Emiline sat as straight as she could. She wrung her hands self consciously, trying to remember all of the things her mother had taught her about good manners. Her eyes looked over at Susan, watching every move the girl made.
It was supper time and the candle light was bright and elegant in the huge dining room. As warm as that glow seemed, there was something cold about the whole evening. Mealtimes weren't the same in the city as they were in the country. At home, Emma had always loved to sit down at the table with her mother and father, listening to what they had to say and sharing her stories about the day with them. They always had so much fun, laughing about things that were funny and talking about their hopes and dreams. In Anastasia's house, laughter was very quiet and controlled. Even Susan, who had always seemed cheerful, behaved with a ladylike grace that almost seemed dismal. Sometimes, Emiline caught her sighing and looking out of the window wistfully. She was wishing to get out of the dignified house and take a walk in the woods back home.
Emma's stomach growled with hunger. It seemed awfully late to be eating dinner.
Already, the sun was starting to hang low in the sky. Anastasia and her family chatted quietly as the moments ticked by. Emiline started feeling impatient.
"Why doesn't someone bring the food?" she wondered. "What could they be doing in the kitchen all of this time?" She glanced around worriedly. "What if something happened!" she fretted. "What if the servants spilled the soup, or burnt the roast or something! Then we might have to wait until night time to eat. Or worse! What if dinner isn't served at all!" She stopped her dramatic thoughts and tried to distract herself. She heard Anna's pretty voice speaking in an excited but very soft tone.
"We saw an advertisement in town for a play!" she explained to her parents. "Wouldn't it be delightful to go? They will be performing A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens!" Emma almost forgot her hunger as joy flooded her heart. As much as she enjoyed books, she knew that she would love a play. Anastasia's mother smiled and nodded her head pleasantly.
"It sounds very enjoyable," she answered. Then, with a little apprehension she asked. "But, isn't A Christmas Carol a bit too...serious for the children?" Emiline's eyes dropped down to the table, her heart welling up with a little feeling of offense.
"Children?" she repeated to herself. The word had a distasteful sound. Anastasia gave one of her politest laughs.
"You mean young ladies, don't you, Mother?" she said in gentle correction. "Emiline and Susan are quite mature. Nothing could be too serious for them. They'll be thrilled, I'm sure!" Emma nodded. Anna's words gave her a surge of pride.
At last, a few maids and servants came in, carrying platters of food and a huge tureen of soup. Emma smiled eagerly.
"Finally!" she giggled inside.
A delicious steam rose into the air as the soup was poured into Emiline's empty, china dish. Her eyes gleamed like a starved creature as the rich broth rippled with the last drop of soup. She had waited for hours for this. Suddenly, all of the city manners flew away from her.
"Oh thank you! I'm so hungry!" she exclaimed. She grabbed her spoon with a clattering noise and plunged it into the soup. She lifted it half way to her mouth, but before she could even taste it, she found that all of her friends were staring at her and that the maid was looking appalled.
"Did I do something wrong," she asked with a cringe. Susan muffled a delighted snicker in her napkin. She wanted to laugh louder. She wanted to tell her friend how much joy Emma's country manners gave her. But, she couldn't. It wouldn't be polite.
Mrs. Elwin gave Emiline a half kind and half reproving smile.
"Emiline, it isn't usual for ladies to make outbursts like that. Especially not at the dinner table. And it's only polite to allow your host to begin eating first." Emma's cheeks turned rosy red. Her heart throbbed with embarrassment. In the country, no one would have thought ill of her for what she had done. But here, everyone thought she was being rude. She wanted to lean her head against her hand and hide her humiliated face, but that would have been impolite too. Young ladies sat up perfectly straight. She had to hide her feelings.
Dinner couldn't have ended soon enough. Then, Anastasia began planning another exciting outing.
"We're going to the beach, to the golden strand, where the waves roll in and the seabirds stand! Now, girls, come upstairs and get into something suitable for the occasion." Emma obeyed, feeling relieved.
