"I know this might seem like an odd question, auntie, but I've been wondering lately: do you have anything that used to belong to my mom or dad? Letters or photos or little mementos? You see, Riza and I have been exploring the attic…" (July 21st)
August 10
Chris Mustang found herself blinking away tears for the first time since…since as long as she could remember, though she knew she must have cried as a young girl. She hadn't shed a tear when she'd learned of the untimely death of her only brother and his young wife: there had been far too much to do, what with the funeral arrangements to make and a young child to care for. She'd mourned them, of course, but her grief had been of the silent and tearless variety. She'd been determined to keep her eyes dry for the sake of the orphaned child, and when Chris was determined, nothing stopped her.
And yet here she sat, some dozen years after the fact now, getting all sentimental and weepy over a box of trinkets. Damn that brat, she thought, dabbing her eyes carefully to prevent smearing her mascara. Asking about his parents' things out of the blue like that. Then again, she'd been the idiot to listen to him and to actually make the trek down to the dimly lit basement in search of the things she'd hidden away down there. She hadn't planned on answering him at all.
There wasn't really much. She'd kept a pair of charming little cherry wood end tables and an old hope chest with ivory inlays, which were in her bedroom. All of the other furniture had been sold in an estate sale, and the proceeds placed into an account under Roy's name. His mother's jewels, or at least the few decent pieces she'd had, were in Chris's own safe deposit box. Two exquisite strings of pearls, an opal ring set in old gold, another ring with a modestly-sized sapphire flanked by tiny diamonds, platinum wedding band and engagement ring, and a gorgeous apple jade pendant: all earmarked for Roy's future bride, should she want them. Everything else was in the dusty little box currently sitting in Chris's parlor.
A few books, several photo albums, a crinkly bundle of love letters tied with a faded pink silk ribbon, an engraved pocket knife in remarkably good condition, and a rather beautiful family bible bound in dark blue leather with pages tipped in silver. Inside, records of births, deaths and marriages of the Mustang family for the past seven generations had been carefully updated in varying shades of ink, in varying scripts. The most recent was written in the fragile, elegant script of Roy's own mother, recording the birth of her first and only child. Reading over that once-familiar handwriting was what had started Chris's eyes burning.
Hadn't she ever told Roy that the quilt on his bed had been handmade by his mother? Maybe she should remind him in her next let—OH! Chris sucked in a breath and dug through the box again. She was certain she'd saved it, wondering if any of her girls would take an interest in crafts…here! This little book, bound in ice blue satin. It wasn't a book at all, but a journal of sorts.
Roy's mother had filled its pages with little inspirational phrases and quotes, recipes, knitting patterns, random sketches, and her quilting patterns. It wasn't something a teenage boy would normally be interested in, but ...it was still something that Roy's mother had held very dear, once. She'd put a little piece of herself in these pages, and surely that was something that Roy would appreciate looking over.
"Good lord, not again," Chris grumbled, dabbing at the moisture in her eyes yet again. "Who'd have thought I'd be brought so low by such sentimental musings?"
"Mr. Mustang? Are you—is everything all right?" Riza's concerned voice cut into Roy's reverie.
"Oh, hey. I didn't hear you come in," Roy said, looking up from the letter in his lap. "I'm sorry, what'd you say?"
"I just asked you if everything was okay. I've been calling you to lunch for the past fifteen minutes."
"Oh, right, sorry!" he said, scrambling to his feet. "Everything's fine. Or at least, I think so," he continued, following her to the kitchen. "I've just had a letter from my aunt." Riza looked at him quickly as she handed him his plate. She'd seen him collect the letter a few hours previously, during their weekly shopping trip in town.
"Not bad news, I hope?" she said anxiously.
"No, no, nothing bad," Roy assured her, sitting in his usual place at the table. "She just…doesn't really sound like her usual self, so I was wondering what's got into her. That's all."
"What do you mean? Is she ill?" Riza frowned, worried.
