A Game of Colours

Chapter 45

Envelopes. Hundreds of them, there must be, stacked inside the drawer. I remove them from their shelf and place them on the kitchen table, spreading them out. Some are already a tinted yellow and must be several months old, while others could have been delivered only last week.

"I can't read them, Alex. Who are they addressed to?" I say emotionlessly, my fate hinging on his response.

His eyes are focusing intensely into my own and he seems unable to speak. He runs his hands through his curly hair, seeming torn and conflicted.

"Tell me," I insist.

"They're for you--they're all for you, Alice," he says slowly, as if it pains him to admit it.

I sink into the nearest chair I can, grabbing the table for support. My world is spinning around me as the realization that Jarrah has been trying to reach me all this time hits me like a storm.

"There has to be an explanation. Don't jump to conclusions or--" Alex tries.

"Jump to conclusions?" I shout, "why didn't he tell me about this? They're addressed to me, not him! So it's not his bloody business to be reading them!"

"Of course it is! You're living in his house! He has to know what's going on! You could've been contacting slave catchers for all he knew, Alice! Hell, you don't even know what's in these!"

I give him the iciest stare I can muster and he immediately falls silent.

"Read me the first one. The oldest one you can find," I say quietly.

He shuffles through the piles of envelopes on the table until he pulls out a musty one with a yellow tinge and reads the date. I watch his every motion as he rips open the letter and removes a parchment.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

I nod.

"Princess,

You weren't supposed to hear it this way.

I know that.

I'm sorry.

I should start with that, shouldn't I?

I am so unbelievably sorry that if I wasn't in jail right now, I would have been back by your side faster than a man could read this letter.

I'm sorry.

It's a useless thing to say, but I want you to know that I say it to you every day.

I thought I had it all. I was standing there, at Lakeshore Port, donning my finest suit and a letter of recommendation in my hand. I was going to be the best artist the world had ever seen. I was going to live on the streets of Paris. Wake up to a world far away from my father every day for the rest of my life--you can't imagine the happiness I felt. For the last time, I would be off the cursed ground of America. You should have seen the ship to take me there, too. It was absolutely beautiful. The flag of France waved proudly in an intense dance with the strong winds, the ship rocking back and forth with the tides. The paperwork had all been figured out for me. My father was thousands of miles away, completely at a loss to where I might be. I had connections on the ship that Farren Riddle had arranged for me. Do you remember me telling you about him? He sponsored the entire trip for me. He believed in me. Really, there was nothing to stop me. Finally, my dream was coming true.

Or so I thought. Because it turned out that the one thing keeping me here, the one thing that really wanted me to stay, was the thing that I chose to let go.

And I was a hell-bound idiot.

I ripped up my ticket and threw it into the ocean without a second thought. I waited for the next train back so I could get to Preston. The only thing running through my head was your name. Over and over again.