Saving Cicadas by Nicole Seitz

Author:Nicole Seitz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson Inc.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The original staircase leading to the attic in the 1870s Victorian was removed in the 1920s and replaced with a spiral one, or so Poppy had told me. At the top was a narrow door. Rainey and I climbed around and around the stairs with nervous stomachs. We’d never seen a ghost before. What if Gertrude was angry we were coming up? What if she was bent on protecting family secrets? When we got to the top, we swallowed hard because the door was already open.

Chapter Twenty-six

THE ATTIC

The first thing I noticed about the attic was the change in heat. The air was steamy-hot from summer.

“Mama?” said Rainey.

My mother looked at us, and a bead of sweat ran alongside her face.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“Janie want to come.”

“Oh, I see. Janie. Well, I thought I told you girls that this attic was no place for you.”

Mama was on the floor, legs spread out with books in front of her. “What are you looking at?” I asked.

“Come here, honey, let me show you some photographs of your family. There are some of me when I was little.”

We sat down on the heart pine floor beside her, and I looked around. There were beams overhead running the width of the room, and a pointed ceiling. There were small windows on the front, side, and back of the house. Boxes and dust were stacked in the corners, and under the back window I saw an old loom, a fake Christmas tree, and two mannequin busts.

“Have you seen the ghost?” I whispered. Rainey looked at me and then around the attic room.

“Mama, where the ghost?”

“What ghost? You mean Gertrude?” Rainey nodded, eyes round. “My guess is she left a long time ago. I’ve been up here a little while and there’s no sign of any ghosts. There’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. I promise, it’s all right.”

No ghost. All that fear for nothing? I was almost disappointed. I looked up at the rafters and imagined a pot of boiling oil up there, Gertrude waiting for her husband to walk in so she could murder him. I shivered and looked around for a big pot. I saw none. Then I studied the wood on the floor for grease spots, but there were none of those either. Something was fishy. Either the story had been made up or the boards had been replaced. I thought the floor looked younger than one hundred and forty years, so soon my disappointment in not seeing the ghost of Gertrude was replaced with pure relief. I focused on the books and on Mama’s face as she flipped through them. They were filled with Polaroid pictures.

“My father was so handsome, don’t you think?” Mama said. “Here we are when I was about four or five at Christmas.” She took her time, rolling a finger along each and every picture. “Oh, and look. You see this? This is when I learned to ride a bike. It was right out there on Vinca Lane.

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