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Description
The Attic Letter

He crawled arm over arm, through the dust and cobwebs, through the crawlspace of the attic. Not exactly a crawlspace, but dead space, the space between the attic floor and the ceiling to the rooms below. The house was old and once had fourteen foot ceilings. Sometime in the past they had been lowered to ten feet, probably by some energy conscious previous owner. The result was the dead space he was in now, one you had to practically crawl on your belly to get through. If you needed to check on the wiring to the light fixture in the dining room or like today, mount a brace for the new ceiling fan in the new nursery, it meant getting hot, getting dirty and usually a bump or two on the head before you’re finished.

And, geez, it was hot up here! Late September and it felt like August. This must be what they call Indian summer, although what Indian in their right mind would want to claim it. But now that the brace was in, he really didn’t mind the dust and the dark. He had actually done this for fun once, just nosing around, seeing what he could find. Pointing his flashlight here and there into nooks and crannies. And he had found some neat things, old pictures and drawings, a few old grocery ads from a newspaper in the twenty’s (“Chuck Roast - 15 cents per pound”) and some canceled checks from 1909. They were refund checks made out to patients of Dr. Graves. None of them over two dollars, but he guessed that was a lot back then.

Dr. Graves had built this house in 1896, and according to the abstract they were given when he and Charlene bought the house two years ago, it cost him $2700. Far less than the $43,000 they had given for it. The sellers had been asking $48,000. He can still hear the real estate lady, “It has such potential!” Yeah right, and that potential comes right out of his back pocket, Dennis had thought. Even the price they ended up paying was too high, but Charlene wanted it.

Their first house. And it had come along pretty good….. after hauling off thirty four truck loads of brush, installing central a/c and completely renovating the bathroom. But lately her nesting instinct had been in full gear what with the new baby due in a week or two. “So much to do, so little time” was her latest motto. She was driving him friggin’ crazy with all the things she wanted done. He shook his head. She wasn’t near this bad when she was pregnant with Miranda, now three years old.

Yes, they did love this house. Even with all it’s quirks and mysteries. He chuckled as he thought of The Safe. He always thought of it that way… The Safe. It was a monster, sitting in one of the smaller basement rooms. So big that no doubt the house was built around it. There it sat, almost six feet tall and four feet wide with lettering fading across the front “J.D. Nichols U.S. Marshall”. It was fascinating, just sitting there….locked. No one knew when it had last been opened. “Not in many owners”, the agent had told us. Too big to move, it had been there for almost a hundred years, passing from owner to owner. He remembered when the locksmith came, everyone standing around waiting to see what unknown treasures it held. By then, they had imagined it all, money, old stocks, jewelry. God, how funny it had been when all they found was two business cards in one of the drawers, both from locksmiths! “Well,” he laughed, “the next person to open it will find three business cards.”

They had found many interesting things in this house. The good Dr. Graves (what a name for a doc!) had at one time, the rumors say, used part of the basement as an infirmary. They found old hospital bed frames, medicine bottles, even old bed pans but so far, no bodies. Charlene always hit him when he said that.

He used his shirt tail to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He was almost to the floor opening to the attic above. Thank God! He was sweating like a hog. He was ready to get out of here. His clothes would be soaked and dirty but he would shake them out in front of the attic fan. The fan would feel good, drying the sweat off him

He reached for the edge of the attic floor to pull himself up and something, a glint, caught his eye. He propped the flashlight up and leaned down. Yes, there was something there, a chain of some kind, back in the depths of the shadows. He had to stretch his arm to reach it, just the tips of his fingers tugging, pulling at it. He saw that the chain was attached to a purse, an old black leather purse. As he picked it up, flakes of the leather began falling. “Damn, Charlene will kill me. Gotta be careful,” he thought. He took his shirt off and wrapped it around the purse, then set it on the edge of the opening. She will love this, he knew. She got such pleasure out of simple things, rocks, creeks, baby goats, silly things like that. He couldn’t wait to show this to her.

