Author’s Note: This story was written for the “Ring” Challenge included in the conzine for the Kansas City BatB con“Above, Below, and Beyond,” July 2022.

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“Hey, Cullen, I’m thinking we could play some cards after supper. You in?”

Cullen packed the last of his woodworking tools into his canvas bag, then shook his head. “Not tonight, Winslow. Got some things I need to do.”

“Are you certain?” Vincent fell into place next to the master woodworker as the construction crew trudged homeward. “We’ve been working long hours all week. It would be good to take a break and relax for a while.”

Cullen shrugged, as if reconsidering. “Sure, save me a seat. I’ll probably stop by later.”

But he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He’d be spending time with someone else instead.

Hours later, after trying not to bolt down his dinner while dodging further conversation with the others, Cullen finally entered the darkened reaches of his chamber. After setting a match to a few candles, he put an unlit lantern at the entrance. It was unlikely anyone would come looking for him, but he couldn’t take a chance. Not tonight.

His heart raced as he approached the wooden wardrobe set back in an alcove. At the twist of an old brass key, the doors swung open on silent, oiled hinges. Had anyone, no matter how unlikely, ever intruded on his privacy, they would have seen nothing more than his clothes meticulously folded on a series of shelves and hung neatly from a rod above two pairs of boots lined up in a precise row. There was nothing in the sterile façade to hint at the possibility of beauty and wonder hidden within.

He carefully lifted a pile of worn work shirts and set them aside. With trembling fingers, he pushed on a nearly invisible spot in the panel at the back of the shelf and watched it slide open. He reached into the darkness and then froze like a skittish stag sensing a hunter’s stealth.

Were those footsteps in the passageway? He twisted his head to stare over his shoulder toward the empty shadows. As usual, no one was there to seek him out or intrude on his privacy. But that was the way he liked it, right? Or so he told himself.

With a sigh, he turned back toward the place where his treasure was concealed, its safety guaranteed by craftiness and longing, until he – and only he – chose to reveal it. His hand shook as he reached into the darkness and brought forth his prize.

It took only moments to unwrap it from a piece of threadbare velvet, to hold its reality in his hands, just as he embraced its memory in his heart. He blinked back a tear as he carried it to a table next to the single comfortable chair in his chamber. Candlelight glistened on its gleaming surface, lovingly polished and preserved for so many, many years. He collapsed onto the chair and cradled the cherished object in his hands.

He’d carved the box from a piece of burnished teak he’d earned with countless hours of work in trade. With a callused finger, he traced the curves and swirls of vines and leaves and flowers, morning glories – her favorite. He smiled, remembering how she’d always loved to see them, winding their vines along a rusty railing outside the narrow window of their basement apartment, opening their blossoms to the possibility of a new, sunlit day.

That’s the way she had been, too, his Betty. Always hopeful, always cheerful, despite living in a tiny, one-bedroom flat that smelled of damp and other people’s cooking, with a man who would never be able to give her what she deserved. His smile faded, and he shook his head. How many times had he promised her that someday their ship would come in and all their dreams would come true? He’d actually believed it then, but it had never happened. Yet she had loved him with all her heart from the moment they’d met.

It had been thirty-five years ago tonight that his best pal Jacek had talked him into going to a dance in the basement hall of Saint Joseph’s Church. All the kids from their Greenpoint High senior class would be there, lots of girls to choose from, Jacek had said, knowing Cullen would find that lure hard to resist. And he’d been right, but only one girl had caught Cullen’s eye – Elzbieta, his friend’s cousin recently arrived from Poland, eager to embrace life in her sparkling new American world.

He felt a smile curve his lips again. It had been like something out of a movie, one he would have scoffed at even a day earlier. One minute he was flirting with a perky girl from his geometry class and the next he was mesmerized by a vision, a beautiful, delicate flower shimmering in the murky light, like something out of one of those Irish fairytale books his grandmother had read to him as a child. Their eyes had met and he would have sworn, believed it even now, that something rare and wonderful was created on the spot, a bond that would never be broken.

And it hadn’t been, at least not for three years. They’d married right out of high school, just seventeen years old, uniting immigrant families like so many in their Brooklyn neighborhood. His mind drifted through time, recalling summer evenings after her long days waitressing at a diner and his selling cleaning supplies door to door, when they would stand on the embankment near the Pulaski Bridge, gazing across the East River toward Long Island City.

