by Mona Ingram
Hardwood flooring in the hall gleamed with the rich patina of age. The staircase leading to the second floor rose on broad steps, worn in the center from countless feet over the years. Standing at the foot of the stairs, Charlie was enveloped by the sense of family that permeated the house. She could almost see young children creeping silently downstairs on a Christmas morning, stepping carefully to avoid telltale creaks. As she walked up the stairs she trailed her fingers along the banister, and was assailed by an image of children sliding down the sturdy rail. The picture was so vivid she could hear the laughter and feel the warm embrace of loving parents as they waited at the bottom.
With a soft sigh she stopped on the landing. On the walls, black and white portraits stared down at her as though watching her every move. Ornate frames, several skillfully carved and adorned in gold leaf, held images of previous inhabitants of the rambling home. She moved down the hall, studying each face. In one carefully posed portrait, a stony faced man stood behind a seated woman, one hand resting possessively on her shoulder. Lace trim peeked out from the high neck of the woman’s dress, the only visible adornment. The woman’s eyes were cold and unfeeling. Charlie knew instinctively that this couple had not been among the loving voices she’d just imagined.
On the opposite wall, simply framed, a young woman posed alone. Her hair was parted in the middle and pulled back in a loose bun. Generous lips seemed about to smile, but there was heartache in woman’s dark eyes. She was hauntingly beautiful and Charlie shivered, hurrying to the end of the hallway toward the door leading to the attic.
She opened the door and looked up, daunted by the confining space. How badly did she want to check out the attic? She’d never been fond of enclosed spaces, her discomfort bordering on claustrophobia. But the attic called to her in a way she couldn’t explain. She took a deep breath and reached for the pull chain to turn on the light. Edgy and nervous at the prospect of the steep, narrow stairway, she didn’t stop to ask herself how she’d known the chain would be there. The low-wattage light bulb cast barely enough light, but something drew her on; some inexplicable knowledge that beyond the stairwell was a cozy haven where dreams were free to take flight.
The door at the top of the stairs opened easily and Charlie stepped into a space filled with muted, golden light. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, willing her pounding heart to slow as she took in her surroundings.
Chapter Three
The attic was surprisingly large and ran the entire length of the house. On either end of the room, windows looked North and South. The glass could use a good scrub, but the accumulated dust and grime diffused the outside light, giving the illusion of fairy dust in the air. A shimmer of anticipation tiptoed down her spine.
‘Now you’re being ridiculous’ she told herself. ‘It’s only an old attic with piles of useless junk.’
But something had drawn her here, and she wasn’t about to turn around and go back downstairs. On second glance, she had to admit that the North end of the attic was a messy, hectic jumble. Ancient cardboard boxes disgorged dubious contents, creating the impression that this part of the attic had been a general dumping ground for broken and discarded items. At one time someone had tried to organize the chaos. Sports equipment had been tossed in one corner, a jumble of wooden skis and ski poles competing for space with tennis rackets in wooden frames. An ancient fabric golf bag leaned drunkenly against the outside wall, club heads sadly rusting. Several pairs of old-style roller skates sat forlornly in a row and Charlie wondered where anyone could possibly roller skate out here in the middle of farm country. A faded beach umbrella pointed toward a wicker baby carriage with one wheel missing. A dressmaker’s dummy overlooked a wind-up Victrola, perhaps waiting for the music to start.
Where the roof slanted away, a collection of fishing rods hung on nails pounded into the rafters. Charlie heard the line zing as it was cast out upon the still lake; saw the silver flash of the fish’s belly as it rose to take the lure. The sensation was startlingly real; she shivered and rubbed her arms, dragging herself back to the here and now.
At the South end of the attic, someone had created a peaceful corner. Under a dustsheet, she discovered an old high-backed wicker chair. One leg was broken and the chair was propped up by a few loose pieces of wood. Beside the chair, a small table held a lamp with a glass shade and a dusty book of poetry. Next to the book of poetry and free of the dust that coated everything else was the small lidless teapot that had been on the kitchen table last night, only then it had been filled with lavender. She picked it up to examine the delicately painted flowers under the glaze and was overcome with crushing sorrow. Her hands began to tremble and she hastily set the teapot back down. Shaken, she slumped into the chair and laid her head back against the cushions. For as long as she could remember she’d been able to sense people from the past, but she’d never come this close to sharing their emotions. What she’d felt just now had been profound anguish…as though her heart had been broken.
A few moments later the raw, jagged feelings faded away like a whisper on the wind. Had she imagined them? She looked around curiously but nothing had changed. Dust motes still danced in the air, suspended in a shaft of sunlight.
Below the window and up against the wall, a bookshelf displayed an excellent selection of classic titles. An old footstool sat before the bookshelf as though someone had been perusing the titles only moments before. Charlie noted several titles she’d always intended to read, but hadn’t. There would be time to correct that in the coming weeks. Smiling at the thought of discovering such a peaceful corner she turned her attention to two large, well-worn trunks.
