Virginia pulled into her uncle's driveway and parked the Bronco beside his white truck. She placed the stick into first gear, set the emergency brake, and turned off the ignition. She smiled and soaked in the calmness of the early evening. The sun was setting over the horizon, and rain clouds were rolling toward the mansion from the distance. She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
There was a faint buzzing noise coming from her backpack. She reached into one of the outside pockets and pulled out her phone. She smiled, finding a new text message from 'Tiffany' displayed on the screen. Tiffany was always a close friend to her—more like a sister! Tiffany's biological parents were never discovered. Her foster parents raised her for most of her early adolescent years. Her foster father was an alcoholic who abused Tiffany in the evenings when he came home from work. Her foster mother was bedridden from a heart condition, but she was always sweet to Tiffany. One evening, when Tiffany was only five years old, her foster mother passed away in her sleep. The following day, her foster father lost all control. He beat Tiffany until she passed out. The last time anybody saw him was on a bridge walking with a couple of people dressed in dark trench coats, thought to have been his friends. His body was later found washed onto shore. After both of her foster parents died, Tiffany was raised by Virginia's parents, who legally adopted her as one of their own.
When Virginia saw her text, she smiled with excitement. One of the hardest things to do was to leave behind her own sister, but they both knew that this was not meant to last forever and that they would see each other again. In the meantime, she and Tiffany promised to keep in touch.
Virginia opened the text message.
Tiffany: "Hey, Vinnie! How are you?"
Virginia: "Doing good for now. It was hard at first, but I think things might get a little bit better…"
Tiffany: "Well, this is a turnaround for you! I'm glad to see that you are doing so well. Last time we talked, you were not so good. That you hated it up there."
Virginia: "Yeah, well, that was a couple of days ago, too…"
Tiffany: "…Who is he?"
Virginia: "What?! What are you talkin' about?"
Tiffany: "C'mon! I've known you for how many years? What is his name? Did he even speak to you?"
Virginia looked up from her phone and out through the windshield. Her face began to blush.
Virginia: "Charles. His name is Charles."
Tiffany: "I see! And uh *cough* has Charles spoken to you?"
Virginia: "…yes!"
Tiffany: "Well, what did he say, Vinnie?! Details! What happened?!"
Virginia: "Nothing deep, Tiff! He helped me with my locker this morning at school…"
Virginia looked up and thought more about this morning. She quickly sent off another text.
Virginia: "… There's more. He befriended me when everybody else distanced themselves from me… He was kind. He made me feel welcome."
Virginia: "…and special."
Tiffany: "Well, let me know what happens next!"
Virginia: "I will! I just got home. I'll message you later, okay?"
Tiffany: "Okay. Ttyl!"
Virginia: "You know it!"
Virginia exited the truck with her backpack and walked to the front door. Once she was inside, she ran up the stairs toward her room.
"Hey, Honey!" shouted Andrew from the living room.
Virginia turned around and saw him approaching the base of the staircase.
"How was school today?" he said, placing his hands on his hips.
Virginia lowered her head, trying to hide the faint blush on her cheeks this time. "…It was good."
Andrew's eyebrows lifted. "Oh! …Who is he?"
Virginia raised her head and looked her uncle directly in the eyes like a deer in headlights. How did he know?! "Uh… he's, uh…"
She turned around and bolted up the rest of the stairs.
Andrew stood at the base of the stairs, chuckling at himself. "Well, this is a turnaround, indeed."
Virginia ran to her bedroom door and gripped the handle in her right hand. Suddenly, a light breeze hit her on the left cheek, and a soft whisper of a deep masculine voice caught her ear. She turned her head and looked down the hallway. No one was there except for the spiral metal staircase that went to the house's second story far in the distance. Again, Virginia looked down the hall, her gaze fixed on nothing else except that staircase.
She shook her head. Turning the doorknob, she entered her room and placed her backpack beside her desk.
This is so pointless! When am I ever going to use algebra in real life anyway?
