stared at the first page for one long minute.
Then she gingerly pressed the cover back further to read the opening line.
March 15, 1896
The only thing of interest that I did
today was start this new journal.
Tears sprang into her eyes. Over a
hundred and fifteen years ago.
Yet, only a few days ago.
Yesterday? Or was it? No, it couldn't
be! Could it?
Did she ask that out loud? A furtive
glance told her no. "Doris," she finally squeaked out. "May I
borrow this tonight? I'd love to read it."
Doris looked up with sympathy. "I
imagine you're tired. I like to read in bed myself. Take it. Tell me in the
morning if there's anything interesting in there. Ooh, wait until the
Historical Society hears about all of this. We even have a slate and an old ink
well!"
Waneeta rose. "It's all wonderful,
but you're right, I am tired. It's all that work today. I should have your
stamina."
Beaming at the compliment, Doris asked, "Would
you like a cup of tea to take up with you?"
"No thanks. I'll hop into bed. We've
already showered, so I'm ready for it. I hope I can stay awake long enough to
read this."
Upstairs, Waneeta hurried through her
preparations, ignoring the guilt at lying to Doris. But she’d been so anxious
to read Thomas' journal that it seemed the only polite way out.
She sank into bed, and reopened the stiff
book.
March 15 1896
The only thing of interest that I did
today, was start a new journal. And, like most times with a fresh piece of paper,
I feel excited, like something extraordinary will happen. Indeed, the feeling
is so strong as I begin this new book, the words are flowing from the nib of my
pen, because of it.
How eloquent he sounded, Waneeta
thought. Quivering with anticipation, she read on.
The least interesting thing I did was
wash the floor.
She smiled. Thomas was being facetious.
But it was so good to see his handwriting, as if seeing the long script gave a
sense of warmth, of connection.
Good grief, did she really think that
this was her Thomas writing this journal? That would be impossible.
Still entranced, she returned to her
reading.
March 18 1896,
The day started cloudy and cool. Despite
the anticipation I continue to feel, I must say the weather does not appear
conducive to any expectation. To ease my tension, I baked bread and split wood.
If a stranger were to happen by, they'd think I was expecting company.
The pages blurred and shook before her,
forcing Waneeta to set down the book and breathe deeply. She hastily wiped her
eyes before picking up the book again.
I must finish what happened to me today,
although several days have passed since I opened this journal. But how do I
start? I've had such an extraordinary adventure that I find it hard to put on
paper, except to start at the beginning of this odd tale. I did indeed have a
visitor today. Just as I was preparing for bed, I heard a noise outside. I thought
it was the wind, but when I heard a thud against my cabin, I went out to
investigate.
I found a most peculiar woman slumped
against the logs. When I brought her inside, she was unconscious and injured. I
removed the most exceptional garment that I've ever seen from her body, to find
she wore only a pair of leggings and a thin shirt of cotton.
The woman was beautiful. I had a hard
time tearing my eyes from her. When she awoke, I treated her as best that I
could without appearing to be enamored with her. She didn't appear to be
bothered by her attire, although I must say I was.
The woman was an odd sort, but her
loveliness quelled any suspicion I may have had. I didn't think at first, I was
so entranced by her. She wasn't like any other women I've known before. And,
although she claims to have lived in Pembroke all her life, she has not seen a
camboose shanty before!
Her story was unusual as I was soon to
discover. When I asked her what she was doing out here late at night, she told
me her cousin had taken her out for a walk! All the way out
Then she gingerly pressed the cover back further to read the opening line.
March 15, 1896
The only thing of interest that I did
today was start this new journal.
Tears sprang into her eyes. Over a
hundred and fifteen years ago.
Yet, only a few days ago.
Yesterday? Or was it? No, it couldn't
be! Could it?
Did she ask that out loud? A furtive
glance told her no. "Doris," she finally squeaked out. "May I
borrow this tonight? I'd love to read it."
Doris looked up with sympathy. "I
imagine you're tired. I like to read in bed myself. Take it. Tell me in the
morning if there's anything interesting in there. Ooh, wait until the
Historical Society hears about all of this. We even have a slate and an old ink
well!"
Waneeta rose. "It's all wonderful,
but you're right, I am tired. It's all that work today. I should have your
stamina."
Beaming at the compliment, Doris asked, "Would
you like a cup of tea to take up with you?"
"No thanks. I'll hop into bed. We've
already showered, so I'm ready for it. I hope I can stay awake long enough to
read this."
Upstairs, Waneeta hurried through her
preparations, ignoring the guilt at lying to Doris. But she’d been so anxious
to read Thomas' journal that it seemed the only polite way out.
She sank into bed, and reopened the stiff
book.
March 15 1896
The only thing of interest that I did
today, was start a new journal. And, like most times with a fresh piece of paper,
I feel excited, like something extraordinary will happen. Indeed, the feeling
is so strong as I begin this new book, the words are flowing from the nib of my
pen, because of it.
How eloquent he sounded, Waneeta
thought. Quivering with anticipation, she read on.
The least interesting thing I did was
wash the floor.
She smiled. Thomas was being facetious.
But it was so good to see his handwriting, as if seeing the long script gave a
sense of warmth, of connection.
Good grief, did she really think that
this was her Thomas writing this journal? That would be impossible.
Still entranced, she returned to her
reading.
March 18 1896,
The day started cloudy and cool. Despite
the anticipation I continue to feel, I must say the weather does not appear
conducive to any expectation. To ease my tension, I baked bread and split wood.
If a stranger were to happen by, they'd think I was expecting company.
The pages blurred and shook before her,
forcing Waneeta to set down the book and breathe deeply. She hastily wiped her
eyes before picking up the book again.
I must finish what happened to me today,
although several days have passed since I opened this journal. But how do I
start? I've had such an extraordinary adventure that I find it hard to put on
paper, except to start at the beginning of this odd tale. I did indeed have a
visitor today. Just as I was preparing for bed, I heard a noise outside. I thought
it was the wind, but when I heard a thud against my cabin, I went out to
investigate.
I found a most peculiar woman slumped
against the logs. When I brought her inside, she was unconscious and injured. I
removed the most exceptional garment that I've ever seen from her body, to find
she wore only a pair of leggings and a thin shirt of cotton.
The woman was beautiful. I had a hard
time tearing my eyes from her. When she awoke, I treated her as best that I
could without appearing to be enamored with her. She didn't appear to be
bothered by her attire, although I must say I was.
The woman was an odd sort, but her
loveliness quelled any suspicion I may have had. I didn't think at first, I was
so entranced by her. She wasn't like any other women I've known before. And,
although she claims to have lived in Pembroke all her life, she has not seen a
camboose shanty before!
Her story was unusual as I was soon to
discover. When I asked her what she was doing out here late at night, she told
me her cousin had taken her out for a walk! All the way out
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