"A great idea. I'll bring a fan up to the attic. Far as I know, no one's even opened that door for years, so it's bound to be pretty stuffy."

Amanda climbed the steep back stairs to the attic, tucking her hair up into a knot atop her head as she went. It took several moments of fumbling with the glass knob of the attic door before she successfully wrenched it open. The door creaked loudly and a rush of hot, stale air filled the narrow staircase. It smelled like musty old papers and years of dust, and she blinked as she felt for the light switch. A single bare bulb swayed overhead, casting patches of light and shadow over furniture, stacks of crates, and old trunks.

Electricity had been added to the house only about forty years before, and wires could be seen dangling from old eaves and tracing down the outside of walls. Trapped heat made it difficult to breathe.

Stepping gingerly around a precariously leaning stack of wooden crates, Amanda made her way across the crowded floor to the small window that looked out over the front lawn. It took several moments of trying and a broken fingernail to pry the window open. Finally, it slid upward with a screech and rattle of the wooden frame. A breeze filtered into the attic, smelling of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle.

Amanda leaned her palms on the wide wooden sill and gazed at the magnolia trees. Heavy branches rose above the rooftop of the house and all but obscured a view of the driveway. Memories of happier times returned in a rush. God, she would miss this old house…

"Manda?"

She turned to see Jessica in the doorway, blinking in the dim light and gingerly holding an ancient fan. Once it was plugged into the single outlet in the attic, the old black wire fan stirred the stuffy air and dust, its blades whirring loudly. Amanda sneezed several times.

"I think it was better without it," she muttered as she readjusted the fan to blow in another direction.

"Probably." Jessica stood in the center of the attic, hands on her hips as she gazed at the clutter. "It will take a week to go through all this. You should have hired a professional."

"I can't imagine allowing a stranger to go through these mementos and decide what's valuable and what's not," Amanda murmured as she peered into a wooden crate. "Oh, look-an old album." She blew a layer of dust from the leather cover before opening it. Several metal squares tumbled from between the thick pages, and she barely caught them. "I remember seeing this," she exclaimed. "Aunt Hannah used to show me this album when I was a child. See this man?" She held up one of the tintypes as Jessica peered over her shoulder. "I used to dream about him."

"Which one?" Jessica asked as she lightly brushed away a film of dust from the metal photograph.

"The tall, dark-haired man in the background. I'm not certain why, but he caught my imagination when I was a child. I guess because no one in the family knew who he was, or could remember why he was in a family portrait." Gazing at the lean man with the crooked smile, Amanda felt as if she were seeing the face of an old friend again. There was character in the firm set of his jaw and in his clear gaze, implied strength in his wide shoulders. She wished she had a name to apply to the image, something besides forgotten dreams.

Tapping a finger on another old tin photograph, Jessica said, "Who is that?"

"Let me see…" Amanda peered closely at the photograph, but it wasn't until she turned it over that she saw someone had written on the paper back. The ink was faded, but she could make out the name. "James Brandon-oh, yes. This is my great-great-grandfather. The feud started with him, I think."

“The feud between the Scotts and Brandons?''

Amanda nodded. “I think so. Lord, I was told all this so long ago, and it's hard to remember all the details. I do remember that it was back during the Civil War-or as Aunt Hannah used to say, "The War of Northern Aggression.' James Brandon's half brother-they had the same mother-married a woman who had been promised to James. Apparently this caused a big uproar, but it wasn't the final cause of the feud, according to Aunt Hannah."

"Sounds like a good enough reason to me," Jessica muttered with a lifted brow.

“To me, too. Michael Scott and Grandfather James lived here in the house together for a while after the wedding. The feud started later, if I remember correctly. If you ask me, I'd guess that it had its roots in the fact that Michael wed the woman his brother wanted. Aunt Hannah never did give the real reason. Said it was over and done, and the family scattered to the four winds. Half of them ran off to South America."

"South America? What on earth for?"

"After the war, a lot of the men in our family who'd fought for the Confederacy migrated farther south to escape Reconstruction. I imagine that the dark-haired man I used to dream about was one of them."

Jessica tapped the metal square thoughtfully. "He's quite handsome, isn't he? I suppose that's why he caught your imagination. I wonder who he was?"

