The Secret Journal

Chapter One

They say that time heals all wounds, but I haven’t found that to be true, not all wounds are meant to heal, they simply harden over themselves until something causes them to bleed again allowing the hidden pain to flow freely in crimson streams.

Boston, 1820

The streets of the city were already buzzing with morning activities as people hustled off to work. The street markets were opening, the shrill whistle of the coal factory rang out as the men trudged up the streets carrying their lunch pails that swung with their stride. Groups of children raced along in spite of the damp morning wearing bright smiles and their eyes danced with laughter as they went to school. 

Rosemary sighed as she looked out the window, past the raindrops that drizzled down the glass pane, to the gray sky that seemed to wrap the city in gloom with its frigid fingers. She tucked her white skirt in around her legs as she leaned back on the window seat. Her rich brown hair hung in loose ringlets on the shoulders of her blouse, tied back with a royal blue ribbon. She was waiting for the postman, Rosemary had received a letter from the board of education that her name had come up for a placement and that she would receive the instructions in the post. 

Teaching had always been her passion, she loved the way a child’s eyes lit up when they learned something new and she wanted to share that joy with as many children as possible. The thrill of opening up a new world to explore between the pages of a book still sent chills of excitement through her. Rosemary wanted so much more out of her life than just attending fancy parties, meeting eligible bachelors, getting married, having children and running a household. She wanted her life to mean something, she wanted to make a real difference and not be just another Beacon Hill socialite. 

Her family was the complete opposite, that was all they wanted for her and they couldn’t understand her deep desire for more that there had to be life outside the lights and glitters of Boston. They were not happy that in spite of their protests that Rosemary had pursued and completed her education to become a licensed teacher. Rosemary was proud of her accomplishments and she hoped that with time her parents would come to be proud as well.

Rosemary’s older sister, Rebekah, came into the library and picked one of the volumes off the shelves. Rebekah being twenty two was two years her senior and was more about the social graces and being seen with the appropriate people than Rosemary was. Rebekah took after their mother in that regard, along with her subtlety and ability to guilt anyone into doing what she wished.

“Are you still waiting for the postman?” Rebekah asked, as she pretended to look at the spine of the book that she was holding. Her brown hair was swept up into the latest style, a single strand of pearls hung around her throat and there was just a hint of floral fragrance. She was the picture of the up and coming women that could be read about in magazines.  Elegant, beautiful and submissive. What every bachelor was looking for, a beautiful, demure wife to give him children and say nothing of his dalliances or offer an opinion of his business dealings. 

“I will never understand your desire to go out and teach a bunch of children their ABC’s, when you could find yourself a good husband and have children of your own.” Rebekah continued. Rosemary rolled her eyes, it would be more like a governess would teach them how to read and write, it would be upon her to teach them the social graces and the expectations of them in society and how their behavior must be meticulous at all times lest the other families see a flaw in your bloodline to gossip about. Appearances were everything in Boston high society, it didn’t matter what happened behind the gilded doors so long as you put on a good face out in public. 

Her heart picked up at the sight of the navy uniform with its silver buttons and large mail bag coming up the stone walkway. She jumped down from the window seat, ran down the hall to the winding staircase with its highly polished mahogany banister.