The next entry occurred on a date I recognized. Cecilia wrote simply that Richard was killed in an accident that day.

Two months passed before she wrote in her journal again.

I still can’t believe that Dick is gone. The house seems surprisingly empty now. There is so much quiet. I hadn’t realized how alive and vital a man he was, the flurry of activity that always seemed to surround him. He was the love of my life, despite his transgressions. What shall the girls and I do without him?

We will do without Essie Mae, however. I will have her out of this house as quickly as possible. There is a local farmer who has been trying to court her, Jedediah Hobson. He is rough and uneducated, but he seems very much in love with her. I have told her that if she will marry him and leave this house and never come back, I will see that she will be rewarded. She does not know that Dick wanted to change his will to settle a large sum on her, in addition to his provisions for me and my darling angels. I managed to stall him, and then he was killed before he had the lawyer draw it up.

Conscience nags at me. I would love to kick her out of this house without a cent, but every time I look at my sweet girls, I would be reminded, and I cannot have her on my conscience. Dick would reproach me from the grave. Therefore I have made her write and sign a statement that once she leaves this house she will never return, nor will she ever have any contact with my daughters. If she does she will forfeit the money she will be paid every month. Now I wait only to hear whether she has decided to marry Hobson, and the sooner she does so, the better.

I turned the page and found a small, folded sheet of paper. I opened it and read the contents—Essie Mae’s agreement to leave River Hill and never return. She stated that she would never see or speak to An’gel or Dickce again, on pain of forfeiting her annuity, as she called it.

I folded the paper and tucked it back inside. I set the journal down. There was something so sad and so touching about that spidery handwriting. A mother renouncing all claim to her children forever.

My heart ached for her.

THIRTY-ONE

I forced myself to pick up the journal and glance through the remaining pages but found nothing of further interest. I put it back in my desk and locked the drawer.

A check of the time alerted me that I had about twenty minutes to get home, pick up Diesel, and make it to the public library if I didn’t want to be late. I didn’t dare go to work without Diesel, because if the staff and the patrons had to choose between the two of us, I knew which one they would prefer.