Someday we’ll have a nice house over there, he’d tell her time and again, and her reply would always be the same. With room for a garden and a trellis of morning glories. He’d pull her close with an arm around her shoulders and add, And a backyard with a swing set for those two kids we’re going to have. He could almost feel the sweep of her silky blonde hair against his cheek. She’d always smiled that heavenly smile as she lovingly corrected him, Three, and don’t forget a dog, too, and a workshop for you to make beautiful things.

But none of it had ever happened. Cancer had eaten into her slender body like a ravaging predator, and only six months after that heartbreaking diagnosis, she was gone. With no health insurance, the care she’d received was minimal at best, and in the end he hadn’t even been able to pay the bill for that. If he’d been a better husband, a better man, maybe things would have been different, maybe she’d still be with him, and they’d be living in that dreamland they’d envisioned.

It was all his fault. He couldn’t save her. His Elzbieta. She would always be that fairytale princess to him, even though she’d insisted everyone call her by her new American name. A name she’d worn proudly as she embraced her wonderful new life with her beloved husband, neither of them guessing it would all slip from their hands much too soon.

After her death, his life became a dark and dangerous place. Trying to escape the pain, he’d eagerly embraced rage. Another hole punched in a tenement wall, another job lost when a boss’s patience finally ran out, another night spent unconscious and bleeding in a filthy alley. Then one night at the free clinic where he’d gone to be stitched up from yet another bar fight, he’d found himself telling his story to a nurse who’d once tried to help Betty in those hours of pain and darkness. She’d listened carefully and then spoke to him of a place that sounded too good to be true. But with nothing more to lose, he’d grasped at that lifeline, and once again his life had changed forever. He’d taken only a few things with him — his memories of lost dreams, his precious woodworking tools, and the treasure he now held in his hands.

With a sigh that came from deep within his soul, he opened the box. His heart skipped a beat, as if in anticipation of something unknown about to be revealed, even though he knew what he would find. His rough fingers caught on the little ivory satin bag. He pulled open its drawstrings and let the treasure within fall into his palm.

It twinkled up at him in the candlelight, the diamond ring his grandmother had brought to Brooklyn from Donegal and had given to him on her deathbed so that someday he might offer it to the love of his life. As if it were yesterday, he remembered how, with a joyous smile, Betty had said, “Yes,” and he’d slipped the precious symbol on her finger.

The memory, like the reality he held in his hand, was bittersweet. If he’d pawned or sold the ring, maybe they could have made a down payment on that little house…or he could have gotten Betty the care she’d needed. But she’d forbidden it. It was his family’s treasure, she’d told him, their treasure, and it must be cherished no matter what. When in desperation, he suggested otherwise, she’d become so distraught that he promised he would never mention it again.

He turned the ring back and forth, watching it sparkle with a secret fire deep within the stones. As the inevitable end approached, Betty had called upon that same fervent strength within herself to extract from him a promise, one he wished with all his heart he’d never had to make. He could still hear her beloved voice.

Promise me that when I am gone, you will not go on alone forever. I know you will grieve for me, as I would for you, but someday you must find someone else to share life with.

He’d tried to make her stop saying such impossible things, but he could not deprive her of her last wish and so had forced himself to listen, to nod, to agree to things that broke his heart.

This ring stands for our pledge, the love we share, and when…when I’m gone, it must do so again. Maybe not the same way, but still all love is precious. I don’t want to leave you, but I will rest easy knowing you will not go on alone forever. Promise me this, my love.

And so, he had. But even at that moment, he knew he’d lied to her. He would never love another. How could he? The very thought of it was insane, impossible…And yet…

They’d met at Winterfest, a woman Catherine had brought Below to begin a new life, another survivor seeking a second chance far from the trials and torment of the world Above. At first glance, Anita seemed as different from his wife as night from day, and yet there was something there. A familiar look in her eyes that called to him, a sweetness he remembered and longed for, a smile that held tentative hope, or maybe the pathway to a promise at last fulfilled…

But promises were not to be made lightly. He sighed again, and with one final caress of its glowing surface, he returned the ring to its hiding place. It would be there waiting, perhaps for next year’s sweet and sorrowful anniversary, or perhaps for the day when he finally would keep the promise he’d pledged in grief and love so many years ago.

Treasure lost might still be found again.