by Tess Oliver
I pressed my face closer but it was hard to see her. The one thing that could be seen clearly was her bright smile. It took up half her face and it was perfect. “She looked incredibly happy here.”
“I think she was quite spunky for those days.” Trudy laughed. “From what I hear, she gave my great-grandfather quite a few gray hairs.” Trudy looked at the photo again. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better picture, but back then photos were very expensive so very few people had them taken. And the quality was not very good either, I’m afraid.”
We returned to the chest to put the picture back. That is when I looked down at the books she’d placed back inside. The top one was bound in leather and the name Emily was carved into it along with a vine of ivy. A tiny brass lock sealed it shut. I nearly fell forward into the chest as I stared down at it. “Is that her diary?” I asked weakly.
Trudy reached in, picked up the book, and turned it over in her hands a few times. “I believe it is. I’ve never looked inside.”
My throat went completely dry as my mind raced to figure out a plan to get my hands on the diary. “Do you think I could read it?” I decided on the straightforward approach. “I—I mean, the letters have been so interesting. I would love to know how Emily felt about Sebastian. You know-- if she returned the affection and all.”
Trudy paused for a minute, considering my request. She smiled and handed it to me. “Just be sure to return it. Oh, and I want a full summary of what you find.”
That was it. No flirting around with the worst guy in town, no pissing off the best guy in town, no skulking around a stranger’s closet. Just like that, I had Emily’s diary in my hand. Man, did I have news for my transparent friend tonight.
****
Leaning over to take off my riding boots took some effort. I found that it was less painful if I held my breath. I called Mom to pick me up and told her I had tripped and fallen on a saddle rack. I saw no reason to get her fired up about Hank. I figured the incident would go away faster if I dropped it. Hank was definitely the revenge type, and I didn’t need him plotting against me. Or Seth, for that matter.
Sebastian appeared while I was untying my laces. “You’re not as late tonight. You must have missed me.”
I peered up at him with a lifted brow. “Yes, Mr. Delusional, that is why I’m home early. But I do have some interesting news for you.” I straightened and winced at the pain.
Sebastian floated closer. “You’re hurt. Did you fall from the horse?”
“Not exactly.” The worry in his voice made me smile. Emily really missed out on not marrying him. What girl didn’t dream about having some guy worry about her? “I got in the way of a flying fist.”
The air around his image chilled instantly. “Who was it?”
“Do you want to hear my interesting news or not?”
“I want to know who hurt you?”
“What are you going to do? Challenge him to a duel?”
His form shrank back in humiliation and I felt horrible about what I’d said. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I shouldn’t have said that. I think it would have been wonderful to have an honorable, caring, brave guy like you as a boyfriend. Emily really lost out when she moved to New York.”
The expression on his face cleared. My words had lifted his mood.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” I paused a moment for dramatic effect and then whipped the journal out from beneath my sweatshirt.
Sebastian’s image wavered between crystal clear and fuzzy as he stared down at the diary in my hand. “That’s it. That’s Emily’s diary.”
I fingered her etched name. “Yeah, I kinda figured it was since her name is on it. Her granddaughter, Trudy, had it all this time. It was in a trunk with some of Emily’s things.” I grinned up at him. “She kept the parasol. The one you pulled from the dog’s jaw. It was in the trunk with the diary.”
His face showed a look between hurt and hope as he contemplated the idea that she’d kept the parasol that brought them together.
“I don’t want to damage the diary because I need to return it. I wonder if I can pick the lock with a paper clip.” I put the journal on my bed and walked to my desk to rummage for a paper clip. I found one, straightened it into one thick wire, and turned back to the bed. Sebastian had not moved, but he continued to stare down at the journal.
“This should work,” I said quietly. My nerves were starting to fray. What if the pages held bad news for Sebastian? Could ghosts have nervous breakdowns?
