Peace Lies Within

“Where did you find these?” the pawn broker asked, eyeing a scrawny twelve-year-old unfolding a dirty scrap of canvas.

“By the I&M Canal,” the boy replied, revealing seven arrowheads of varying shapes. “Saw one while fishing... dug up the rest.”

The broker showed no reaction. He’d run this shop in Channahon for thirty years. Locals and tourists came through chasing payouts for artifacts all the time.

“They’re Potawatomi... pretty common,” he said knowledgeably. “Forty dollars.”

The boy hesitated, then accepted the cash and left. 

In the back room, the broker spread out the canvas, hands trembling.

Unlocking a cabinet, he removed an ornate wooden box carved with Potawatomi symbols. He’d translated them long ago: The secret to peace lies within.

With rugged hands, he rotated the box carefully. Each side featured a groove, with three sides already filled, precisely matched to an arrowhead. One opening remained.

He sifted through the boy’s finds, studying each notch and point like a locksmith testing keys. His pulse quickened when he came across one with a fossilized leaf imprinted on it, just like the other three.

He steadied his breath and slowly pressed the arrowhead into place.

Click. The lid sprang open.

The pawn broker stared for a beat. A quiet laugh escaped as a small pile of dried leaves and bark, or kinnikinnick, seemed to mock him. All these years… he shook his head.

Retrieving a pipe and box of matches, he sat in his own contentment, gladly accepting the generations-old peace offering.