"No, not that…It's kinda hard to explain," he murmured, and took a bite of his sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Roy finally spoke up again. "A few weeks ago, I asked Aunt Chris whether she'd kept any of my parents' things," he said nonchalantly, shrugging a bit as if to show it didn't bother him one way or the other whether she had.
"And did she?" Riza prompted gently, not the least bit fooled by his feigned indifference.
"That's just it—she never answered my question. I just figured she hadn't and didn't want to tell me outright, which is really unlike her. She's usually pretty direct, and she's never tried to sugarcoat bad news for me before." He shrugged again, brow creased in confusion. "So I dropped it."
"But she's written to you now?" Riza asked.
"Yeah," he said. Which was also odd behavior, though Roy didn't mention that part. He'd never really explained that his usual correspondents were actually his aunt's employees, whom he considered to be surrogate sisters, and Riza hadn't thought to ask. Of course, Chris always added a sentence or two to their letters when they wrote, or simply asked Elinor to send her love if she were too busy with the bar, but this time she'd actually written Roy a whole letter all on her own, without any input or additions from the girls. Roy wasn't sure what to make of it.
"I dunno. Maybe I made her feel guilty that she hadn't saved anything of theirs, or something," he guessed. "Anyway, I have this old patchwork quilt back home, on my bed. Aunt Chris has never said a single thing about it, not once, in all the years it's been there. And now she suddenly tells me that my mom made it for me, before I was born. I've had something of hers all this time and I had no idea," he said, shaking his head.
"I wonder why she didn't just say so when you asked," Riza mused.
"That's exactly what I've been wondering. And she's also sent me this," he added, reaching into his pocket. He held out the small blue book for Riza's inspection.
Riza took it from him carefully, after wiping her hands thoroughly on her napkin. Interest bloomed on her gentle features as she turned the little book over in her hands.
"One of her books?"
"No, she says it belonged to my mother. It's a journal of sorts," Roy explained, reaching for his drink.
"Oh," she breathed, awestruck.
"Take a look," he offered, gesturing with his free hand.
Odd, as much as he'd been longing to have some little item as a memento of his parents, he had no qualms in handing it over freely to this girl whom he'd known for less than half a year. And Riza was proving herself worthy of his trust in her. She handled his odd little treasure with the appropriate reverence, gently turning over page after page as though it were printed on delicate onionskin rather than plain, ordinary writing paper.
"Hm…a quote from Wordsworth, I think, and this one sounds like…Blake, maybe?" she mused, skimming through the elegant script. "Rossetti, Milton, and…a sketch. Of a bird. Are these recipes? Yes, apple cobbler, honey wheat bread, lemon cake…the seed stitch? Oh, knitting. Or is it a crochet pattern? I never learned either, so they both look the same to me...pretty. Oh!"
"What?" Roy interjected, fascinated by her vague murmurings as she flipped though the little blue journal.
"She's written about making a quilt from old clothing," she explained, still looking down at the page. "You know, cutting up dresses and things that have gone out of fashion but whose fabrics aren't worn out yet."
"Yeah? Huh. I wonder if mine's made from clothes," he said, intrigued.
"Maybe, but if she made it for you, then it's more likely that she chose specific fabrics that she liked, to match the colors and theme of your nursery and such…" she trailed off, still staring down at the book.
"Do you quilt?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. Riza looked up at last.
"Not me, but there are a few of the older ladies in town I could ask to teach me, if I wanted to learn," she replied. She gently closed the book again and bit her lip, which Roy had come to realize was a sign that something was bothering her.
"Mr. Mustang," she said quietly, a trace of the old nervousness in her eyes. "May I ask you something?"
"Yeah, of course. What's up?" he replied.
"About this journal…I know it's your mother's and it must be special to you, so it's really all right if you say no, I completely understand," she began, speaking very quickly. "But…do you suppose I could—would you mind if I copied out this one pattern? I'll be really careful, I promise," she finished anxiously.
"Oh! Yeah, of course, go ahead. I trust you," he replied, a little surprised. "Copy out anything in there you'd like."
"Thank you," she said warmly.
"You're welcome. I'm sure my mom would just be happy that someone is getting some use of out her patterns. As great as it is to have something of hers, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to take up quilting or knitting," he said drily.
