“Can I hold it?’ Sheila uttered her first words and although it seemed intrusive to her parents, Filbert put the toothpick back in its holder, slipped the chain off and placed the cross in Sheila’s shaky hand. He then got up and walked around the table, sitting next to her. She could feel his heart beating against her shoulder. She had never felt so alive.
“You just pop this little lever here.” He put his hand under hers and the cross opened on a tiny hinge. Inside was that golden pick. She let the cross slip into his hand then reached in to pull the toothpick out.
“I had that specially made in Topeka. Melted down from my grandfather’s tie tack he wore every day for forty-five years. He was a preacher too, although unlike me he was called to a single humble farm church amongst the cornfi
