Lexie shrugged. “I figure they’re sealed for a reason. Kind of like Pandora’s box.”
“You know what’s in them, don’t you?”
“Yes. Our mother’s clothes and things that Dad boxed away after she died.”
“That’s not the whole story. But you don’t remember, do you?”
“Not really. I was barely old enough to walk.”
“And Tess never told you what happened?”
“I never asked.” But Lexie sensed that she was about to hear a story, whether she wanted to or not. Val had a way of stirring things up, even things that were better left alone.
“Our mother died on her thirtieth birthday,” Val said. “Our father, who worshipped her, had given her this beautiful palomino horse. She was riding it for the first time when it shied at a rattler and threw her. She struck her head and died. Dad took the horse out and shot it. I remember how we cried, Jack and Tess and I, not just for our mother but for the horse.”
“And that was when Dad boxed her things?”
“No.” Val took a deep swig of her Coke and crushed the can in her fist. “He left all of her things in the closet and in the drawers, even her makeup on the dresser and her slippers under the bed. Then he married Callie and brought her home. I think you can see the problem.”
Lexie nodded, pulled into the story in spite of her misgivings.
“Callie wanted to throw everything out, or at least donate the clothes and shoes,” Val said. “But Dad would have none of that. They had some rip-roaring fights over it. But finally he agreed to let her box up everything and store it away.”
“So it was Callie who packed these boxes?”
“That’s right. And she used plenty of tape to seal away the memory of her new husband’s first wife.”
Val sighed. “Our mother had lovely things . . . silk slips, nightgowns trimmed with lace, and negligees to match. Even her underwear was beautiful. I used to sneak into this room just to touch it, and to smell her perfume. Arpège. It was heavenly. Even after she died, I used to come in and smell it—before Callie packed everything away.”
Mischief twinkled in Val’s emerald eyes. “Haven’t you ever wondered about what was in those boxes?”
“Maybe a little. But I knew I’d get caught and be in trouble if I looked, so I never did.”
“You’re a big girl. You won’t be in trouble now.” Val picked up a pair of Callie’s sewing scissors that had been left on the empty bureau. “Here.” She held them out to Lexie. “Go for it. Pick a box and cut it open.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Aw, come on. I want to see you do it.”
“This isn’t getting your room cleared out, Val.”
“It won’t take a minute to open a box and look inside. I triple-dog dare you!”
“Oh, all right, if it’ll make you happy!” Lexie took the scissors, grabbed the nearest box, and began cutting away the tough layers of tape. Val had always been the instigator in the family. At least some things never changed.
Val watched, an impish grin on her face, as the last of the tape parted and Lexie raised the flaps. “Well, what’s inside?” she asked.
“Shoes. Lots of shoes. Take a look for yourself.” Lexie passed the box to her sister.
Laughing, Val began lifting out the pretty little size four slippers, pumps, and sandals. The shoes weren’t sorted into pairs. It appeared they’d been tossed at random into the cardboard box, most likely by an angry hand.
“Look at these! Most of them are still in style!” Val began pairing the shoes and arranging them in a line along the floor. “Too bad nobody in the family has tiny feet like hers, not even me.”
“Put them away, Val,” Lexie said. “We’ve got work to do.”
“In a minute.” Val pulled more shoes out of the box. “I remember some of these. I used to sneak into the closet and try them on when she wasn’t around. Of course, I was little then, and—Whoa! What’s this?”
She lifted out what looked like a fancy candy box, decorated in gold swirls and tied with a blue ribbon, wrapped and knotted to hold the lid closed. Lifting it to her ear, she gave it a shake. “What do you suppose is inside? It certainly isn’t shoes.”