Chapter 7

 

Tori sat at a table and pretended to read in the dimly lit room. Her hands held a book with a frayed spine and yellowed pages. The letters on the book’s cover, which appeared to have once been embossed with gold, were scratched and faded.

The wall behind her was filled with additional books, the shelving barely visible through all the volumes, maps, and artifacts. History pervaded the space. Even the curtains that masked the windows in deep shades of burgundy seemed to hide secrets between their folds.

“Oh, there you are.” Tori’s grandmother smiled as she entered the room. The soft skin of her cheek pinched into a dimple. “I thought you might still be upset from your—” She looked over her shoulder before continuing in a lowered voice. “—your parents’ overreactions.”

“Just looking through some old books,” Tori said, changing the subject. No use opening up that wound. She wasn’t done with the lantern, and both she and her grandmother knew it. “I’ve been thinking about going to college to study nursing—to become a nurse like you.”

Her grandmother’s eyes brightened. “That would make me quite proud. I learned a lot about life and people when I worked—before I met your grandfather. But it must be what you want to do, for you.”

Tori flipped through a couple of pages, breathing in the book’s musty smell. She remembered the story of how her grandmother had met her husband at a hospital. She’d taken care of him; and before he’d left he’d asked whether he could see her again. Her grandmother had no idea how wealthy he and his family were. She’d seen him at his worst and loved him anyway.

Tori’s grandmother had continued to work for a short time after they’d married, up until they’d started a family of their own. Tori’s grandfather saw no reason for his wife to continue working; but, knowing her love for medicine and learning, he’d encouraged her to study and read as much as she liked. The library had been his gift to her.

“Did you miss it?” Tori asked. “Not working anymore as a nurse?”

Her grandmother pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sometimes. It was hard work. I enjoyed seeing the patients get well and was glad to have contributed to their recovery. But there was also a lot of death.” Her eyes darkened for a moment before she smiled again. She nodded toward the book Tori held in her hands. “Is there anything in particular that I can help you find?”

“Not really. I’m just browsing. Do you still have your instruments—your blood pressure cuff and stethoscope?”

“Certainly.” Her grandmother stood up and motioned for Tori to follow her to a chest of drawers wedged in the corner of the room. She opened the third drawer and pulled out a nursing bag made of leather and clasped together with a silver buckle. She brought the bag back to the table and laid out the equipment, intently watching Tori, whose attention had gone directly to the stethoscope.

Tori extended a hand to trace the tubing between the stethoscope’s left ear tip to its chest piece.

Her grandmother sniffed. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the lantern, would it?”

Tori froze. “Grandma,” she whispered, “I wasn’t kidding about what I said at dinner. I wasn’t making anything up. I saw someone inside the lantern and he was trying to tell me something. Only he was so small I couldn’t hear his voice through the glass.”

Understanding flashed in her grandmother’s eyes. “You think you’ll be able to hear him—the voice inside—by using the stethoscope?”

Practically bouncing, Tori said, “I know you think it’s ridiculous, but—”

“On the contrary, dear; I think your idea is rather creative.”

“So you believe me?”

“I’m not sure what to believe, but I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make up a story like that. You seem eager to help this person inside the lantern, so I’m going to let you use it,” she said, sliding the stethoscope toward Tori.

Tori’s eyes widened. “Even if Mom gets mad again? What if she gets Dad to agree that we can’t come visit you anymore?”

Her grandmother huffed. “Sometimes, when things don’t make sense,” she said, pointing to Tori’s chest, “you have to follow your heart. As for your mother, well, we’ll see.”

 

A nursing bag rocked back and forth from Tori’s hand as she ventured into the darkness.

It was a good thing the bag had a sturdy handle because it was full and heavy. Before leaving the house, Tori accepted additional items from her grandmother—a small crowbar and a handheld metal cutter that looked like a cross between a pair of pliers and gardening scissors, both found in her grandfather’s workshop. They hadn’t been able to find a glass cutter and Tori was worried that smashing the glass in some other way would harm Jared, so she settled for tools that would help pry or cut off the metal part of the lantern.

There was no turning back. Tori’s grandmother was in on Operation Jared as part of her own crusade to spoil her grandchildren. Tori had to make her time count, especially given that her grandmother had taken extra steps to make sure Tori’s parents wouldn’t notice her absence. At first Tori was hesitant to accept the key to the side door, but she’d agreed a separate entrance and a different pair of shoes would help cover her earlier mistake of leaving her hiking boots on the porch. Her grandmother also had a master key she could use to lock and unlock Tori’s room from the outside, in case Tori’s parents attempted to unexpectedly check in on her during the night. Both keys jingled together inside Tori’s pocket as she plodded along in her sneakers.

Once she sensed the first flicker of light, she quickened her steps. Her heart swelled with anticipation. The light was a reminder—a confirmation—that the lantern did exist, that it was real, and that it lit only for her. She’d offered to show her parents the truth, but they’d refused her offer. Part of her was glad they hadn’t come; she’d looked forward to her time with Jared. The light was one matter. The fact that a tiny person existed inside the lantern was an entirely different thing, one that struck a whole new level of disbelief.

The light shined brighter as she rounded the familiar bend that led to the clearing before the woods. Her flashlight briefly lit up the form of a deer. The animal blinked its almond-shaped eyes at her and fled faster than she could suck in a breath.

After taking a moment to let her heartbeat slow down, Tori approached the lantern. Like the other night, the globe was covered with a spray of condensation, giving the lantern an eerie glow.

Tori set the nursing bag down and stepped closer. “Jared,” she said, remembering to keep her voice soft. “I’m here. Are you?”

Before she finished speaking, a tiny dot formed on the glass, growing and spreading into the shape of a flower with round petals and pointed leaves.

Tori smiled. “Thank you, Jared. It’s beautiful.”

The flower melted as tiny hands smoothed away more of the condensation, revealing a face with a lopsided grin that appeared larger than the person who wore it.