Chapter 3
Quilts
Dappled light filtered through the lace-curtained window, the day moving on without me. I climbed the steep stairs to our storage space hidden high in the house. I think I am the only one who has visited the attic as I dug through the trunks. Bins and boxes containing memories littered the space. If I were to guess, I would have said our family had been hauling unwanted items up here for more than a hundred years.
Dust clung to everything, swirling in the lamplight. I sneezed and rubbed my nose. At last, what I needed appeared before me. I wondered who made them. Was it Mama or perhaps Grandmother? She died long before I was born and I am curious about what she may have looked like.
With my arms overfilled, walking was difficult. The lamp swung under the pile of cloth