She raised the lid of the closest trunk. A shallow tray divided into compartments held pillow cases and she removed one, holding it up to the light to admire the delicate embroidery. As she examined the other items she became aware that she was looking at an old-fashioned hope chest that had been lovingly prepared. The skill of the handiwork was exceptional. Underneath the tray were sheets, towels, and two quilts…everything a young woman would need to start housekeeping. She wondered if Janelle could fill her in on the history behind the remarkable find.
The second trunk held clothes and accessories. These, too, appeared to be new. Hats, gloves and shoes for changing seasons had been carefully wrapped in tissue. Dried lavender nestled in the corners of the tray, the fragrance delicately evocative.
Charlie lifted out the tray and her eyes widened as she discovered elegant clothes carefully folded. Long-sleeved blouses with soft bows at the neck, or with rows of delicate lace trim spoke of a time when femininity was judged differently. Beneath the blouses, long sweeping skirts lay folded on top of matching fitted jackets designed to reveal an hourglass figure. Finally, at the bottom of the trunk, two exquisite long dresses were revealed. One, a soft dove grey with lavender trim was deceptively elegant. The other, a rich plum colour, was equally beautiful. A strong presence filled the room and Charlie knew instinctively that the young women whose picture hung in the hallway had gathered the items in the trunks, and created this quiet refuge. She reached out to caress the fabric, hoping to pick up a sense of the woman’s joy as she prepared for the future. But there was no joy…only lingering sorrow and surprisingly enough, a faint glimmer of hope.
Lost in thought, she replaced the tray and closed the trunk. Everything that had happened here today was connected. The teapot, the trunks, the woman in the portrait; they were all linked, she just didn’t know how.
Lethargy crept up on her and with one last thoughtful look at the trunks she left the attic and went slowly downstairs to her bedroom. There, she curled up on the bed and drifted off to sleep thinking about the beautiful, haunted eyes in the picture on the landing.
* * *
“Hi, Wendy.” Jason found his sister in law alone in the summer kitchen, rolling pastry dough. “Where is everyone?”
“The house seems empty with Stu and Timmy away at camp, doesn’t it?” She flicked
a small amount of flour over the pastry. “Brad has gone into town for some supplies and Annie is in her bedroom with her nose stuck in a book as usual.” She smiled at him. He and Brad were similar where it counted. They were both good, hard-working men. But where Brad had settled down early, Jason was still looking for that one woman. In the meantime, her kids smothered him with affection when he was around.
“Do you need any help?” Jason glanced at the bowl full of pared apples. They were liberally coated with sugar and cinnamon and his mouth watered in anticipation. He had his own home about a mile away, but after his relationship with Christine had fizzled out, he’d taken to having dinner with Brad and his family. “Could I make you a cup of tea?”
“That would be great. I’ll have these pies in the oven in a couple of minutes and we can go upstairs and sit on the back porch.” Wendy Fleming knew him well enough to know that he wanted to talk, but she also knew that he would get around to it when he was good and ready. She folded the pastry in half and slipped it into the pie plate without thinking. She’d been making pies since she was big enough to help her mother and these two were assembled and into the oven by the time Jason had the teapot and two mugs on the old serving tray that she’d had since the first day of her marriage. She hung her apron on a hook beside the oven and followed Jason upstairs, lifting her long hair from her neck to take advantage of the light afternoon breeze.
Jason spooned sugar into her mug, poured tea into both mugs and then set her mug down on the table between them. Hunched forward, elbows on his knees, he blew on the tea in the mug he held loosely between his hands.
“How’s everything over at Jan’s?” Wendy hadn’t had time to ask him last night, as the lively dinner conversation had centered on which calf to enter in the fall fair. “Did her niece arrive all right?”
Jason nodded without looking up. “Oh she arrived all right. Jan had to take a run down to Regina and she asked me to pick her up.”
So that was it; something about Jan’s niece was bothering him. She took a sip of tea. “What’s she like?”
Jason shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
“For heaven’s sake, Jason, spit it out. What’s bothering you?”
He didn’t answer right away, but swirled the tea in his cup, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think she’s going to be any help at all to Janelle. She knows nothing about life on a farm.”
“Well she wouldn’t, would she? But that’s no reason to take against her, surely.” Jason was acting completely out of character.
He shot her a quick glance. “She’s so darned prickly. No matter what I say to her, we end up in an argument.”
Wendy nodded and lowered her eyes so he couldn’t see the smile lurking there. “You know, Jason, not every woman is as easygoing as the ones you’ve been dating. Even Christine went along with everything you wanted.”
His head came up. “Yeah. Everything except living on a farm. She drew the line at that.”
Wendy didn’t want to get into that again. Jason’s heart had been broken when Christine announced that she was going back to Regina after living with him for almost a year, but that was in the past. In her opinion it was for the best; it never would have worked out, but she kept those thoughts to herself.
Wendy took a deep breath. “Does this mean that you’re going to judge every woman that comes along based on what happened between you and Christine? Because if that’s so, something tells me you’re going to be a lonely old man.”
He shrugged and downed the rest of his tea. “I know, but…”
“What’s her name?”
“Charlie. That’s about all I know. Oh yes, she’s from Calgary.”