Laughing, Amanda teased, "The man of my dreams, of course." She tucked the loose tintypes into the album, then closed it and placed it gently on the floor. "This pile will be the keeper pile. Things to be sold will go on the other side."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Jessica reached for the notebook and pen she'd brought with her. "Now, what we need to do is start listing things to be auctioned. What's first?"

Amanda held up a crimping iron. "Shall we start with this?"

Scribbling on a clean page, Jessica muttered, "That ought to bring fifty cents."

Three hours later, the stack of items to be auctioned had filled five pages and one side of the attic. Leather-bound trunks, dishes, framed portraits, old furniture, and even mule harnesses cluttered the floor. A cheval mirror tarnished with age and sagging in its frame leaned against one wall.

Jessica raked a hand through her frosted hair, leaving a smudge of dust on her forehead. "Dealing with all this junk is exhausting. And it's unbearably hot up here. Let's stop for a while."

Pulling forward a heavy, dust-covered trunk, Amanda said, "One more thing. I found this trunk behind some loose boards in that alcove. Someone obviously hid it there, and I'm dying to see what's inside."

"Lordy, it's hot enough to fry eggs up here, Manda."

"What if it's hidden treasure?" Amanda coaxed. "I might find enough to save the house. Come on, Jess. Help me. Then we'll go down for lunch and cooler air, I promise."

"All right. But I'm more than ready for some iced tea."

It took a moment to open the trunk's latch, but finally they managed it. The smell of moth crystals stung Amanda's nose as she lifted the top. Frothy layers of tissue paper crackled when she pushed them aside.

"Old clothing," she murmured, carefully lifting the garment beneath the tissue paper. Satin folds slid over her arms in a rustling fall. Then her breath caught. "Oh, my-it's the most beautiful thing…"

"What is?" Jessica peered over her shoulder. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of moth crystals. "Ugh. Those things still stink after all these years. Why, Manda-I've seen that dress before."

"You have?" Amanda gently shook it free, and tiny glimmers of pearls glinted in the musty light. "It's not one we ever used to play dress-up. I'd remember this dress. Are you sure?"

"Yes. Earlier today, I saw that dress in one of the old portraits we found stacked against a wall… let me find it."

While Jessica rummaged through the framed portraits they had leaned up against the wall for later inspection, Amanda unfolded the gown as carefully as possible. A few of the pearls fell to the floor with tiny pings, scattering. Even though time had yellowed the satin, she could see that it had once been ivory. Delicate lace edged the high neck and sleeves, and had been stitched down the bodice in a ruffle that must have once been full. Now it was flattened and limp.

"It looks like a wedding dress," she murmured as she held up the gown.

"Here it is," Jessica called, and Amanda draped the gown over the trunk and joined her. They angled a heavy gilded frame against the wall and stood back to gaze at the painting. "This portrait used to be up here in the attic when we were little girls," Jessica said after a moment. "Don't you remember?"

"Hey-I do remember. Only because Aunt Hannah once told me that this was a portrait of a ghost. She said it was whispered that she'd died unhappy, and her poor spirit still haunted Oakleigh years after her death. It scared me out of my wits as a child, but I never saw or heard any signs of a ghost, so I just forgot about it in time."

"Who was she?"

Frowning, Amanda said, "Aunt Hannah called her Deborah. I can't remember if she was close family, or a distant relative. I'm not certain why we have this portrait of her, except maybe because she's supposed to have haunted the house for a while. Oh, look-this was painted in front of the house. The porch looks almost the same. Look at the trees, how small they were then…"

A shaft of hazy light from the window fell across the portrait of a youthful woman garbed in the gown and seated on a bench in front of the house. A thick line of young magnolia trees provided the background; pale, creamy blossoms framed the woman's rather sad face.

"If this is a wedding portrait," Jessica said, "it must not have been a love match. She looks much too unhappy."

"Not according to family legend. Deborah went ahead with the sitting for this portrait even though her husband had just been killed in some war-Spanish-American, maybe? Anyway, she was pregnant, which made the tale more tragic. She said her husband had wanted the painting done, so now it would be a memorial to him and their love. According to Great-aunt Hannah, she never remarried."