What’s in Aunt Mary’s Room?

Sarah and I have a game.

We call it “What’s in Aunt Mary’s Room?”

Once when we were riding in the car Mommy told us about the real Aunt Mary’s room in Great-great-aunt Flossie’s house.

Aunt Mary slept there, a long time ago. Then, when Aunt Mary was ninety-eight, she died. “Her room was empty,” Mommy said. And Aunt Flossie began putting things there.”
“What things?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mommy answered.
“Things to save, things to keep. After a while, Aunt Mary’s room was stuffed full, and Aunt Flossie locked the door.”

I wondered what was in Aunt Mary’s room. What were the things to save, the things to keep? So Sarah and I made up a game. We took turns thinking of things that began with a, then b and c. Funny, silly things, because we didn’t know what really was in Aunt Mary’s room.
I told Aunt Flossie about our game in a thank-you letter for my Christmas present. She wrote me a letter too.
“Dear Susan, What a funny game! May I play? Your cursive writing is very, very good. Love, Aunt Flossie.”

One Saturday afternoon when Mommy and Daddy were driving us to Aunt Flossie’s house, I said, “OK, what’s in Aunt Mary’s room?”
“Alligators,” said Sarah.
“Alligators and baby buggies,” Daddy said.
“Alligators, baby buggies, and car seats,” said Mommy.
“Alligators, baby buggies, car seats, and Dairy Queens,” I said, because we were passing a Dairy Queen. Everybody laughed and laughed till we reached Aunt Flossie’s house.

But I kept wondering, the way I always did. What’s really in Aunt Mary’s room?

Sarah and I ran up Aunt Flossie’s steps. Aunt Flossie opened the door and waved to Mommy and Daddy.
“We’ll be back at five to go get crab cakes!” Daddy said as they drove away.
“Susan, Sarah,” said Aunt Flossie.“I’m so glad to see you.” We sipped tea and ate cookies the way we always do at Aunt Flossie’s house. Then Aunt Flossie said, “Girls, 1 need you to help me. Today I want to go into Aunt Mary’s room.”

I looked at Sarah. She looked at me. We said together, “Aunt Marys room!”
“Aunt Flossie, we’ll help you,” I said.
“What’s in Aunt Mary’s room?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, things to save, things to keep, said Aunt Flossie.
“It’s been a long time since I was in there. First we need to find the key.”
“It’s not on the string with all your keys, Aunt Flossie?” I asked.
“No, I put it somewhere in a safe place.” Aunt Flossie closed her eyes and thought a minute. Then she said, “Girls, try the top drawer of the sideboard.”

We opened the drawer. Inside were forks and spoons and napkins and pencils and place mats and nutcrackers and old envelopes and pictures of ladies with flowing dresses and men with long beards.
“That’s Uncle Jimmy. He had such a fine, fine grocery store,” Aunt Flossie said, pointing to one picture. But we didn’t see a key.
“Where else should we look, Aunt Flossie?” I asked Aunt Flossie closed her eyes again. “Let’s try the bookcases in the living room,” she said. “Somewhere there’s a make-believe book made for hiding things.”

Aunt Flossie has so many books!

We looked on all the shelves till Sarah found it. It looked like a book, but it was a secret box. “Something’s in here!” said Sarah.

She took a little soft bag out of the pretend book.
“Shake it,” said Aunt Flossie.

Something shiny fell out.

“Oh, my,” Aunt Flossie said. “That’s a five-dollar gold piece. Must have been there a long, long time.”

“But where’s the key?” I asked. “Where else can we look, Aunt Flossie?”

“Let’s try my jewelry chest. It’s upstairs on the bureau in my room.”

Sarah and I ran up to Aunt Flossie’s bedroom. All her hatboxes are there. Thirty-seven. I always count them. Aunt Flossie gave us her pink leather jewelry chest. I found my favorite flower pin with the yellow petals and the dark stone in the middle. It looks like a black-eyed Susan. I like it because I’m a black-eyed Susan, too. Then I noticed a teeny tiny drawer in the jewelry chest.
“Aunt Flossie!” I shouted. “Here’s a key!”
“Susan, that’s it,” Aunt Flossie said. “I knew I had put it in a safe place.”

Sarah and I ran down the hall to Aunt Mary’s old door. Aunt Flossie followed us.