"The seaside!" she thought happily. "I've always wanted to see the ocean. At least I can't do anything too impolite there. I'll be free!" Really, the longer she stayed in Anna's house, the more uncomfortable she felt. Maybe that was why Susan liked the country so much. You didn't have to be stiff and polite in the country. It wasn't that people were rude or garish there, but they were down to earth and real. Emma didn't feel like she could be herself here in high society.
Once again, Anastasia made Emiline look much too grown up. And the gown she chose was much too breezy.
It still made Emma feel uncomfortable, but she was almost getting used to it, and that made her feel even worse. Her only comfort, was that she chose a heavy shawl to keep the chilly air away from her. That would cover the gown's ruffling elegance a little. As soon as the girls were ready to go, Susan and Anna headed down stairs. Emma started following them, but a sudden thought made her stop.
"I've been dying to read those journals," she remembered, biting one of her nails thoughtfully. Even through the chaos of city life, the mystery of the burnt house had been simmering in the back of her mind. Quickly, she threw her bedroom door open and ran to her luggage. She pulled out the old, water stained books and chose William's. Then, she went on her way.
It only took a few minutes for Emiline and her friends to reach the shore. The beach was practically Anastasia's backyard. Emma could hardly believe that she was standing on the sandy shore of that wide ocean. She had imagined it for so long. But now she could see it with her own eyes. The sun was just resting on the horizon, and the glow of its rays were turning the cotton clouds red and orange. As the girl looked at the glorious scene, she couldn't help but think that it was prettier than anything she had seen in the city yet. God's creation is always more beautiful than the things men build. Men can only try to imitate God's masterpieces, and they usually end up making a mess of them.
But here, Emiline could see a stunning sunset, freshly painted by God.
After the girls had taken a walk along the beach, Emma sank down on a sand dune all alone and pulled out the journal she had brought. She always felt her heart leap excitedly when she opened the book's cover. Would the next pages unravel the mystery? She turned to the middle of the book. Her eyes studied the smudged ink eagerly, only able to make out part of a sentence.
"If only I could change that. If I could relive the past, there are so many things I would do differently. What need do I have for a farm or a house? I would give them up in an instant, but every day the divide deepens. I'm afraid Mortimer won't even speak to me now. Though he craves this land which he alone deserves, he is too proud to accept it. It would be insult upon injury. As time goes on, I'm afraid that my brother has begun to hate me. How can I blame him? After all that I did as a youth, I'm sure I have made myself hateful. How I long to make him understand how deeply sorry I am. If it was in my power, I would have the thing forgotten in an instant. But Mortimer holds my past against me. Out of resentment, he has made me his enemy."
"Enemy!" Emiline repeated in horror. That was a word that made her heart throb with fear. In books, the resentment of enemies drove them to do horrible things. Once she had felt that kind of hatred in her own heart and even now the things she had said and done in the past made her cringe in shame. Suddenly, she could picture the burning hatred in Mortimer's eyes as he had sat writing the letters Emma had read in the old, burnt house. He had been more than angry; his heart had been tainted by bitterness. Then, Mrs. Bufford's words came back to her memory. She shivered in fear.
"The facts are the facts," the old woman had said. "They were murdered."
"Murdered!" Emma whispered in a breathless tone. An eerie image flashed across her mind. She could see the old house, still standing in the night, the windows glowing with a dim light. Then, a frightening figure stepped out of the shadowy woods. A torch glowed in his hands. Could it have been Mortimer? Could his anger have driven him to destroy both his brother and the house he had once loved? "No! He couldn't have! He wouldn't have!" Emiline gasped inside. Then, her face went white. "Could he?"
The sun had disappeared. The shadows had stretched out around her. Suddenly all of the beauty Emma had been enjoying was gone. Feeling an icy terror crawling up her spine, she jumped up from her sand dune and hurried to join her friends' company.
As they all went home and headed to bed, she felt strange inside. She felt a throbbing sadness in her heart, a craving for something she had enjoyed so many times in the past; a goodnight hug from her mother and father.
She had never really had time to miss her parents before. She had spent every day of her life with them. But now, she was sad and frightened, and they weren't there to comfort her.