Behind the Wall
November 29, 1918
SOPHIA SET THE LAMP CAREFULLY on the chest opposite the hanging clothes, clutched the little Bible to her chest, and slid down the wall into the corner of the closet. Sobs wracked her body as she hugged herself. She rocked back and forth, her chin-length blond hair falling across her face. When the sobs subsided, she reached into her dress pocket for a handkerchief. She wiped her face and leaned back against the wall, so glad for the privacy of this refuge. Her fingers caressed the cover of her mother’s Bible. Reaching over to her right, she lifted the loose board and pulled out her diary and the pencil lying beside it. Sophia opened the diary and hesitated, then squared her shoulders, pushed back her hair, and wrote.
We buried my best friend and double cousin, John Peter Swanson, today. I don’t know how I’ll live the rest of my life without him here. Tears dripped from her chin, but she continued to write. I told Mama I didn’t think I could go on, and she sent me up here with her Bible to look up Psalm 61. She said I am to write verse two in my diary.
Sophia opened the Bible and found the verse. “From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” She read in Swedish first, then mumbled the words in English. “I will write in English because Mama wants me to keep practicing my English.”
She continued to write. In the morning I will have to get the gold coin we found in the cave and give it to Papa. I promised John Peter I would right before he died . . .
She closed her mother’s Bible and caressed the soft cover. She must be careful, for it was one of the few treasures Mama still had from Sweden and she had promised to take it back downstairs in the morning.
Footsteps clattered on the stairs. Sophia pushed the two books behind the loose board, jumped up, grabbed the lamp, and hurried out of the closet. By the time her little sister entered their room, the bedcovers were turned back. Sophia rubbed her forehead. Her head was aching horribly, probably from crying, but it made her stomach churn. John Peter got a headache first. Within hours he was dead from the Spanish Influenza.
“We’re going upstairs to look around, Dad.” Carly paused with one foot on the steps of the old house and looked over her shoulder at her dad and uncles. Her cousins, Max and Brandon, waited behind her.
“That’s fine, Carly.” Mr. Johnson smiled at the three ten-year-olds. “It will be colder up there since there isn’t any heat. That’s why we will be insulating this old house.”
Carly climbed the steep staircase, the boys right behind her. The old house, called the Circle 6, reminded her of Grandpa and Grandma Johnson’s ranch house. The top half of the staircase was open, and to the right identical double beds were tucked under the eaves in what really couldn’t be called a room. It was more like a wide hallway. At the top of the stairs, a door opened into a room with another double bed.
“There’s a lot of rooms up here.” Max’s voice echoed. “I’m kind of surprised. You could sleep a bunch of people.”
“I guess that’s a good thing for a guest ranch.” Carly wandered through the open area, her footsteps loud on the wood floor. She found two more rooms at the front of the house, each with another double bed. She entered the one on the left and stood imagining what it would be like to live here. The bed frame looked handmade with beautiful carved wood. The flowered bedspread shouted “GIRL ROOM.” She turned in a circle and took in the details. There wasn’t much in the room, no toys or bookshelves, only the bed and a chest of drawers. A faint smell of moth balls tickled her nose. Ruffled curtains framed the window which looked out on the front yard and the rest of Nemo, South Dakota.
The huge closet surprised Carly, since the other old houses at the Old Sawmill Guest Ranch had such tiny ones.
“Look at this.”
Max and Brandon entered the room and followed Carly into the closet.
Brandon whistled. “Wow! It’s a palace compared to the one in our room over at the Ranch House.”
Carly nodded. She slid down into the corner, shivering in the cold air. “I think someone could actually sleep in here.” From where she sat her eyes took in the dilapidated, unpainted walls. It looked like the closet hadn’t enjoyed any of the renovations which the current owners were undertaking. Maybe when they helped paint this house they could do something about that. A loose board near the floor caught her eye.
“Look at this. We’ll have to fix it.” Carly tugged on the board and she noticed a flash of color behind it. “Hey, there’s something in here.” She reached in and pulled out two books, one a small faded green hardback book with two words on the front and the other, red. It looked like an old journal or diary.
Carly’s breath caught in her throat. A mystery. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Not after what happened last time.
“Wow! They look really old,” Max said. “I think this one is a Bible.” Carly handed it to Max. “But it’s not in English.” She opened the other book. On the front page was written, “To Sophia Anna, From Aunt Sophia. To write your thoughts down and practice the English.” Carly thumbed through the pages, catching a phrase here and there.
“What’s it say?” Brandon sat down next to Carly.
“It’s a girl’s diary. She talks a lot about John Peter.” Carly turned a couple more pages then flipped through until she found a blank one. She grinned at her cousins. “I’m going to read the end.”
Carly eyes scanned the page and her smile faded. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Max squatted down beside Carly, laid the Bible on the floor, and waited.
Carly shook her head and then she read. “We buried my best friend and double cousin, John Peter Swanson, today . . . ”
All three cousins jumped when a voice echoed up the stairs. “Carly, boys. C’mon. It’s time to go.”
Carly grabbed the Bible, stuffed the books back behind the board, rubbed her hands on her jeans, and jumped to her feet.
“Don’t leave them there!” Brandon’s eyes were huge. “We should take them with us.”
Carly felt like a wound-up rubber band, ready to snap and shoot across the room. “They aren’t ours. We can’t take them.”
“Carly!” Dad’s voice sounded more insistent.
Carly pushed past the boys and ran for the stairs. “Coming, Dad. I’m coming.” She brushed the tears from her eyes. She wished she had never entered that closet.