Like a studious monk, Virginia had been sitting at her desk for the past hour and a half. Her head rested in one of her hands while she stared aimlessly at her algebra textbook, gnawing on the pencil in her other hand. She had twenty-two problems to have completed by tomorrow, and so far, she has completed…three.
Ah! I hate this! She plopped back in her chair. Her pencil fell out of her hand and rolled under the desk. …Perfect!
She pushed the chair back, got down on her hands and knees, and crawled underneath her desk, trying to spot her pencil by the early evening light of day. She found it at the far back, rolled up against the wall.
There you are! She picked it up and raised her head.
WHAM!
"Ow!" she piped as she hit her head on the desk above her.
She looked up in disgust at the upper surface of her desk. She squinted her eyes.
What's that?
There was a faint ink writing of some numbers and letters underneath the top layer of her desk. She came out from underneath and went over to her duffel bag. She pulled a lighter from its outside pocket and crawled underneath the desk. She struck the lighter a couple of times before a flame finally ignited. She held the light close enough to the letters and numbers to where she could read them.
John Newbourne, Butler; London, England; 1886.
Virginia squinted her eyes and read that again. She stroked her fingertips over the words. How old is this desk? …What could be inside of it?
She quickly got out from underneath the desk and began pulling open drawers. Starting with the bottom drawer on the left side, she worked her way up the dresser. The bottom one was empty. The middle drawer was the same. She tried to pull open the top drawer, but it was locked.
Go figure!
She sat back in her chair, plopped the lighter on the desk, and stared disappointedly at the drawer. She looked up at herself in the mirror.
Well, you tried, and that's all that—something caught her attention!
Hanging on the left side of the mirror was an old-looking key dangling from a gold chain. She gazed at it as if it were an animal that had spotted her and was about to run away. Only one phrase entered her mind: Take the key!
She reached out and took it off the mirror. It was small and antique to her. She looked at it and then at the drawer.
Why not?
She placed the key inside the locked drawer and gave it a full turn clockwise.
Click!
Virginia pulled the drawer open. Inside it were multiple candles and a golden menorah. She took the menorah and looked it over. There were flowers and olive buds on each candleholder. She placed it on her desk in front of the mirror. She grabbed some candles to put them in the menorah, but something else caught her attention.
Buried underneath the pile of candles was a brass object faintly sticking out. She pushed some of the candles out of the way, revealing another key. Virginia pulled it out of the drawer and inspected it closely. It was similar in fashion and age to the one on the chain but bigger. She looked at it with a studious eye.
Now, what did you used to go to?
"Virginia!" hollered Andrew from downstairs.
Virginia quickly placed the key in her pajama pocket.
"Virginia, are you there, Honey?"
Virginia walked out of her room and leaned against the railing above the foyer. "Yes, Uncle Andrew?"
"Honey, there's a tree that fell on the south fence last night during the storm," he said, looking up at her. "I have to go into town to pick up some supplies so we can begin working on it before the next storm cell hits us again tonight."
Virginia had a downcast look on her face. "There's another storm coming tonight?"
Andrew had pulled his coat off the hook on the side of the wall and was putting it on.
"Yeah, there sure is," he said, a bit troubled. "It will be a long time until I come back. Would you like to go with me, perhaps?"
Virginia chewed on that invitation for a moment.
"No… No, you go," she said hesitantly.
Andrew turned his head as if to study her response carefully. "You're sure about that?"
Virginia nodded. "Yes, I'm sure."
"Alright then."
He pulled his Stetson off the hat stand and placed it on his head. "I have one of my workers out there working on the fence and a hole in the barn's roof. He's a good kid. If you ever have any trouble, just let him know or call me directly."
As he opened the door, he turned to look back at Virginia one last time and added with a smile. "Keep an eye on things for me, Honey."
"I will," said Virginia, smiling back.
A second later, Andrew was out the door, and Virginia was left alone for the first time in forever. She had become used to people being around her at all times: police officers, family members, friends. Aside from when she drove to school earlier that day, someone was always there to hold her hand or just be there. As her uncle shut the door and fastened the lock from outside, Virginia remembered what it felt like to be genuinely alone without an escort.
