“Me,” the rest of them answered.
“Not you, Simone,” Colette shot back. “You have a dust allergy on top of everything else. And not you either, Mom. I don't even want you walking up the stairs let alone blundering around in a dark attic.” Hard to know why she'd asked who was coming if she was just going to veto half of them. “Stevie, putMurder, She Wroteon for them and meet Gemma and me up there.”
Gemma followed Colette's sizeable rump as they ascended the staircase. In the second-story hall, her grandmother pulled the cord dangling from the ceiling, which brought down the attic stairs. An icy blast of air flushed over them.
Colette swore. “I'll go get our jackets and some flashlights. You turn on the light in the attic. See it there?” She pointed toward a lone bulb.
“Yep.”
Colette made her way back to the first floor while Gemma climbed the creaking stairs to the attic. The light bulb rasped on as if exhausted. It smelled like wood and age up here, but her overwhelming impression was simply: COLD. When she let out an angry, “Brr!” her breath frosted the air.
Stevie had been right when he'd proclaimed that any box in the northwest corner was going to be hemmed in by numerous other boxes. This attic stored items left over from Gracie and Paul's and Colette and Stevie's decades of life and marriage and family. Gemma began pushing/shoving/lifting boxes out of the way to form a path toward that corner.
Soon Colette joined her, bearing warm layers. And Stevie, bearing flashlights. Reorienting the boxes and bins was like playing a life-sized game of Tetris. Gemma worked as quickly as possible because she was determined to reach her house before tonight's call with Jude. Colette did a lot of heavy lifting, too, while issuing bossy instructions to Stevie regarding how to light the space.
After fifteen frigid minutes, they approached their targeted corner of the attic. Time had caused the carboard boxes here to sag. Gracie's labels, handwritten in marker, had leached pale.
Gemma and Colette hefted a box containing quilts out of the way, then a box containing photo albums, which at last revealed the space squarely below the dormer. A box, approximately two feet by two feet, sat there patiently. Unlike the rest, it wasn't labeled. The three of them pressed close—all shivering.
Gemma leaned down and opened its flaps. The beam of Stevie's flashlight revealed a stack of letters—the old-fashioned, trifold, Airmail kind bordered by red, blue, and white. A pale pink ribbon held the letters together. Below that, clothing?
“I'll carry this downstairs,” Colette said, “so that we can look through it where it's warmer.”
“I'll get it, love,” Stevie suggested. God bless her grandfather, still calling his wife “love” in the face of all the scolding he'd just received.
“No, I've got it,” Colette insisted. Stevie's diabetes had grown more and more difficult to manage in recent years. Colette was his nurse and there was no way the nurse was going to let her patient carry a box.
They returned to the living room and a temperature warm enough to sustain human life. Colette set the box on the coffee table and Simone helped Gracie up.
“Oh,” Gracie breathed when she came to stand over the box. Reverently, she lifted the letters.
The rest watched her, waiting.
“From Paul,” she said with wonder, unfolding the top one. “This is dated June of 1944. He sent it to me from France.”
“That was the month and year,” Colette said, “when France was liberated from the Nazis and his assignment in D.C. ended.”
Gracie's eyes swam with tears. “My Paul.”
Simone squeezed her forearm.
“There's more here,” Gemma said. Another piece of paper, not bound with the letters, rested on top of the clothing. “Your marriage certificate.”
“Is it, now?”
“Yes.” Gemma passed it over.
Colette pulled out the next item—a man's vest. Then a man's striped tie, white gloves, a white pocket square, a silk flower boutonniere. Simone lifted out a slip and crinoline, followed by a wedding dress.
“Mom.” Colette beamed. “I haven't seen your wedding dress in a long, long time.”
More happy tears filled Gracie's eyes.
“What?” Stevie asked.
“Well done, Gemma,” Simone said. “Your sleuthing led us to these wonderful items.”
Gracie tugged Gemma forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, sugar. You're so clever.”
