~
…there were cockroaches, under the covers. They cut a hole in the second floor, and put a burn barrel beneath it—to keep us warm. It was so cold. I wore my boots to bed.
~ ~ ~
Oh, writer. I wish I could be there. To hold your hand.
~ ~ ~
We must meet. Tell me when.
~ ~ ~
I-I’ve never done anything…improper. But…yes, I shall meet you.
~ ~ ~
Meeting won’t be wrong. I promise.
~ ~ ~
I will have to come at night. At dusk?
~ ~ ~
On the top of the bridge?
~ ~ ~
On the top of the bridge.
* * *
Verity
I stare at the sun. Its orange glow just visible over the tops of the corn. Only for a moment, and it’s gone. The night birds are calling as I reach the bridge.
My heart falls. I look around, past the bridge, through the rows. No sign of him anywhere.
I hear my mother’s voice, scolding, Verity, you do not know this man. Or his family. He may steal you, hurt you.
“No. I don’t think so Momma.”
My heart beats hard, and I wish, again. I care not if he is old. Older than even my master. Or if he’s ugly as a troll. It is who he is. I just wish to talk to him, to be near him.
I stand on the bridge, holding my breath, still turning in a circle, searching.
My boot kicks something.
The box.
The strange, clear case that houses the journal. It was not there a moment ago. I shiver, still not convinced this is not the work of the Man in Black.
I crack it open.
~ ~ ~
Where are you? Why didn’t you come?
~ ~ ~
My stomach flips. I hastily scribble in the book, place it in the container and kick it.
It slides over the top…and is gone.
“Where are you?”
I hear his voice, just like the first day in the corn. It sounds far away. Like it’s floating upwards, out of a deep well.
“I’m here!” I flinch, and quickly turn as a flock of birds—those odd bluebirds, take flight.
I hold perfectly still, entranced. There are so many, for a moment the sky is blotted out.
“I can’t find you.” His voice is closer. Like he’s beside me.
“Keep talking. I can hear you now.” I bite my lip. “Your voice is lovely.”
I hear the smile in his. “You stole my line.”
“Verity! Where are you, girl?”
“Oh no, my mistress is calling. I must go. I am so sorry. Please—can we try again?”
“Your mistress?”
“I have to go. Write me soon.”
* * *
Chapter 7
John crawls into his bed whilst I perch on the edge. He slides beneath his blankets, and looks helpless and innocent. Even in the relative safety of the Putnam house, my fears resume. My hands flutter almost as violently as Abigail’s. I sit on them so John won’t see. My mind keeps returning to the pitiful dog, and how every day seems one step closer to the noose. For everyone.
“Are you warm enough?” I try to force my face into calm.
John nods, but his color is pale, his eyes, dim.
His hope is fading. I don’t know if I can raise his spirits, my own be so melancholy.
“I am so sorry about the dog.”
He holds up his hand, shaking his head. He does not want to talk about it.
“I understand.”
Some things, no amount of talking will heal. Only time. He feels pain so acutely.
I drop my eyes to stare at my hands, thinking of the endless taunts he’s endured. Since he was old enough to walk-lope, really.
Monsters, all monsters, they are.
“Do you want me to sleep with you?”
“No. I will be fine. I will see you on the ‘morrow.”
I stand to go. His hand catches mine as I turn away.
I face him again.
“I love you, sister.”
I blink back the tears. He needs me to be strong. To believe I will make him safe.
A silly, weeping girl cannot protect him. A fierce, consuming, motherly instinct roars in my chest. Ignorant people.
It is they who are stupid. Who cannot understand his paltry words don’t match the depth of intelligence inside his head.
I seethe, thinking of their stares. Through condescending eyes. Considering him less than them. Indeed,
…there were cockroaches, under the covers. They cut a hole in the second floor, and put a burn barrel beneath it—to keep us warm. It was so cold. I wore my boots to bed.
~ ~ ~
Oh, writer. I wish I could be there. To hold your hand.
~ ~ ~
We must meet. Tell me when.
~ ~ ~
I-I’ve never done anything…improper. But…yes, I shall meet you.
~ ~ ~
Meeting won’t be wrong. I promise.
~ ~ ~
I will have to come at night. At dusk?
~ ~ ~
On the top of the bridge?
~ ~ ~
On the top of the bridge.
* * *
Verity
I stare at the sun. Its orange glow just visible over the tops of the corn. Only for a moment, and it’s gone. The night birds are calling as I reach the bridge.
My heart falls. I look around, past the bridge, through the rows. No sign of him anywhere.
I hear my mother’s voice, scolding, Verity, you do not know this man. Or his family. He may steal you, hurt you.
“No. I don’t think so Momma.”
My heart beats hard, and I wish, again. I care not if he is old. Older than even my master. Or if he’s ugly as a troll. It is who he is. I just wish to talk to him, to be near him.
I stand on the bridge, holding my breath, still turning in a circle, searching.
My boot kicks something.
The box.
The strange, clear case that houses the journal. It was not there a moment ago. I shiver, still not convinced this is not the work of the Man in Black.
I crack it open.
~ ~ ~
Where are you? Why didn’t you come?
~ ~ ~
My stomach flips. I hastily scribble in the book, place it in the container and kick it.
It slides over the top…and is gone.
“Where are you?”
I hear his voice, just like the first day in the corn. It sounds far away. Like it’s floating upwards, out of a deep well.
“I’m here!” I flinch, and quickly turn as a flock of birds—those odd bluebirds, take flight.
I hold perfectly still, entranced. There are so many, for a moment the sky is blotted out.
“I can’t find you.” His voice is closer. Like he’s beside me.
“Keep talking. I can hear you now.” I bite my lip. “Your voice is lovely.”
I hear the smile in his. “You stole my line.”
“Verity! Where are you, girl?”
“Oh no, my mistress is calling. I must go. I am so sorry. Please—can we try again?”
“Your mistress?”
“I have to go. Write me soon.”
* * *
Chapter 7
John crawls into his bed whilst I perch on the edge. He slides beneath his blankets, and looks helpless and innocent. Even in the relative safety of the Putnam house, my fears resume. My hands flutter almost as violently as Abigail’s. I sit on them so John won’t see. My mind keeps returning to the pitiful dog, and how every day seems one step closer to the noose. For everyone.
“Are you warm enough?” I try to force my face into calm.
John nods, but his color is pale, his eyes, dim.
His hope is fading. I don’t know if I can raise his spirits, my own be so melancholy.
“I am so sorry about the dog.”
He holds up his hand, shaking his head. He does not want to talk about it.
“I understand.”
Some things, no amount of talking will heal. Only time. He feels pain so acutely.
I drop my eyes to stare at my hands, thinking of the endless taunts he’s endured. Since he was old enough to walk-lope, really.
Monsters, all monsters, they are.
“Do you want me to sleep with you?”
“No. I will be fine. I will see you on the ‘morrow.”
I stand to go. His hand catches mine as I turn away.
I face him again.
“I love you, sister.”
I blink back the tears. He needs me to be strong. To believe I will make him safe.
A silly, weeping girl cannot protect him. A fierce, consuming, motherly instinct roars in my chest. Ignorant people.
It is they who are stupid. Who cannot understand his paltry words don’t match the depth of intelligence inside his head.
I seethe, thinking of their stares. Through condescending eyes. Considering him less than them. Indeed,
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