M.J. Rodgers - Father By Choice

“I’m not lusting. I’m merely observing and appreciating. But you, my friend, are in a position to lust away. In case you need reminding.”

Emily was saved from answering when the grinding gears of the crane caught everyone’s attention, and the time capsule was lifted out of the pit.

It was a rectangular, steel-riveted box, about three-by-four feet and at least three feet deep. The rigger on the ground directed the crane’s telescoping arm until the capsule was set gently on the large felt-covered pad Emily had waiting beside the podium.

As the workmen went about removing the lid, everyone on the platform circled them in anticipation.

“We’ll only be able to get a brief glimpse at what’s inside,” the mayor cautioned the crowd as he slipped on thin plastic gloves. “The Historical Society must take possession of the contents so that they can be preserved. But once cataloged, our treasure will be shared.”

When the lid came up, the mayor lifted out the item on the top—a letter wrapped in string and sealed with wax. He unfolded it very carefully and began to read.

“To the Inheritors of Courage Bay, 2004: Inside this first carton, we send you the images of the white-winged ships that sail into our bay bringing us news and goods from distant shores. There are also photographs of our dwellings made of strong wood and brick, with wisps of smoke lifting out of our chimneys from the fireplaces that keep us warm when winter comes. Rising behind our homes you’ll glimpse the steep mountains that for generations have sheltered us from the sorrow and ravages of war. Above them is the sky of pale blue that will bring out scarlet sheets to wrap our sun to sleep tonight. And lastly we send to you our faces—both young and old, fair and less favored, the lines upon all being drawn with life’s deft pen.

“What will these pictures mean to you a hundred years hence? This we cannot fathom. Nor can we know what you will find here in your time. But we can tell you what you would have found in ours.

“This is a beloved world, swept with sunshine, the breath of flowers, the song of birds, forests bounding with wildlife and a people with hearts full of gratitude. We, the guardians of Courage Bay, pledge to care for this good land and for one another. When our history is written, may it be recorded with a light and understanding hand.”

O’Shea slowly raised his head. “This letter I’ve just read to you is signed by the mayor and eleven others. They are identified at the bottom as the twelve men chosen to bury the capsule and set the sundial in place. I’m going to close the letter immediately to protect it from deteriorating. Now let’s have a quick look at those promised pictures.”

The wooden box beneath the letter held at least a hundred pristine photographs, wrapped in cloth. Phoebe Landru, the senior member of the managing board of the Historical Society, had the honor of taking out a few to show them to the crowd.

Emily got a brief glimpse at a picture of the Courage Bay Livery Stable and Feed Store. A blacksmith shop. An apothecary. Then there was a shot of the mountains, heavy with trees that had since been logged. And finally, the photo of a young woman with a lovely heart-shaped face. Phoebe flashed the image briefly to the audience and then carefully put it back in the box with the others.

The mayor pulled the next packet from the time capsule. He identified it as a duplicate of the hand-drawn map of Courage Bay that had been filed at the county courthouse.

After showing it to the crowd and making sure the TV crew got a shot, the mayor stepped aside and invited Dorothy to open the next item in the capsule. It was a box filled with copies of the Courage Bay Bulletin, a newspaper that had been defunct for nearly fifty years. One of the copies Dorothy held up for the audience to see had a banner headline announcing that the Wright Bros. Flying Machine had Conquered the Sky. Another proclaimed that the time capsule was to be buried that day.

Beneath the box of newspapers was one with a stack of separate sheets of paper on which townspeople had recorded their predictions for the future. Emily was given the fun of selecting a few and reading them to the crowd.

“This storekeeper says that the marvels of modern machinery will turn the current drudgery of jobs and housework into joyful endeavors, leaving men and women many hours to take long walks and read well-written books. Ah, if only he had been right.”

That generated a few smiles from the audience.

“According to the town’s newspaper editor, ‘Courage Bay will become a busy city where everyone will move quickly back and forth in their automobile wagons, horses having become obsolete. But the wheels of these automobile wagons will be cushioned so the city will be free from noise.’”

At that moment, a loud screeching of tires and the blast of a horn echoed from a car on an adjoining street. It was so perfectly timed, everyone laughed.

The audience was still chuckling when Emily took her seat.

Oliver Smithson was the one to remove the next box from the time capsule. A note on the top described the contents within as letters written by the surviving crew of the Ranger, each giving his individual account of the vessel’s sinking on that fateful day, as well as his rescue by the Indians.

Oliver read off the names of the authors: “Fitzwalter, Giroux, Himlot—”

“I’m his descendant,” Councilman Dean Himlot interrupted. “That letter from my ancestor belongs to me.”

Emily knew Dean Himlot as she knew most of the notables in this crowd. He could be a bit full of himself, forgetting sometimes that it was his family’s famous name that had enabled him to get elected.

Still, she’d never known him to be abrasive, especially in the company of his social peers. Just proof that lots of money and clout didn’t buy class.

“Actually, Dean,” the mayor said amicably as he took the mike from Oliver, “according to the letter that I read previously, everything in this time capsule was bequeathed to the people of Courage Bay, not any individual. However, rest assured that you will be given a copy of your ancestor’s letter as soon as—”

“Don’t open the box,” Dean said. “That letter is a family heirloom. You could ruin it by exposing it to the air.”

“Get a grip, Dean,” Gerald Fitzwalter spoke up from the spectators in a clearly annoyed manner.

Gerald was president of his family’s local bank and head of the Chamber of Commerce. He was also a descendant of a Ranger crewman. Gerald and Dean had been feuding for twenty years. It all started when they were on opposing football teams in high school competing against each other in a regional championship. A fumble on the field resulted in a fight between them and they both got kicked out of the game. Each blamed the other.

“I wasn’t going to open the box of these letters at this time,” Oliver said in the tone of a professor addressing dense pupils. “I’m perfectly aware that some of these letters could have been written a hundred and fifty years ago and may, therefore, be doubly sensitive to the elements. Now, if I may proceed?”

The mayor nodded in his direction and Oliver finished naming the surviving crewmen. Emily already knew their names, as she was certain did most of this crowd.

Oliver then put the box aside and opened the next in the capsule. The letters within were written by average citizens depicting community life.

The first one was by a farmer—who, fortunately, didn’t have any descendants in the audience—but who, unfortunately, had included more details about raising chickens than Emily ever wanted to know.

The second letter Oliver read started out to be a great deal more interesting. It was from an amateur gardener who claimed to have found a wonderful medicinal plant that had cured her of the blinding headaches she’d had since adolescence. The gardener had included a copper tin that was filled with its seeds, which she described as a soothing intoxicant.