A single black button top shoe whizzed by my ear for emphasis, followed closely by a pair of striped denim overalls, then a floppy-brimmed straw hat with knotted tassels. The last snagged on the cord of the single lightbulb and spun around like a mixmaster. For several eerie seconds, the attic was transformed in a maze of high contrast light and shadow, a carnival of chaos and high flying old clothes.
Whatcha doin', Aunt Vi? I asked tentatively and ducked as a pale, pink corset whipped past me and hit the wall with a distinct thud then fell into a heap of metal hooks and eyes, Nana says to tell you lunch is ready.
A second shoe flew by, hit the wall and slid down to join the limp corset.
You may tell your grandmother, Aunt Vi muttered just before throwing a tattered umbrella in the general direction of the window, that I'm busy and lunch will have to wait. It certainly wasn't my idea to do a jumble sale and a person might ought to have to think twice before she commits another person to......Mercy me, my wedding shawl!
She was - more or less triumphantly - holding up what looked to be a shawl, pale blue as best I could tell in the less than adequate light, with laced edges and trimming. It looked to be delicate, mysterious, and old. She carried it to the window and examined it closely, running her hands lightly over the material, gently and lovingly as if it were a kitten, holding it to her cheek with her eyes closed. I watched the lines of her face relax and soften - a trick of the light, what else could it be - but when she turned, I'd have sworn her face was younger, her hair darker, her eyes faraway. She smiled at me.
Tell her I'll be there directly, she said absently and I had an idea she'd forgotten I was there. I left her standing there by the half light in the window, looking - if I'd known the word - melancholy.
Aunt Vi's kitchen smelled of chowder and fresh bread and Nana had set a basket of daisies on the small round table. It was bright and cheerful and my grandmother was in her element, puttering about and looking pleased with herself.
Set another place, she told me briskly, Clara's still tending the cemetery but Pearl's coming by and .....where is your Aunt Vi? Didn't you tell her I said lunch was ready?
She found something, I said uncertainly, she said she'd be down directly.
Found something? Nana asked, Found what?
Some old shawl, I said unsuspectingly and my grandmother froze in her tracks. The bowl of strawberries she'd been rinsing off in the kitchen sink dropped out of her hands with a clatter and she turned to me, her face suddenly a little pale.
A shawl? she repeated, A blue shawl? With lace?
I nodded.
Oh, Nana's voice was distant, Oh, I see. Oh, dear. She looked suddenly tired, I thought, tired and more than a little worried. Then Aunt Pearl arrived in a flurry, calling to me to help her with her packages, and in all the commotion what with Nana fluttering and Pearl chattering thoughtlessly on about how stingy people were being about the jumble sale, I clean forgot about the blue shawl. Aunt Vi came down from the attic just as Nana was about to go up - no sign of a shawl and no indication of anything out of the ordinary - except that my usually particular-about-table-manners grandmother said not a word. Even Aunt Pearl seemed surprised by the lack of a scolding and then I noticed she and Nana exchange a "grownups only" kind of look. I didn't think Aunt Vi had seen it and I had the good sense to hold my tongue, knowing that whatever we were tap dancing around would surface in its own good time.
Later as we sorted, labeled, organized and wrapped the jumble sale donations in Vi's sunny living room, Nana and Aunt Pearl huddled together on the faded antique loveseat.
She found the shawl, my grandmother said in a hushed tone, Up in the attic.
Lord save us, Pearl replied with a quick glance my way, Alice, that was forty years ago! Is she alright?
I don't know, Nana admitted, but it's worrisome.
Ayuh, Pearl nodded, 'course she's stronger now, older and wiser but still.....Her voice trailed off and I saw Nana shrug and shake her head.
The idea that my Aunt Vi could have a past and possibly a dark one was foreign. Despite sixty some odd years of life, she was an innocent - good hearted, sweet natured, naturally kind to be sure - but naive, trusting, easily hurt. She wasn't a deep thinker, rarely looking beneath the surface of things or people, content to drift and go where life took her. She was fragile, sunshine-y, easily taken in and taken advantage of, free of intrigue and mystery, childless. I loved her dearly for her sweetness and endearing foolishness.
The blue shawl, I said to my grandmother, why does it make her sad?
Nana sighed.
She's old enough, Aunt Pearl shrugged.
My grandmother considered, knitting her brows in concentration - a phrase I'd never understood until that moment - then took time to pour herself a glass of iced tea and light a Kent 100.
It wasn't a pretty story. A young, trusting girl with no idea of how things worked in the real world ( Mother was always so overprotective, Aunt Pearl interjected) meets a smooth talking young man from the mainland (We all knew he was a no account scoundrel, Pearl muttered, All of us except Vi).
Things was different then, Nana continued, a girl who got herself in the family way was a scandal and the village talked of nothing else....
Pearl leaned forward, More gossip than Carter's has pills! she said a little breathlessly, Why, there was talk about tar and feathering!
Pearl! Nana snapped, Who is telling this?
There was talk of tar and feathering, my grandmother agreed, but your Aunt Vi has a stubborn streak a mile wide and she wanted to marry the boy. And he wanted to marry her, so he said. The blue shawl was his wedding gift to her, gave it to her the night before they was to be married.
Aunt Pearl wasn't to be contained.
Ayuh, she interrupted, and she was wearing it standing at the altar the very next day when she heard tell he'd left on the first ferry.
They took the baby, a'course, Nana said sadly, give it up for adoption to a family in Halifax or Yarmouth, I disremember which.
And that's why your Aunt Vi has always been a little scattered, Pearl told me, losing the boy and then the baby derailed her mind some. Don't reckon she ever made it all the way back.
It was a dreadful story and I could hardly reconcile it to my flighty, free spirited Aunt Vi. I climbed the attic stairs again when the sun was low in the sky and the light diminished and found her sitting in the shadows, a lonely silhouette wearing a blue shawl. She'd been crying and not knowing what to say to comfort her, I sat down beside her and leaned my head on her shoulder. The softness of the shawl was like cashmere, cool and still slightly scented with peppermint oil. We sat that way until it was dark up in the attic, until the sad memories went back to sleep.
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