When Granny died, and after we had all cried, we trooped to the attic seeking the treasure chest. It was a simple and plain pine box, but special because Pappy had made it for her.

“My hope chest” she’d called it. She used to open it, if we’d been ‘specially good, and let us peek inside.

We’d try on her gauzy dresses. “From the olden days,” she’d croon. “Your Pappy and Granny could surely cut a rug back then.”

She’d let us hold Pappy’s gold pocket watch. “Gave him that the day we jumped the broom, I did.”

She allus called us her “packa younguns”.

“Remember to love each other, take care of each other. You need to band together. You are stronger together than you are by yourselves. That’s how Pappy and I were. I swan, when I lost him I lost some of my stren’th.”

Then, she’d close up the treasures again with a sigh and we’d go down to the kitchen for cookies and milk.

And now Granny’s gone on to dance again with Pappy. She left us with a smile on her face, and her hair? I’d a-sworn she was wearin’ a halo the way her hair glowed.

The old house had been left to the pack. We left the hope chest there in the attic. It was nice to know we could still find Granny and Pappy whenever we wanted.

photo from Adirondack Furniture
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Written for trifecta’s challenge – BAND. These are my words . . . where are yours?