the Saturday Breakfast Serial part 6

Welcome to the Saturday Breakfast Serial.  This is part 6 of a continuing story which appears every Saturday morning on this blog.  You may read the first 5 installments of The Desk here.

The Desk  Part 6

       It’s possible that my heart skipped a beat in that moment.  My hand went to my chest and I drew a sharp breath as I came into contact with the key on its ribbon hanging around my neck.  It was the key that I had found weeks before in the front garden.
       I slipped the ribbon over my head, and held the key poised to unlock the box.  My hand was shaking and was at first unable to fit the key into the lock.  Taking a deep breath, I managed it on the second try.  With a sharp click the lock turned and I withdrew the key.
       The next stage wasn’t so easy.  It wasn’t a matter of opening a lid or a drawer, there appeared to be a trick to getting the box to release.  I examined it from all sides.  There was a small metal disc on one side, near the back of the box, where the keyhole was.  It had a little design which I took to be a logo of the manufacturer of the desk.  I was rubbing my thumb over the metal disc to see if there was a name on it, when I felt it move slightly.  I wedged the nails of my index finger and thumb under the metal and pulled gently, drawing out a long slender metal rod, measuring the width of the box.  It might have been a very sturdy hat pin, but for the blunt end.
       I set the rod aside and now the box seemed to float freely.  Appearing to be a larger box inverted as a lid, over a smaller box which fit just exactly within it.  I lifted the top one from the bottom box, which was well padded and lined with white silk.  Nestled securely within was a thin leather book and I recognized it to be the journal from my dream the night before.
       I carefully lifted it out, fearing it to be fragile and brittle, though no such thought had occurred to me in my dream.  The leather was supple and showed very little wear and the pages did not crumble away as I leafed through it.  The little book gleamed at me, inviting me to read.
       I turned my back on the desk and it’s contents spread out on the tea cart and wandered into the kitchen with the little journal clutched to my heart in both hands.  “I found you,” I whispered, though I don’t know why, and it felt like this treasured possession had once belonged to me and had long been lost.
       In the kitchen, I set it down only long enough to make a cup of tea…ginger tea, I decided in honor of my dream.  I was almost afraid to let the journal out of my site for fear that I might even now be dreaming.
       While the tea was steeping, I picked up the journal and wandered from room to room closing the drapes as twilight gathered, and locking the doors for the evening.  I went back to pick up my tea and then headed for my room.
       It was a large room at the back of the house, and it doubled as a small sitting room.  It felt cozy and secluded.  I wanted to settle down for the evening with the journal and not be disturbed.  I set the journal and my tea cup on a small table next to a large comfortable chair and slipped out of my work clothes and into a chenille bathrobe.  It’s not silk, I thought to myself, but I love it.
       I seated myself in the comfortable chair, put my feet up and pulled a hand knit afghan around me.  Then I took a sip of tea and reached for the journal, caressing the soft leather bound cover.
       I opened it to the first page and began reading, savoring every word from the beginning.  It contained the same sense of intimacy that it had shown in my dream.  Some of the words came back to me as I read.  When I got to the part about the herbal packet, I reread those lines twice. “I want you to know there is nothing in the desk to harm you.  The contents of the packet are a mixture of rare flowers and herbs that I picked up in my travels in 1931.  I keep them to remind me of what I learned on my journey.  There is wisdom of a sort if you will allow the consciousness of those plants to speak to you.”
       There was a ribbon in the journal and I placed it on that page and closed the book.  I had a lot to think about.  Not least of which was the dream I had.  I sat absentmindedly holding the journal and stroking the leather with my thumb, while I pondered having found and read this journal, up to this same point, in my dream.
       I thought about the herbal packet.  I had lost nearly two hours the last time I came into contact with it.  What had happened in that time?  The herbs were still tucked away in the small desk drawer.  I didn’t quite feel ready to try that experience again, but I was curious.  “Not tonight.”  I said firmly, setting the journal on the table.  I took another sip of tea, which had grown cold.
       I picked up the journal and tucked it under my pillow, before getting into bed.  “Not tonight,” I whispered to the little book through my pillow as I reached for the light switch.


Join me next week for Part 7 of The Desk, here on the Saturday Breakfast Serial.