Keep me posted.
Faith
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Thursday, October 14, 12:09 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: I Messed Up
Faith, I messed up. I didn’t say what I needed to say, and I don’t know what to say now to fix my not saying. Last night seemed great until my not saying happened. Well, it started to get awkward when Oliver pulled me aside. Scratch that. I’ll start at the beginning.
Oliver and I went to an early Halloween party at the Knitting Emporium. Lucille had decorated the shop with yarn made to resemble spider webs. Margery had created a witch’s brew punch—a mixture of ice cream and ginger ale. Really, the festivities took me by surprise. Who would’ve thought a group of knitters could be so fun?
We played charades and a murder mystery game until our senior members’ bedtime. Oh, I wish you could’ve seen the costumes. Dorrit and Clare wore kitty ears. Stuart arrived wearing a Batman suit. Lucille wrapped her body in toilet paper and called herself a mummy. However, the winner of my silent costume contest was for sure Margery. She’d knitted herself a Tinkerbell outfit complete with a dress, slippers, and a yarn wig.
Oliver and I hugged everyone good night. We left the shop and strolled to where he’d parked the motorcycle. Atteberry seemed quieter than usual, almost deserted. No one walked the pavement or drove their cars down the main street.
I saw the words on Oliver’s face before he spoke them.
He told me he wanted to be more than friends. He said he’d liked me since the day I almost killed him with a sword. (That’s what gets the boys—threatening to behead them.) My heart dropped. I didn’t know what to say, so I stared at him like a halfwit.
We drove to Cadwallader in silence. I thanked Oliver for the ride, then went indoors and drowned my nerves with chamomile tea. I messed up, Faith. I should’ve told him about Elias. I should’ve explained myself. Tell me what to do!
Josie
(Sent from iPhone)
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Friday, October 22, 3:16 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: I Messed Up
Faith, I texted Oliver a week ago, but I haven’t seen him since the Halloween party. He leaves firewood on my doorstep while I’m at work. He goes to the shed whenever I visit Norman and Martha. I need to explain what happened that night, why I’m unable to return his feelings.
But I can’t get a moment alone with him.
An ice storm has trapped me at Cadwallader Manor. I’ve enjoyed the solitude under the circumstances. During the day I retile the kitchen and rummage through boxes I found in the attic. Nan stays with me at night. Martha visits on occasion.
You asked if I’d experienced strange happenings. Yes, I have witnessed peculiarities within this house. For example, the other night, I carried a candle to the second floor. (The storm had caused the electricity to go out.) As I walked down the hallway, a draught came from nowhere and extinguished my candle. I stood frozen, my heart beating so fast, I almost passed out. That’s when I heard it—a faint whisper. It breezed across my neck, sultry like an exhale.
I almost peed my pants.
What if Elias is in this house? I mean, why would fate bring me to Cadwallader if not to unite Elias and me? What’s the point of all this if we don’t end up together?
Records do not reveal where Elias was buried. The manor doesn’t possess evidence of his later life. It’s as though he vanished.
I will find him.
Josie
TWENTY-ONE
ELIAS
December 2, 1821
Dearest Josephine,
Scribble these words onto a scrap of paper and tuck them into your pocket. Recite them to yourself when you feel despondent, and please do not forget me. Remember I adore your funny expressions, how you furrow your brow when you laugh and smile, when you are cross. I fancy your quickness to tease me and your giggle, that sound you make when you are happy for no specific reason. I love that you argue your opinions even when you know they are wrong.
I love every detail of you.
Our souls belong together. Perhaps at the beginning of time, when God paired His creations two by two, He placed us at each other’s side. I like to think we were meant for more than separation, that a mistake was made. However, I do not believe God makes errors, which means He intended us to live apart. Mind you, I have not surrendered hope in our togetherness, but I have reached a crossroad and must decide which path to take.
A coach arrived this morning. Its driver hauled trunks from the house while Lorelai bade my staff farewell. She thanked me for my hospitality, then strode toward the carriage with her chin lowered, blocking me from view with her bonnet’s brim.
I stood on the front step with arms crossed behind my back, no better than Lord Roch when he sent me away from his home. Indeed, I have turned into my father.
Lorelai spun around once she reached the coach. She gazed at me with tears in her eyes and rushed forward, her shoes crunching gravel until we stood face-to-face.
With her chin now lifted, Lorelai told me she wished to preserve what little remained of her self-respect, yet she felt possessed to speak. She said I was a wretched man—I believed myself undeserving of affection, hence my attachment to someone I could not locate. She claimed I had proven my love for her through
