Sweet Rose

I watched from across the room as Kayla bounded her way up the
creaky wooden steps into the attic. She was a spirited seven-year-old
with a vivid imagination. When she reached the top step, she brushed
her deep oak brown bangs away from her eyes and proceeded to have a
conversation with her imaginary friend like only a seven-year-old
could.

"You're right Max," she giggled. "It smells like old people up here!"
Kayla wrinkled her nose and nodded in agreement.

"Gramma's house is cool, huh? It's the biggest house I've ever been
in!" She looked to her right where nobody visible was standing and
burst out laughing.

"You're silly Max! C'mon, let's look around."

The dark and musty attic of Grandma's house was cluttered with boxes
and had a huge window at the far end. Sunlight shone through
windowpanes clouded with dirt from years upon years of neglect, giving
most of the room an incandescent glow. This was the house that Kayla's
mother and grandmother grew up in. The Victorian style home had been in
the family for three generations. "Gramma" had lived here until she
became sick. Mommy told Kayla that Grandma was going to live with them
so they can take care of her and keep her company. That was all Kayla
knew but the prospect of having Grandma living with her made her very
happy ("Chocolate chip cookies and apple pie everyday!" She
thought.).

Kayla was helping her mother pack a few of Grandma's things and get
the house in order. The house would be put up for sale next week.

Old hand carved and ornate picture frames, various antiques, trinkets
and taped boxes so old and untouched that spiders probably have had
happy homes for many years judging from all the cobwebs, were scattered
about the room. Kayla was never one to be afraid of insects though. The
black and gray wooden floor had a few rotted segments that cracked and
creaked with Kayla's every step. As she walked through the attic she
found large wooden crates, old suitcases plastered with old stickers
from its various destinations, old Christmas tree stands, boxes of
linens, blankets and all sorts of objects appointed long ago to attic
dwelling. She examined some old toys, tapped a piano with missing keys
and jumped on an old rocking horse.

"Kayla! Now you be careful up there!" her mother hollered from the
bedroom below.

"I will Mommy!" Kayla screamed back as she hopped off the horse and
crouched down to see what she could find under an old wooden folding
leaf table. "Hey Max! C'mere!" The child waited a minute and looked to
the stairwell. "Well hurry up Max, stop fussing!" she said in her best
imitation of an annoyed mother. "Look at this!"

On the floor was a beautiful antique cash register. She pushed one of
the bronze levers from top to bottom. Cha-ching! The register rang.
"Awesome!" the wide-eyed little girl exclaimed. "Okay Max, you be the
store guy and I'll shop." Kayla stood up and hummed a tune turning from
side to side with her hands behind her back as she browsed the attic.
She picked up an old ink blotter and turned to the register.

"How much for one these?" She asked. After listening to Max's silent
reply, she responded "Oh that's much too much. I'll only
pay&;#8230;um&;#8230;three hundred dollars. Okay?" Curling her
lips in deep thought. After a brief moment, "Sold!" she yelled joyously
and leaped in the air with one hand above her head.

I was amused at how precious her performance for herself was. I
wondered if it would be the same if she knew I was there. I did not
make a sound nor did I want to invade her privacy. I was staying out of
the way for a reason. Anxiously waiting to see if I had gotten through
to her.

Kayla went around the attic searching through hatboxes, under old
chairs, more tables and endless cardboard boxes. Finally, it happened.
She turned to Max and her face turned semi-serious as she wondered what
she would like from her make-believe store.

"You know Max," she stated as she crunched her face in wonder. "I was
hoping there was something special here." I was joyfully surprised that
she remembered. She remembered the night I had told her to look for
Sweet Rose. She walked through the huge attic with a purpose. Kayla
pushed aside an old bicycle revealing some small wooden bookshelves
that appeared to be attached to a headboard. On the shelves were about
ten books with old black leather covers. One of the books had a
smoother texture than the rest and was much larger. That was Sweet
Rose. Kayla's eyes widened in amazement. And there it was. The treasure
she'd seen in her dream. She pulled the dusty volume from the shelves
and quickly made her way to the antique cash register. She didn't dare
open the book&;#8230;yet.

"Max! This is it!" she said. She waited at the register and sighed
anxiously. "Yeah, stop messing around! You saw all my forms of ID.
Check me out!" Kayla rang the cash register and dashed to the
stairs.

"Mommy! Mommy! Look what I've got!" she screamed as she headed down the
stairs.

Her mother Susan turned to her daughter from the closet she was
emptying. Kayla was holding a giant book. So large and heavy the little
girl could barely grip it. "What is it sweetie?" Susan asked as she
took the book from her laboring arms. Susan read the title: Sweet Rose
by Thomas Littlefield. "Oh my God," she said as she opened the front
cover in disbelief. 1909 was handwritten on the first page. There was
also a very old black and white photograph of a man standing in front
of a white horse carriage holding his daughter. Susan looked at Kayla's
proud smiling face. She showed her daughter the picture.
"This is your great grandfather and that's Gramma when she was your
age." Kayla giggled with delight as her mother went on. "He wrote this
book for your grandmother. Rose is Gramma's name."
Susan wanted to tell her my whole story. But Kayla was too young to
hear the tale of a man wrongfully imprisoned and sentenced to death for
crimes he never committed. Today Kayla is just a messenger, insuring my
story will live on.

I wrote this book in the years I was incarcerated. It was my legacy to
Rose; all she would know of her father. After my death, I often visited
her in her childhood dreams as I did Susan when she was young and now
Kayla. These ancient words and dusty pages are here again as a reminder
to them.
I will always watch over my family.