moaned, rolling over. “Would everyone just go away and leave me alone.”
* * *
Chill evening air woke Charlie and she sat up groggily. Voices floated up from the porch. She hadn’t heard Jack arrive, but his rich baritone mingled pleasingly with Janelle’s silvery laughter.
That could have been me, she thought sadly. Sharing a moment with Jason. But no, I had to make a promise to a ghost. And yet…a quiver of awareness made her look around. And yet, she knew she was doing the right thing. Now where to start?
She stood at the bottom of the attic steps, staring up the narrow passageway. The enclosed space appeared even more daunting at night. She had to move now, or she’d lose her nerve. She fought back her fear, pulled the light chain and ran up the stairs. Once inside the attic door she fumbled for the light switch, calming her pounding heart. The weak bulb cast enough light to make her way to ‘her’ corner. Oddly shaped shadows rose up behind items that been stored and forgotten for years. Finding solace in the comfortable corner, she turned on the table lamp and sank gratefully into the chair, one hand clutched over her racing heart.
And then she saw it. The lid of the trunk was up! Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the trunk.
Her thoughts raced as she took in the rest of the room, where everything was as before. Her gaze reluctantly returned to the trunk. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out; the trunk held something important…something that would bring Charlotte and Harm back together.
Charlie re-examined the linens in the top tray. There was nothing there. No secret message stitched into the pillowcases, no treasure map where X marked the spot. With a snort of derision at her wild imaginings, she lifted the top tray out and set it aside. The sheets, tablecloths and blankets were undisturbed. What message could they possibly hold? Determined to exhaust every possibility she fell to her knees. Could there be some sort of message…a letter perhaps…stuck between the folds? Slowly and methodically she ran her hand between each layer of fabric.
Near the bottom of the trunk, between layers of crisp linen sheets, her hand brushed up against something solid. She reached farther, and her heart started to race. Her fingers closed around a leather-bound book. Fearing disappointment, she hesitated. It was probably a Bible. Well, she wouldn’t get the answer sitting here. She withdrew the item slowly, almost reverently.
Her fingers traced gold-embossed words on the cover. “My Journal” she said aloud. This was what she had been meant to find. With utmost care, she replaced everything in the trunk, replaced the tray and closed the lid. The journal had waited all this time, it could wait a moment or two more.
Satisfied that everything had been returned to its original position, she settled into the chair to read.
* * *
“Wendy, where are you?” Jason’s voice seemed to echo in the house since the boys were away.
“Down here.”
He should have known. Wendy was like his mother, who had preferred to work in the cooler summer kitchen. Surprisingly, some of his favourite memories were of the summer he’d contracted a severe case of poison ivy. To while away the time during his recuperation, he had watched his mother bake. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her hands kneading bread. The yeasty small of loaves rising still made him itch uncomfortably.
“I’m making some butter tarts to take over to Laurel. Did you hear that her mother fell and broke her hip?”
Jason ran his finger inside the bowl and licked the rich filling absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I did. Charlie volunteered to clean The Trip this week.” He reached inside the bowl a second time.
“Stop that!” Wendy batted at his hand. “How is Charlie, anyway?”
He rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Wendy filled the last tart shell and slid the
* * *
Chill evening air woke Charlie and she sat up groggily. Voices floated up from the porch. She hadn’t heard Jack arrive, but his rich baritone mingled pleasingly with Janelle’s silvery laughter.
That could have been me, she thought sadly. Sharing a moment with Jason. But no, I had to make a promise to a ghost. And yet…a quiver of awareness made her look around. And yet, she knew she was doing the right thing. Now where to start?
She stood at the bottom of the attic steps, staring up the narrow passageway. The enclosed space appeared even more daunting at night. She had to move now, or she’d lose her nerve. She fought back her fear, pulled the light chain and ran up the stairs. Once inside the attic door she fumbled for the light switch, calming her pounding heart. The weak bulb cast enough light to make her way to ‘her’ corner. Oddly shaped shadows rose up behind items that been stored and forgotten for years. Finding solace in the comfortable corner, she turned on the table lamp and sank gratefully into the chair, one hand clutched over her racing heart.
And then she saw it. The lid of the trunk was up! Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the trunk.
Her thoughts raced as she took in the rest of the room, where everything was as before. Her gaze reluctantly returned to the trunk. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out; the trunk held something important…something that would bring Charlotte and Harm back together.
Charlie re-examined the linens in the top tray. There was nothing there. No secret message stitched into the pillowcases, no treasure map where X marked the spot. With a snort of derision at her wild imaginings, she lifted the top tray out and set it aside. The sheets, tablecloths and blankets were undisturbed. What message could they possibly hold? Determined to exhaust every possibility she fell to her knees. Could there be some sort of message…a letter perhaps…stuck between the folds? Slowly and methodically she ran her hand between each layer of fabric.
Near the bottom of the trunk, between layers of crisp linen sheets, her hand brushed up against something solid. She reached farther, and her heart started to race. Her fingers closed around a leather-bound book. Fearing disappointment, she hesitated. It was probably a Bible. Well, she wouldn’t get the answer sitting here. She withdrew the item slowly, almost reverently.
Her fingers traced gold-embossed words on the cover. “My Journal” she said aloud. This was what she had been meant to find. With utmost care, she replaced everything in the trunk, replaced the tray and closed the lid. The journal had waited all this time, it could wait a moment or two more.
Satisfied that everything had been returned to its original position, she settled into the chair to read.
* * *
“Wendy, where are you?” Jason’s voice seemed to echo in the house since the boys were away.
“Down here.”
He should have known. Wendy was like his mother, who had preferred to work in the cooler summer kitchen. Surprisingly, some of his favourite memories were of the summer he’d contracted a severe case of poison ivy. To while away the time during his recuperation, he had watched his mother bake. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her hands kneading bread. The yeasty small of loaves rising still made him itch uncomfortably.
“I’m making some butter tarts to take over to Laurel. Did you hear that her mother fell and broke her hip?”
Jason ran his finger inside the bowl and licked the rich filling absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I did. Charlie volunteered to clean The Trip this week.” He reached inside the bowl a second time.
“Stop that!” Wendy batted at his hand. “How is Charlie, anyway?”
He rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Wendy filled the last tart shell and slid the
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