China hated her name, hated having the same name as a country. A country who's heritage she didn't even share. She hated the way she looked even more. Plain, plain brown hair, plain nonstriking features, plain figure.
If she disappeared she doubted anyone would even notice for months. She could hear it now, "Hey what happened to that plain girl? You know the one named after Korea or something."
China lay on her bed feeling sorry for herself as usual. It was summer and she was 17, she should be out having fun. This was her last year as a carefree teenager. There should be parties, swimming at the lake, cookouts, camp outs.
Instead she was here in this horrid old house with a grandmother she didn't really know. Her friends, what few she had, a million miles away. It wasn't fair! Why did her parents have to die in that stupid car accident!
Tears threatening to spill, China turned on her side and stared at the wall. I miss them so much. I wish I had died with them, she thought.
Sunken deep in her own misery, China didn't realize that someone else was in the room at first. A tiny noise alerted her, pulse leaping she rolled over. "Grandmother!" she grumped. "You scared me, don't you ever knock?"
A small pang of regret flashed through her at the hurt look on her grandmother's face.
"I thought you could help me out," her grandmother said softly. "I have been meaning to clean out the attic for a long time, but it is so hard for me to climb the stairs now days." she faltered. "Well I was hoping you would do me the favor of doing the job for me." she finished with a rush seeing the frown start to form on China's face.
Oh great, thought China. The perfect rotten end to the perfectly rotten summer, sitting in a hot, dusty, smelly old attic for weeks.
Then looking at the hopeful look on her grandmother's face, she sighed. "Sure grandmother, I don't have anything else to do. Might as well make myself useful, right?"
With a sad, gentle smile her grandmother touched her cheek. "You won't always feel this way. I promise you that." Leaning down she kissed China's forehead and then left the room.
China blinked away the tears that threatened to fall again and climbed to her feet with a sigh. Might as well get started, instead of laying here and feeling sorry for herself.
The door at the end of the hallway opened with a creak, it didn't look like it had been opened in years. Not the most promising of starts, China groused to herself. The attic is probably full of bats, rats and spiders. Shuddering slightly, she scolded herself. Well that was a stupid thought, now you are going to be all freaked out.
Dust puffed into the air with each step of the steep stairway she climbed. Sneezing about 3 times, she was slightly breathless by the time she reached the top. Ugh, this was horrible already, she groaned under her breath. What was she going to do for the weeks it would take to clean this place up?
Feeling along the wall, she found the light switch. One pathetic little bulb, dimly lit the attic. Oh my god, she thought. I won't even be able to see the bats, rats and spiders in here!
She felt the tears start again. It wasn't fair! What had she ever done to deserve this? Scrubbing at her eyes furiously, stopping the tears before they started, she looked around the attic. Faintly at the far end she could see a line of light. Maybe that was a window.
Winding her way through a maze of chests, boxes and old furniture, she reached the window. It was closed and shutters covered the outside. Tugging and straining, she finally lifted the sill and swung open the shutters.
Discarded furniture, toys, boxes, crates, trunks and things she couldn't identify were scattered around the attic.
I don't even know where to start on this mess, she thought as she plopped down on a box sending a cloud of dust into the air. After a coughing, sneezing fit she decided. First thing is to get rid of most of this dust!
Gathering a duster, broom, dustpan, assorted rags and a bucket of water, she toted them back up the stairs. Tackling the job with a vengeance, 2 hours later, most of the dust was gone.
Wiping the dust from an old rocking chair, China sighed and flopped down into it. Rocking slightly, her eyes drifted across the room. Piles of boxes lay here and there; some had clothes poking out in spots. Those might be funny to look through she thought; I wonder how old they are.
Then she noticed an old roll top desk in the corner. Curiosity aroused, she walked over and lifted the top. Little cubbyholes were filled with papers, most seemed to be receipts. Along one side and the center, were several drawers.
Opening them she found an assortment of items, a ruler, a rubbery eraser, pens with the weird points they used to use, and a small capped bottle.
She was shutting the bottom drawer when something caught her eye. A small piece of paper seemed to be sticking up on the side. Pulling the drawer all the way out, she lifted it above her. There was no paper caught underneath. Puzzled she examined the drawer closer, something was not quite right about it.
The inside was ordinary looking, held about 6 pencils and was about 3 inches deep. With a gasp she turned the drawer sideways, 3 inches? But the outside of the box looked like it was about 5 inches deep.
Wow, she thought. I bet it has a secret compartment just like in the movies. Excitement rippled through her as she turned it all around trying to find a way to open the false bottom she was convinced existed.
Pushing and poking, she was unsuccessful until she got to the left back corner of the drawer. Pushing down, she was rewarded with the bottom lifting up slightly. Not able to get her fingers into the gap, she let it drop back down. A quick search of the desk offered up the ruler. I think that might work, she thought excitedly.
