Jane Schulte

World War II was officially over. I was age eight then, at home in southern Ohio. That October brought a semblance of normalcy to our community and one of the highlights was the return of the county fair. My family and I went to see it for ourselves one sunny afternoon.

My parents kept running into people they knew, so Grandmother and Grandfather and I visited the animal stalls and then strolled over to the tents where there were many games of chance but at one, a group of women dressed in white were raising funds for war relief. They were, Grandmother said, from the Red Cross, and we put money in their jar.

Then, we came to a stand full of the kind of trinkets that could steal a girl’s heart. I spied a small ruby glass jewelry box with fancy golden feet, just big enough for something precious. Grandmother could see how it attracted me and offered to buy. Grandfather suddenly said that he thought the man in the corner was etching names onto purchases. I ran over to see. Yes, he would write my name on the lid. Grandmother asked if he might write the year. He did.

 A few minutes later we went in search of my parents and told them about the purchase. I did not unwrap it, as I was afraid it might slip from my hands. I remember saying that I thought it perfect for rings.

Even now, decades later, it is in my jewelry drawer. So much time has passed. I still cherish all that ties me to that afternoon, when, even as a youngster, I felt a new hope around us at the fairgrounds.