Chapter 11
“Be careful dear,” Fiona said, handing Branwen an electric lantern. “I won’t send up a search party until dinner time.”
Branwen took the lantern, returned Fiona’s smile, then she was up the creaky, folding attic stairs and alone. She held the light high, taking everything in.
Parts of the house were over five hundred years old, reflected in gouged and scarred floorboards more than two feet wide and even thicker rough-cut support beams jutting down at odd angles from the age blackened wood over her head.
It looked as if her family had been hiding things up here nearly as long.
Some television auction show would have had a field day up here, but it would never be allowed. Piles of obvious junk were treated the same as carefully arranged treasure: don’t touch it unless Grandmo
