The Last Yard Sale

Chapter 1

 It was the end of a long hot Saturday and Marybeth was approaching exhaustion. Twelve yard sales was just too much for one day and she made a mental note not to do it again. Nonetheless, it had ended perfectly, with a carload of merchandise for her store and a little cash left over. Her last stop, as usual, was to pick up things for the Jefferson County Women’s Shelter. Today she came away with a toaster oven and a coffee maker, along with some children's clothing. Now, tired and hungry, she was making her way home.

The GPS directions had put her on an unfamiliar country road. As she came around a bend, the sign immediately caught her eye. YARD SALE was painted on an old piece of wood and nailed to a tree at the end of a dirt road. It sparkled, iridescent-like, in the afternoon sun. She let out a sigh. As tired as she was, she knew she couldn’t resist the prospect of one more bargain, so she turned down the small dirt road, hoping it wouldn't be too far out of her way. 

The road twisted and turned through the woods, passing houses generously separated by trees. She'd almost given up, assuming that the seller had closed up for the day. Then she spotted it. A quaint house at the dead end with a long table set up on the lawn. An old woman was seated in a rocking chair under the shade of a maple tree, fanning herself from the unusually warm October day. Marybeth guessed her to be close to eighty. She couldn’t imagine what the old woman wanted to sell that would keep her sitting out in this heat.

As she pulled up in front, she directed her attention to four items neatly arranged on a clean wooden table. No mismatched silverware or broken children’s toys. No tired paperbacks or old records. Just these four seemingly unrelated things, sitting in the late-day sun.

“Good afternoon,” Marybeth greeted the woman as she got out of her car and approached the table.

The woman simply nodded.

“This is an odd selection for the end of the day.”

“These are things,” the woman began slowly, “I have held onto for far too long. So, they are for sale, but choose wisely. The intricacies of each item are greatly understated.”

Her curiosity was peaked as she approached the table. Immediately noticing that there were no prices indicated, she wondered how hard a bargain the old woman could drive. As if she heard Marybeth’s thoughts, the old woman spoke again.

“Of course, sale is not quite accurate, really. Each item is free, by your way of thinking, and yet each has a price of its own.”

Before Marybeth could ask for clarity, the old woman went on.

“These items are both treasure and trash. They are things I have held tightly to my entire life and I no longer want the burden of them.”

She stood in front of the first item. It was a baby doll in near perfect condition. It had an old-fashioned cloth body with a white bonnet surrounding a small porcelain face. There was something odd about it that she couldn't put her finger on, like it was too perfect, considering how old it must be. When she picked it up, the soft body yielded easily to her touch. It felt warm in her hands. Then the heat seemed to travel up her arms, moving quickly, gently enveloping her body. Things became a blur and images began to flash through her mind from a long-ago era.

 * * *

 Suddenly before her was this old woman as a teenager—somehow Marybeth knew it was her—who was left in charge of her much younger sister. The older girl, resentful of the responsibility, was less than attentive to her sibling, who had wandered out into the front yard chasing a butterfly. The small girl was so consumed with her new friend that she didn’t see the car coming around the corner. Looking up, the teenager realized her sister was gone and, with an exasperated sigh, went looking for her. As the teenager rounded the corner of the house, the doll fell at her feet. She looked up to see her sister’s lifeless body several yards from where the car had struck her.

 * * *

 Marybeth came out of the vision slightly off balance. She reached out to the table to steady herself as she looked around trying to reorient. Everything appeared to be back to normal. The old woman was crying silently as she rocked.

“Yes, that’s a tough one still,” she said quietly. “Do you have a sister?”

It took Marybeth a moment to realize that the old woman had asked her a question.

“Yes,” Marybeth stammered. She wasn’t sure how to react. Had the woman seen the vision too? Had she known it would happen? What had just happened? The woman’s nonchalance added another layer of bizarre to the experience. Marybeth forced herself to focus on the question. She thought about her sister and her heart sank a little. She hadn’t spoken much to her sister since the divorce. Regina had been harsh with her, accusing her of shutting her out emotionally. Marybeth couldn’t completely blame her for that. She had covered up and minimized the problems in her marriage for years. When she had finally had enough, everyone seemed shocked, including her husband. Nonetheless, her sister’s criticism had left a strain on their relationship, mostly because she knew Regina was right.

Marybeth gingerly put the doll back down on the table and moved to the next item, a beautiful porcelain music box with a bride and groom dancing happily-ever-after on top.

“Ah, yes,” crooned the old woman, “fifty-one years together we had when he died, not all good years I’ll say, but not so bad mostly. He didn’t hit me, and he didn’t drink his paycheck. That was pretty much the measuring stick back then of a good man, so I suppose by those standards, he measured up okay. I don’t know that I ever really loved him, though. Not in that way, the way we are always promised as young girls. It was more of a practical endeavor.”

