I can’t wrap my head around this. I kneel down and push the clothes basket aside. I turn on the closet light. It’s empty. “Caitlyn?”

“Dad?”

I jump and pull myself out of the closet. Caitlyn is standing in the doorway, looking disappointed and hurt.

“How did—? Where were you?” I ask.

“I was hiding in the bathroom. In the shower.”

I look from her to the empty closet and back. “But … you ran across the hall … I saw you.”

I realize her hurt and disappointment aren’t directed at me.

Caitlyn looks around the room.

“Katherine, I told you not to play,” she says.

I glance around, trying to figure out who she’s talking to.

“Sweetheart … who’s Katherine?”

Her eyes find me. The candlelight flickers across her face. For the first time in my life, I’m afraid of my daughter. It’s like she knows something I don’t and she’s trying to protect me from it.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” she mumbles and goes downstairs, leaving me alone in her room.

June 15th, 1900

Today, my wish was granted! Well, not all of it, but I finally go to see him!

I won’t bore you with more of my miserable situation, the pharmacy’s woes, or Father and Carol’s constant arguing.

This entry is going to be about nothing but him!

The decorations in the square for the Fourth of July Celebration have started. They’ve begun constructing the games and concession stalls that will fill the green.

I’ll admit that I don’t think much of Kingsbrook, but the speed of the construction and the scale of the decorations are impressive. The view out of the pharmacy window is filled with men building the stalls and women hanging the bunting from every lamppost and the gazebo. At least it is something new to watch from behind the counter at the pharmacy, which is where I spend most of my time.

Father was in the storeroom, executing his plan to save the pharmacy with cheap liquor. He purchased it from a man in Portland. I asked him ‘who?’ and he would only answer, ‘an associate’. It arrived in a wooden box. The bottles were big, bulky, and unlabeled. Father also received a shipment of smaller, sample-sized bottles. He had already made a sign advertising it as one of the finest cognacs from Paris. So, as I was saying, he was in the storeroom, transferring the cheap alcohol into the smaller bottles, when I spotted a group of official-looking men walking across the square, led by the Mayor.

There was Thomas. He stood out from the rest of the group with his blue eyes and tall frame.

“Father, I’m stepping out,” I said.

“Where are you going?” he asked from behind the curtain.

“Out. Only for a moment.”