She stood still, leaning against the stair railing for the next five minutes. She was not sure how to process this new, old feeling.
Though her new quarters were there to protect her, she felt scared. Most of the lights in the house were off, making the atmosphere a bit nocturnal. Silence filled the house. The only sound heard was the old grandfather clock ticking from the downstairs living room. Now, she almost wished that she had left with her uncle. With Andrew gone, she felt safer back in her room. She quickly walked down the hallway to her bedroom door. She reached out and grabbed the handle, but before she turned it all the way, her old curiosity rose within her again. She slowly looked to her left down the long hallway and fixed her eyes on the spiral staircase leading to the third story of the house. A spirit of interest grew bigger and bigger inside of her.
"Not now!" she said to herself. "Not while you are alone in the house. Who knows what could be up there?"
She thought about what she had said only for a moment before the tug of war began: to go or not to go up the stairs. The more she stared, the more the hallway grew farther and farther away; however, the excitement of adventure grew closer and closer within her. Her breathing began to speed up—as it always did when she knew she was about to do something more daring than she had ever dreamed. She closed her eyes and forced herself to yank her hand away from her bedroom doorknob. Clenching her fists down by her sides, she tightened her eyes and shook off the complacency and fear. As she opened her eyes, a determination was seen in her soul. She pushed aside second thoughts for a final time and began walking down the long hallway, which was not as long as she thought it was. In fact, it was not nearly as scary as she had made it out to be. She reached the staircase and did not stop to think about turning back. Without stopping her pace, she walked up the stairs. It was only when her head reached the opening and leveled with the upstairs floor that she realized what she had done. Coming to a sudden halt halfway up the stairs, she cautiously raised her head through the opening in the floor. Looking around the new story of the house, she noticed that this new floor looked much like the one below. The only difference was that this floor had a porch running outside the hallway to the right, and three bedroom doors ran along the left side of the hallway. No more than fifteen feet from the last bedroom door, the hallway turned left and continued out of sight, the porch outside curving with it.
Virginia walked up the final few steps. She wanted to stay and see what was in the rooms before her, but seeing as though they were possibly no different than the four bedrooms before, she continued up the spiral staircase. Of course, the flight of stairs was mathematically the exact distance between floors as the last walk, but this one seemed to feel a bit longer to Virginia. The farther she ascended, the dimmer the lighting became; the atmosphere presented a somewhat lonesome look. Yet, no matter how uninviting the journey appeared, the young girl refused to turn back now.
She came to her last stair and stepped off onto a wooden floor that was decades older in appearance than any other architecture of the house. The walls were coated with cream-colored wallpaper with flowery designs on them. The walls to her left and right each had a small, pane glass window; the one to the right had a small, old love seat beneath its window, and the other to her left had an old nightstand with a vintage flower vase containing seven fresh red roses.
Something else caught her attention. Straight in front of her was a wall with an old white door with its paint peeling off. It was as if the door was staring back at her.
She turned slightly and stared at the door with a curious eye. What secrets hide behind you?
She approached the door, and the closer she got, the more ancient its looks became to her. She reached out for the brass doorknob but was disappointed to find it locked. She tried turning it harder, hoping that such an old thing would eventually give in; however, it still retained its strength and would not budge. Just then, a thought ran through her mind. She reached into her pajama pocket and pulled out the key she had found in her desk downstairs.
"Please, work," she said, looking at the key.
She placed it into the keyhole and slowly turned the key into a complete rotation. On completion of its cycle, there was a sudden click. Virginia gasped. She pulled the key out and attempted to turn the doorknob once more. The handle turned, and with a long, old creaking sound, the door slowly opened, revealing a sight she would never have expected to see.
She stepped into a room that appeared not to have been touched for generations. It was smaller and absolutely nothing similar in design to the other rooms of the mansion. It was as if Virginia had stepped back in time. The walls were coated with wallpaper of the same color as the previous room, but it had a specific design of red roses on it rather than other flowers. The wood floors were the same age and fashion as the foyer floor behind her. Resting up against the room's left wall was the headboard of a queen-sized bed with an antique wooden frame and a gorgeous canopy. Directly across from the bed on the wall opposite was an old desk fixed with a large mirror resting on top of it; both parts of the desk carried a thick layer of dust. Beside the bed on the same wall was a bay window furnished with pillow cushions and decorated with dark red drapes.