As Marybeth picked it up, the music box began playing Louis Armstrong's “A Kiss To Build A Dream On” ...the song she and her ex-husband had danced to at their wedding.

 * * *

 Mary Beth let out a quiet gasp as the vision unfolded of her own wedding when she and Eric had twirled around the floor in the traditional first dance. She was already having second thoughts even before the music ended. Barely able to admit it now, she had felt misgivings for some time before the wedding. Desperate to be married and start a family, she had convinced herself to push forward. Her plan was to be well established with husband, job and home before her first baby. But she was growing aware of her biological clock and offers for happily ever after hadn't been exactly flooding in. Eric seemed as good a partner as any. So, she continued to discount the red flags, hoping that household responsibilities would make things better. Thus began what would become her marriage mantra “It will get better when...”

 * * *

 The music box still played in her hand as she became conscious of the yard again. Again, she looked around wondering if anyone was watching. She and the old woman were the only ones in sight.

“Are you married?” the old woman asked.

“Divorced,” Marybeth stammered. Recalling the old woman’s description of her own marriage she added, “He didn’t hit me, and he didn’t drink his paycheck.”

“I understand,” the woman said with a nod.

Curiosity took over her common sense as she cautiously moved to the next item. It was an old sepia photograph of a young man with five children.

“I was the middle one,” the old woman offered, “just eight years old when my mother died in childbirth. It’s hard to believe it now, but I took care of the young ones while the older ones went to work. I wasted too many years being angry about that.”

Marybeth reached out for the photo.

 * * *

 The world went into a foggy spin and when things cleared, Marybeth found herself in a small chapel with a half open casket at the front. An eight-year-old girl was in a tearful rage screaming, “I hate you! I hate you!” at the body of a young woman lying in repose. An older man rose from his seat and gently carried the young girl out of the room.

* * *

 Back on the lawn again, the memory of her parents' divorce forced itself into her mind. She had felt abandoned and scared. Over the years those emotions had changed to anger. Was she starting to see a pattern here of her own life told through the old woman's stories?

She steadied herself as she remembered the pain and anger from that time. The woman's words shook her out of her reflection.

“Family's family,” she said. “In the toughest times, it's always family you want, no matter what.”

The truth of this statement shot directly into her heart. In her toughest times, she had shut everyone out when what she really needed was family.

The last item for sale was an old book with a white leather cover accompanied by a white shawl. It smacked of religion, a topic she avoided at all cost. She and God had parted company when the last of her fertility treatments failed. Nonetheless, she picked it up and fanned the pages. She glimpsed what appeared to be a selection of songs and poems just before a vision altered her awareness once again.

 * * *

 She was transported to a beautiful church where people were blissfully raising their voices in song. Some swayed or clapped their hands. As the hymn came to a close, Marybeth looked around for the preacher. Was this lecture going to be a guilt trip about divorce? She still felt bad about it sometimes. Had she really done all she could to save her marriage? Or maybe the minister would finally explain her punishment of life without children? To her surprise, she saw a young dark-haired woman standing in the sanctuary draped in a green veil with gold trim. The young woman looked directly at her and began to speak.

“There is only love, Marybeth. God is only love. Divine, eternal, and pure. God is not about forgiveness or punishment because there is no need for these things when there is only love. When you allow yourself to experience this love again, you will heal your heart.”

Shocked to be addressed directly, her instinct was to push back, argue the point, but something stopped her. The woman’s words reached deep into her soul, directly contradicting the harsh religion of her youth and stirring up an old pot of emotions, which Marybeth immediately shut down.

* * *

 Again, she was back on the lawn, trying to get her bearings, looking at four items that didn't seem to be much of a bargain at all. Were these things haunted? Or cursed? Was she losing her mind? Before her brain could make a logical decision, the old woman began to speak.

“I should have let these things go a long time ago. Maybe there are things you should let go of.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she shot back more abruptly than she intended.

The woman simply nodded and rocked.

She turned back to the table. “I don't think I want them,” she said without looking back.

“There's no charge. You might as well take them,” came the woman's reply.

Not wanting to pass up free, she rationalized, “Well, I collect things for the Jefferson County Women's Shelter. I suppose they can use them.”

“As you like,” was the woman's reply.

“Can I take them all?”

“You surely can,” replied the old woman. “I’m done with them.”

Marybeth spotted a box under the table and, after cautiously wrapping each one in newspaper, loaded the box into the back of her jeep. She turned to say thank you to the old woman, but she was gone. The rocking chair sat unmoving under the tree.

Marybeth looked around quickly. Where was she? And where was everyone else? Neighbors? Cars driving by? The hair on the back of her neck started to rise. As quickly as she could, without actually running, she jumped into the driver's seat and headed back the way she had come.