Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the downpour in Leo's spirit. He slammed the lid of the dusty trunk, a cloud of motes dancing in the weak sunlight slicing through the gloom. His grandmother, bless her heart, had spun tales of virtuous ancestors, brave pioneers who tamed the wilderness with nothing but grit and grace.

He’d expected faded portraits of stern-faced men and women in homespun. Instead, he found a collection of raucous images. One, a blurry snapshot, showed a woman who could have been his great-great-grandmother, arm in arm with a man in a feathered hat, both laughing hysterically outside a saloon.

Leo ran a hand through his hair, the frustration building in his chest. His grandmother would never have approved of the woman’s carefree behavior. He felt a dark pleasure in the discovery.