America the Unknown (United States of America #3)

Entry #3

It was thirty-two years later when it happened again. I was growing older, while Miss Emily barely aged during that time. Of course, I did watch her grow up, with her telling me she was now fourteen years of age by physical years.

As I was growing old, I couldn't do any of the normal duties that I performed when I was younger, and so I was confined to bed, only able to write to you through the help of a fellow servant of mine, a young woman at the age of 20. She was a lovely lady, pretty, hard-working, and a loving mother and wife. She reminds me of how I was when my late husband was still alive, bless his soul.

Now, I do not have much time in this world left, so I will tell you the story of the second tragedy that befell Miss Emily.

The Spanish returned to colonize around this time, farther away from our residence unlike last time, the southwestern part of the land near the ocean if I remember correctly, but it was through this colonization attempt that Miss Emily had become pregnant once more. When we learned of it, never had our fear for Miss Emily been so great. She had already suffered the loss of not one, but two of her children, and we feared that this next child will not make it as well.

Miss Emily had long forgotten about her dead sons, and not one of us wished to make her remember that horrible time, especially the aftermath.

I will not burden you with the details, but what you do need to know is that Miss Emily had attempted to kill herself three times. Once by starving herself (though we reverted this by force feeding her), the second by hanging (but thankfully another servant walked in at the right time and stopped it), and the third by putting a gun in her mouth (I happened to walk in on the right time before Miss Emily could pull the trigger).

It had been a stressful time for us all, but none more so than Miss Emily.

When she learned she was pregnant once more, I could see the fear in her eyes, a fear that I easily recognized as worry for her child meeting the same fate as her sons, and now, as I am writing this, it pains me.

I have never felt so helpless in my life, in fact the other servants have never felt so helpless in all their lives, and it had nearly drove some of them insane. I am not ashamed to admit that I was one of them, and I truly hope you will never understand.

Thank God that we had each other to talk to, otherwise I am sure that we all would have lost our very souls.

However, we were all happy to see Miss Emily happy again, so we could never bring ourselves to tell her our concerns for this new child. We didn't want to destroy that newfound happiness after she finally found it after such a long time, but now that I am here, writing to you about this, I wish I had, for at least then Miss Emily's pain would have been less, or so I would wish to believe.

I have never had children, and that's not something I can understand, no matter how much I may wish to.

However, the day Miss Emily gave birth, I thought all our fears had been for naught, for Miss Emily's newborn daughter was healthy through and through, in fact she fed well, was energetic, and shined brightly like an angel.

Miss Emily had named the child Neoma, a name that means moon, and I actually smiled as I wrote this, for I remembered that the Pensacola colony was nicknamed the "Moon colony" by the Spaniards.

Miss Neoma herself seemed to shine like the moon, with her bright blue eyes, her pale skin, and bright hair. Sometimes, her hair seemed to create a halo around her head whenever a full moon shone through the window, and I truly mistook her for an angel.

Sadly, I never realized how cruel nature herself would be to her own children until one day.

We all became concerned when Miss Neoma started to get sick, and when we checked on her, we were all horrified to see that she was bleeding from various wounds, all of which appeared mysteriously. Her screams pierced our souls, none more so than her mother, who had immediately taken the child into her arms and began to chant some kind of spell in sheer desperation, a green glow enveloping her and Miss Neoma.

I've learned long ago that Miss Emily had been blessed with powers that no normal human could hope to possess, and we were all ordered to keep it secret else we wish to be killed.

I never doubted Miss Emily's darker side when it appeared.

However, despite Miss Emily's best efforts, the wounds on Miss Neoma refused to close, and she began to cry herself, looking at us with pained, terrified eyes.

"What's happening?!" she had demanded. "Why is this not working?! Her wounds should be healing!"

No one said a word, and I wish we had, for Miss Emily's screams grew in intensity, matching her baby's pained screams in every way. We stood there, unable to do anything to ease any suffering the mother and daughter were feeling, forced to watch as Miss Neoma continued to bleed, listened as her screams grew weaker until she couldn't cry anymore.

I later learned that a hurricane had devastated the colony, and despite the relief efforts the Spanish sent, that didn't stop the food shortages. For the next several weeks, Miss Neoma grew weaker and weaker, and nothing we gave her helped. Miss Emily tried feeding her daughter with her milk, but Miss Neoma was too weak to even suck, too weak to even call out to her mother.

All Miss Emily could do was hold her, refusing to let her go for anything, until finally, we learned the colony had been abandoned because of the food shortages, and Miss Neoma followed her older brothers in death.

Oh God, why must you be so cruel? Why did you allow this to happen? Miss Emily did not deserve this.

As I questioned my faith, Miss Emily spent the next several months in her room, refusing to come out, and crying herself to sleep every night. Whenever I saw her, her cheeks would be covered in dry tear marks, her face looked hallow, her skin was paler than I would consider healthy, her hair was a mess, and the dresses she wore were always haphazardly put on. I truly mistook her for a madwoman when I first saw her.

But I knew the reason behind that madness. We all did.

I truly could not believe this happened again. Miss Neoma was a healthy baby when she was born, she brought happiness into her mother's life, the very happiness that had been snuffed out by the deaths of her sons. Now, she was gone, dead before her life ever truly began, just like her older brothers.

I found myself hating God for letting this happen, for if He truly cared about His children, He would have done everything in His power to stop this, to end Miss Emily's suffering, would not have allowed those poor children to suffer.

What kind of "loving" God does that?

Forgive me if I have offended you, for I know God is the supreme being, someone who created us, who gave us second chances, but how do you explain the deaths of three innocent children and the destructive grief their mother is going through?

I may not have been a mother, but I see Miss Emily as a daughter, and I do not want her to go through any more pain than she has.

So I beg you, please try to stop this, try to help Miss Emily, even if it is only a little. Try being there for her, any way you can. I will not be in this world any longer, and I know that Miss Emily has a life of suffering ahead of her. I ask that you at least try to give her the solace God refused to give her. That is all I ask of you.

Forgive me for failing you Miss Emily. Perhaps in another life I can be a better person for you.

Know that I love you. And you, my dear reader, thank you for listening to this pitiful old woman. Please help Miss Emily in any way you can.

Thank you,

Jane Faustus.

--Diary of Jane Faustus, 1560.

Jane Faustus passed away in the autumn of October 13, 1560 at the age of 80.