“W here are you going this early?”
Artie spun around, a startled expression on his face. “I’ve got an engagement.”
“This soon after sunrise?”
“I’ve got a distance to go.”
Theo started to ask for more, but Artie changed the topic.
“I left the diary in the drawer of my nightstand, if you want to read it.”
Theo leaned against the wall, crossing one leg over the other. “Are you being intentionally cryptic regarding your destination?”
Artie shrugged without looking at him. “I have somewhere I need to be. I’ll see you later.”
Theo found his brother’s actions odd but could hardly stop him. With nothing to do, he went in search of the diary and then the parlor.
I can’t imagine where he would need to go so early. If I slept better, I wouldn’t be up this early at all.
He sat close to the lamp with the diary, unsure he really wanted to know the contents.
Don’t I know enough about the atrocities that my father seems to have committed?
However, if Artie thought that he ought to read it, Theo trusted him. He didn’t think Artie himself had actually finished the diary, but he couldn’t be sure of that.
The opening entry made Theo ill. He remembered the fictional business trip well. His father had returned with supposed stories about his time, sharing anecdotes and even conversations he supposedly had. Theo felt tempted to throw the diary across the room instead of finishing but pressed on regardless.
The description of his father’s forages into the Superstition Mountains, he did find fascinating to an extent. Until he reached the entry regarding his father’s discovery of the Lost Dutchman’s Goldmine. That entry, Theo shook his head over from first word to last.
I don’t believe it. I don’t believe a single word of it. If he knew the location of the mine, why did he never return to it? He’s never been on a trip like that one since 1920.
He continued to read, but with an increasing level of disbelief. He reached the line where his father decried his own dislike of his future stepmother when Hazel’s sleepy voice startled him into the present day.
“Theo, where’s Artie?” His sister stood in her long nightgown, her teddy bear in one arm, her hair a wild halo about her head.
He dropped the book into his lap. “I don’t know exactly where he is, Hazel. He went out.”
She cocked her head. “Already?”
“I’m afraid so.” He closed the diary, pocketing it. “Did you need something?”
Hazel shrugged, pulling the teddy bear up to her chin. “I woke up with a nightmare.”
His first instinct told him to tell her that Artie couldn’t remove the nightmare from existence, but he didn’t say it. He stood. “Do you know the best way to chase away a nightmare?”
“I already prayed about it.” She rubbed her cheek against the bear. “The nightmare made me sad, though, and I’m still sad. You and Artie died. Mama just kept crying.”
Theo didn’t know what startled him more—the topic of the dream or the hollow manner in which she talked about it. He crossed the room, then bent down to her eye level.
“I’m certainly still alive, aren’t I?”
Hazel nodded. “What about Artie?”
“I assure you I saw him alive and well this morning.”
She sighed a tiny sigh.
“Next thing you do, you can get dressed and we’ll have breakfast. Because dwelling on a nightmare does not serve to make you less sad about it.”
She cocked her head again. “Do you get nightmares, Theo?”
“Sometimes.” More lately than before, but I’m not telling you that.
“Is that how you get happy again? You eat breakfast?”
Theo shook his head a bit. “Come on, Hazel. Time to get dressed.” He stood and turned her about. “Let’s go.”
“Theo?” The little girl twisted her head to look up at him while she walked. “Artie will come home?”
Theo kept her moving. “Yes, Hazel. Artie will come home.”