The year is 1879. When thirteen-year-old Ruth Merritt Holbrook emerges from her family's burning estate, bloody and charred, but entirely numb--She makes headlines. Reporters believe she is deranged. They accuse her of having set the fire. All the h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Gabriel left early this morning to speak to the preacher at a local church. He seemed hopeful, but he did not hesitate to tell me to pack a bag in case I was leaving and to have the sword on me in case I was staying. The time seemed to both fly and drag by. I sat by the parlor window, my small suitcase resting by the foot of the stairs. Leviathan came by last night and brought me a ticket aboard a ship bound for America.
He did not tell me I needed to leave, nor did he pressure me in any way. He told me that he had arranged everything with the man at the ticket station and that it would be honored for the boat of my choosing. Even now, as it rests tucked into the crease of my journal, I am unsure if he means for me to use it before or after I kill him—if I kill him.
There is no sign of Michael yet and so there is no word from Adonai. I'm afraid I may be forced to act before I am ready. I don't know what I will do if Lucius attacks me. I have the sword on my hip, but it is buried beneath an ample amount of skirt and I fear I won't find it easy to get to in a time of trouble. It has occurred to me, on more than one occasion, that I could ask Gabriel for trousers—I wonder what his response might be. In heaven, we are not constricted to such stiff dress codes as humans have and, although I never had need to wear pants, I was never stopped from doing so. I would certainly be better defended in men's clothes instead of the lovely, but elaborate, lavender ensemble I am dressed in now. In this case, it seems as if it may be better to ask for forgiveness, rather than permission. Off to Gabriel's closet I go.
