that we used to walk to school on. (It's now built over by homes in University Place, but if you look in the right place, you can still see a small remnant of the gravel path off Cumberland Avenue.) My parents and other neighbors lay the path in the farmer's field with his permission so that we had a safe place to walk to school. At the time, Cumberland Avenue stopped at Cumberland school, the rest being farmland.
The gravel path was a great place for a canter, so I clucked at Amy and we were off. The wind was in my hair, I was on my favorite horse, and it was the perfect day for a ride.
And then we came to an area where the path was bordered by a line of trees. Some of the branches overhung the path, so I bent low over Amy's neck, my face in her mane, ducking to miss them as we breezed by.
To my horror, one of the branches brushed my neck, caught the necklace's chain, and broke it, flinging the necklace into the air. I quickly pulled on the reins to stop Amy and slid off her back, dismayed that I had lost my treasured keepsake.
I looked everywhere. Holding the reins in one hand, I stooped and searched the gravel path. I looked in the weeds alongside it. I retraced Amy's steps a few strides backward and forward. I brushed my hands across the gravel so see if I could feel the necklace. And then I looked in all those places again. I must've searched for a good 15 minutes, but no luck.
The necklace was gone.
Tears were streaming down my face. I did not know what to do. And so I prayed for help and then searched again. (I wasn't a member of the Church then, so praying was not a regular activity for me - it was one of desperation.)
Still no necklace.
Finally, I gave the locket up for lost, and with great sadness and a heavy heart, put my foot in the stirrup and mounted Amy. Before signaling her to move forward, I cast my eyes on the ground one last desperate time.
And there it was.
A gleam of gold in the gravel.
Almost under Amy's hooves - she was practically standing on it.
My necklace! I'd found my necklace!
Quickly I dismounted and grabbed it with joy and gratitude, feeling as though a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. Since the chain had been broken by the branch, I tucked the necklace into my pocket, remounted, and clucked to Amy to go home. I felt so very, very lucky, and so blessed, offering a prayer of thanksgiving as I rode.
I think about that incident nearly every time I think of the necklace. It was one of my very first experiences with prayer, and I will be forever grateful for the Lord's help in finding that cherished family heirloom so that it could be passed on to future family members.
And that is the story of the necklace.
Postscript
In am email to me after this was written, my mother wrote:
Yes, I'm smiling -- but there's a trace of a tear, too. I treasured that locket
and still miss it. I was under 10 when my parents gave it to me, and I
think it was a rather valuable piece of jewelry to give to such a young
person, but it was beloved.
