She could technically be burned for practicing, but I wouldn’t do that. Not just because Logan is my friend, but because she has been an important figure for decades and her family the same for generations.
Calling out for Martha, I tell her to take Birdie up to her room. Then, I call out for Ernest and ask him to send a man to summon Mrs. Whitecotton. His eyes widen, no doubt understanding what that summons means. Thankfully, he doesn’t question a thing.
I don’t say anything else, waiting quietly as Ernest goes about his duty and Martha gathers a confused Birdie and guides her away. Only when we’re alone do I turn to Logan.
“Tell me,” I demand.
He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know details. Mainly because the last I heard of this, I was a boy. I don’t know if it’s all wives’ tales or sensationalized stories, but I have heard of a prophecy. A prophecy that involved four sisters who look nothing alike that come here from a land unknown. It’s ancient, Colt.”
“Ancient?” I ask.
He nods his head. “As in, thousands of years old. I’m not sure if anyone knows the source or any details. The only person that would even know anything is my grandmother and she may not remember much, but she’ll be able to guide us in the right direction.”
“Ancient prophecy. What in the gods names?” I exhale.
Logan shakes his head a couple times. “I wouldn’t have believed it could even be possible, had I not heard straight from her about her sisters. It seems to line up. Perhaps it is nothing, but the odd way she came to be here. Everything about her is like us, but not quite.”
“I agree. It’s why I called you to stay. I am perplexed by her.”
“And attracted to her.”
Nodding, I do something that I would never have done a few weeks or months ago, maybe not even a few days ago. I actually agree with Logan.
“I am. I’m not sure if I am because she has bewitched me or if it is real.”
Logan chuckles. “Perhaps she has bewitched you, but trust me, Colt, she would bewitch any man. She is different, alluring, and otherworldly. She is not from here, that much is clear. Even if she is not part of the prophecy, she is different.”
“I agree.”
Logan and I retire to my office, with a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards. We spend the rest of the evening drinking and playing poker. We don’t discuss the prophecy or Birdie for the rest of the night. It’s a nice break from what has happened the past twenty-four hours.
Chapter Seven
BIRDIE
Once Martha helps me out of my stupid corset, I almost beg her for some meat and potatoes, because I can still smell it, but I decide against it. I decide against it mainly because as she helps me into my nightgown, she shows me the bathroom.
Using the title bathroom is a bit of an overstatement. It’s essentially an indoor closet with a hole. Nothing more. I should be grateful it’s indoors and if this man wasn’t someone important, it probably wouldn’t be.
“I’ll have a bath arranged in the morning before you break your fast,” Martha announces, then quickly spins around and leaves me alone.
Staring at the small door lock, I think about not bothering, because it looks so flimsy, I doubt it would even hold anyone back if they wanted to get into the space. Walking over to the bed, I pull back the covers and slide between them.
I’m surprised by how soft the cotton sheets are and I wonder how on earth they make it like this. It seriously feels like a fancy hotel, not that I have a lot of experience staying in them, I’ve only been in one and that was because a client was getting married at one and bought my room for the night.
Looking at the closed door, I gently reach for the handle of the nightstand drawer and slowly tug it open. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I debate taking the leather-bound journal out, or being a decent human and leaving it untouched and unread.
In the end, my curiosity wins over my decency. Taking the leather-bound book out of the drawer, I hold it close to the small lantern and open it to the first page. Just as I suspected, it’s a diary in a woman’s handwriting. I start to read with enthusiasm.
This war is ugly. I am unsure what the future holds not only for me, but for my country. I’m also unsure of what all of this means for Colton and our sweet Temperance.
My heart hurts that he cannot be with us during this time. He has missed so much of our daughter’s life already. The war has stolen so much from every family and we are not immune to its treacheries.
I lift my watery eyes from the pages and close the book, too afraid that my tears will begin to fall and I’ll ruin the beautiful script writing. He was married with a child. He’s obviously not any longer, but he was and my entire heart aches at what that could mean.
I try not to cry, but I fail. I fail tremendously. Tears begin to flow in a stream down both of my cheeks. I debate putting the diary away, but then I decide that I can’t.
Whoever this woman is, she needs to be heard. She wrote these words for a reason and she must be remembered, Temperance must be remembered.
Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and attempt to calm myself, then I open the journal again and continue. The rain starts to fall outside, and I’m not sure if it’s normal in this dry place for an out of the blue rainstorm, but it doesn’t matter, I’m too immersed in this story
