Her Trunk

         She drifted in a place not here and not there. No one had yanked her around, or tumbled her into dark, dank places in longer than she could remember.

         She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

         She had been there long enough that she barely remembered being anywhere else. It was a safe place she had to admit, dusty and musty, most of the time dark, boring but safe just the same. She’d begun to like safe, and boring didn’t bother her nearly so much as it used to. She could hear bird song sometimes and small the faint perfume of spring roses. She liked that. Other times the delicious tang of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the air, followed by crisp bursts of fresh cut pine and the mellow fragrance of scented candle wax. Days were short. Very little sunshine, if any touched her on those days.

         Years passed and times changed. The windows dimmed, filled with cobwebs and dirt. The indoor fragrances of winter disappeared. She drifted and almost forgot that she was.

* * * * *

         “Oh my gosh! Can you believe this? There’s a treasure trove up here.”

         The squealing voice cut through her stupor.

         What is that? A human voice. I haven’t heard one of those in forever.

         She’d been dormant for ages. It would be so easy to slip back into oblivion. The voices tickled at the edge of her imagination. What were they doing there?

         She pushed herself to be aware.

         She listened.

         Thumps and bumps. The screech and scratch of something heavy being pushed across the hardwood floor. Laughter and giggles.

         I nearly forgot about laughter. It’s happy! I like it! She strained to hear more. She felt a whisper of fresh air tip toe over her. It stirred the thick blanket of dust that coated her. That Tickles!

         She perked up with a sense of anticipation and excitement dancing through her. She pushed her awareness out searching, wanting to know more and more about what was happening.

         “I never thought when I bought this old place,” the happiest voice said, “that I’d find such a treasure trove. Who would have believed all these wonderful antiques would still be stuffed in here.”

         “They’re in great condition,” the other voice said. “You could make a mint selling these!”

         “I don’t know. Somehow it seems almost sacrilege to take these things away from the house. Can’t you just see the style and grace they must have given this place?”

         “There’s enough up here to pretty much fill the house, I’ll grant you that.”

         “I think I might just restore the whole place. It’ll take a while but look how much money I can save on furniture. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

         “Sure! I bet I know who you plan to recruit for all the sanding and polishing.”

         More laughter rippled through the enormous attic.

         She sighed. People!

         The days rolled by. Summer and then autumn. She loved knowing people were in her house again. It didn’t matter that she sat undiscovered. The smells were back. Summer’s rich roses just outside the side windows, now kept cracked to keep a fresh breeze flowing through. Autumn’s delights of fresh-harvested fruit, apples and cherries from the orchard, pumpkins and berries from the gardens. Laughter every day.

         She was thrilled.

         Then one day close to the start of winter ~ she wondered if the cinnamon and apples smells would be back too ~ the scruffling and bumping noises started in the attic once again. Each day they got closer and closer. Each day her excitement mounted until at last she felt the old carved wood screen she hid behind move and she was exposed.

         “Ohh!” the happy voice gasped. “Oh. It’s wonderful!”

         I am a she, not an it! She was a bit offended.

         “Quick, give me that dust rag!”

         More scuffling.

         Ahhh! That’s wonderful! The dust rag sailed over her sending layers and layers of grime and cobwebs flying on all directions.

         Sneezing and sneezing intersected sighs and joyous laughter.

         A small hand gently caressed her lid and followed the delicate brass ornamentation that capped her corners, her lock, her hinges and her strap guides.

         “Look at her!” the voice cried. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

         Me beautiful?

         “What I see is a lot of brass to be polished and a lot more wood and leather to be oiled and shined.”

         “Don’t you recognize her?”

         “Looks like an old trunk to me.”

         “No! Look here.” A hand rubbed vigorously on her identification plate. “Look. 'Custom Made for Lady Amanda Farthingsworth by Coopers House.' There were only seventy-three constructed, all hand made by Maislan Cooper, himself. There hasn’t been one discovered in over eighty years!”

         “Okay, so it’s worth a fortune. Call Housby’s and sell it.”

         “Not on your life! This is a keeper!”

         She felt the dust rag smooth over her. Ahhh! I’m special. She loves me!

         She nearly drifted away as the dust rag and polishing cloth scurried back and forth over her surface.

         They stopped.

         “A little brass polish and the ornamentation will shine. Can you imagine what it would have been like to travel with one of these? Every one was made to order and custom sized so the traveler could pack the most. It all fit marvelously together like an intricate puzzle box .”

         It was rather fun actually. I loved sitting open and waiting while Lady Amanda, choose the perfect gowns, shoes and accessories. Then she’d stack rose-scented ladies’ stationary in my top drawer and tuck a bottle of ink and a few pens in the secure slots. Not one drop of ink ever escaped to mar her lovely clothes. Next perfumes and soaps, combs and brushes, ribbons and jewels, all slipped neatly into their places, easy to find and safe on the rolling sea or a bumpy road. Always the very last thing was a soft fur robe and a kitten shaped pillow. She never traveled without them.

         Those were the good times.

         “Do you suppose there’s anything inside?”

         “I don’t know. I was so surprised to see her that I didn’t even think of that.”

         She felt the young woman step back. She basked in their admiring gaze.

         “It sure cleaned up beautiful. What are you going to do with it?’

         “Probably set her up in the master dressing room. If she’s in half as good condition inside she’ll look wonderful standing open as if getting packed for a world cruise.”

         “There was a small brass key ring in that vanity we put in there. Do you suppose any of those keys fit the trunk lock? The ornamentation on it reminds me of the brass on here.”

         “They could. Let’s go see.”

         She heard their foot steps echo across the attic and thump down the stairs.

         I’ll be useful again. Wow! I can hardly believe it. After all this time.

         She heard them come back again.

         Already! They must be very excited. How delightful!

         “Hey, these ARE the same.”

         She heard the keys clinking. A long missed sensation as she felt the key slide neatly into her lock. A soft click and a sprong. The lock popped open as easily as if it had been oiled just yesterday.

         “Okay, here goes.”

         She felt a stiffness as her hinges creaked open not unlike an old woman who sat in one spot too long and struggled to stand again. It was a good stretch-y stiffness that eases into relief once one moves and releases frozen joints.

         Silence. Fear.

         Am I ugly inside. What’s there? Come on say something! Pleeeeease!

         A pair of soft sighs.

         “She’s amazing.”

         “I’ll bet most of it wasn’t ever worn.”

         Hands lovingly caressed her rose print brocade linings. Ribbons carefully untied and coverings pulled aside. Pearl-encrusted satin gleamed and lace-covered velvet glowed. A rainbow of color hung neatly on satin padded hangers.

         Her drawers were reverently opened. A tumble of bright jewels blinked and sparkled. Another drawer pulled open. A faint hint of rose scent on age yellowed parchment. A bottle of dark blue ink long dry.

         “It all looks new. The old trunk preserved this stuff perfectly. It’s all going to look amazing in my dressing room.

         “How could anyone abandon such beautiful things?”

         One last ribbon to untie. A cover falls open and a soft fur robe tumbles out followed by a white, well-loved, stuffed toy kitten, spattered with a few dark brown spots.

         She felt someone pick up Lady Amanda's kitten.

         "That's odd. This looks almost like it could be blood. I wonder what happened."

         She groaned. A painful memory ripped across her mind. Lady Amanda gone forever. Murdered on board the ship, the night before its departure.