I was looking on my great, great grandfather Flint Riverclaw and his mate Jessica.

  (Small Fry Chapter 3)

Just as I turned to leave, I noticed something.  It was a red trunk which looked worn with time.  It was half hidden, underneath another cardboard box and for the life of me, I don’t remember seeing it before.  But I felt this undeniable urge to investigate, or maybe it was one of my all-knowing feelings?

“B!”  I heard the distant call of my husband.  “Your brunch is ready!”

“Coming!”

Quickly, I walked over and lifted the other box off the red trunk then I sunk to my knees beside.  When I opened the lid, the hinges squealed in protest as a huge cloud of dust came up.  It sent me into a sneezing frenzy! 

“Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!” 

My sensitive nose objected, as I spluttered and waved my hand through the air to clear it.  But when I looked inside, I accidentally let out a squeal!  I felt like I just hit the jackpot.

“B?”  He hollered.  “What are you doing up there?”

“Nothing!”

“Then come downstairs and do nothing, while you eat your brunch!”

“Alright already!”  I snapped back.

I looked inside the trunk again at the old baby clothing, a couple of framed photos as well as some old books.  But these weren’t just ordinary books, they were more diaries!  When I opened up the covers, I saw the names ‘Clara Winter’ as well as ‘Jessica Tandy’.  They were my great grandmother as well as my great, great grandmother, from my Riverclaw family. 

Bingo!  They were just what I was hoping for, after my previous conversation.  It looks like Declan doesn’t have to approach Caesar after all. 

I picked up the framed photos for a closer look.  There was a picture circa late 20^th Century, of a pretty, blonde woman standing with a handsome, Lokoti man.  The woman had a baby bulge, protruding through her thick jacket.  I was looking on my great, great grandfather Flint Riverclaw and his mate Jessica.   She had been namesake of my mother, since she died before Mum was born.  According to Grandfather, Mum also inherited the original Jessica’s temper too.

“B, your toasted sandwiches are turning cold!”  He complained.

“I’m coming!”

Hastily, I put the photo frame back and shut the lid.  I stood up again as I dusted myself off, when my eyes landed on the new box I had just brought up.  I made myself a silent promise that I’d return to visit my foremothers soon; the women who’d been the mates of my Lokoti Werewolf forefathers.  I pushed the box of Wisetail family memorabilia closer to the trunk, so my foremothers would be waiting together.

Lastly, I climbed down the attic ladder, closed the hatch and happily skipped downstairs.

 

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My glowing turquoise eyes dulled back to their dark blue colour.

  (Small Fry Chapter 3)

I carried the box up the staircase to put it on the floor, in the small upstairs hallway.  Next, I reached up and pulled the chord hanging from the ceiling, which opened the hatch to the attic.  The fold-up ladder which was attached, unfolded before me. 

Using one hand to carry the box, I climbed the small ladder up into the dark, dusty attic. 

Immediately, I sneezed from the cold and dust!  Then I had to engage my glowing eyes for the night-vision, so I could find the light switch.  My hand found the long chord which hung from the ceiling, and I gave it a gentle tug.

As soon as the light came on, my glowing turquoise eyes dulled back to their dark blue colour.  I looked about the disorganized, dusty, dim attic.  Many a cobweb hung from the rafters, or even connected a couple of the boxes which were piled high.  I was looking on three hundred years of memorabilia.

We haven’t been up here in years!  Oh hang on, maybe Declan has… my eyes settled on the least dustiest of the items, my two suitcases.  So that’s what he did with them!  I suppose I should be relieved he didn’t burn them, like he threatened to. 

I started to examine the different labels on the cardboard boxes.  Once upon a time, this attic was clean and organized.  When we started to accumulate keepsakes from family members who’d passed on, we wrote on the boxes what was in them.

My hand removed some the dust, so I could see the descriptions properly.  I read his writing on boxes which read as ‘Mom’s Stuff’, or ‘Derik’s Stuff’ or ‘Blanche and Michael’s Stuff’.  They had been Declan’s human mother, brother, nephew and niece.  His family’s things were stacked neatly against one of the attic walls. 

My family’s things however, weren’t as tidy as Declan’s.  Boxes such as ‘Vincent’s Things,’ or ‘Mum and Dad’s Things’, or ‘Gran and Grandfather’s Things’; were all sitting willy-nilly about the confined space.  Over the many years, I’d open them upon occasion when I needed to find something, like a photo album.   But his boxes were untouched, as I couldn’t recall him ever looking, perhaps because the memories were still too painful?

I picked up the box which Walt had given me and carried it over to the box full of ‘Gran and Grandfather’s Things’.  I wanted my paternal grandparents memorabilia to sit beside my maternal grandparents.  I’d have to come back with tape and seal it, before labelling it.

            Unconsciously, I began to stroke the box as I reminisced on my parents and my grandparents.  With my ‘bundle of joy’, I’d have loved to share this with my family.  I never did make my Mum and Dad grandparents however, Aunt Susan enjoyed this delight through Derik. 

 

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