I poked the end of the clip into the tiny keyhole and swiveled it around. The faint scent of almond and the cool, slick feel of wintergreen surrounded me. Then he flashed to the window. “I don’t want to know what’s inside. I could not bear it if she no longer loved me. I beg you, don’t open it.”
I pulled the clip from the hole doubting that I’d made any headway at all in budging the lock. “I flirted with the absolute worst guy at school. Let me amend that, the worst guy on the east coast, possibly the western hemisphere, so I could get into his house and retrieve this diary while all the time it was sitting in a trunk in the attic of my employer. The one guy who I think I really could have liked, now mistrusts me for it. I played volleyball in my freakin’ bikini, ate cold hot dogs, and made my arms black and blue. Now you don’t want to know what Emily felt?” I tossed the book onto my nightstand and plopped back on my pillow. “You’re a very unstable ghost.”
He darted back to the bed and hovered over my nightstand. “Why don’t you read it, then you can tell me if it’s good news or bad news.”
“I’m not really that interested. Besides, I don’t want you going all wiggy on me if it’s bad news. I’ve seen how you get.”
“You’re right. I’ve been rather irrational about this whole thing.” He disappeared. Two seconds later he popped back into the room. “But you could read it and not tell me anything. I could just tell by your expression. You aren’t very good about concealing your emotions.”
I looked at him for awhile as he drifted in air above my floor. “What is my expression telling you right now?”
“You are perturbed by my presence.”
“Very much so.”
Sebastian vanished.
I glanced over at the shriveled, worn diary. I could open it and take a quick peek without him knowing. Right. That was going to happen.
I sat up and went to the mirror where I’d hung the small key from the bookshelf drawer next to Sebastian’s picture. I carried the key and book to the window seat, and, with some effort, snapped the stubborn lock. The pages were dry, fragile, and filled with delicate, girlish script. Several pictures fell out when I opened the back cover. One was a faded brown picture of a girl and boy in front of a shop. They were holding ice cream cones. I knew instantly the tall, handsome guy with the dark curls and black coat was Sebastian. And the girl, of course, had to be Emily. Even though they both wore the somber stiff expressions common in pictures from those days, she looked perky and blonde. Definitely a girl who knew how to have fun. And Sebastian looked proud, incredibly proud, to be standing there with ice cream melting down his hands, and his one sweet love standing beside him. I sensed Sebastian behind me.
“I remember that day,” Sebastian’s words drifted over my shoulder. “It was intolerably warm, and we’d taken such a long walk, we decided ice cream would be the perfect end for it. Peach. That was her favorite flavor.”
“She looks like the peach type.” I fingered the picture. “She looks like someone I would have been friends with.”
“And she, you.” He tore his gaze away from the picture and looked out at the sea. There was a long hesitation before he spoke again. “Are there any entries in July or August of 1880?”
“You’re sure you’re ready for me to look?”
He nodded. “I’ve been ready for a century.”
Because the pages were incredibly brittle, I turned them gingerly. The entries began on January 7, 1880. “Do you want to read some of the earlier entries
or skip right to the good stuff?”
Sebastian’s image bounced up and down slightly like an anxious kid waiting for a gift. “How do you know it’s good stuff? Do you know something already?” There was so much hope in his voice, I wished I’d used a different phrase.
“By good stuff I meant the stuff that interests you the most.”
“Then why did you not say that? I didn’t meet Emily until March of 1880.”
I flipped carefully forward in the book to March then stopped. “Do you mean to tell me you only knew her for six months and you were convinced she was your soul mate?”
“Six months was a long time back then. People didn’t live as long. We had to move quickly with everything. Even love. Besides, I knew she was my soul mate the day I’d met her, when I pulled her parasol from the dog’s teeth.”
I skimmed for the word parasol in her March entries and finally found a small passage. “Met a lovely boy today. He saved my parasol from a dog’s jaw. He had the most amazing eyes. The boy that is—not the dog.” I laughed. “I totally would have been friends with Emily if we’d lived at the same time.”
