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DAWN ARRIVED COLD AND rainy, and the morning hadn’t improved. Still, Katie was in a good mood as she walked into the back parlor, humming happily, trying to decide what to dig into next.
As she turned the corner, she stubbed her toe on the trunk of books Will had carried down from the attic. She’d intended to go through the contents the day it was discovered, but after the excitement of finding the portrait, she’d forgotten all about the treasure from the attic.
Sitting down cross-legged on an old rug, she removed the books one by one, dusting them off and studying their titles. Many of the volumes were histories and biographies from the late 1800s, but a few were schoolbooks from the 1850s, including spelling, grammar, mathematics, and Latin.
Katie felt a tingle go up her spine as she thought about those who had touched these very pages. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the child who used these volumes while a great war raged all around them. It was almost impossible to imagine.
When she opened the cover of the spelling book, she saw “Isabella” scrawled in a childlike hand. Isabella. She pondered the name. It was an old one. Not uncommon for the time period.
Then it hit her. She was holding a book that the daughter of Colonel Jonathon Wescott once used to learn her words. She ran her fingers over the name, as if by touching the signature she could connect with a child born more than a century and a half earlier.
The next object Katie pulled out of the box brought even more wide-eyed examination. An old Bible, its leather cover tattered from both age and use, was neatly wrapped in an old cloth. Katie opened the fragile book carefully and read the beautiful handwriting on the first page: “Presented to Anne Elizabeth Logan on the occasion of her tenth birthday.”
The inscription made her catch her breath, but when she turned the page, a new wave of emotion washed over her, so powerful she almost wept. A single flower lay pressed between the pages, and beside it, a small scrap of paper. The words on the note were faded, but she could still make them out. And when this flower shall meet your glance, remember him you met by chance. – Jon
Katie closed the book so she wouldn’t disturb the age-old gift any further. She dared not touch the petals, so brittle and brown. Yet she cherished the keepsake as much as the one who had placed it there with such tender care. Such a delicate, fragile token that signified a priceless trust between two people who lived in a time of war and were, by all accounts, considered enemies.
I’m touching what she touched. The thought seemed inconceivable to Katie. All these years later, the flower had left an imprint on the page on which it rested—just as Annie Logan had left an imprint on this house.
Katie had a strange sensation of traveling back in time...to the moment when trembling hands tucked away the precious memory into this most sacred place. Yet it pained her to think something so meaningful had been hidden away and gathering dust for so long.
She was about to set the Bible to the side when she noticed a slip of paper sticking out of the back. She opened the folded document carefully, not wanting to tear the thin paper or mar the words that someone had treasured enough to keep concealed for more than a hundred years.
December 24,1864
Dear Annie – It is Christmas Eve, and I am with you only in spirit tonight as you sit at Lacewood all alone with tears in your eyes. No doubt your memory dwells upon the happy hours we spent at the same time last year. Such are the recollections in my heart, yet I am more uncertain now than ever when I can get off home.
I send to you through my courier this note, and such poor Christmas gifts as I have for Isabella.
To compensate for so little, I enclose this sweet flower that caught my eye. How it survived under such severe conditions I cannot say, but I plucked it this morning when still covered with dense white frost. I’m sure you can picture the crystals glittering in the bright sun like diamonds, and understand that its rare beauty (like yours) could not be re-created by the expenditure of all the money in the world. See how God provides for our pleasures in every way?
I wish you sweet dreams on this Holy night. And when you awake on Christmas morn, remember my heart is filled with intense longing to be near you and with you—and never have to leave again.
I send hugs and kisses to my little girl—and sweet memories of mistletoe and magic to you.
Your loving husband, Jon
Katie could barely control her emotions or her thoughts. Here was irrefutable proof that the marriage was not one of convenience. She put her face in her hands for a few minutes and concentrated on breathing. It seemed like her own heart was mending and breaking all at once.
When she told Will this wooden chest held treasures, she’d never dreamed of finding a fortune of such value and meaning as this Bible and the letter.
Glancing up at the clock, Katie realized more than two hours had flown by since she started going through the contents. She reached into the trunk again and was both relieved and disappointed to find she was down to the last book. The volume was large, its cover featuring beautiful gold-gilded lettering: “Tales of Shakespeare.” As she removed the oversized volume from the trunk, she noticed it felt much too light for its size. Setting the book in her lap, Katie opened the cover and discovered why. The pages had been hollowed out to form a small cavity.
With her hands shaking, Katie shifted the book to the floor and gently removed an envelope. As she began to unfold the yellowed letter held within, an object fell from its folds. She gulped and stared at the piece of jewelry that lay on the rug. A silver locket. The silver locket that Annie wore in the portrait.
Tingling with anticipation, yet uneasy about prying into someone’s private affairs, Katie put the stunning piece of jewelry aside. Then she took a deep breath and began to read the letter.
Dear Annie,
I write to you this pleasant morning with the intoxicating aromas of a summer meadow surrounding me. The emerald green of nature’s carpet is still adorned with diamonds from the morning dew, as I recollect that on this day—exactly one year ago—I was at Lacewood meeting a lovely lady I would grow to rely on and trust with all that is most precious to me.
Before the day arrived, I recall with perfect clarity the moment Luke informed me he had found someone to care for Isabella. He conveyed to me that she was feminine and fragile but appeared capable of the feat.
He failed to mention that her eyes were brown and thoughtful...large, clear, vibrant and full of hidden fires. Or that, when gazed into, they returned the look and dared you to forget...
In case you are wondering, I am, by no means, blind to the attraction.
Send me all the news of Lacewood and my sweet “Bella” just as soon as you can.
Yours most faithfully, Jonathon
P.S. It would cheer me greatly if you would wear this small memento from “your loved one” in the field, as a reminder of your arrival at Lacewood and of the happy prospects that may follow all this agonizing suffering and separation. Consider it a token of love amidst the storm of war so fiercely raged...I hope you will think of me when you gaze upon it.
Only then did Katie, with tears threatening, open the ornate piece that had been hidden away with the letter. She studied the image of a blue-eyed soldier on one side and a lock of hair on the other. His hair. Katie was holding what Annie had held...what Annie had kept close to her beating heart while she lived. Knowing Mrs. Wescott was the last person to have touched the piece sent a wave of emotion through Katie. She could barely comprehend the sensations rushing through her, yet they affected her as powerfully as the solving of a great mystery.
Katie thought about the string of years Annie lived here. The happiness. The despair. The pain and torment. And she thought about the strange twists of fate that brought both her and Annie to Lacewood. How strange and inexplicable that now, in this brief blip in time, the two of them had crossed paths.
She read the letter again, more slowly this time, and realized a new name was mentioned. Luke. Another thread in the great mystery she intended to solve.
Daylight bled away without Katie noticing, but now deep shadows filled the room. As she began to put the books away, she glanced into the Shakespeare volume one last time, and noticed a small slip of paper. The way it was folded suggested it had been wrapped tightly around the locket at one time. Yellow and mottled with age, it had a single cryptic entry written in a more flourishing, feminine hand than the others.
April 7, 1865:
Death finds so many who fear his grim and frightening presence that he must be mystified by those who, in the very last moment, turn to him with a brave face and meet him with an unexpected smile. Goodbye, Jon. My love. My life.
Grief settled like dust, thick and heavy, upon Katie. She lay facedown on the floor with her head on her arms and sobbed.