He pulled from me a little, but I drew toward him.
“Just a moment,” he said, withdrawing again, “give me a moment.”
I sat there, watching him, doing as he asked and giving him his moment. But then I pulled him back, and he kissed me again.
He whispered into my lips, “Read to me in your lovely voice.”
“Read what?” I whispered.
He put Keats in my hands. And while he kissed my neck, my shoulders, my ears, I read—slowly and haltingly—the first two stanzas of “The Eve of St. Agnes.”
Not able to stand it any longer, I put aside the poem and pulled him to me, cupping his face in my hands, kissing him like he’d kissed me. My hands went to his chest, and I could feel his racing heart. I was lost in his kisses as he lowered me to the ground, his body on mine, his heavy weight pressing down on me, the kisses never ceasing.
Abruptly, he broke away from me, and I wanted to cry out. He untangled himself from my hair. I reached for him again, but he sat up and put a palm out and looked away, off someplace else, far away from me.
“Eli.”
“Wait.”
“But—”
“No” was all he said. Then he stood and walked away from me.
“Eli?”
He looked at me then, his eyes still filled with passion. “You’re so beautiful,” he said in a voice that made me reach for him again. “No. Stay there.”
“What are you doing?”
He gave a small laugh, as if to himself alone. “I don’t know.” Then he looked at me, gesturing for me to stay on the blanket when I tried to get up again. Finally, finally, he came back to me.
He gave me a wary smile.
“And are you feeling better now?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t say better,” he said.
“Shall I read to you again?”
“No, I think I better read to you,” he said, kissing my nose.
I lay down on the blanket, listening to his voice, falling into dreams.
“You shouldn’t love me, William.”
He is putting a book on the shelf and turns to look at me. “But I do love you,” he says simply. My eyes travel to the door. “Amoret, don’t worry about the captain.”
“I’m not talking about him. I am a wild thing, William. The boys in my village knew it. They stayed away from me. The crew, the other men on the island, they know it. Don’t you see? I’m no one to love.” He looks at me with such sympathy I have to explain further. “Don’t misunderstand me, William. I don’t say this in sadness. I tell you because it is the truth. It’s what is.” I must be cursed. I want to tell him, but don’t.
He sits beside me. I stare down at our hands, so far apart. Although I long for it, he never touches me. Sometimes I imagine the feel of his hands. But I dare not reach for him.
“But see, it is too late,” he says, “I already do love you.”
“Nothing good will come of it.”
“Only good can come from these feelings I have for you. They are true and sure. I’ve never loved anyone like this. It is a feeling … I can’t even describe. I know our obstacles. But I love you and will care for you as long as I live. And I think you love me too.”
If he knows of my love, it’ll only be worse. But I tell him, “You are the finest man I have ever known.” He smiles at me. It hurts to look at his goodness.
Papa would have liked him. The thought of them never meeting, never laughing together, fills me with sadness I don’t have time for. I hide my face from William so he won’t see my trembling chin. I can’t feel my papa, my maman, my Aimée, Pierre, and Andre inside of my heart anymore. I fear … I fear …
I hold William in my heart at night when I must endure the devil. It gives me the strength I need. I fight him every time. I let my nails grow long and mar his face with scratches so his men can see. The devil rages at me, saying I bewitched him. He twists my fingers so hard I think I hear them break.
I am dying inside. Am I so weak? Fierce Amoret of the sea. I could not save my little sister and my mother. I see their faces everywhere I turn, the way they looked up at me from the small boat, wondering how I could let this happen.
Our neighbors in Acadie were afraid of me. But they also sought me out, telling me I was strong and endless like the sea and always knew what to do. They had small problems with simple answers they could not see. It was an easy thing to tell them what to do. No, you should not buy Mr. Landry’s cow; she does not give milk. Yes, you should ask Danette to marry you (because she loves you, you oaf).
Even Papa confided his worries to me so as not to burden Maman.
But that Amoret lives no more.
“Cecilia. Cecilia,” Eli was saying. His hands were on my face as I thrashed about. “It’s just a nightmare.”
I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. Trees. The sound of water. I’m on the island. I’m with Eli. I’m not Amoret. I’m Cecilia. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I told him.
He pulled me into a tight embrace, and I let him, feeling Amoret’s agony deep within me.
WHEN WE RETURNED THAT EVENING, ELI WENT UPSTAIRS TO SHOWER, AND I to the library, but through the breakfast room instead of the dining room.
I was still shaking. My dreams were vivid and so real. When I woke that afternoon, it hadn’t been easy for me to separate my feelings from hers. I wondered what happened to her family. I wondered if Aimée survived. She loved them so much.
I froze at the sight of the envelope on my desk, immediately recognizing my aunt’s stationery. Her letters to me had always come in this same thick ecru paper. I knew when I opened the letter that the matching paper would have her name in cursive at the top, with only Sanctuary printed beneath it.
With shaking hands, I read. The handwriting was my aunt’s, but faint and wobbly.
Dearest Cecilia,
How are you, my beautiful niece?