Sebastian paused as though he were pondering that for a moment, then the pages suddenly flipped forward to the last third of the book. “Go to July.”
His impatience was kind of cute and kind of annoying all at the same time. Emily had been neat and organized with her entries. “I wanted to read the entry about you nibbling her earlobe,” I teased. “Wasn’t that the month before?”
Sebastian’s image tightened and was crystal clear. “And why, praytell, would you want to read about that?” His anxiousness was palpable, and I was probably crazy for messing with him.
I shrugged. “I guess I was just wondering if you were any good at it.” I returned to the book and suddenly a tickling sensation brushed the skin behind my ear sending a shiver up my back. My gaze shot up to him.
“Well, am I any good?”
My face felt hot suddenly. “H-how did you do that?”
He coasted into a relaxed position on the seat next to me. “I guess the answer is yes.”
I decided to erase the cockiness from his aura. “July 21, 1880,” I read quietly, “My love, why do you not write? What has happened?”
Sebastian shot across the room and back circulating an icy breeze around the room. “But I did write. Why did she not receive my letters?”
“Maybe it never got mailed, or maybe it was delivered to the wrong address.”
He coasted back and forth across the rug. Who knew a ghost could pace. “But I posted the letters myself.” He dashed to his stack of letters and an envelope levitated toward him. “That is the correct address. I’m sure of it.”
“When did your illness begin? Maybe you were confused about mailing the letters.”
He paused for a long time staring at his own letters. Then he moved to Emily’s journal and read the entry again. “The headaches began that summer. Just after the 4th of July picnic on the beach. It was the last time I saw her.”
Sebastian looked up at me, his dark eyes swirling with emotion. “My uncle posted the letters after that because the sunlight made my headaches worse. I hardly left the house once they began.”
A profound silence gripped the room. Sebastian stared out the window now like he always did when something important invaded his thoughts. I knew the uncle had been up to no good, but until now, I think Sebastian had refused to face the truth.
“Your letters never reached Emily because your uncle never sent them. And you were too sick to see that they reached her. He saw to that too.” I turned the brittle pages and marveled at the beautiful handwriting. Unlike Sebastian’s letters, not every entry in the journal was about their relationship. Emily, who was apparently a bit of a rebel for those days, had had some pretty wild arguments with her dad. I didn’t take time to read through them, but it sounded like he wanted her to move to New York, something about a Mr. Griffin and his thriving business. Sebastian was hovering over my shoulder, so I skimmed over the entries to look for his name. I found it on the August 17, 1880 entry.
Sebastian, my mind darts back and forth feverishly like a lightning bug caught in a jar. You are vile. You are lovely. You are cruelty. You are passion. You are torture. You are poetry. You are hell. You are heaven. Where have you gone, my spoiled fantasy?
I glanced up at Sebastian. His image blurred like it always did when he sank deep into a mood. “She’s good,” I said.
The book suddenly slammed shut. “My letters were never sent. My uncle never posted them as he’d insisted.”
It took a lot for this guy to face reality, but it seemed that was finally happening. “Maybe your uncle didn’t want you to marry Emily. Or maybe he didn’t want to encourage her to visit so she could see how sick you were. Sebastian, I believe your uncle had something to do with your mysterious illness. I think you died because you were poisoned.”
In an instant he was gone, only a chilly swirl of air left behind. I convinced myself not to read any further in the journal. For one thing, it had already been an intense day, and I was totally beat, emotionally and physically. The more compelling reason not to read further was that Sebastian was already acting unstable. I didn’t think I could deal with his reactions anymore tonight.
I tucked the journal into the nightstand drawer and glanced around the room once before shutting off the lights. The room was still. My ghost had gone off to sulk by himself wherever it was that tortured souls go when they have stuff to contemplate.