“Aha. Named after her great great aunt Charlotte.” Wendy glanced northward, toward Janelle’s land. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Charlie had some relationship problems of her own recently.”
“Oh?” He looked up hopefully. “In what way?”
“I don’t know all the details, but she was involved with a chap and they were planning to live together but it all blew up. Janelle said they’d been going out for quite a while. Charlie took it hard. No wonder she’s so…what did you call her…prickly.”
“That explains some of it, I guess.” Jason glanced up, smiling ruefully. “But even at the best of times, this woman could try a guy’s patience.”
“And is there anything wrong with that?” Wendy’s rebuke was spoken gently. “Seems to me that a woman with a little backbone would make life interesting. After all, as you’re so fond of saying, we’re in the twenty-first century.”
“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Jason smiled at his sister-in-law. “Thanks, Wendy.” He stood up and stretched. “I suppose I’d better get over there and do the evening chores before dinner. I’m thinking of running into town tonight.”
Wendy watched him disappear. Where Brad was dark and solid, Jason was the golden prince. Tall and lithe, he’d always seemed unaware of the effect he had on women. Maybe he’d finally met someone who would challenge his way of thinking. In spite of her affection for her brother-in-law, she was all too aware that he viewed the world in black and white. Deep in thought, she drank the remainder of her tea. Perhaps Jason’s way of looking at the world was the result of growing up on a farm. Here, there was little time for anything other than practicalities. Farming four sections of land was tough work.
Wendy pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the porch railing, where her gaze roamed slowly across the familiar landscape. Jason was the younger of the two brothers and when he’d announced that he wanted to stay and work the farm with Brad, she and her husband had been filled with pride. His love for the land equaled his brother’s and they worked well together. But he needed a life partner, and so far he hadn’t met any likely candidates.
The sweet smell of baked apples and cinnamon broke into her reverie and she headed downstairs. Jason wasn’t the only one who preferred to deal with practical matters.
* * *
Janelle hummed softly to herself as she hobbled up the stairs. She was pleased with what she’d accomplished on the sculpture today and was looking forward to getting away from the farm and spending an evening at The Trip. Thankfully, she’d be switching to a walking cast and a cane in a few days. She paused on the landing to catch her breath. Charlie’s bedroom door was open and she lay sprawled on the bed, fully dressed and sound asleep. Janelle turned away and then looked back. Her niece’s dark, curly hair was tousled by sleep and she fingered her own straight locks, wishing she’d been in line for that particular gene. She hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but Charlie’s strong, thin nose and generous lips were vaguely familiar. With a frown, she studied the line of Charlie’s chin and her graceful neck. “She reminds me of someone,” Janelle said to no one in particular. Perplexed, she made her way down the hall toward her own room. She badly needed the shower that would wash away the dust of today’s efforts. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, bouncing off the glass in one of the framed portraits. With a smile of recognition, she paused in front of the portrait of Charlotte Freeman, her grandmother’s sister.
“The resemblance is uncanny,” she said thoughtfully, tilting her head to one side to study the portrait. She searched the corners of her memory for what she knew about the young woman in the portrait. None of what she had been told was happy.
* * *
“You’re sure I look okay?” Charlie climbed into the driver’s seat of the pickup truck and glanced over at her aunt. She wasn’t usually nervous in new situations, but she wanted to make a good impression. She thought about Jason and winced.
Janelle’s smile bolstered her confidence. “You look wonderful. I wish I had your clothes sense.” Her lips twitched. “You didn’t get that from your mother.”
Charlie nodded. “I know I shouldn’t criticize, but you’ve got that right. What can I say? Mom’s never been a happy camper.”
Janelle gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry, she’s my
sister, remember?” They’d come to the end of the long driveway and Janelle indicated that they should turn right on the paved road, heading toward town. “Let’s just say that your Mom and I see things from different perspectives. She always wanted things to be just so. When we were kids she kept her half of the room neat and tidy and mine was a mess.” Her voice turned thoughtful. “I would guess that that’s what went wrong in her marriage too, although it isn’t my place to say. I think she wanted everything to be perfect and she thought she could mould your Dad into her version of what a husband should be.”
“And we all know how well that worked.” Charlie turned silent for a moment. “At least he’s content now with his new wife. Mom won’t even allow me to mention his name, but I’m happy for him.” Charlie darted a quick look at her aunt. “You know, I never talk about them, even with my best friend. You have no idea what a relief it is to have someone to talk to.”
“Actually, I do.” Janelle tilted her chin toward the last streaks of colour in the darkening sky. The undersides of the distant clouds were painted brilliant orange, bruised plum and soft peach; a rapidly fading fruit salad of colour. “Stop here for a moment, would you? I love to watch the sky when the sun is going down.”
Charlie pulled over and her aunt continued talking.
“When we were young, Matt and I used to drive out to the middle of nowhere and watch the sunsets. I can still remember the first time I told him about my dreams of becoming a sculptor. He was the first one who encouraged me and the only person who took me seriously.” Her voice trailed off as the last colour faded from the sky. “So yes, I know what it’s like to have someone to talk to. Someone who understands.”