I wanted to tell you this in person, but I’ve waited too long and now am too weak to travel. I’ve been ill for a while, and the doctor said there is nothing more to be done. So this is a good-bye letter, and one I tearfully write. I had wanted to see your face once again.
There is much to say, but I no longer have the strength to say it. It exhausts me thinking about trying to explain it all. When what I really want, rather need, to tell you is this: Don’t return to Sanctuary. I know I have said this to you many times, but you must understand the seriousness of it. Your uncle is not the man he used to be. It’s too complicated to go into now, but he would not be kind to you.
This is difficult for me to write because I worry about my sweet Ben being left alone here with his father. But he loves his father, and the part of Frank I loved that still exists loves his son.
But you would be in danger.
Instead, I suggest you go to Blanche Bouchard in Grand-Pré, Nova Scotia. She’ll take care of you.
I hope you find love in your life, Cecilia. Know that you were loved by us.
Always,
Your aunt Laura
I turned the piece of paper over, hoping for more words, more time with her, but there was nothing else on the back. Oh, Aunt Laura. Why hadn’t I received this letter weeks ago? And who had left it for me to find now?
Another piece of paper caught my eye. I picked it up. It was a page ripped out of Dr. Clemson’s journal. Frantically, I looked through the desk to see if the journal was there, but it wasn’t. Only this page:
June 30, 1756
My money is gone. My blackmailers warn me they will tell the captain. If he sends me away, I can’t help Amoret. He calls her a witch, a temptress, and says she lured him into marriage.
I must sell my books for money because my father has refused to send me any. I tell the men to be patient. But I see their eyes and know they think they will make their fortune from me and my love for Amoret.
Eli came in. “What is it?” he asked anxiously.
I to
ok a steadying breath. “I need to search the attic.”
He closed the door behind him. “Are you looking for something?”
“Peace,” I said flippantly, my aunt’s letter still in my heart.
He came to me. “How can we get that for you?” he asked gently.
“I wasn’t … serious,” I said dismissively.
He put his hand on my shoulder, trying to look into my eyes. “What do you most want?” he asked, not letting it go.
“What do you mean?” I stalled.
“It’s not wrong to want things in life—happiness, love, doing what you love … peace.”
“When you want something it’s taken away.” His eyes were sad, so I turned from him. “Maybe it’s only in my family. We’re cursed, I think. And I’m the only one left to feel the effects of it. So what do I want? I want the curse to go away.”
“All right, then. How do you do that? How do you make the curse go away?”
I shook my head, at a loss. “Find the answers, so find the journal.”
His brow furrowed. “What journal?”
I didn’t answer him.
“Cecilia.”
I looked at Eli, not seeing him for a moment. “I need to help Amoret.”
He was very still. “The captain’s wife?”
“She was more than that,” I said firmly, as if I knew it, but again I felt that warring inside of me—two strong feelings clawing at each other, ripping my insides apart. Fatigue came over me, and I sat at my desk, shuffling papers, stacking them, putting things in order, trying to calm the franticness inside of me.
He was behind me. He leaned over and stilled my frantic hands with his steady ones. He swiveled my chair around and knelt down before me, taking my hands in his. “Do you believe you’ll have peace if you figure out the past?”
I talked through the pressure I felt pushing on my chest. “I want to know why they couldn’t have peace, why they couldn’t just leave the past alone and be a family.”
“Your mother and your sister?”
“Something was so powerful it consumed them.”
“Something?”
I gave a quick nod. “Something on the island.”
He looked down at our joined hands for a moment, then back at me. “Amoret?”
“You don’t believe me.”
His hesitation gave me the answer. I broke off from him and went to the window, looking out toward the graveyard. “I’ve seen Amoret. I’ve seen her.” She’s in me. I feel her. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to see the disbelief on his face.
He was quiet for a while, but then was beside me, looking out the window too. “You’ve seen her ghost?” His voice was sad.
“She wants something from me, like she wanted something from my mother and my sister.”
“And they didn’t share it when you and Tess were children?”
“I was excluded, yes.”
“Because you were younger, perhaps.”
“That wasn’t the reason. Tess was only a child herself.”
“Do you want to figure out the past because you think it’ll give you the answer to why you were ignored by your mother?”
My head whipped around to him, and he looked at me directly. I started to leave, but he gently grabbed my hand, releasing it when I stopped to look at him. “Please don’t leave because you don’t like what I’m saying. Talk to me.”
My eyes stung. Still facing him, I turned to look out at the graveyard again. When I returned to his eyes, I saw only kindness and concern. “Will you … help me look for the journal tomorrow?” I whispered.
“Yes.” His hand cupped my cheek. “Yes,” he said again, looking at me just as William looked at Amoret.
WE MET IN THE LIBRARY WHILE EVERYONE WAS HAVING BREAKFAST IN THE kitchen and slipped by the kitchen door to the tower service stair. The third-floor attic was an empty, ghostly place with many closed-off rooms once occupied by Irish and English servants. We passed Mary’s and Patricia’s doors, closed, but I knew they were downstairs. I’d heard their voices.