Chapter 20
My ribs still ached as I buttoned my jeans before school. I returned to my room to find Sebastian looking even more brooding than I’d seen him before. He floated over the bookcase, one of his letters hovered beneath his glower.
“I’d forgotten that I wrote this.” A sad laugh came from his lips. “’Tis astounding what one can push out of the mind when one wants to ignore the truth.” The letter coasted to the ground. I walked over, picked it up, and unfolded it.
The writing was messy and intense. There were huge splotches of black ink as if he’d written it so quickly, he hadn’t taken the time to wipe off the extra ink.
October 17, 1880
Beloved,
The ripe nectar of whiskey, I have found, can accelerate a self-made oblivion. My slow destruction comes smoothly with each upturned bottle. The loathsome contrivance that permeates the walls of this horrid prison leaves my head exploding with a pain that only drink can soften.
Your frivolous, hostile heart will never know of my fate. My uncle, the wretched liar, provoked me with word of your recent betrothal. Vexation startled me from my trance, and my fist shot through his face. The blood dripped an intricate, nearly poetic pattern on the rug. But the icy shackles melted the pleasure of my reckless revenge. Confined now in this house, in this dungeon of hell, I shall die slowly of this inextinguishable burning in my heart or quickly from the murderous demons in my head.
Sebastian
A painful lump formed in my throat as I folded the letter back up. I could no longer look at the erratic, painful ink marks. Sebastian hovered next to me. I stared at the yellowed letter for a moment then looked up at him. “You knew she was engaged to another. Why didn’t you say so?”
Sebastian’s face wavered in the sunlight. “I’d blocked it from my memory. Or my mind was so destroyed by then, my memory had been erased.”
“The shackles,” I said quietly, “did your uncle have you arrested after you hit him?”
He sunk to the floor and leaned against the bookshelf. “He chained me to my bed like a prisoner, but he never called the police. It was harsh of me to hit him so hard, but he told me so coldly, so nonchalantly, knowing full well that the news would devastate me.”
“Yes, because he was a calculating, old bastard. And he couldn’t call the police because they might suspect something was happening in this house.”
“There was a rich businessman in New York. Emily was forced into a betrothal with him.
Her father sent her away as far as he could from Pelican Bay.” He faded out of view.
Mom drove me to school. She tried to make conversation but I could only respond with nods and noncommittal one word answers. I kissed her on the cheek, told her I loved her, and slid out of the car with my backpack. I’d been so busy complaining about the divorce, I’d completely overlooked that I had two awesome parents who loved me no matter what happened between them. Sebastian had lost that love and attachment when he lost his parents. He was my age when he discovered that he had no one to trust or count on. But he still managed to love someone else so much that he would have done anything to have her.
Hank’s giant head poked above the crowd in the hallway. I walked past him without looking his direction. He did the same. I was relieved. I had no idea whether Moses had made that call to his brother or not, but it seemed or at least I hoped it meant that Hank would never say a word to me again. Julie was not at school, and I was glad for it. I wanted nothing more today than to be alone with my thoughts.
I found a far and deserted corner of the quad at lunch and sat with my peanut butter sandwich. A shadow loomed over my shoulder and I looked up. Seth was looking down at me. “How are the ribs?”
“I’ll live,” I said. His lip was still swollen but it actually made him look even more adorable if that was possible.
“You look like you want to be alone.” He turned to leave.
“Thank you,” I called to him.
He stopped and turned back to me.
“For what?”
I shrugged. “Just thanks for being you. I haven’t missed my old life as much as I thought. I think it’s mostly because of you.” I turned away from him now because I was on the verge of tears. But I was glad I’d said it. Emily missed out on the love of her life and while it was clear that she knew Sebastian was being ripped from her life, she could do nothing about it. Love and heartbreak were the harshest part of life, and Mom had been suffering through it alone without my support. The opposite in fact. I’d been a wretched, selfish daughter. Seth sat down next to me. We didn’t say a word for a moment.