Snapdragons

Journal Entries

After the first day, Alistair picked up a pen, rummaged for paper, and began to write. He figured that documenting the events could make them feel less surreal and more cement. And so, he wrote.

August 22nd, 1893

I have grown to quite like the canary room. I am aware that it has only been a day since I arrived, but everything has been in my favor, contrary to the arrival itself. I departed for bed before the sun had fully set and awoke when it had already risen. If I had not needed that sleep so desperately, I would surely have been embarrassed.

In opposition to the Deightons' demands, I cannot hide the fact that I did a bit of wandering around the house. Perhaps it was not the finest decision, but I couldn't help myself. Down the hall, I came upon what I originally thought may be Edwin's bedroom. It was large, filled with many books, and rather dim. Then I realized that it looked very much lived in.

As I came to the realization that the dim room was not what I was looking for, I met the third member of the Deighton family. Edwin's sister. A woman of around eighteen years of age stood in the doorway and inquired a simple "what are you doing here?" I found myself shocked by how similar she was to Edwin. She had the most beautiful brown hair and freckles that gave her the appearance of a fawn. The only difference was that she had her father's otherworldly pale blue eyes.

I told her I was staying at the house for a while and that I was, admittedly, doing some snooping. She smiled and told me that she was called Beatrice. A lovely name.

I came to the conclusion that the next room I visited was Edwin's bedroom. It really was not that hard to figure out considering that there was an open journal on the desk inscribed with the initials 'E.D.' (suggesting a hurried departure?) and copies of several popular novels on the shelves, including a shiny, rather freshly printed 'A Window in Thrums.'

After much thinking, I decided it best that Edwin's journal remained untouched and not read. I did, however, take much pleasure in examining the book collection upon the walls. I also found it strangely hilarious how much childhood still clung to every surface. For example, part of a bookshelf was crowded with torn and weathered children's novels. 'Alice in Wonderland' lay forgotten behind a pillow on the window seat, as if it was hastily hidden and left to grow old.

Over all, it was obvious that nobody had set foot in the bright bedroom in quite some time. There was a point where I even thought it looked rather sad. There were so many treasures that I haven't even the time to write about. So many secrets better left uncovered.

August 25th, 1893

Note for the future: dinner with the Deightons is a troubling experience. I was  honestly surprised that I was allowed to eat next to Mr. Deighton himself. And though everyone I had met so far was at the table, very little conversation lingered in the air. And there was no sign of a Mrs. Deighton.

So Mr. Deighton, Beatrice, and I ate in near silence. When the disagreeable man spoke, he ordered the maid to fetch something or mentioned some event that took place in the city. What an awful way to spend vacation, with your mind still at work. At least Beatrice made conversation with me, asking me about my home, my work, my family. Though I appreciated the opportunity to break the silence, talking about family is always a difficult thing.

At some point early on in the meal I realized that there were no dairy products in sight. Then, when Mr. Deighton reached for a dish of butter that was not there, he looked quite angry. He began yelling for the maid, not the older one who had opened the door for me, but a young woman who was named Martha. "Edwin is not here. He had not been here in ages," he kept telling her.