As she lifted the bottom of the drawer out, she held her breath in anticipation. Would there be treasure inside, secret papers, a mystery?
In the bottom of the drawer lay a book, a photograph and a couple of letters tied with a red ribbon.
Excited and curious, she gathered the items and sat back down in the rocking chair to read them. A quick glance in the book revealed it to be a dairy of China Elizabeth Howell. She has the same name as me, she thought excitedly. The picture was of a handsome unsmiling young man in a military uniform. The letters were addressed to China, from a Patrick Bran O'Shea.
Deciding to read the diary first, she set the picture and letters down on a box next to the chair and opened the diary.
21 June, 1863
I have decided to start this new diary. Francis is too curious and must know everything that is happening, so I write this in secret and will hide it faithfully.
I do not know what to do. P has enlisted in the army and will be leaving with his regiment on the next week ending. Oh how I cried and begged him to reconsider when he announced his enlisting. But my dear P is determined to become worthy in my fathers eyes. No one must know of us, though Francis seems to be suspicious.
23 June, 1863
Oh Diary, I have done something terrible. At least the world will think it is terrible. I cannot but help thinking that what happened was meant to be, that god will forgive me. I was so suddenly sure that my dear P was never going to come home from the war. How I shudder to think of it even now. I saw him fall dear diary, the blood, oh the blood. Father calls my visions hysterics, mother says they are just fancy's of my imagination. But I know the truth, they are more than that. I can some times see what is to come. How I wish I could change what is to be. P would not listen to me, thinking me just a frightened goose. I flung myself upon him, begging him to no avail. He held me, wiped away my tears, whispering words of love in my ear. I blush now to think of how I shamefully clung to him. I will not say more of what I did, except that the future is in fates hands now.
29 June, 1863
Tonight P became full of regret and blame, he raged against himself saying he was a cad, a scoundrel taking advantage of an innocent. I became enraged then also, was I of so little intelligence that I did not know the consequences of my own actions? In my anger I slapped him, I am so ashamed of it now. How could I become so angry as to lash out at him, when I know deep in my heart that I will be loosing him forever? I cried then, dear diary and begged his forgiveness. Then we clung together one last time. Afterward I begged him to not regret our short time together or the lack of a marriage. In my heart he and I are as one, I cannot believe that we will burn in hell for our love. He will be leaving on the morrow. My heart is breaking, dear diary; never again will my eyes rest upon his handsome face.
30 June, 1863
P has gone, taking my heart and love with him. I smiled through my tears and kissed him goodbye. Then I ran to the woods and cried for hours. I fell asleep there and once again a vision came to me. I was holding a sweet baby, happy yet sad at the same time. I woke up then, dear diary. I know what this means and I will have no regrets, no shame. Father will rage and threaten; mother will cry and blame herself. If I must leave here to raise my child in love and peace then I will do so.
17 July, 1863
I now know the vision was true. I have begun to be sick in the mornings. I am trying to hide it for now, but I have caught Francis looking at e with puzzlement. She knows something is wrong, but doesn't know what it is. I will not be able to hide this for very long.
22 July, 1863
I have told mother that I fear I have developed a stomach sickness. She does not suspect the truth so far, but it is only a matter of time. I do not like having to lie to her, but I need to decide what I am to do. Father is away on business so I do not have to worry about him, but Francis will be a problem.
11 August, 1863
I have received a letter from dear P, he is well. I don't know if I should tell him or not. I do not want him to get upset and then careless, but I know what is to come and I do want him to know before he dies. What a horrible thing to have to decide. I cannot bear to tell him now. But it must be soon I know.
27 August, 1863
Father has returned just in time for my birthday. I am glad for the distraction for mother was starting to look at me with an odd expression. I am sure she is beginning to suspect also. Francis has begun asking me questions about P, I am sure she knows now. It seems so strange, to be 17 now and about to be a mother. I feel so old at times, then other times I feel as if a child again afraid of the dark.
4 September, 1863
Last night I had the sudden feeling that I must not wait any longer to tell P. What a hard letter that was to write. I had to pretend that we have a future together, that he will see his child. That we will be a family as soon as he returns. As soon as he returns. I can barely write those words, already an empty hole has formed in my heart. Some days I feel I can not bear this any longer, but I know I must. This child is a gift, to not only me but to P also. Something of him will be left in this world after he is gone.
19 September, 1863
Oh diary, it has happened. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of guns. I knew when I woke up that it was a dream, a horrible real dream. I pray that my letter reached P in time. That he knew of our child before this terrible day.
