Her friend’s second pause caught Alice’s attention from the cucumber vines, and she looked up. “Really? And what else did you bring down from the infamous attic?”
“The most unusual purse I’ve ever seen with some thingamajigs inside,” answered Annie. “But, go ahead, see for yourself. It’s on a side table in the living room.”
Her grin widened as Alice sprang up as though attacked by a swarm of fire ants and dashed for the house.
2
Annie combed over the remaining vines to find the last of the cucumbers. Stacking two more atop the respectable pile filling the side opposite the beans, Annie hefted the basket and carried it toward the back steps, stopping long enough to knock the garden dirt from her shoes on the iron boot wipe before climbing the steps. Once inside the kitchen, she transferred the beans into a large colander for rinsing.
Alice charged through the doorway from the hall, her excitement palpable as she flourished the purse. “Annie, this is no purse!” she exclaimed. “It’s a sporran!”
Annie dropped a handful of beans into the colander. “It’s a what-an?” she asked, as she wiped her hands on a towel and turned around to face her friend.
“A sporran, an outside pocket for a kilt. You do know what a kilt is, don’t you?” Alice teased.
“Oh course I do, but apparently I’m less familiar with kilt accessories. Do you know what those things are inside the … sporran?”
Alice opened the sporran’s clasp, removing the silver bands. “That I don’t know. They aren’t part of a kilt, though.” Lifting the palm of her hand closer to her eyes, she examined the pieces. “I can’t make out the design of the engraving.”
“Neither could I,” said Annie, taking one of the bands from Alice’s palm. “They’re in serious need of polishing. Let me finish washing the vegetables, and then we can polish the bands.” Giving the band back to Alice, she turned on the cold water and drew the spray nozzle out to rinse the beans. “Do you know what kind of fur the sporran is made of? When I first saw it, I thought I was glimpsing a gray mouse or rat, but it’s not anything like mouse fur up close.”
Alice set the silver bands on the kitchen table and then stroked the smooth silver-gray fur. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain it’s made of sealskin. The majority of sporrans used to be made of sealskin; it’s very durable and waterproof.”
“‘Used to’?” Annie turned off the water and gently shook the colander to help the water drain more quickly.
Alice nodded slowly. “Ayuh. Government regulations blocked the importation of sealskin into the United States. Now, when was that?” She ran a thumb over the sealskin, as though it was a memory stone. “Sometime in the 1970s, maybe. John’s family was talking about it over a holiday meal one year. And by talking, I mean arguing.”
Annie took a handful of cloths from a drawer and spread them out on the counter. She moved the pile of beans over to dry and placed the cucumbers in the colander to give them a thorough wash. Raising her voice over the sound of the spray, she said, “What is it about large family meals that brings out the worst in some families?”
“Well, you know John’s never been what one would call self-controlled.” Alice stared down at the sporran, fingering the three tassels. “We all have a lack of self-control in one area or another, I guess.”
“One of mine would be your baked goods,” said Annie. “I guess it could be far worse than having to make sure a few extra pounds don’t creep onto my hips.” For a moment she felt regret for not having kept in touch with Alice during those two decades when she had been married to Wayne and raising their daughter. How she wished she could have been a support to her friend when she was suffering as her marriage to John deteriorated. Annie knew wishing changed nothing, but she was determined to never let anything come between her and Alice again, as long as she had anything to say about it.
“And how,” Alice said, nodding. “Anyway, the sporran has to be at least thirty or forty years old. I wonder when your grandparents got it. Have you seen any kilts around the old place?”
Annie lined the freshly cleaned cucumbers in rows on the towels. “No, I haven’t, and I don’t remember ever seeing one when I was spending summers here, either, but that doesn’t mean there’s not one to be found. You up for helping me look in the attic?”
“Sure.” Alice glanced down at the tarnished bands on the table. “Which do you want to do first, clean the silver or hunt for the kilt?”