I’ve always enjoyed rummage sales, antique shops, flea markets, and garage sales. Whenever I go to one, my eyes inevitably drift over to the jewelry. Not because I need any fancy things, but because I’m “looking” for a bracelet that had been given to me by my parents when I was a young lady. It was a beautiful gold link bracelet with delicately carved pink flowers. For years, I wore it for dressy occasions—before I lost it. Of course, I never saw anything that quite compared, but I could hope, couldn’t I?
Recently, my husband Roger and I were on vacation in Walla Walla, Washington, visiting our alma mater, Whitman College. We had decided to attend one of two churches in town, depending on what time we got up. Since we arose early, we walked to the church with the earlier service.
Near the end, a member of the congregation got up to make the weekly announcements. “Don’t forget about the church rummage sale this Wednesday,” she said.
That’s too bad, I thought. We were leaving town on Wednesday. Even so, something made me call up the church office that Monday. “What time does the rummage sale start?” I asked.
“8:00 a.m.,” the woman at the office said.
Perfect! We could go and still depart town fairly early.
That Wednesday, we entered the large room where the sale was being held. There was a vast array of goods laid out on tables: old clothes, books, and various household items. Only one of the tables was attended by a seller—the jewelry table. But when I looked it over, I saw nothing but earrings. Oh well, I thought.
On our way out, I passed the table again. This time, when the attendant caught me looking, she extended her hand and pointed to one of the display boxes, without saying a word.
I looked to see what she was pointing at. It was a bracelet I hadn’t noticed at first glance. I took it in my hands, and my eyes went wide.
It didn’t compare to my lost bracelet. It was the same—or an exact replica. The gold links, the delicate pink flowers, exactly as I remembered them.
