Armed with cleaning rags, tapers and candlestick holders, Sam felt a cloud of dust waft over her face as she opened the attic door. Once a few candles had been lit, the imperfect mellow light illuminated more dust and what appeared to be clumps of abandoned cobwebs stuck to the woodwork. Sam coughed from the stale, thick air but determined that the space could be cleaned and Grandma's memorabilia could be organized. She was strangely compelled to complete this particular task, but where would she begin? Almost everything was suffering from disuse. She had forgotten her grandmother's penchant for parapsychology until she saw Zener cards splayed across an oak table . . . a very dirty oak table. A time-ravaged cedar chest was covered by a moth-eaten sheet that offered little protection. Ripping the sheet off the chest and opening the lid, Sam discovered some old 78s, which predated the 33 1/3 records that she had as a kid and were downright historic to those who'd only known CDs and cassettes. This stuff is useless. Its only value is nostalgic, Sam thought to herself. Looking through a dresser that had been in storage for much too long, Sam found a collection of fancy, velvet hair ribbons. She tied her hair back with one of the ribbons and, looking into a fulllength mirror streaked with the sticky remnants of its last cleaning, decided that she liked the way it looked on her. Maybe some of this stuff is worth salvaging. One cedar chest was packed with outdated garments that her grandmother had undoubtedly thought would eventually come back in style. The cedar aroma stimulated her olfactory sense, triggering fond childhood memories of sneaking into her grandmother's storage rooms and pawing through things she knew she wasn't supposed to get into. Tucked inside the folded clothing, Sam found copies of some Nancy Drew mysteries and a boxed set of the Chronicles of Narnia. She recalled her preteen years during which she'd read those beloved classics. In a music cabinet standing on its last legs, she found a dozen hymnals from various churches. Her grandmother had a habit of borrowing hymnals to play the church music on her piano but she also had a habit of forgetting to return them. Alas, the piano had long since fallen into serious disrepair and been discarded. Her hymnal-pilfering grandmother had stowed embroidered linens folded neatly on a lower shelf in the music cabinet. As Samantha looked at the carefully stitched patterns on the linens, a tear welled in her eye but she told herself that it was merely a reaction to some microscopic irritant in the dusty attic. As a child, Sam had often used puerile pestering to vie for her mother's attention as the patient woman sat in her rocker, embroidering. As an adult, she recalled those youthful times with tenderness and longing. Her heart was opening to something, something precious and dear about life. The attic was full of antique traveling trunks, familial diaries, heirlooms and . . . hello, what's this? Sam detected a distinct scent of roses. The gloomy attic was grossly inappropriate for the tincture of roses.

Leading Sam by her nose, the scent became stronger as she neared a wooden box wedged between two slats in the flooring. The dust that she blew off of the box must have been an inch thick. (*ACH-ZTHPT* Sam will be wearing a dust mask on her next venture into the attic.) There was a name engraved on the top of the box: Samantha. Sam took it personally even though rationality dictated that it must have been the name of an ancestor for whom she was a namesake. A lock hung from the clasp on the front of the box. It hung? The lock was unlocked? Sam sensed an electric, prickly charge surge up her spine to the hairs on the back of her neck as though a spider were crawling on her skin. The box housed a picture of Grandma Sherwood as a young woman. The photograph was accompanied by a letter in Grandma's handwriting. The letter began: Dear Samantha, my darling granddaughter . . .

With nary a thought of the dread she had come to associate with reading tomes and volumes, Sam read with interest each page of the letter Grandma had lovingly written to her. Sam knew that Grandma had loved her dearly but it was nice to be reminded. Warmth and tranquility seeped into Sam's soul as she read page after page of her family history and the old homestead. The pages brought every room to life with the joys and tribulations her family had experienced while residing in the old homestead. For the most part, Sam's family was strong and vivacious, from the early settlers on the mountain where she lived to the world travelers to the pillars of the small township community. Grandma's re-telling of the one lost soul was heart wrenching. One soul lost her way and lost hope in her lackluster life. The candlelight flickered. Sam choked on her breath when--she could have sworn--she saw a long, heavy, lifeless weight dangling from a rope in the rafters. Okay, it's time to get some better lighting up here. I can't have such specters playing in the theater of my mind or I'll go batty.

Samantha did, indeed, install proper lighting. For two weeks, she spent her evenings cleaning the attic. When she moved the full-length mirror to her downstairs parlor, the reflective surface caught her image. She realized how much she resembled her grandmother in the old photograph. Grandma was really quite pretty when she was in her 40's. Her grandmother had stored several large bookcases in the attic. After a good polishing, the bookshelves looked hungry. Samantha started unpacking her reference materials and favorite books to fill the empty shelves. The attic, which she had decided to convert into a study, began to smell of lemony Old English. The refurbished antiques were complemented by the new Persian rugs on which they stood. She framed one of her mother's finest embroidered linens and hung it above her desk. The cleaning revitalized more than the old homestead. As she banished the dust bunnies from the attic, she vanquished the doldrums from her spirit and mindset. She also came to enjoy her time reading and wrote two articles for review in prominent journals. Sunshine streamed down from a skylight in the roof to a vase of roses on a table cleverly covering a small split in the floorboards. Samantha thought she saw Grandma as a young woman holding the roses--but, of course, it must have been Samantha's reflection again.

A natural consequence of making her home presentable was that she was ready to receive guests. She invited her cousin, Sarah, who in turn invited a few friends. Samantha relished the thought of entertaining in her home. She no longer felt androgynous and nondescript. Her mind, body and spirit were invigorated. While preparing for her company, Samantha realized that she'd brought the oak-framed mirror downstairs when she was cleaning. So, what did I see in the attic? While we're at it, how did Grandma know that I'd find the letter when I needed it most? Those thoughts would have to wait. This would be a lovely day. Ah, but her reawakening had only just begun. The light of life was growing in Samantha and the spark within her was ready to ignite her passions and her life.