June 5
So what have you learned about Jonathan and Victoria? Something that's made you change your mind about us?
I read those lines over and over, my eyes devouring each word. A second note from Will. I had discovered it early in the morning nearly glowing in the sunbeam that crossed the bumpy old hardwoods in the front hall. I studied those lines all morning as a million thoughts ran through my mind: Victoria's diary, my dreams, the reappearance of Zachary Taylor. I couldn't possibly pour out this entire story in a note to Will. Where to begin, and where to end? And it wasn't necessary. After all, Will believed. He believed when I had thought this was a bunch of nonsense.
So rather than answer him in a mundane manner, I decided to try something a bit different...
Dear Will,
You don't really expect me to answer your questions directly, now do you? That would be out of character. Instead, I thought I would tell you a bit of a story. I think you'll find it much more interesting.
Let's say that the following is in Victoria's own words...
The rose bushes were in full bloom, but under the night sky, only the rich scent hinted at their presence.
"These are white," I whispered, afraid of raising my voice and being caught in this highly dangerous escapade.
"You must know them by heart to recognize them even in the dark," Jonathan replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Yes, I spend many afternoons tending to them. Mother prefers the gardener to take care of the flowers, but I love them so..."
"Tell me, Victoria, what colors are the next ones?"
We took a few steps forward, and I shivered slightly in the humid chill that had blanketed the garden. Jonathan gently squeezed my arm, but that only made me shiver all the more. After several dances, he had led me out to the terrace, and then we slipped away from the drunken couples laughing heartily when hidden by darkness.
Alone, in the rose garden. My heart pounded as I turned to face Jonathan.
"These right here are red... the traditional ones," I whispered, my eyes unable to part from his.
"That is my favorite variety," he said, his mouth now brushing against my cheek. And then he kissed me. Gently, his lips touched mine. Maybe I should have pushed him away and ran back to the house. An honorable, decent girl would have done that. But I could not. I did not want to let him go. Ever. Right then and there, I decided that no matter what, I would become Mrs. Jonathan Hook.
So that's the story, Will. Is this new to you, or have you heard this one before?
Kat
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