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It was just a bed, but it was so beautiful. Even as a child the bed fascinated me. With my childish creative powers, I would imagine pretty princesses being in the bed. I could see kings sternly issuing orders to subordinates from under its beautiful wings. Graceful queens surely must have reposed here after court functions. Had youthful princes once jumped on this bed, and been reprimanded? Surely such a beautiful bed had once graced a palace! I would dream about the day that I could own this wonderful bed. My imagination planned the most wonderful home in the world to house this incredible bed (thoughts of how I was to pay for this mansion never entered my feeble brain)! I would lie in THE bed (whenever I think of this bed, it always as "THE" bed) and admire the delicate detail in the carved roses that were on the headboard and the foot posts. Each petal was picture perfect. I would admire the patience and skill of the artist who carved (or whittled, as we call it here in the South) it. The roses were also carved on the matching armoire and dressing table. How could mahogany be carved into such beautiful flowers? I would dream about what colors I would replace the drooping, rotting velvet that tufted the inside of the bonnet with. Even with the horsehair showing through the velvet, the tufting had wonderful patterns in it. Despite the fact that I had never seen a bed like this, I thought how neat it would be if there were feathers coming out of the bonnet on top of the bed. Little did I know that the bed had originally been designed for ostrich plumes in the top. The bed had a long, colorful history. As I grew up and learned about its history, I became more enthralled with the bed. It was carefully wrapped and shipped to the United States, along with a tall armoire and nice dressing table, when my 4th-great-grandfather (John) emigrated to America. As the third son of a wealthy family, he could not inherit the family property, so he decided to come to America. I often wish I knew more about the journey from Germany. Was it a smooth trip, or did the bed slide across the hold of the ship during fierce storms? Was John and his wife seasick during the trip. Evidently they were not too sick, a child was conceived on the journey. Soon this wonderful bed was in a nice home in Georgia. John prospered, bought more acreage, and soon the bed was to move into an even nicer home. This house was added onto through the years, and eventually the bed graced a wonderful master suite, worthy of the splendor that the bed brought into the room. After the Civil War, John’s family lost the property that John had worked so hard to accumulate. Soon, they were sharecroppers, each generation moving slowing across the Southern States, until they finally settled in Arkansas. I can imagine the groans (and curses) that were uttered at the thought of loading this massive bedroom suite into wagons and moving them. I'm sure during this time the thought of just leaving the bed somewhere along the road entered into the minds of my ancestors. However, no one acted on these thoughts. During the migration across America this wonderful bed (that was fit for kings to sleep in), was moved into a series of 2 and 3-room shacks. How humbling it must have been for this majestic bed to be placed in such desolate rooms. In one of the shacks, the ceilings in the bedroom were too low for the bed to be installed in the bedroom, so it was placed in the living room. My aunt remembered her shame at bringing friends home and them seeing a bed in the living room. When my grandfather passed away, this wonderful bedroom suite was taken to my aunts house, where it lived for the next 20 years. As I grew older, I began to realize how important this bed had been to our family. With a blush, and quite a lot of fascination, I realized that my mother had been conceived and born on this bed. Less than two years later my grandmother drew her last breath while leaned against this headboard, fighting desperately for this last breath. Water dropsy (congestive heart failure) had claimed her at the age of twenty-eight. When I heard this story, I wished that this bed could tell me more about my family history. One night while talking with Auntie (pronounced "Aaainteee" in my best Southern drawl), I had the most sinking, sick feeling that I have ever experienced. My palms still sweat when I think about that night. Auntie said to me, "Do you remember that ugly old bed that I had (as if I could forget such a wonderful piece)? I took it to the dump today and went to Sears and bought a new bedroom suite!" "Surely she was jesting," I thought. "Surely she cannot be excited about getting a bedroom group from Sears, and replacing such a fantastic suite with it." After all of the years of begging for this wonderful suite, I could not believe that she would just throw it away.Thoughts such as, "My fantastic bed had such a history, surely it can't be gone" rang like bells in my head. "Just the fact that it had been in the family for so many years was enough justification for keeping this wonderful piece, even if she did not realize its value as an antique," I justified. I jumped into my truck, and drove to Arkansas, hoping against hope that it was still in the dump. Oh the emotions that went through my mind on that, long, long trip. Rage and despair over the insanity of it all went through my mind. Tears and fits of giggling about the stupidity of the situation accompanied me to Arkansas. Alternate bouts of hope and deep despair were my constant companions. When I arrived in Arkansas, I did not go to Auntie’s house. I was certain that I would not be able to face her. I went straight to the dump to be there when they opened. Unfortunately, it was not there. I am certain that she was not out of the dump before someone was loading it up. It was so beautiful. The wonderful bed, awesome armoire and incredible dressing table were gone after hundreds of years in the family. Oh well...When I tried talking to Auntie about how it hurt me when she threw it away, she said, "It was just a bed". It was years before I could look at Auntie without wanting to wring her neck, burst into tears or beat my head on the wall. When I told my wife what my emotions were, she advised me to burst into tears. Wringing Auntie’s neck might bring some relief, but it would certainly land me in jail. Beating my head against the wall might tear the house down, since (according to her) my head was so hard that I would most certainly damage something. If I only cried, there would be no damage. So much for loving support from my spouse! I could understand that Auntie had never had any new furniture, and that she wanted to own something new. I couldn't understand her throwing away a family heirloom. "Oh well...it wasn't my bed, so I have no right to be upset about her doing anything she wanted to with her own property," I kept telling myself.. Still, it hurt to know that my wonderful bed was not there anymore. I had to reach way down deep inside of myself (I didn't know if I was going to be able to get deep enough!) to reach the point of forgiving Auntie for her unforgivable actions. I had to continually remind myself that it was not my job to get revenge, not matter how justified I was in wanting revenge. In my mind I could hear my mother quoting scripture to me, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I will repay". Oh how I wanted to do the job for Him. However, I did get some small revenge. Not long after Auntie threw my wonderful bed, armoire and dressing table away, I took her into an antique store. The store had 3 beds similar to bed that she had thrown away, although they were not as nice as "THE" bed. The price tags on the beds ranged from $20,000-$30,000, without the matching pieces. Auntie turned slightly green, then pale when she realized how much she had thrown away. I must admit I thought the color green was quite becoming on her. I then, very quietly (and with a great deal of joyful glee), said, "It was just a bed."
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