It Was a Man’s Voice
From The Fragrance of Her Name by Marcia Lynn McClure
The warm, southern sun streamed through the attic window and seemed to shine upon one specific trunk that stood in a nearby corner….
As she stood before the trunk and put out her hand to lift the latch, Lauryn fancied she heard her name being called and with it the faint, yet familiar fragrance of wisteria. But the wisteria blossoms had been gone from the trees and vines of Connemara for months. Surely she only imagined both her name being called and the fragrance. The fragrance dissipated almost instantly and, since she did not further imagine her name being whispered on the air, Lauryn shrugged in a child’s manner and returned her attention to the trunk resting on the floor before her.
Carefully, her small hands lifted the latch and the young girl peered in excitedly as if it promised to reveal hidden treasures to her. Again Lauryn fancied the scent of wisteria filling her nostrils for a moment as she pushed the lid to the trunk back and lifted out the yellowing and brittle paper cover that lay within…
“It’s a weddin’ dress,” the child whispered to herself, even before she carefully removed the garment from its protector. Holding it up to admire the fine tatting of the lace, the tucks and the embroidered lavender wisteria blossoms that embellished the bodice of the gown, Lauryn knew what it was.
…Setting it aside she withdrew a tintype. It was small and dark, as tintypes were, but at once all else that may or may not have been in the trunk seemed of no interest to Lauryn. As she gazed, mesmerized at the image before her, a great warmness began to wash over her being. An unusual melancholy nearly overwhelmed her youthful heart as she peered into the faces of complete strangers that seemed, somehow, as familiar as the people she lived with.
…”You were beautiful,” Lauryn whispered, gazing intently at the young woman’s face. “And such a handsome soldier. Yankee at that.” And it was true. Brandon, Lauralynn’s husband, was tall, dark-haired and as handsome as any prince in the fairy tales Lauryn’s mother read to her at night. Even if his uniform was of Yankee origin. “What a scandal that must’ve caused!” she exclaimed to herself.
…There came a breeze that danced through the room, although the windows were closed. From behind her, there was a voice…no more than a whisper at first, and in the next instant Lauryn felt a calming, comfortable, unseen presence.
“If I turn around and look at you…will you be there?” Lauryn whispered.
…Of course there wouldn’t be an answer. She would’ve seen or heard anyone enter the attic. But, when an answer did come, she sat frozen, her eyes intent on, but blind to, the tintype in her hands.
“I will,” came the voice. It was a man’s voice…
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