Once back in the attic, he unwrapped the purse and laid it on the desk. Bits of leather fell from it, revealing a silk lining. He stripped his jeans off, turned on the huge suction fan and shook his clothes. The dust went flying, but straight out the fan to the outside. “Mmm, feels good”, he sighed as his skin cooled.

Hanging his clothes to dry on the back of a chair, he returned to the purse, gingerly picked it up and opened it. Reaching inside, he extracted a small case made of wood, ornately carved with clusters of grapes. He opened and saw…….Abraham Lincoln?….. No, not Lincoln, but someone from the same period, bearded and stiff looking. “This is really old,” he thought and he laid it aside. There were several pieces of paper inside. A calling card with the name ‘Mrs. William H. Graves’ on it. Ah, the good doctors wife. Also, a formal engraved invitation to the grand opening of the Busby Hotel, dated 1902. “Looks like the courthouse,” he mused, then realized it was the courthouse. He didn’t know it used to be a hotel.

Something else was in the bottom of the purse, folded paper, several sheets, yellowed with age. The edges were scalloped here and there, something must have been eating on it. He pulled it out, unfolded it and read, “Catlettsburg, Ky, March 31st, 1890”

Eighteen Ninety! Wow, a letter! Almost a hundred years old. As he scanned the first few lines, he sat down, his heart beating faster. He turned the pages over. Who is this from? Obviously it was written to Mrs. Graves. It’s her purse. He turned to the last page to the signature - her brother, J. W. Kincaid. The man in the picture?

He laid the letter on the desk and began reading.

Catlettsburg Ky
Mch. 31st, 1890

Dear Loved Ones,

I write you out of a sorrow and grief that amounts to desolation and almost total ruin to all my future hopes and prospects. Yet, kind and loving friends are not lacking who point out to me the blessed promises of His holy word, through which I may hope to obtain comfort and peace and a blessed and happy reunion in the great beyond.

Has comfort and peace come as yet? No! No! No! The weary lonely hours of the night are filled with visions and dreams of my darling; and memory during the day fills my heart with the passionate longing for the companionship of one whose slightest wish I tried to obey.

The light of my heart has gone out, and all is dark and stormy within. I don’t think that any one knew the depth and strength of our love; how thoroughly we were in entire sympathy with each other; and consequently none can know the extent of the bleeding wound, such a sudden disunion has produced.

Your departure tenderly touched my overwrought feelings but how bravely she did put aside hers, to comfort and console me. She had not been well since poor dear Sallies death, and had been suffering from a cold and was more languid as a consequence ever since our arrival at the hospital with Sallie.
Yet we both thought her better for the few days preceding your coming.

She did not give up to go to bed until the Friday after you left, but we decided from all her feelings, that the attack really dated from the Sunday preceding. The course of the fever was neither severe nor unusual, and I feel that if her heart had been sound and strong we would not be in mourning to-day.

She never murmured nor complained during the whole time, at anything and cheerfully took everything we gave her. At the end she said she had been apprehensive of her heart, but had not let us know for fear it would worry me. Self-sacrificing and devoted to the last. We had all been apprehensive on that score though from the beginning and especially the last 5 or 6 days.

When we told her a few hours before the end that she could not get well she said she was ready and sent loving messages to all the family and relations and numerous friends, not forgetting the doctors. and the nurses who were not present.

She said her only regret was in leaving me, but her face was lit up with an expression of heavenly grace and brightness that had never shone there before. She quoted Job 13 chap and 15 verse and told us of her prayers for recovery but now it was “all is well”. She talked so sweetly of dear little Sallie, and bade me a tender loving, passionate good-bye. She then seemed to doze for a few minutes and then her eyes opened, and she seemed carried away by something supernatural. I know then she had a vision of the bright and heavenly world into which she was soon to enter, for with trembling fingers and eager description utterly oblivious of her immediate surroundings. She portrayed a scene of such grandeur, and glory, and light and brightness as to make us know that it was not of earth. Did her face light up before, it was now illuminated with such a reflected and God-given radiance that it is not possible for pen to describe.

