Once in the attic, she took a single step forward, then froze in place when what sounded exactly like flapping wings greeted her arrival. When something flew directly over her head, she let out a shriek, ducked, then dropped the candle, shrieking again when the attic descended into blackness as the flame sputtered out.
Crawling on her hands and knees, she headed for the far side of the attic, hoping she’d eventually run into the wall where a curtained window was located, praying all the while that while she crawled, the mad creature now whizzing over her head wouldn’t attack. Wincing every other minute as she ran into one pile of abandoned objects after another, she finally reached the wall, knowing without a shadow of a doubt she was now certainly the worse for wear.
Her head was throbbing from running into something unmovable, her knee was bleeding from dragging it over something sharp, and her entire body was trembling, a direct result of the terror that was flowing through her because she had no idea what type of creature was running amok in the attic. Worse yet ... was it in possession of fangs?
Reaching out a hand to guide her in the blackness, Gertrude finally found the curtain she was searching for, and giving it a good yank to the side, she squinted against the sunlight that immediately flooded the room. Struggling to her feet, she fiddled with the window latch, pushed the window open, then dove for the floor again when fluttering wings sounded directly behind her. A second later, a small bird flew over her head and out the window, chirping merrily away in what Gertrude thought might be appreciation.
Leaning against the sill as the bird flew away, Gertrude drew in a gulp of fresh air, wondering how it would feel to be like the bird that had just escaped—free from the confines of an unforeseen prison, or in her case, free from the responsibility of maintaining a position where her best work was never appreciated and unreasonable demands greeted every new day.
When her vision began to blur and her mood began turning maudlin, an attitude that would not help her complete the many tasks demanding her attention, Gertrude brushed aside the lone tear that was trailing down her cheek and stiffened her spine.
There was no point languishing in a state of self-pity, especially when she’d seen firsthand the harm such languishing could do to a person.
Lifting her chin, Gertrude began moving through the objects scattered and stacked throughout the room. She finally spotted a trunk and headed straight for it, setting the old blanket that covered the top of it aside before she reached for the latch. Tracing her finger over an ornateJthat was worked into the brass of the latch, she opened the lid. To her surprise, the trunk was practically empty except for an old Bible sitting on an aged child-size ivory gown, adorned with what looked to be expensive lace and row upon row of faded bows.
Curious now, Gertrude plucked the Bible out of the trunk, picking her way once again across the room until she reached the window. Using the faded ribbon that was marking a place, she opened the Bible and found that one of the passages had been circled on the page.
It was a passage from the Psalms.
“‘When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up,’” she read out loud. Lifting her head, she looked out the window, not really seeing the clouds drift by as she wondered about the person who’d circled that passage, and if that person was also the owner of the ivory gown still nestled in the trunk.
Flipping to the front of the Bible in the hope the owner’s name would be found there, Gertrude frowned when she found the pages that normally tracked the lineage of a family missing, ripped out, or so it appeared, because there were jagged bits of thin paper left behind.
Sympathy for the owner of the Bible was immediate, especially since she knew from personal experience what type of anger could cause a person to rip out their family history from the front of a Bible. She’d done the very same thing years before, hoping that the ripping would ease some of the anger she’d held against everyone during that dark time. But, truth be told, she was still angry with God, that anger beginning not long after her father had died.
It was directly after her father suffered his fatal apoplectic fit that Gertrude had begun making a journey to church every day. Once there, she’d spent hours praying, not asking God to return her father to her since she knew that wasn’t possible, but to step in and diminish the shame she and her mother were experiencing due to the tawdry circumstances surrounding her father’s death.
When the level of gossip increased instead of decreasing, Gertrude had no choice but to conclude that God was evidently disappointed with her, hence the reasoning behind not granting her request. Wanting to appease God, Gertrude threw herself into being the best daughter possible to her mother in order to win back God’s favor. However, when her mother descended into a state of deepest melancholy, brought about by their lack of finances and continued shame, Gertrude decided that God clearly didn’t care for her family. And after her mother’s melancholy turned deadly, Gertrude abandoned the idea God was a loving and compassionate God, and embraced the idea that He was a distant deity.
Throughout the years since her mother’s death, there’d been times when she’d all but abandoned her faith, even with her attending church regularly and knowing people who believed in God and the love He held for everyone. But for her, God was not a daily part of her life, nor...
“Gertrude, are you still up there?”
Closing the Bible that had brought about such disturbing thoughts, Gertrude picked her way across the attic again and peered down the narrow staircase. Peering back up at her was Mrs. Davenport.
“What in the world is taking you so long?” Mrs. Davenport asked.
“Have you seen your attic in the last decade or so? Because if not, do know it’s a maze up here and somewhat difficult to navigate through.”
“You haven’t foundanytrunks?”
“I found one.”
“Then bring it down and you can worry about finding others later, after you get back from running a little errand for me.”
The hair on the back of Gertrude’s neck stood to attention. “What errand?”
“I’ll explain while we enjoy tea and those delicious shortbread cookies you love so much. Did I mention I asked the cook to bake us some so they’ll be fresh out of the oven?”
“You only ask for shortbread cookies when you’re feeling guilty about something,” Gertrude said.
“Don’t be silly. I’m just rewarding you for making so many trips to the attic.”
Before Gertrude could respond to that nonsense, Mrs. Davenport disappeared from sight, the sound of her retreating footsteps fading rapidly.
Abandoning the urge to stay in the attic for the rest of the day, which would allow her to avoid whatever errand Mrs. Davenport needed her to complete next, one that would certainly turn out to be more strenuous than trotting up to the attic every other minute since shortbread cookies were being used as a bribe, Gertrude moved back to the trunk, dropped the Bible into it so she could peruse it later at her leisure, then shut the lid. Grabbing the handle, she began dragging it behind her, yelping under her breath after she reached the stairs and the trunk kept banging into her legs as she pulled it down step by painful step.
By the time she reached the second floor, she was perspiring more than slightly and looking forward to a good cup of tea and numerous shortbread cookies, her vow of watching her figure put aside on this all-too-trying day.
