Chapter 3
Baltimore, Maryland - December 1873
Violette, curled up in the window seat, as she poured over her father's journal by flickering candlelight. Hours had bled into one another, the pages turning at a frantic pace fueled by a desperate need to understand the man she barely knew.
Months had passed since he'd first encountered the woman by the creek, their secret meetings documented in a tender account. Violette's heart ached as she read his yearning for a future together, dreams of marriage and a family.
This was a father unlike any she had known. Passionate. Vulnerable. Alive with a zest for life that seemed to have vanished before her eyes. The reserved, stoic man who had raised her felt like a stranger in comparison. Perhaps, she thought, his grief over her mother's passing wasn't the only reason for his emotional withdrawal. Was there a part of him forever bound to the woman by the creek, a secret love story buried beneath years of silence?
A floorboard creaked in the hallway. Startled, Violette glanced up as the door creaked open a sliver.
"Vee, are you ever going to sleep?" Gabrielle asked softly.
Violette forced a smile. "Just a few more entries," she promised, her voice hoarse.
"Your tutor is coming tomorrow." Gabrielle sighed, a worried glint in her eyes.
"I know. I'll get some sleep in a couple of minutes. Promise."
With a gentle smile, Gabrielle closed the door. "Sweet dreams," she whispered.
Violette propped a pillow behind her back, seeking comfort in the worn fabric. But sleep remained elusive. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
April 18, 1841
It's a constant ache, this silence between us. We share stolen moments, but the words I yearn to say are unspoken because I lack the language to express them fully. It's been too long since I saw her face by the creek. Has she fallen ill? The worry gnaws at me.
I don't even know how to write her name in my own tongue, let alone hers. So, I will call her beautiful, wondrous, my love. Her long black hair flows like a raven's wing, framing eyes that hold the rich depths of earth. Her touch, even the most fleeting, sends a thrill through me.
I miss her voice, her laughter, the warmth of her presence like a fire on a cold night. I pray she is well, and soon I will see her once more. Until then, she fills my thoughts and dreams.
Violette's brow furrowed as she turned the pages, the frustration in her father's writing mirroring her own. Week after agonizing week, entries chronicled his longing, the absence of his "beautiful, wondrous" love a gaping hole by the creek. A pang of sympathy echoed within her. This woman, whoever she was, had clearly changed her mind. Yet, the raw pain that bled through his words was palpable. His usually neat script devolved into a frantic scrawl at times, the urgency and despair was obvious.
Skipping ahead, searching for legible passages, she finally stumbled upon a shift. The writing steadied, the words forming a bittersweet narrative. He described their night of intimacy, a union long desired and finally achieved. Violette skimmed those details with a blush creeping up her cheeks – some boundaries even a curious daughter wouldn't cross. But a genuine smile touched her lips. He was happy again, a flicker of the vibrant man in the journal rekindled. The woman, it seemed, had returned.
Carefully, she closed the leather-bound book, resting it on her chest. She was nearing the end, and a strange sense of possessiveness welled within her. This man, passionate, yearning, a stranger to her reality – she wanted to hold onto him for just a while longer. The ache for "what if" intensified.
Why weren't there more journals? This man, brimming with life, was nothing like the distant figure who haunted the library, drowning his sorrows in drink. A fierce longing bloomed – to know this man, to understand the heartbreak that followed, the reason their paths diverged.
Tomorrow, she vowed, she would find the answer. What became of the woman by the creek? Why did their love story end before it truly began? The weight of unanswered questions pressed down on her, fueling a determination to unravel the mysteries buried within these faded pages.