She seemed to think it so strange too, that we could not realize the glory of all that she was seeing. She lingered a few hours longer, never afterwards fully conscious and passed away peacefully about 12.30 p.m.

I shall pronounce no eulogy here, for will do you both know that our daily life was a perfect comment upon the bond that united us.

Your loss in her is great but mine is irreparable for she was my all, and when she was taken, there is nothing left. Still I pray for the sustaining grace and the healing balm of the Great Physician.

Marie and Jen have fixed up the room over our old one very nicely for me, and I will occupy it as soon as sister Emma gets moved, as she is to take the house. I am getting more strength the past week, and think I can go to work again in a month. Eva has been sick for several days, and we could hardly have gotten along without Marie’s valuable assistance. She will stay until I am permanently located anyhow.

I shall always be anxious to hear from you, and hope that you will write me soon concerning your prospects.

With much love, I remain

Your brother in sorrow
J. W. Kincaid

He did not know how long he had been sitting there, silent, staring at the letter. He took his now dry shirt and carefully wrapped the purse and it’s contents into a small bundle and headed down the narrow attic stairs.

She felt him more than she heard him, standing there at the kitchen door. She turned to look at him, his face covered in grime, dressed in just his skivies. “What in the world are you doing?” she laughed, “I wish I had a camera.” Looking closer she saw the path of tears down his dirty cheeks and fear gripped her.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head no. He handed her the purse still wrapped in his shirt. She could barely hear him as he spoke.

“I want you to have this. I didn’t buy it for you. I didn’t even write it for you. But I need to give it to you. I have never been good at saying things out loud but what this says is how I feel about you, about us. This is how I would feel if I ever lost you.”

She took the precious bundle from him and sat down to read.

Description
The Attic Letter

He crawled arm over arm, through the dust and cobwebs, through the crawlspace of the attic. Not exactly a crawlspace, but dead space, the space between the attic floor and the ceiling to the rooms below. The house was old and once had fourteen foot ceilings. Sometime in the past they had been lowered to ten feet, probably by some energy conscious previous owner. The result was the dead space he was in now, one you had to practically crawl on your belly to get through. If you needed to check on the wiring to the light fixture in the dining room or like today, mount a brace for the new ceiling fan in the new nursery, it meant getting hot, getting dirty and usually a bump or two on the head before you’re finished.

And, geez, it was hot up here! Late September and it felt like August. This must be what they call Indian summer, although what Indian in their right mind would want to claim it. But now that the brace was in, he really didn’t mind the dust and the dark. He had actually done this for fun once, just nosing around, seeing what he could find. Pointing his flashlight here and there into nooks and crannies. And he had found some neat things, old pictures and drawings, a few old grocery ads from a newspaper in the twenty’s (“Chuck Roast - 15 cents per pound”) and some canceled checks from 1909. They were refund checks made out to patients of Dr. Graves. None of them over two dollars, but he guessed that was a lot back then.

Dr. Graves had built this house in 1896, and according to the abstract they were given when he and Charlene bought the house two years ago, it cost him $2700. Far less than the $43,000 they had given for it. The sellers had been asking $48,000. He can still hear the real estate lady, “It has such potential!” Yeah right, and that potential comes right out of his back pocket, Dennis had thought. Even the price they ended up paying was too high, but Charlene wanted it.

Their first house. And it had come along pretty good….. after hauling off thirty four truck loads of brush, installing central a/c and completely renovating the bathroom. But lately her nesting instinct had been in full gear what with the new baby due in a week or two. “So much to do, so little time” was her latest motto. She was driving him friggin’ crazy with all the things she wanted done. He shook his head. She wasn’t near this bad when she was pregnant with Miranda, now three years old.

