We found an almost perfectly square line on the ceiling of Mrs. Smith’s living room, painted so evenly, it wasn’t noticeable unless you were searching for it. A pull rope handle was attached, but it was the same color as the paint, which made it perfectly camouflaged. I tugged on the rope, not waiting for the officer to show off his muscles. As I’d imagined, my sustained yank brought down a ladder, the kind permanently attached to the ceiling.
I glanced back at the officer. He was giving me a look that said he found it amusing that I’d lowered the ladder by myself. I guess it would have been more lady-like to allow him to do the tugging, but being weak and feminine wasn’t a game I played. When he saw my glance, he waved his hand, indicating that I should lead the way.
I had never seen a fold down ladder before. I wasn’t sure how trustworthy it was, but when I wiggled it, it seemed stable enough to proceed. Inhaling a breath of courage, I carefully climbed up the steps.
I really wanted to see inside the attic, but I had trepidations. Rats and mice often made their way into such dark quarters. As I reached the top, I stopped to listen, but I didn’t hear anything scampering about.
“You want me to go first?” the officer asked. To have allowed him to enter first would have been impossible at that point without retreating back down the stairs. Holding on with a firm grip to the sides of the ladder, I shook my head and took another step upward into the void.
One would think that a horseback rider, comfortable with being a good ten feet off the ground, would have no fear of heights, but such was not the case with me. Ladders frightened me. Climbing into darkness was the icing on the top of that terror. But Old Mother used to say: Fear is only one more challenge to be conquered, and life is its own ladder of ascending steps, each more difficult, but often strangely beguiling.
I smiled, recalling the impact Old Mother had made on my life. Memories were not the only inheritance a loved one left when they departed. The pearls of their wisdom were, perhaps, the true treasure they bequeathed.
I used my hand to feel for the wall on the left, and purposely steered my mind away from Old Mother. Strangely, my mind slid easily in another direction as I found myself comparing my passage into an unfamiliar attic with cave exploration. Both held darkness, risk, and rats. (Although I had far more sense than to journey into an unmarked cavern from which cavers and spelunkers sometimes never returned. Surely investigating someone’s attic was not as hazardous, nor should it be such a precarious one-way trip.)
My exploring hand touched the long string of a pull cord, almost exactly like the one we’d found in the basement. When I tugged at it, an electric bulb lit up the surrounding area, making the attic if not friendly, at least more appealing. I saw no vermin or any indications that there might be some in hiding. Everything was as dust and cobweb free as the rest of the house.
The breath I’d unknowingly been holding in, released. At that moment, I secretly mocked my earlier qualms, discarding visions of deep, dark caverns and allowing a prick of curiosity to send me forward.