Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

Every summer I used to spend a week or two out at my Grandmother and Grandfather’s farm. My Grandfather would always tell my parents that since I was the youngest of ten children I deserved at least a week, each year, without older siblings to boss me around. 

One day, Grandmother and I were in the attic looking at things. This was one way we passed many summer days when it was too hot to be outside.

“Grandmother.”

She smiled down at me and I gazed at her a moment before finally speaking. I loved the way she brushed her long white hair every morning and twisted it into a perfect bun on the back of her head. Seven year old me knew that when I was older I wanted to be just like her. 

I pointed to a heart shaped box on a top shelf. “What is that?” I asked.

Grandmother smiled. She had a special look on her face. It was a look I saw only in older peoples faces, the look they get when they are about to tell a story.

Grandmother whispered something softly. I hadn’t understood a word she said. It almost sounded like the noises my little nephew used to make.

Since it looked as if Grandmother wasn’t going to explain, I repeated my question. It was louder this time, “Grandmother! What is that? The thing up on the shelf?”

She turned towards me once again and made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Ma petite boite a musique.”

I huffed. There were those words again, the ones I didn’t understand. Before I had a chance to complain, Grandmother lifted it gently off the shelf as if it might shatter at one touch. “Do you know who gave it to me?”

I shook my head.

She smiled again. Not just with her mouth, but with her eyes. That was one of my favorite things about Grandmother. She almost always had a joyful light in her eyes. Once when I asked her about it she mentioned something about how she supposed it was because she knew her maker. I didn’t understand then but she said I would when I was older. 

“Your grandfather gave it to me.” She reached down and tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “A long time ago.”

I plopped down on a rug and smoothed out the old fashioned dress that Grandmother and I had sewn together. “Tell me the story.”

She eagerly pulled a rocking chair close to me and sat down.

“Well, your grandfather and I had always been wonderful friends. We’d known each other since he was ten and I was seven...”

“Like me!” I interrupted.

“Yes, Samantha. Like you.” She always called me by my full name even though all of my older siblings called me Sam. “Anyways, I knew we were practically best friends, but I would have never guessed that all these years later we’d still be best friends and have six beautiful children and more wonderful grandchildren than I can count.”

I laughed, “Silly Grandmother. There are ten children in my family and a total of twenty in the other five families.”

“Oh, that’s right isn’t it?”

I nodded, “And you didn’t mention Theodore, your first great-grandchild.”

“Of course! Theodore, how could I have forgotten him?”

“You didn’t really. Go on with the story.”

“Ah, yes. The year I graduated from high school your grandfather went on a business trip in Europe. I had no idea how much I would miss him. By the time he came back it was quite obvious to each of us that not only were we best friends, but we were in love. Tom, your grandfather, talked to my father almost the moment he was back from Europe. He told my father that, if it was okay with him, he wanted permission to spend more time with me so he could get to know me better.”

“But why? You already knew each other,” I interrupted.

Grandmother smiled down at me, “Yes, we knew each other as friends but not as sweethearts who hoped to marry each other.”

“What does this have to do with the little box?” I was growing impatient. I could tell this was a story my older sisters would love to hear but not I. I wanted to know about the mysterious little box.

“I’m getting there. On our first date, we went on a picnic. We called it a date, but it wasn’t just the two of us, it was my whole family.” 

“Why did your whole family go?”

“They all wanted to get to know Tom better and my father wasn’t ready to let the two of us out of his sight.”

“Kinda like before Margaret married Chris whenever they went to eat food together Percy had to go with them.” Percy and Margaret were two of my older siblings. “Percy liked doing that because Chris always bought super yummy food and Percy would get to eat some too.”

“Yes, it was like that. Once Tom and I got to know each other better Father would often send just my older brother with us.”

“What type of food did you eat?”

“Well, I remember exactly what we ate on our first ‘date’. Mother wanted me to get more experience cooking, so I was the one who filled the picnic basket. I brought,” she began to count the things off using her fingers, “Fried chicken sandwiches on homemade bread, coleslaw, strawberries, lemonade and apple pie.”

I licked my lips, “Yummy. Can we eat all of that for dinner tonight?”

Grandmother seemed to like that idea. “We can if you want to go to the country store with me to pick up ingredients and if you promise to help me with the homemade bread and pie.”

“Oh goodie. I’m really good at making apple pie.”

“Your grandfather will like this.”

“Let’s surprise him!”

“Good idea.”

“Please continue your story. You were at the picnic part. And I still don’t know what that little box is.”

“It’s getting hot and stuffy up here. Let’s go down to the living room.” I followed Grandmother down the stairs and into the old fashioned living room. Once we were both sitting down she continued her story.

“During our picnic dinner Tom taught me some French. He had spent the majority of his work trip in France. After the apple pie, he handed me a little wrapped gift,” At this point, Grandmother picked the little box up off of her lap, “It was this little music box.”

I was excited. I’d seen music boxes before and I thought they were the most darling things on earth, besides babies of course. As Grandmother opened it up and twisted the key, I held my breath. What tune would it play? Grandmother let go of the key and the song began.

“What song is that, Grandmother?”

“It’s a French love song. The music box came from France. Your grandfather taught me how to say, ‘My little music box’ in French.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, “Is that what you were saying earlier?”

Grandmother handed me the music box so I could look at it closer. “Yes. Ma petite boite a musique.”

Now that I knew what they meant, the words sounded beautiful instead of like baby blabbers. I felt every little intricate detail in the beautiful French music box, “It’s so pretty.”

“Yes,” Grandmother leaned back in her chair, “Once it was dark we all began to walk back from the picnic. I played the little tune on the music box the whole way home. Some fireflies came out. It almost looked like they were dancing to the tune of my music box. The whole scene was beautiful.”

“I like fireflies.” I said.