This is my entry for the Third Annual Holiday contest.
For My True Love
The display light only added to its brilliance and beauty. A shining white diamond, mined and hand-picked in South Africa embedded in a shining gold band, which was delicately hand-crafted by the award wining designer, Clarence Dogdson. His signature was a pair of tiny intricate angel wings, spreading outward from the diamond. It rested in its satin display case, charming those who gazed beneath the glass, discouraging many with the four digits required to take it home. And there it remained for nearly four years after its incarnation, untouched and rarely leaving its case for longer than it took to take a closer look.
The owner made a decent enough profit, in spite of the relatively isolated location on the end of a long strip of road in a rural town in Vermont. It had been running for half a century now, even long before the wonderful miracle of the Internet. It specialized in wedding and engagement rings, necklaces, and cameos. The owner traveled the world every year to personally select the best diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and opals. In the late 70's he began commissioning designers for their unique designs, which in turn brought customers from as far away as Melbourne, Australia. Now his business grew to include watches with diamond bands, birthstones, and he continued to be one of the most successful jewelry store owners in New England.
But the ring had remained in its case. Price wasn't the only factor in shopping for a diamond, the owner knew. He believed that God assigned each to one woman. It was the man she was meant to be with who found it to gave her. So it seemed that one this diamond was meant for had not yet found her true love. The owner wondered if she would ever find him.
Until one night, he felt the presence. The owner tensed up as a vehicle pulled up to the store. Dreading moments like these his whole life, he went to an old trunk and unlocked it with a key that dangled from his neck.
The bell above the door rang and a man entered. He was a well built man, broad chest, ponytail, and eyes fierce like a hawk's. But there was also a gentle curiosity about them as they searched the store.
The owner rose from his place on the floor, merely wishing to show that his sword was there, but he didn't want to use it if he didn't have to.
"Can I help you?" He asked, cautiously.
The man also tensed, but read the owner's stance and relaxed.
"I was driving along the highway when I saw your sign," he explained. "I mean you no harm."
The owner showed his relief with a warm smile and leaned the sword against one wall. He wanted it within reach, in case the man was lying.
"My name is Duncan Macleod, of the clan Macleod."
"Rex," the owner replied, holding out his hand. "Rex Marshal. I don't see many of our kind out here. What brings you to Vermont?"
"A friend of mine lives in Shelburne," Macleod answered, gazing at the diamond with the angel wings. "Is this piece still for sale?"
The owner nodded. Macleod asked to see it and he gladly complied.
"It's the oldest piece we have here. I'd almost be sad to see it go, and yet if it can't bring two lovers closer together what good does it do?"
The owner allowed Macleod to hold it for a few moments. A look of sadness seemed to wash over the Scott.
"Are you all right?" He asked, concerned.
"Oh, of course," Macleod smiled. "Do you do gift wrapping?"
The owner's heart soared. At last it seemed that this diamond would find a home. He placed the diamond in a special case and wrapped it in a shiny red paper.
"May I ask what brought you out here?" Macleod asked as he wrote out the check.
"Vermont seemed like a safe enough place," the owner explained. "I wanted to get away from the fighting and the killing."
"I know what you mean. Here you go."
The owner took the check and Macleod pocketed the diamond.
"Merry Christmas," The owner said.
The snow had begun to fall a few hours ago. By now a centimeter was covering Duncan's boots as he stood there, a tear crawling down his cheek.
"I saw Richie earlier," he said, breaking the silence. "I had to say good-bye to him before I came to see you. If you find him up there, be sure to wish him Merry Christmas for me. It's been the longest century of my life and it's only 2005."
Duncan sighed and wiped the tear from his face. He knelt in front of the grave, wiping the accumulating snow from her name. He drew a deep breath and removed the gift from his pocket.
"Merry Christmas, Tessa." He said. He placed the gift at the foot of the tombstone.
Someone would take it eventually, he knew. But for now that didn't matter. It would always be meant for her, no matter who possessed it.