8 October, 1863
I have received a letter from a Dr Charles Blake, he is the surgeon that took care of my dear P. He writes that P was brought into the hospital tent with a wound most severe. He spoke to the kind Dr when he was made comfortable, showed him the letter that he had received barely that morning. He spoke in pride, love and regret that he leaves me in such straights. He included part of a letter that P had started to write, but was never to finish. He fell in the Chickamauga campaign, in the retreat he bravely held off enemy troops and died a hero. I expected nothing less from my dear P.
I do not understand myself some times, dear diary. I sit here reading the letters and my tears do not fall. Is it because I knew this was to come, knew when it happened? A heaviness has settled over me, but a strange calmness also. I feel that it is now time to tell mother, discuss when and how to tell father.
22 October, 1863
Mother has gone to father and they have made a decision. I will be going west to Montana to live with my great aunt, my grandmother's younger sister. She married but never had any children, is widowed now. I am to be grateful that she has agreed to allow me to live in relative comfort there. It will be made known that I am a young widow of the war, whisked away from the tragedy to ease my mind. Father raged and now will not speak to me, mother is desolate and Francis creeps about pale and silent. Yet I will not be made to feel regret. I shall have part of my beloved Patrick to love and treasure.
I have decided to close this diary here and start a new one, as I start a new life. Proudly do I take the name Mrs. Patrick Bran O'Shea, though it is not rightly mine to take. I pray that god will forgive me this further wrong, that my and Patrick's child may live without shame.
China let the diary drop from her hand, and then picked up the letters. Hesitantly, she pulled on the ribbon which crackled stiffly with age, then opened the top letter.
Patrick Bran O'Shea
2 August, 1863
My Dearest China,
I pray that my letter finds you and your family well. We have arrived in Tennessee, the heat here is great. The food is passable; the nights are cold and lonely. How I long to see your face again, to feel the soft silk of your hair as it tumbles down your back. I long to stroll through the woods as we often did. I pray you have faith that I will come home as soon as I may. Then we will be wed, all your father's protests laid to rest. I must rush this letter as the courier will be leaving anon. Know that all my heart belongs to you and soon we will be together.
Faithful in love,
Patrick O'Shea
China picked up the second letter. It was written by a Dr Charles Blake, the Dr mentioned in the dairy she realized.
Dr Charles Blake
September the 20th, 1863
Dear Miss Howell,
It is with regret that I inform you of the death of Cpl Patrick Bran O'Shea. Cpl O'Shea died during the night of 19 September; he died a hero covering the retreat of the company during the Chickamauga Campaign. I beg your forgiveness Miss Howell, but Cpl O'Shea asked me to write to you. He wished me to tell you that your last letter to him gave him such happiness as you can not imagine. He asked me to tell you to not mourn long as the child will have need of a father. I am afraid then, that he slipped into unconsciousness not to arouse again until the end. I beg your forgiveness one last time as I tell you moments before he slipped away, he did awake once more, whispered your name, smiled then closed his eyes forever. I do not make it a habit of writing to the families of our fallen soldiers, there are so many of them in war. But the love and devotion that shown in the eyes of Cpl O'Shea moved me as seldom I have been moved before. I have included an unfinished letter to you, which was found inside his coat. God bless you and give you a long life.
With utmost sincerity,
Dr. Charles Blake MD
China carefully set the letter down in her lap. Blinking away the gathering tears, she picked up the final letter.
19 September, 1863
My dearest China,
How do I tell you of the joy that filled my heart when I read your letter? A child, our child. How I long to be there by your side, to take your hand to love forever. I have hope that this war will be a short one, that brother will cease fighting brother and we shall be one again. That soon I shall be with you as husband, to become a family as I so much desire. I do feel deep regret dear China at the circumstance that I have left you in. I pray that your family will have it in their hearts to forgive us, and to love my child as their own. China my love, please keep hope in your heart. I swear that one day we will be a family, that you will be my wife. We will have many more children a house full if you wish. Oh my heart is about to burst with pride, it matters not whether it be boy or girl. My love for you and our child will stand firm and stand the test of time. I must go now; I will continue this letter at a later time.
There the letter ended, time ran out and no more was written. Tears spilled down her cheeks as China picked up the picture. Written on the back was, Patrick Bran O'Shea. Husband of my heart.
Lifting the picture closer, China gazed at it emotions swelling inside her. How horribly sad and beautiful at the same time she thought. The late afternoon sunlight drifted further across the floor unseen as she gazed into Patrick's eyes, as if trying to understand some deep mystery.
China drifted into sleep, lulled by the warmth of the late afternoon sun. The letters and diary slipped from her lap as she began to shift and murmur in her sleep.
China's eyes opened, her brow furrowed as she heard the sound of someone in pain, someone afraid. Her eyes traveled around the room, confusion growing by the minute.
Where was she? What was going on? She sat in the rocking chair still, but the room had completely changed. Now the walls were logs, the other furniture in the room was rustic in design. A fire crackled in a large rock covered fireplace, struggling to push the chill from the room. On a table stood an old fashioned oil lamp, a thin stream of smoke floating toward the ceiling.
