“I just got married and I’m trying to find the perfect present for my husband and I can’t think of a thing. I thought…Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with things like this.”

“No, no, that’s all right, dear. If you don’t mind stepping out of the elevator, we could chat for a bit. I’m a bit early for my appointment, so it’s all right. There’s a small bench over there,” the woman said, pointing down the hall with her cane.

Lizzie stepped out of the elevator. So she would be a little late meeting with Mr. Bell. Well, sometimes some things were just more important than being on time.

“Contrary to what people think, most old people do not talk incessantly. I know you must be here for an appointment, as am I, so I’ll talk fast. The year I got married, we were terribly poor. We moved into a ramshackle house that had belonged to my husband’s parents. We fixed it up with spit and glue and ten dollars. It was a very small house, but at the same time so very wonderful. We lived in it until our babies came along, at which time we had to sell it. I have an old picture of the house and the outer buildings that we took on our wedding day, which, by the way, was on Valentine’s Day. I knew we would eventually move, even though we had just moved in.

“There is this wonderful shop in Alexandria, the old part. There are two brothers, and now a few sons and nephews, who work there. They make replicas of buildings. Actually, they make whole villages if a client wants one. All kinds, log cabins, McMansions, although why anyone would want one of those is beyond me. My husband was so overwhelmed with my simple little gift. At the time it cost two dollars, and that was considered expensive. I took in sewing and did laundry for other folks and used that money to pay for it that first Christmas. I don’t know what it would cost today, but I do know you will get a handcrafted, unique, one-of-a-kind building. They’ll make it whatever size you want. I no longer have my husband, but I still have our first little house. It sits on my mantel. I hope I helped,” the woman said, standing up with the aid of her cane. “My name is Elsa Shaw, and I’m in the phone book. The shop’s name is Finley and Sons.”

“Elizabeth Fox. My friends call me Lizzie. Yes, ma’am, that sounds exactly like what I want, a gift for all time. Thank you so much.”

“Be happy, dear. I was glad to help.”