"Never say never," she replied with a smile. "Though I suppose you could just transmute yourself a scarf or a quilt if you really needed one, with the right formula."
"True, but it wouldn't be the same as a handmade one," he grinned.
"Without the added sentimental value of the effort that went into making it, you mean?" she asked.
"Yeah, I guess that's what it is," he said. "It just means more if you know someone put their heart into making it for you. Or if you made it for yourself, then there's something special about enjoying the end result of your own hard work, knowing exactly how much trouble you went to for it. You know?"
"I do," she said, sobering a little. They were quiet for a moment.
"You're thinking of using some of your mum's old things to make a quilt, aren't you?" Roy asked suddenly. Was this topic still a tender one? Tender, but not off limits, it seemed, as she nodded shyly and smiled again.
"It's not like they're doing anyone any good sitting in a dusty old barn," she said.
"Hey, speaking of the barn," Roy said with a brilliant smile. "I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you."
"The ladder?" she cried eagerly.
"Yep!" he beamed at her. "The circle's ready; I just need to add the raw materials and we're good to go."
"What did Papa say when you asked him about it?" Riza asked. Not that he'd be angry with them for going into the attic, but she wondered if he'd figured out why Roy was suddenly asking about wood densities and such.
"I didn't have to ask anything, actually," Roy admitted, a slight crease appearing on his forehead. "I was all set to ask sensei how to repair something made of pine, when he suddenly starts lecturing me about the different kinds of wood and the properties and strengths of each of them."
"Really?" Riza asked incredulously.
"I know. D'you think he knows we were exploring up there?"
"Probably," she replied, with a thoughtful frown. "Every time I think he's not paying attention, he surprises me with something like that."
"Well, at least we know he doesn't mind us rifling around up in the attic, then," Roy smiled. "He'd never have told me all that about the wood otherwise." He'd been a little worried that his teacher would be annoyed with him for snooping around, although he'd said from the beginning that Roy was allowed to go wherever he liked on the property. (Except his lab, of course.)
"You realize what this means, don't you?" Riza said solemnly.
"What's that?" Roy asked, instantly curious. She looked so serious, he found himself holding his breath and waiting for her answer. She let the silence drag out dramatically before she slowly shook her head.
"There's no hidden treasure up in the attic," she said.
For a moment, Roy just stared at her. Her eyes sparkled, and her lip quirked, and then both teens burst out laughing.
"No, I guess not, huh?" Roy managed. "Unless of course, he's just using us to fetch it down for him."
"Oh yes, all those chests of gold must be heavy," she agreed, giggling.
"The two of us should be able to manage if we work together," he said. "But if it's some sort of cursed treasure, then I want no part of it."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts," she teased. "Big, strong alchemist like you couldn't protect himself from a few spirits?"
"All bets are off if there're skeletons in the wardrobe up there," he laughed. "I mean, some of those chests and crates looked plenty big enough to hide a body in."
"Oh don't worry. All the bodies are buried in the basement," she quipped.
"From former treasure-hunters, I presume?" he asked, raising a brow.
"Of course not. Just the former students," she grinned wickedly, and Roy nearly fell off his chair laughing.
"Dead men tell no tales, right? But before you dispose of me, you may as well get some use out of me," he managed, still giggling weakly. "Come on, let's go and see about that ladder."
A.N. Thank you all again for the lovely reviews; your words mean a lot to me! Also, thank you for being patient with me and my inability to carve out time each day to sit down and write these past couple of weeks...you can blame my puppy for that one. (What's with this constant need for my attention? Feed me, play with me, walk me, geez. He's lucky he's cute.) And don't get me started on my employer; silly people actually expect me to WORK while I'm at work. Don't they know I have better things to do?! So unreasonable! ;)
A special thanks to my guest reviewer, who I am unable to PM individually. I'm glad you can relate to my traumatic experience, LOL And don't worry, the angst won't ever become unbearable, and I do try to balance it out with equal amounts of fluff. :D
xoxo Janie