Yes, they did love this house. Even with all it’s quirks and mysteries. He chuckled as he thought of The Safe. He always thought of it that way… The Safe. It was a monster, sitting in one of the smaller basement rooms. So big that no doubt the house was built around it. There it sat, almost six feet tall and four feet wide with lettering fading across the front “J.D. Nichols U.S. Marshall”. It was fascinating, just sitting there….locked. No one knew when it had last been opened. “Not in many owners”, the agent had told us. Too big to move, it had been there for almost a hundred years, passing from owner to owner. He remembered when the locksmith came, everyone standing around waiting to see what unknown treasures it held. By then, they had imagined it all, money, old stocks, jewelry. God, how funny it had been when all they found was two business cards in one of the drawers, both from locksmiths! “Well,” he laughed, “the next person to open it will find three business cards.”

They had found many interesting things in this house. The good Dr. Graves (what a name for a doc!) had at one time, the rumors say, used part of the basement as an infirmary. They found old hospital bed frames, medicine bottles, even old bed pans but so far, no bodies. Charlene always hit him when he said that.

He used his shirt tail to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He was almost to the floor opening to the attic above. Thank God! He was sweating like a hog. He was ready to get out of here. His clothes would be soaked and dirty but he would shake them out in front of the attic fan. The fan would feel good, drying the sweat off him

He reached for the edge of the attic floor to pull himself up and something, a glint, caught his eye. He propped the flashlight up and leaned down. Yes, there was something there, a chain of some kind, back in the depths of the shadows. He had to stretch his arm to reach it, just the tips of his fingers tugging, pulling at it. He saw that the chain was attached to a purse, an old black leather purse. As he picked it up, flakes of the leather began falling. “Damn, Charlene will kill me. Gotta be careful,” he thought. He took his shirt off and wrapped it around the purse, then set it on the edge of the opening. She will love this, he knew. She got such pleasure out of simple things, rocks, creeks, baby goats, silly things like that. He couldn’t wait to show this to her.

Once back in the attic, he unwrapped the purse and laid it on the desk. Bits of leather fell from it, revealing a silk lining. He stripped his jeans off, turned on the huge suction fan and shook his clothes. The dust went flying, but straight out the fan to the outside. “Mmm, feels good”, he sighed as his skin cooled.

Hanging his clothes to dry on the back of a chair, he returned to the purse, gingerly picked it up and opened it. Reaching inside, he extracted a small case made of wood, ornately carved with clusters of grapes. He opened and saw…….Abraham Lincoln?….. No, not Lincoln, but someone from the same period, bearded and stiff looking. “This is really old,” he thought and he laid it aside. There were several pieces of paper inside. A calling card with the name ‘Mrs. William H. Graves’ on it. Ah, the good doctors wife. Also, a formal engraved invitation to the grand opening of the Busby Hotel, dated 1902. “Looks like the courthouse,” he mused, then realized it was the courthouse. He didn’t know it used to be a hotel.

Something else was in the bottom of the purse, folded paper, several sheets, yellowed with age. The edges were scalloped here and there, something must have been eating on it. He pulled it out, unfolded it and read, “Catlettsburg, Ky, March 31st, 1890”

Eighteen Ninety! Wow, a letter! Almost a hundred years old. As he scanned the first few lines, he sat down, his heart beating faster. He turned the pages over. Who is this from? Obviously it was written to Mrs. Graves. It’s her purse. He turned to the last page to the signature - her brother, J. W. Kincaid. The man in the picture?

He laid the letter on the desk and began reading.

Catlettsburg Ky
Mch. 31st, 1890

Dear Loved Ones,

I write you out of a sorrow and grief that amounts to desolation and almost total ruin to all my future hopes and prospects. Yet, kind and loving friends are not lacking who point out to me the blessed promises of His holy word, through which I may hope to obtain comfort and peace and a blessed and happy reunion in the great beyond.

