Otis Whitfield came to Atlanta from Macon with a borrowed toolbox and a habit of fixing watches at the kitchen table. I was working the counter at a pharmacy on the corner. He could tell a good stone from a bad one. I could talk to people. Twenty-seven years ago we rented a small storefront in the West End and put our two names over the door.
The arrangement never changed. Otis chose every piece that went in the case, with his loupe in his hand. I kept the counter, and I kept the layaway book. Five dollars a week until the ring was yours. Every name written in a spiral notebook. It is still under the register.
Wedding bands, first communions, anniversaries, Sunday mornings. If it mattered in the neighborhood, chances are it passed over our counter first. That is still how we choose what goes in the case: pieces made to be worn every day, by people we hope will wear them for the rest of their lives.
Every order is packed by the two of us and ships with tracking. If a piece is not right for you, write to us and we will sort it out.
Thank you for twenty-seven years of trusting us with your occasions.
— Ruby Mae