Pepper, the Highlander & the Dead Guy

I looked around at my desk, books and papers stacked across it, leaving a small cubby for my computer. My shelves overflowed with more books and boxes and more boxes of product were stacked in corners I had yet to store away. This office had been perfect when I first moved in, but through the years and my expanding business it had somehow shrunk.

My cell rang and I answered it, seeing it was William Strathmore.

“Got the plans and pricing all done for you, Pepper, sent them over in an email. You have a look, take your time and see if you want any changes made, and we’ll get it all worked out and set and I’ll put you at the top of the list for the schedule in the spring.”

“Sounds good,” I said, eager to see the plans and seeing Roxie stretch and move to sleep on top of a bunch of books, I had a thought. “William, I think I have another project for you.”

“What is it, Pepper?”

“I believe it’s time for me to convert the attic into an office.”

“Good idea, then you could take the wall down between your office and prepper room and make that bigger if you wanted.”

Room to expand my prepper stuff always excited me. “That’s a great idea, then I could reconfigure the storage in the garage.”

“I have a couple of jobs we’re finishing up, but plans would have to be drawn up anyway and with the holidays coming up, we could get started on it at the beginning of the new year.”

“That would be great since I need time to clean out the attic. Most of it is my aunt’s stuff that I’ve barely gone through.” I never told anyone, but I felt that if I discarded any of my aunt’s things it would be like erasing her memory and my aunt meant too much to me to do that.

“Then it’s good you take these few months to tackle the task. Give me a call when you want me to stop by and you can tell me what you envision for your new office and what you might like done in expanding that other room.”

I laughed. “Space, lots of space.”

After I hung up, I told myself to get to work, but for some reason the attic was calling to me like a siren I couldn’t refuse. Naturally, I gave in.

Cabins rarely had enclosed attics for storage. They were usually converted or framed as lofts, but Aunt Effie believed that an attic was a necessity.

“Where else would one keep their precious memories and secrets,” she would say.

She had the attic built over the two-car garage so it was large, probably larger than I needed, but it would be nice to have the space. I liked the way my aunt had it designed. You entered the garage through the laundry room and the stairs were to your left with a door at the top landing.

When I stepped in and flipped the switch, I almost regretted talking to William about it. There were far more boxes and chests than I remembered. I definitely would need months to go through it all.

I was drawn to the antique French armoire that held my aunt’s gowns. My aunt loved it. It was a French wedding armoire, circa 1780. The intricate artisan work was stunning. Elliptical medallions graced the door panels and a nesting pair of lovebirds along with detailed vines crowned the top. Fathers would have one made for their newborn daughters to one day hold their trousseau. I had wondered if my aunt had purchased it in hopes of one-day marrying. My mom had had it appraised after my aunt died and it was worth about sixteen thousand dollars. I couldn’t sell it. It meant too much to my aunt. I’d have to find a place for it in the main part of the cabin.

My aunt had modeled for Coco Chanel in Paris, in the 1940s before World War II. When the fashion houses resumed business in1947, she was once again in demand and this time by the likes of Christian Dior and Cristobel Balenciaga. She retained her youthful face and figure through the years, so much so that her modeling career lasted longer than most.

Many who knew her often commented on how much I resemble her. I don’t agree. I’m certainly not as nearly as beautiful as my aunt had been.

I opened the armoire and smiled. My aunt’s antique gowns had been meticulously stored on padded hangers in garment bags. There’s one garment I always favored—a black silk, strapless evening gown. I recalled seeing my aunt wear it for a special benefit here in Willow Lake. The dress is plain black, no adornments to it and it doesn’t need any. It had fit my aunt like a glove, and she had worn black gloves that went past her elbows with it. Even as a young child it was obvious that no one had been able to take their eyes off my aunt when she wore it. I tried it on once and it fit perfectly, except for the length, and for the first time in my life I had felt glamorous.