Has comfort and peace come as yet? No! No! No! The weary lonely hours of the night are filled with visions and dreams of my darling; and memory during the day fills my heart with the passionate longing for the companionship of one whose slightest wish I tried to obey.

The light of my heart has gone out, and all is dark and stormy within. I don’t think that any one knew the depth and strength of our love; how thoroughly we were in entire sympathy with each other; and consequently none can know the extent of the bleeding wound, such a sudden disunion has produced.

Your departure tenderly touched my overwrought feelings but how bravely she did put aside hers, to comfort and console me. She had not been well since poor dear Sallies death, and had been suffering from a cold and was more languid as a consequence ever since our arrival at the hospital with Sallie.
Yet we both thought her better for the few days preceding your coming.

She did not give up to go to bed until the Friday after you left, but we decided from all her feelings, that the attack really dated from the Sunday preceding. The course of the fever was neither severe nor unusual, and I feel that if her heart had been sound and strong we would not be in mourning to-day.

She never murmured nor complained during the whole time, at anything and cheerfully took everything we gave her. At the end she said she had been apprehensive of her heart, but had not let us know for fear it would worry me. Self-sacrificing and devoted to the last. We had all been apprehensive on that score though from the beginning and especially the last 5 or 6 days.

When we told her a few hours before the end that she could not get well she said she was ready and sent loving messages to all the family and relations and numerous friends, not forgetting the doctors. and the nurses who were not present.

She said her only regret was in leaving me, but her face was lit up with an expression of heavenly grace and brightness that had never shone there before. She quoted Job 13 chap and 15 verse and told us of her prayers for recovery but now it was “all is well”. She talked so sweetly of dear little Sallie, and bade me a tender loving, passionate good-bye. She then seemed to doze for a few minutes and then her eyes opened, and she seemed carried away by something supernatural. I know then she had a vision of the bright and heavenly world into which she was soon to enter, for with trembling fingers and eager description utterly oblivious of her immediate surroundings. She portrayed a scene of such grandeur, and glory, and light and brightness as to make us know that it was not of earth. Did her face light up before, it was now illuminated with such a reflected and God-given radiance that it is not possible for pen to describe.

She seemed to think it so strange too, that we could not realize the glory of all that she was seeing. She lingered a few hours longer, never afterwards fully conscious and passed away peacefully about 12.30 p.m.

I shall pronounce no eulogy here, for will do you both know that our daily life was a perfect comment upon the bond that united us.

Your loss in her is great but mine is irreparable for she was my all, and when she was taken, there is nothing left. Still I pray for the sustaining grace and the healing balm of the Great Physician.

Marie and Jen have fixed up the room over our old one very nicely for me, and I will occupy it as soon as sister Emma gets moved, as she is to take the house. I am getting more strength the past week, and think I can go to work again in a month. Eva has been sick for several days, and we could hardly have gotten along without Marie’s valuable assistance. She will stay until I am permanently located anyhow.

I shall always be anxious to hear from you, and hope that you will write me soon concerning your prospects.

With much love, I remain

Your brother in sorrow
J. W. Kincaid

He did not know how long he had been sitting there, silent, staring at the letter. He took his now dry shirt and carefully wrapped the purse and it’s contents into a small bundle and headed down the narrow attic stairs.

She felt him more than she heard him, standing there at the kitchen door. She turned to look at him, his face covered in grime, dressed in just his skivies. “What in the world are you doing?” she laughed, “I wish I had a camera.” Looking closer she saw the path of tears down his dirty cheeks and fear gripped her.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head no. He handed her the purse still wrapped in his shirt. She could barely hear him as he spoke.

“I want you to have this. I didn’t buy it for you. I didn’t even write it for you. But I need to give it to you. I have never been good at saying things out loud but what this says is how I feel about you, about us. This is how I would feel if I ever lost you.”

She took the precious bundle from him and sat down to read.