The door to the unfinished part of the attic creaked loudly. We stepped into the attic space and shut the door.
There was no electric light up here, but sunlight strained through the lone window in the center of the wall. With a bit of a shock, I registered that many things were missing.
“What does the journal look like?” Eli asked.
“It’s small, brown leather, very old.”
The black trunk in the center of the room I recognized. I’d always referred to it as the photograph trunk. Someone had thrown dozens of loose ones in, not bothering to put them in a book or even write names on the back. I’d always enjoyed looking at them even though I didn’t know who the people were.
Deterred from my mission, I swung open the lid with greedy anticipation, sneezing as dust flew into my nose, opening my eyes to find the trunk empty except for bits of paper and a lone dirty handkerchief. Swaying back to my heels, I cursed, thinking of pictures now lost, knowing Uncle had gotten to them, but not understanding why they would have bothered him so.
“What’s wrong?” Eli asked, beside me.
“The photographs that were in here are gone.” My mind mentally clicked through them, and I felt so sad I didn’t have my father’s skill to re-create the images, to be able to move my hand about and draw what I could see in my mind’s eye. I thought of the photographs of my mother and my father together, just a handful of those, and of others in the family.
“Who would have taken them?” he asked.
“I can only guess,” I told him, not wanting to talk about Uncle.
“Any place in particular you think the journal might be?” he asked, looking around the room.
I waved an arm. “I’m searching everything.”
A stack of boxes and old lamps and toys were stashed in a corner. Eli sat on the floor and began going through all of it.
Smiling at memories, I went to a trunk pushed to the corner and threw open the lid. Reaching in, I pulled out dresses and hats. As I was pulling on some elbow-length lace gloves, I caught Eli watching me.
“Already taking a break?” he asked with a laugh.
“Tess and I used to play dress-up in all these old clothes. They must have belonged to all the women who lived at Sanctuary over the years.” I pulled out a long dress, standing and holding it up against my body.
“Your favorite?” he asked.
“Tess’s,” I said softly. I went back to the chest, folding the clothes neatly as I pulled them out, putting hats in one stack, dresses in another. When I got to the bottom, finding no journal, I put them all neatly back in the trunk.
We searched for a long while. I found an almost empty chest that once held my mother’s things. Only one thing remained, lying at the bottom.
“What is that?” Eli asked.
“A book of drawings.” I turned the pages over. “It was my father’s.”
The sketches were all of Mother, of Tess and me, Aunt Laura, my grandmother, and Ben. “I think he must have loved us,” I said quietly.
Eli kissed me tenderly on the lips. We studied the drawings. The best one was one he did of Mother. He made her utterly beautiful, with large wide-set eyes, a long thin neck, and full but fragile lips. There was also a nice one of Tess and me with our arms thrown around each other, our cheeks pressed together. We’d only been a year apart in age, but she’d always seemed so much older.
Putting the illustrations aside to take them to my room, I began to pick up everything, although there wasn’t much to do. Eli and I had both been organizing as we searched.
“Let’s eat,” Eli said. “Are you hungry?”
“Why don’t we search the other rooms?”
“All right,” he agreed. “How many are up here?”
“A few. But I’d like to search Mary’s and Patricia’s rooms while I have this chance.”
He paused. “I don’t think I’ll be joining you.”
“
Never mind,” I said, shaking my head.
LATE IN THE DAY, I LOOKED FOR BEN, WHO HADN’T APPEARED FOR LUNCH. Anna had told me that Uncle and Ben were still working on the roof, but Uncle came in for an early supper. While Eli sat down to eat with Uncle, I went outside to find Ben.
Afternoon was waning when I thought to search the cemetery. I had been avoiding the graveyard after finding out my father died there. But it was still light, and that made me feel less anxious, so I went into the trees and heard Ben’s voice. He was sitting cross-legged in front of his mother’s grave reading The Tale of Peter Rabbit to her.
I sat down beside him and placed the letter on the book.
He picked up the envelope and pulled out the letter. “You found it,” he said sadly, tapping the letter on his foot.
“Didn’t you put it on my desk for me to find?”
“No.”
“All right,” I said, disturbed by that news. “But you’ve read it.”
He sighed. “Momma asked me to send it to you from the Lady Cliffs post office. But when I got there …” His voice drifted off.
“What happened, Ben?”
“There were some boys from town there, standing on the sidewalk in front.” He paused. “I thought I’d go back later, but then I thought about how it would be if you would come back and stick up for me like you used to.”
“Did I?” I asked. “I don’t … remember.”
“Once when we were in town, one of the Lady Cliffs kids pushed me down, saying I was too stupid to know how to stand up.” He grinned. “You mouthed off to him while Tess helped me up.”
“What did I say?”
He laughed. “Crazy stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like they had better be afraid of you because you were crazy like your mother and who knows what you’d do. It was after Aunt Cora was taken to the asylum. Don’t you remember?” he asked.
I shook my head. “That time after … all of it is hazy.”
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