Secrets Painted by Words

Book of Mystery

"Ten cents. Ten cents each book! And there were so many! We should go." She exclaimed, sitting across from me. Her big green eyes veiled by mascara and eyeliner were expressive and bright. Skyler, my sister, went last night to a book sale with our brothers.

My eyes widened. "Ten cents? We have to go. Mom," I turned in the wooden chair with a ruffled blue cushion. "Can we go this afternoon?" I asked. Please let her say yes.

"Sure, we'll leave in a little while. Help clean these games up." She replied, clearly distracted. She is under a lot of stress these days, for our Grandmother is ill.

We are at our Grandmother's house. Our cousins were in town so we visited them. We had been playing games in the yard, which we now must pick up. I was sitting at the dining table with my sister, Skyler.

We hurried to pack up the yard games. We hugged our Grandmother goodbye, leaving the house and passing a small "Welcome" sign with a bluejay painted on, hanging near her front door.

Skyler and I waited a half an hour to get into the book sale, but we didn't mind. The book sale had been going on for a few weekends before, and each week the books got cheaper. Now that it is the last weekend, books are ten cents.

I was mesmerized by the sale. The bookshelves were stacked high, filling the entire warehouse. I scurried around, separating from Skyler often, to find a section on Romanov history. I bought two books, intrigued by the old books, never minding the wear.

I found my way to the foreign language section. Since the birth of my interest in Russian history, I've decided to take up learning Russian. If I want to travel to Russia to see the palaces, I must know the language. I like learning languages anyway, although Russian is difficult.

Most of the books were stories in the Russian language, none of which I could read. I looked for a dictionary instead. There had to be one, right?

My eye caught a small black book, with dim gold letters on the spine. "Russian English Dictionary" I immediately pulled it from the shelf. I had to see this book. A desire rose within me to buy the book, like a magnet inside me pulling me to the yellow pages.

The spine was old and weak. The stiff cover flung open when I set the book on my stack of Romanov books.

A letter.

July 31, 1939.

The handwriting was cursive, nearly indecipherable. But I needed to know what the note said. I've never owned such an old artifact for so long ago. What is the story behind this book?

"Victoria," a voice came from behind me. I turned on the heel of my tan heeled boots, my blue swing dress swaying as though it were in the breeze as I whirled around to see Skyler. "Are you ready to go?" She asked me. She had a stack of books in her arms and I could see the red marks on her bare arms from the solid book covers.
"Yes," I replied. "Look at this book. There is a note from 1939." I opened the dictionary, and she hovered over my shoulder to see. "Wow," she said, seemingly surprised. "That's really cool."

We paid for our books, which were less than two dollars all together, and then we went to find our mom in the parking lot. We waited for her to drive across the street to pick us up.

"Aw, look." I pointed to a bright green tree, on which numerous robins stood on a branch, with a single bluejay in the middle of the birds. "Just a little bluejay with the robins. How cute." I gushed.

Mom pulled up in her car and we climbed in, showing her our finds. "This book is from the thirties." I showed her the note. I sat back in my seat. "I wonder where it came from. I wonder about the story behind this letter." I murmured to myself in the backseat.

There must be a story behind this. But why did it come into my hands?