A sudden cry snapped China's head around, it came from above her. Now she noticed a steep wooden staircase leading up. Curiosity overcame her and she climbed the staircase to a narrow hall with two doors leading off it. The doors were closed, but she could hear crying and moaning coming from the room on the right.
China bit her lip as she reached cautiously for the doorknob. The door suddenly swung open making her gasp and jump backward.
A stern looking woman bustled from the room and past China as if she were not there. She was dressed in a floor length dress to China's shocked surprise, her hair in a bun on the top of her head. China felt dizzy, her stomach churned and she thought she would be sick. She didn't understand what was going on.
"Patrick!" cried a woman's voice in pain and terror. "Help me, where are you? I can't see you."
China's eyes grew huge as she began to realize where she was. But that was impossible, things like this only happened in movies.
Trembling in fear and wonder, she crept into the room. A pregnant woman lay upon a bed, thrashing in pain and fear.
China inhaled with a sharp gasp. She looks like me, she thought. The room spun around her for a moment as these strange events overwhelmed her. Then the woman cried out again and China stepped toward her. Their eyes met and the woman's opened wide in wonder.
The older woman hurried into the room, a kettle of hot water and clothes in her arms. "Now missy," she said forcibly. "You will calm down at once. You are not doing the baby any good with this carrying on. You are not the first woman to bring a child into this world."
But the woman was already calming down, she had locked eyes with China and a small smile had graced her lips.
China realized that the other woman could not see her, when she turned and almost walked through her. Her pulse raced in panic for several minutes. This must be a dream she finally decided, I wanted to know what had happened and now I am dreaming it. Pleased with herself, she smiled reassuringly at the other China.
It must have been hours that she was there, watching the birth. It seemed so real, the colors, the smells, and the feel of the cloth curtains she stood next to. She was gazing dreamily out of the window, when sharp words snapped her head around.
"Now missy, you need to push." the older woman growled. "The child is ready to come and you are almost done. Just a little bit more. There you go." Her voice softened as she lifted a squirming baby into the air. "Ah she is a beautiful little girl you have, missy." Deftly she cleaned the squalling baby, wrapped her in some blankets and handed her to her mother.
The mother hugged her baby close, whispering words of love and comfort. Then as the baby calmed, she looked again at china, a smile spreading across her face. Then suddenly a look of wonder again filled her eyes as she looked over China's shoulder.
China spun around, and then stopped in shock. The man from the photo stood behind her. His face glowed with the love he looked upon his family with. Her hands pressed over her mouth in emotion, China watched as he approached the bed, bent down and kissed the mother and daughter. She backed away, embarrassed to be intruding on such an intimate moment.
The mother looked up at her movement and held out a hand. "Please do not go yet." she said softly. "I don't know who you are, but you have given me a gift that I will treasure all the rest of my life. For it must have been you, which brought my Patrick back to see his daughter." She stopped for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. She turned and looked at Patrick with such love, that her eyes seemed to blaze and light up the room with it. "I will remember this and thank you always."
Patrick kissed her again, and then reached into a pocket. "My love," his surprisingly soft voice said with an Irish brogue. "I was not able to keep my promise to you in life. Please take this now in love and honor." He pulled a simple golden ring from his pocket and placed it upon her finger.
China turned away the tears falling freely down her cheeks. Emotion overwhelming her, she suddenly felt herself falling, a roaring noise echoing in her ears.
China's whole body jumped, her heart pounding, pulse racing through her veins. She looked around and realized that she was back in the attic, back in the rocking chair. She leaned back again, heart and pulse slowing as she calmed. So it was only a dream, she thought disappointment making her frown. It seemed so real, but how could she have even thought it was real?
With a snort at her foolishness, she reached down to pick up the letters and froze. There at her feet was a golden ring gleaming in the last of the sunlight, almost seeming to glow on its own.
With a trembling hand she reached down to pick it up. It was a plain gold ring, nothing unusual about it, she thought. It probably dropped out of one of the other boxes and I just didn't notice it. With a shaky laugh, she turned the ring in her fingers. Then she saw it, an inscription on the inside of the ring. To my Darling China, wife of my heart, forever more.
The ring fell from her suddenly numb fingers and rolled across the floor, coming to rest at the door. It couldn't be, but it was. A rush of joy swept through her then, lifting the weight that had settled on her since her parents deaths. With a laugh of pure joy, she picked up the ring again. Tying it to the letters with the ribbon, she carefully placed them back in the secret compartment along with the diary and photo.
"Goodbye China and Patrick." she said softly. "I know that you are together and happy at last. And maybe some day I will see you again."
Closing the drawer with reverence, she turned off the light and raced down the stairs to give her startled grandmother a hug.
