A Treasure in the Attic

   A Treasure in the Attic

Suzanne Marsh

July 3th, 1920

“Millie, there’s something I want you to get for me from the attic, get Matt to help you

it’s my travel trunk from the time I was a Major, during the Second Rebellion.”

Millie, knew her father was dying, he could not catch his breath. She headed out of the room toward the wooden circular staircase that went up into the attic. She and Matt, her brother entered the attic, through a wooden door worn with the years it was used. The door creaked open, evidently, her father had not oiled the door since her mom had passed. Matt, looked around wondering which trunk they were going to have to lug down the stairs. Millie, felt tears well in here eyes as she looked at old tattered old gray uniform, with the major shoulder boards in gold. She then saw the trunk that she was seeking. She motioned to Matt, he picked up and staggered a short distance before he was comfortable carrying it. They made their way back down the stairs. Their father gasped:

“Open the trunk, now please. In it is my most prized possession, something I must tell you

both about. I want it kept in our family now and forever.”

Millie opened the trunk, pausing then gasped, there was a small cloth remnant. The old veteran nodded, at the cloth, as he began to speak, his voice saddened:

“I was leading my company into battle, it was at Gettysburg. Pickett’s Charge they call it

now. We was all there that day. We formed in the trees, our line of march was laid out

for General Pickett. We waited fer the signal to move out. I led my men forward, we were

part of Barks dale's Mississippi brigade. The men were growing impatient when the canons

began to roar. Smoke filled the air, then we marched off. We almost made it to the stone

wall, when the Yanks began a rapid fire at our ranks. They was whuppin us good.

We saved what was left of our battle flag, know that we would repair it for the

next battle. We fought to the end, General Robert E. Lee surrendered us. The yanks

were a kindly lot, after General Longstreet went over to their camp and explained we had

no rations, no food. We was starvin. When the surrender came, we was sittin at the

campfire and decided to divide the battle flag up. Each one taking a small piece. We

also decided that whoever was the last to pass would have the entire flag to place on

his coffin. That person is me. Millie, what I want you to do is sew the flag back together,

but I want you to keep a small remnant as a keepsake for our family. I was proud to have

fought for the south.”

Mille, want to cry as did Matt, they knew it would not be long, the doctor said maybe a day, two at the most. Millie left the sick room, fetched her needle, some red thread and began to stitch the flag

once more. She found a small piece of red material that she used to fix the place where the piece she was to keep was. It was a corner so no one would notice, once the flag was placed over the coffin.

The following morning at about ten o’clock, Cecil Newbury, former Major of the Confederate

States of America passed on to greater glory. Millie wept, but vowed to keep her father’s memory alive no matter what it took. Millie married as did Matt. She remained in the house that her father had built, she raised her children to be proud of their heritage. Matt, did the same.

July 4^th, 1965

Millie’s story begins where her father’s left off. She knew sooner rather than later she would have to send for her Mike and daughter Michelle. She glanced around the room, it was the same as when her dear father was alive. She, and Tim her husband had added an extra shower and a play room for the children. She knew she was living on borrowed time, she called Michelle:

“Mama, are you all right?”

“Michelle, can you and Mike come over tonight, we need to talk.”

“Mama, don’t you remember Mike is out of town until the weekend.”

“Dagnabit, I forgot about that.”

“I know mama, I know. I will come over after Mark and the kids get home.”

“All right dear I will see you then.” Millie, thought more about her dad these days. She wanted her son and daughter to share the memories she had of him with their children. She still his old confederate major’s uniform, and his beloved trunk. She kept them in the same places as her father had. She often wondered why she connect so much with her past. This was the year 2000, she was eighty years old. She hated the thought of being that age, when she was young it seemed such a far away number. She thought about Mike and Michelle they were forty nine and fifty respectively. My how time had gotten away from. She climbed silently up into the attic, she wanted to see the old gray uniform one last time. She remembered every detail her father had told her about being part of

Pickett’s Charge. She was now ready to pass her legacy on to her son and daughter. She touched the rough gray wool uniform, with the tip of her pointer finger. She began to tremble as she collapsed on the floor of attic, where Michelle found. She screamed for mother to awaken but Millie had passed away. Michelle pulled frantically into her hip pocket to reach her cell phone:

“Hello, this is an emergency, my mama just passed, she is not breathing and her lips are

blue. Please help.”

“Mam please calm down, give me the street address please.”

“4884 Lions Way.”

“The police will be there in several moments and an ambulance is on the way.”

Michelle cried for several minutes, then gained her composure.

“Mike, mom passed away before I could get here. I need you to come home now.”

“Michelle, where is Dave?”

“He’s at work.”

“He needs to be with you until I can get there. I will catch the first plane out.”

There was nothing more Michelle could say or do except to look around the dust filled attic, at things she knew so little about.

July 1, 2020

My dad Mike, passed away this past week. After his sister Michelle passed on he moved back into the home that had belonged to my great grandfather Major Alexander Newberry of Pickett’s Brigade. Dad had told me so many stories about the Newberry family, however Dad used to let me play in the attic. The tattered old gray uniform was still in the truck, where it had been placed by my dad and I. My heart broke the day dad passed, I made my way up to the attic. There I opened the trunk, tears began to well in my eyes as I removed the tattered uniform, the sword that led the part of Pickett’s Charge. Dad, had been so proud of those; I am too. Though the south lost the Second Rebellion, we all have respect for those that perished in the war. The grainy photo of my great grandfather is a reminder of the memories I have of the attic and its treasures.