Aunt Alma's Attic

It took the better part of three women and four days days to clean out Aunt Alma's attic. Ruthie and I had been recruited to pack the books - “Lord to goodness,” Nana had complained, “Some of 'em ain't even in English!” - while Aunt Pearl and Aunt Vi worked steadily on everything else and Uncles Shad and Willie hauled it all away in the hay wagons. Aunt Alma had been in her late 80's, a lifelong spinster and collector of just about anything that struck her fancy. We found trunks full of porcelain figurines, cameo jewelry, stuffed animals, bed linens and back scratchers and six complete sets of the Encyclopedia Britannica. We were down to the last few wagon loads when Aunt Vi opened the hope chest and found the love letters, more than a dozen bundles of them, each neatly tied with a faded cream colored ribbon.

“Mercy me!” I heard her say and there was something in her tone of voice that made the other women pause and look around.

“What is it, Vi?” my grandmother asked impatiently and Aunt Vi held up a bundle of letters. I wasn't sure but it looked to me as if she was already blushing and she hadn't read a word. I thought maybe she was wishing she'd left them in their snug little space between the layers of the old quilt and said nothing but of course, it was too little, too late. Aunt Pearl snatched at the bundle, Aunt Vi instinctively drew back, and the ribbon was caught in the crossfire - it came loose and the letters fell in an untidy pile between them. Both women reached to gather them up but my grandmother was faster - with one sweep of her hand, she scooped them toward her, leaving only a little puff of dust behind.

The very last thing anyone would have expected to find in Aunt Alma's attic was evidence of not one but a half dozen affairs. Shockingly, they went back decades - some of the names we knew, some were strangers - all appeared to have had wives and families. Alma, so it seemed, had been singularly untroubled by their adultery and more than willing to have them return to their wives and children when it was over. Unlikely as it was, not a single liason had been discovered and each appeared to have ended amicably. My poor Aunt Vi was undone by it all.

“Dear Lord,” she gasped, “She sat with me in church! She sang in the choir! And all the time she was …..........”

“Git ahold of yourself, Vi,” Nana advised sternly, “No harm ever come of it and it ain't for us to judge or go talkin' 'bout.”

“We should burn them,” Aunt Pearl declared, “And take a blood oath to never mention 'em ever again!”

“Blood?” Aunt Vi asked timidly, paling visibly at the suggestion.

“Not literal blood, a course,” Pearl snapped irritably, “I jist mean we got to swear on our lives to keep this to ourselves! For once in your life, Viola, you're gon' to keep a secret!”

“Ayuh,” Nana nodded, “Ain't no sense in folks findin' out Alma weren't no real old maid. Bring down a whole lotta good marriages and make a pile of folks still livin' mighty unhappy.”

Pearl and Vi nodded a little shakily but all three women clasped hands and vowed never to tell a living soul what they had found. Then Nana turned to look at Ruthie and me.

“I reckon you're both old enough to keep a secret,” she said quietly, “Though we can do a blood oath if you're not sure. But blood or no blood, the good lord'll strike you down if you breathe a word, you understand?”

The prospect was chilling and we nodded.

Alma's letters went up in smoke that very afternoon, ribbons and all. And to my knowledge, not a single, solitary word was ever mentioned about them again.