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Her eyes brightened. We had one downstairs on a table in the living room. Atop it was a ballerina who danced to the music. Baby Celeste was so taken with it. Mama thought she would wear out the mechanism.

I blew some of the dust off the little wooden box, then squatted beside her to open it.

Amazingly, despite how long it had been up here, it began to play a piece of a Mozart piano

sonata that Mama often played. Even Baby Celeste recognized it and said. "Mama. Piano."

"Yes,'" I told her, then I realized it might have been heard below. I held my breath and listened hard. Baby Celeste saw the look of apprehension on my face and froze as well. Their work made too much noise, I thought confidently, and released my lungs. Then I smiled at her and looked into the box.

All it held was a small lock of golden blond hair tied with a thin piece of faded pink ribbon. It was certainly not Mama's hair, nor was it Noble's, mine, or Baby Celeste's. It couldn't be my daddy's either. His was raven black. Whose was it? Why had it been left up here, hidden away in a dusty corner? This was something people usually did with their baby's hair, but pressed into family albums.

The music box stopped playing. I studied it further, turning it o

ver and every which way to look for some clue, but I found nothing else. Baby Celeste wanted to hear the music again, so I turned the key and let it play. We brought it back to the center of the room and spent the remainder of our time occupyingourselves with other things: her picture books and coloring books mainly. She fell asleep on my lap and I dozed off myself. In fact, we were both asleep and didn't hear Mama come up the stairs and open the door at the end of the day. Her gasp woke me.

She was standing over us, her eyes wide, her hands pressed over her breasts. I stirred and Baby Celeste woke up, sat up, and rubbed her eyes.

"Where did you find that?" Mama asked, nodding at the small ebony wood box beside me.

"Baby Celeste found it," I said. "Something made her want to go exploring behind the old dresser. It was as if she knew it was there."

That seemed to disturb Mama more. Her right hand fluttered up to the base of her throat like a struggling baby bird. She took another deep breath. "When did she find it?"

"I don't know. About two hours ago. I guess. It was back there." I pointed to the rear of the room. "What is it? Whose hair is that in it? Why is it up here? Why couldn't it be downstairs in the living room?"

I lifted the box and Mama backed away as if she expected it would explode.

"It's very pretty, and it plays that Mozart piece you play. See," I said, and started to open it so it would play.

"No!" Mama screamed. "Leave it be. Don't open it. Put it back where it was. Go on."

"You mean back on the floor behind the dresser'?"

"Yes, just put it back there," she ordered.

"But whose hair is in it?"

Mama looked at Baby Celeste, who sat there gazing up at her as if she expected to hear the answer, too.

"It doesn't matter. Just put it back."

"How come you want it left up here?" I rose to do what she wanted.

"I just do. I just do. Stop asking me and do what I tell you." she said angrily.

I had never seen Mama so visibly shaken. Her body trembled and she was pale. I hurried to put the box behind the dresser in the corner.

"You opened it." Mama said more to herself than to me. She looked about the room fearfully, then scooped Baby Celeste into her arms. Had the little music box called to some spirit she feared?

"Everyone's gone." Mama said. "You can come downstairs now Bring the chamber pot to empty, too. Quickly!"

She turned and fled the turret room. I glanced back at the small box and then got the chamber pot and followed. My heart was thumping from Mama's reaction. Why couldn't we touch it, open it? Nothing in this house frightened her. If anything bothered her, she got rid of it or washed it in candle smoke.

I heard her descending the stairway quickly, more like someone fleeing. She was already down to the main stairway when I reached the second-floor landing. I went into the bathroom. emptied the pot in the toilet, then placed it on the floor. After that I paused to look into my room to admire the new rug. It did make the room brighter, and the rug in Mama's room gave it a new, fresh look as well, as did the new carpet in the living room. It made it look warmer. "All the rugs are very nice. Mama." I said.

She had put Baby Celeste down and was standing by the window gazing out. She acted as if she hadn't heard me. Baby Celeste plopped on the rug and smiled up at me, pleased with the feel and the color.

"With the new curtains you're getting and the other things we're doing, the house is Going to look so much better. Mama. You were right about that," I told her, hoping to get her to stop behaving so strangely.