She poked the key into the lock and wiggled it around. Sarah and I waited. Aunt Flossie turned the doorknob.

Slowly, slowly the door squeaked open.

And we were looking into Aunt Mary’s room!

“It’s dark,” Sarah whispered.

I could see shadows and shapes. It was sort of scary.

Then Aunt Flossie turned on the light. There were boxes and boxes and boxes! And barrels. There were chairs on top of chairs and lamps and mirrors and flowerpots and newspapers and magazines and an old sewing machine, and a big old bed with stuff piled on it and more piles underneath.
“What are all those things?” I asked. Aunt Flossie smiled. “Things to save. Things to keep,” she said. She sounded really happy. “Now I need someone who can climb.”
“I can climb!” I said.
“I can climb, too!” Sarah said.
“Over on the other side of the room is a window. In front of the window is a table,” Aunt Flossie told us. “On the table is a very large, very heavy book. It’s our family Bible. Do you suppose you can find the Bible and bring it to me?”
“We can, we can, Aunt Flossie!” we said together.

Sarah and I took off our shoes, and climbed up on the big bed.

We squeezed between some boxes.

We stepped over onto the sewing machine and down on the other side and sideways to fit between a big box and a big old chair.

Then I peeked around another big box.

“I see the window and the table!” I said.

“Do you see the Bible?” Aunt Flossie called, Her voice seemed to come from far away. “Something is wrapped up in an old towel,” I said. I looked under the towel. “Yes, there’s an enormous gigantic book here.”

“Wonderful, girls! You’ve found it,” said Aunt Flossie. “Now, can you bring it here?”

I tried and Sarah tried to lift up the enormous book, but we couldn’t.

“It’s too big, Aunt Flossie,” I said. “We can’t carry it.”

Sarah had a good idea. She said, “Maybe we can pick it up in the towel.”

“How can we climb back?” I asked. Then I had a good idea, too. “If we put it down on the floor, I can push it under the bed.”

“Be careful, girls,” said Aunt Flossie’s faraway voice. “That Bible is precious.”

The Bible was very, very heavy, but we held the ends of the towel tightly and slid it off the table and down to the floor.

I scrunched low and started pushing it. Spiderwebs tickled my nose and I almost got stuck, but I crawled and pushed till the Bible and I came out the other side! Sarah climbed back across the top of everything.

“Bravo!” said Aunt Flossie. “Bravo! You girls are both heroes! Now I want to show you something.”

We pulled the towel with the precious Bible to Aunt Flossie’s room. She sat in a chair while we unwrapped it.

I read the words on the cover. “Presented to Thomas Bradford with thanks from Bethel A.M.E. Church, Baltimore, January 20, 1859.”

“That’s your great-great-great-grandpa. My grandfather,” Aunt Flossie said. “He helped raise money for Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church.”

“Can we look inside?” asked Sarah.

“Yes,” said Aunt Flossie. “Open where the ribbon bookmark is.”

We opened to the place very carefully. We found a dried flower and some pages with names and dates in fancy cursive writing.

“That’s our family,” Aunt Flossie said. “It’s an important record of an African American family, and I wanted you to know about it. Aunt Mary is there, and Uncle Jimmy, and I’m there.”

“Are we in it?” Sarah asked.

“Not yet,” said Aunt Flossie. “Not yet. But someone with your name is there, Sarah.”

We found it on a page that said Births: Sarah Elizabeth Bradford, September 5, 1853.

“She was my mother,” said Aunt Flossie, and your great-great-prandma.”

“Is my name there, Aunt Flossie?” I asked.

“Well, Susan,” Aunt Flossie said, “your name will be in the Bible very soon. Since your handwriting is so clear and neat, you may write down your name and Sarah’s. I’Il show you where.”

“Can I really write in this precious Bible, Aunt Flossie?” I asked. I could hardly believe it.

“Certainly,” said Aunt Flossie, and she pulled a pen from her pocket.

Sarah and I lifted the heavy Bible up in the towel and swung it over to a low table. Slowly, slowly—I didn’t even breathe I wrote my name and my birthday, and I wrote Sarah’s name and her birthday.

“Very, very nice, Susan,” said Aunt Flossie. She smiled at me.

I felt really proud.