The Scarlet Thread Read Free Page A

Come on up.”
    Surprised, Sierra went down the hallway and climbed the narrow stairway. “What are you doing up here?” she said, entering
    the cluttered attic. The small dormer windows were open, allowing a faint sun-warmed breeze into the dusty, dimly lit room.
    Dust particles danced on the beam of sunlight. The place smelled
    musty with age and disuse.
    The attic had always fascinated Sierra, and she momentarily
    put aside her worries as she looked around. Lawn chairs were
    stacked at the back. Just inside the door was a big milk can filled
    with old umbrellas, two canes, and a crooked walking stick.
    Wicker baskets in a dozen shapes and sizes sat on a high shelf.
    Boxes were stacked in odd piles, in no particular order, their
    contents a mystery.
    How many times had she and her brother gone through their
    rooms, sorting and boxing and shoving discards into the attic?
    When Grandma and Grandpa Clanton had died, boxes from
    their estate had taken up residence in the quiet dimness. Old
    books, trunks, and boxes of dishes and silverware were scattered
    about. A hat tree stood in a back corner on an old braided rag rug
    that had been made by Sierra’s great-grandmother. The box of
    old dress-up clothes she had donned as a child was still there. As
    was the large oval mirror where she had admired herself with
    each change.
    Nearby, stacked in her brother’s red Radio Flyer wagon, were
    a dozen or more framed pictures leaning one upon another
    1 2
    T H E
    C A L L
    against the wall. Some were original oils done by her grandfather
    during his retirement years. Others were family pictures that
    dated back several generations. Paint cans left over from restoration on the house were stacked on a shelf in case touch-ups were
    needed to the colorful trim. One bookshelf was filled with shoe
    boxes, each labeled in her father’s neat printing and holding tax
    returns and business records going back twenty years.
    A tattered, paint-chipped rocking horse stood in lonely exile in
    the far back corner.
    Her mother had moved some of the old furniture around so
    that Grandpa Edgeworth’s old couch with the lion-claw legs was
    sitting in the center of the attic. Opposite it was Daddy’s old
    worn recliner. Two ratty needlepoint footstools served as stands
    for the things her mother had removed from an old trunk that
    stood open before her.
    Marianna Clanton had a tea towel wrapped around her hair.
    “I thought I should go through some of these things and make
    some decisions.”
    “Decisions about what?” Sierra said, distracted.
    “What to throw away, what to keep.”
    “Why now?”
    “I should’ve started years ago,” her mother said with a rueful
    smile. “I just kept putting it off.” She looked around at the cluttered room. “It’s a little overwhelming. Bits and pieces from so
    many lives.”
    Sierra ran her hand over an old stool that had been in the
    kitchenette before it was remodeled. She remembered coming
    home from kindergarten and climbing up on it at the breakfast
    bar so she could watch her mother make Tollhouse cookies.
    “Alex called me a little while ago and told me he’s accepted a job
    in Los Angeles.”
    Her mother glanced up at her, a pained expression flickering
    across her face. “It was to be expected, I suppose.”
    1 3
    T H E
    S C A R L E T
    T H R E A D
    “Expected? How?”
    “Alex has always been ambitious.”
    “He has a good job. He got that big promotion last year, and
    he’s making good money. They gave him a comprehensive health
    package and retirement plan. We have a wonderful new house.
    We like our neighbors. Clanton and Carolyn are happy in school.
    We’re close to family. I didn’t even know Alex had put out word
    he was looking for another position until he called me today—”
    Her voice broke. “He was so excited, Mom. You should’ve heard
    him. He said this new company made him a fantastic offer, and he
    accepted it without even talking to me about it.”
    “What sort