Samuel was very happy that day.
He had always loved treasure. Loved hiding them, finding them. He would bury the previous year's school badge in a small tin box in the schoolyard imagining... What if that box was excavated hundreds of years later and became a relic representing yesteryear's school systems? Not all history comes to ruin after all.
He would bury coins, soda bottles, and electric switches. He was always frustrated about how he never found any historical figurines though. Pissed, one day he buried one of his action figures by the car park at his favourite diner. At least someone down the ages will get lucky.
Wherever he went - to the beach, to an uncle's farm, or a flower garden, he viewed dirt as a potential storyteller if you only knew where to dig. So far his collection included metal caps of liquor bottles, an ornate hairpin, a doorknob, the thing you use to pull on the zipper, and other knick-knacks. And a busted watch. His prized jewel. With the namesake 'H. A. Lionel' etched at the back.
Samuel would conjure up stories about every treasure he found. Like how H. A. Lionel was a brave lieutenant. How he must have dropped the watch while being on the run from enemies. How sad he must be realizing he lost his father's gift. Samuel would then send condolences to this late Lieutenant Lionel who lost his watch during an escape. And so on for every single item he 'treasure'-d.
Recently, their family had moved back into the suburbs. They had some ancestral property and Sam's dad decided it was time to retire from city life. Although Samuel would need to take the bus to school now and miss some of his neighbourhood friends, he was giddy with excitement at the prospect of his new dig site and all the secrets he would unearth.
For days he would bolt down to the backyard with this kiddie spade (the only thing he had asked for last Christmas) after school and won't return until evening. He would brave mom's scolding for turning up filthy. Dad would let it pass. He would pat on his back for the good work and would reason with mom that they could always use the dug-up ground to plant flowers.
But alas, it was not to be. Never had a dig site disappointed him so. He always had to sneak about; surreptitiously digging at places where there was a small danger someone could say something. But this was his place. He had the lay of the land. But nary half a paper clip. This was his first professional failure in his digging career. And he was not taking it well. Even the archeology book his dad got him didn't placate him. It only reminded him of what he was missing in real life.
Life continued. It was winter again. Snow had begun sticking to the ground. There would be no new digging for some time. It wasn't Christmas yet. So the new digging tools his dad had promised won't be there for a while.
Samuel volunteered for helping mom with the cleaning during the vacation. Earn back a few brownie points. But really to distract himself from being away from his true passion.
So that day he ventured into the attic. It was at least somewhat amusing. He quickly started making plans about how this could be his private hideout. He went about clearing out old boxes. And then he found it.
A small tin soldier. Hidden behind cartons. With the bayonet and hat intact. It hadn't even rusted. As he blew on it, light shined on the chrome and crimson coat. Dust particles danced away aglow in shafts of sunlight, happy to have played in their role in the reveal. It was very well preserved. Samuel hadn't even begun feeling the eruption of elation yet. He slowly turned the toy. Yes! The bottom carried initials 'E. M' etched in elaborate cursive.
And then it hit him. His eyes widened. He screamed as he streaked downstairs not believing his luck. All this while he had been looking at the wrong place. His treasure, his first-ever figurine wasn't parked below ground but was above ground. Over his very own bedroom. As he hugged his mom who'd run helter-skelter across the hall, afraid Sam had hurt himself, it took both of them solid minutes of huffing and half mutterings to clear the confusion and explain the excitement.
It was like Christmas came early. Sam cleaned and polished his figurine. And then re-did it. He cleared out his shelf and gave the tin toy soldier a good four inches of space in every direction. H. A Lionel humbly retired from the prized jewel position. Samuel couldn't wait to tell to his dad.
At dinner, the family toasted to their archeological star with soda and fried chicken. It was all a hoot. The now restored tin soldier was on display in the middle of the table. Samuel kept beaming the whole time. However, it wasn't the end of unexpected turns just yet.
Sam's mom while examining his son's newest exploit became silently observant while looking at the initials 'E. M'. As she mused to herself, she quietly paced the room and got an old diary from a cupboard. She flipped a few pages, nodding to herself as if confirming something they guessed at. With a certain page open, she put an arm around her husband and slid the diary towards his son. With a smile on her face, she calmed both the men who by now were wearing puzzled looks.
"Sam," she said,” 'E.M' is Edward Murray. This place, our place belonged to him before your great-grandpa bought it. This diary came with a bunch of property papers. I had flipped through it and kept it not knowing what to do with it. This diary also mentions that Edward Murray ran a small toy factory. What you found today must have come from there."
Sam peered at the diary. As he flipped to the end, he found an inscription. It said 'Ed Murray's Toys'. It also carried an insignia. In elaborate cursive, the initials 'E.M'. Sam looked up at his parents with astonishment filling up his eyes. He shut the diary and pushed it a little away to not have tears fall on it.
Later he would re-position E.M at the center of his collection with his diary beside him. Mom and Dad tucked him in and kissed him good-night. He would not sleep just yet. This was the biggest night of his life. In all the excitement he never even found time to fabricate a back story. Now, he won't need to. Sitting there, just yonder, was a real piece of history. Ancestry that belonged to himself. He belonged to it and it belonged to him.
Sam was very happy that day.