Virginia walked almost reverently through the old chamber.
"This place looks like it's been locked away for over a hundred years," she whispered.
The old desk looked nearly identical to the one in her bedroom. She stood directly in front of it and took notice of the items resting on top. There was an old silver hairbrush and a matching hand mirror resting side-by-side, some needle and thread, and an old wooden jewelry box.
Something caught her attention. On the far-left corner of the desk was an old sterling silver picture frame with a thick layer of dust covering the glass. She reached over and picked it up. Holding it closer, she tried to examine the picture carefully. She thought it could have been a man in the photo, but she was unsure. Using her shirtsleeve, she gently wiped away the dust from the glass. Looking at the picture again, Virginia saw a man who looked very rich, judging by his finely designed suit and strong, upright posture. Deducing by his features—high cheekbones, long, jet-black hair, and a darker skin tone—this man was a Native American Indian.
"Now, I wish I knew who you were," she said.
As she placed the picture down, she became interested in what she might find hidden in the desk's drawers. There were only three large ones. She squatted down and started with the bottom drawer. Opening it, she only found an empty drawer occupied by cobwebs and more dust. She tried the middle one, but it contained only the same hidden treasures as the one below. She attempted to open the last drawer, hoping to find a new historical gem, but to her disappointment, it was locked. She tugged and tugged, but the old drawer was just as strong as the bedroom door. She pulled out her key once more to see if it would fit, but it was too big.
Left with another dead end with unanswered questions, she stood back up and looked at the contents on the desk again. The needle and thread were unimportant to her since she had no interest in sewing. She turned to the silver mirror and hairbrush. She picked up the old mirror, which had been laid face down, and held it up to look herself over. It was the first time she had seen her reflection not look sad. She quickly turned the glass side over and observed the back of the mirror. It had a beautiful design of a single rose in the center with leaves and thorny vines encompassing the frame's borders. She looked at it closer, discovering a name engraved below the rose under a layer of dust. She took her long sleeve and wiped it clean. The name was faintly etched in, but after a long time of trying to make out what it said, she finally read it as Rose Annemarie Cohen.
Wait a minute! Rose Cohen and Burning Eagle!
She looked at the photo and glanced back at the name on the mirror. It was true, then?!
She looked around the room with a new eye. Could this room have belonged to Rose Cohen?
She carefully placed the mirror back down in its place.
She reached over to the jewelry box. After lifting its lid very slowly, she found it void of any jewels; however, there was something that did catch her attention. Resting at the very bottom of the box, right in its center, was a single small key. She reached in, picked it up, and studied it closely. It looked similar in design to the old one in her pocket, except it was about half its size. Suddenly, a thought ran through her mind, and she glanced at the top drawer again.
Instantly, she took the key and placed it inside the keyhole of the drawer. Slowly, she turned the key a complete turn. Just like her drawer downstairs, there was a sudden click upon completing its cycle. Virginia took a deep breath and slowly opened the drawer. Her eyes opened wide. Lying in the bottom of the lone drawer, surrounded by cobwebs and covered in dust, rested a small letter on top of a diary. She reached in and carefully pulled the letter and the diary out. The diary was bound with a leather cover with a long strand of red ribbon wrapped tightly around it, holding it closed. Inside of it were more letters crudely tucked between its pages. A name in gold lettering was impressed in the bottom left corner: Rose Annemarie Cohen. She looked at the letter in her other hand. It was just as aged as the diary's pages. There was no address written on the front of it, nor a name, but there was a small phrase written in Spenserian penmanship: To the Finder of This Letter. Sealing the letter in the back was a red monogram seal containing the letter C.
