The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered by the tattered pages strewn around the room. An old chest collected dust in the corner and Abigail was eager to peak inside it. The air smelt musty and old; all the things that intrigued her. She walked slowly over to it careful not to disturb too much dust, and she appreciated each creek the floor boards cried out under her feet. She grabbed the pink glove to brush away the layer that covered the chest and felt her heart jump with anticipation of what might be inside. Gently she lifted the lid to find the treasures that had been tucked safely away. Yellowed photographs of faces she did not recognize, and some that looked familiar, yet not as she knew them. Tiny baby boots, white and leather. A small baseball glove, worn like it had been used every day for many summers. Two champagne glasses wrapped in tissue paper. A stack of letters tied together with brown twine, she recognized the fine handwriting as her grandmother's. Had her grandfather fought in the war or was it another beau? Itching to learn more, she carefully pulled at the string and unfolded the letter on top. "What are you doing up here my child?" asked a kind voice behind her. Abigail turned and smiled, "Nothing Grandma, just looking." Her grandmother returned the smile. "There is nothing up here to see sweetheart. Come have some lemonade, the air is not good to breathe in." "Who are these letters to?" Her grandmother shook her head sadly and her eyes became misty.
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