Suddenly, there was a mighty clap of thunder outside. Virginia jumped with shock and almost dropped the things in her hands. She looked out the bedroom window and saw that the lightning storm her uncle had warned her about was already there. There was another clap of thunder, even more aggressive than before. Virginia became very uneasy about her location in the house. She quickly closed the top drawer and locked it back. After placing the key inside the jewelry box and closing its lid, she ran outside the room. Closing the door behind her, she locked it shut, leaving it as before.
There was another outburst of thunder, and Virginia knew that the storm was moving faster and closer than she expected. She darted for the spiral staircase and quickly went down, skipping a step or two all the way. She passed the third story of the house and then made it to the second story right before another blast of thunder shook the house. The remaining lights that were left on began to flutter.
Virginia ran down the hallway to her bedroom. She threw her door open and rapidly closed it behind her. Resting her back up against the door, she took deep breaths to calm herself down. Soon, she became more at peace and alert. Another clap of thunder shook the house and made the lights in her bedroom flicker on and off a few times.
She sat in front of her desk and placed the diary and letter on top. She opened her top drawer, pulled out a few candlesticks, and fastened them in the last of the empty slots of the menorah on her desk. Then, grabbing her lighter off the top of the desk, she lit the candles just in time before one more powerful flash of lightning, followed by a loud cry of thunder, blew the power out to the whole house, sending it into darkness. The only light remaining was from the candles on Virginia's desk, which brought out her beauty in the reflection of her desk mirror. It also brought a new feeling to the letter and diary before her.
She picked up the letter and read aloud its phrase: "'To the finder of this letter.'"
She turned the letter over and saw that the seal on the back had not been broken.
"I guess this would be addressed to me then, perhaps?" she said unsurely.
With steady hands, she broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out an old, folded-up letter. It was not until after carefully unfolding it that Virginia realized how fragile this parchment was. The script was written with a fountain pen, and its font was scratchy, as if it was written in haste. Taking in the moment, she read the letter:
November 3, 1886
To the finder of this letter,
My most sincere apologies for the lack of detail and crude, abstract sketch of my pen, but I am rushed to write this letter at the last minute, as I am about to depart to my home country, England. Inside the drawer with this letter should have been a diary. Oh, so much has happened, and there was so little time to tell you all of it. This diary holds the untold story of my life, my adventures in Alaythia, and my love. No one has ever listened to me, and scarcely have they heeded my advice. I am forced to marry a man that I love not and am torn away from the one for which my heart burns. Please remember me; please read my story. I hope that this diary serves to help you on your own journey, as you will find that where you are currently living holds a great mystery that few rarely seek to find.
I strongly caution you: this diary contains material that could greatly expose my children and their children's children after them to extreme danger should it be discovered by the wrong hands. If you feel you have risked something you do not want to be held accountable for, please return the diary to its proper location and lock the drawer. But this time, hide the key somewhere other than the jewelry box.
If, for some rare chance, you happen to be one of my children or grandchildren, I strongly caution you: take whatever precautions you need to stay alive—even if that means you must kill to defend yourself; stay alive! You have no idea who you are and what you are worth! Seek the wise counsel of King Elyamin and those of him, for he is on your side. Always protect yourself at all times.
I know not what year you were born, nor do I know how soon this letter might be discovered. Just remember what I have said and take it to heart.
I must be going—my mother has been calling for me. Do take care, and again, do not forget what I have said.
Sincerely,
Rose Annemarie Cohen
Another flash of lightning from outside illuminated Virginia's room as she finished the letter. The scribbled calligraphy stuck out to her like a cry from the past that was still fresh and new.
"Unbelievable," she said. "She was real!"
She gently set the letter and its envelope on her desk and focused on the diary.
"And this is her diary?" she questioned.
It was an old relic by now, yet the leather was not dry-rotted. It was stuffed with letters and other pages that were not its own—the little thing looked like it was about to explode with its extra pages wedged in it. Its red ribbon remained securely fastened, tied in a bow on the front of the book. Virginia reached out her hands and untied it.
Another flash of lightning and a mighty cry of thunder sounded in the background, but she was too distracted to bother with the worries or cares of the thunderstorm. With steady hands, she slowly opened the book to the first page.