Paperquake (14 page)

"And is it—
was
it valuable?" pressed Violet. She felt her sisters' eyes on her, warning her to stop talking. But she couldn't help herself.

Ms. James smiled grimly. "It is indeed. And impossible to replace—
if
the thiefhad got hold of the original. Fortunately we used a facsimile in the exhibit—as we do in many of our exhibits—to guard against the very sort of thing that did, in fact, happen."

"You mean the letter was just a copy?" Violet couldn't believe they'd gone to all this trouble to replace a fake. The letter hadn't looked like a simple photocopy.

"Well, a very artful, professionally done reproduction. The original is safe in our archival vault." Ms. James looked at her watch. "Now, are you girls sure you can get home on your own? The museum will be closing soon. Perhaps I should drive you myself."

"Oh, no—," began Violet. She slipped the ledger into her backpack.

"We'll be fine on our own—," said Jasmine.

"Thank you," said Rose firmly. "But we'll be home in no time."

The girls walked decorously through the lobby, past the gift shop, and out through the exit doors into the early evening dusk. They moved sedately out onto the sidewalk and across the street. Then, out of sight of the museum, they clutched each other, shrieking with laughter and outrage and relief.

"We did it!" Jasmine exulted.

"But it was just a copy all the time!" cried Rose. "As I found out as soon as I was trying to slip your stolen letter back on the desk. A letter was already there—and it looked exactiy like the first one! Another copy. Baby, we should kill you for this."

"Well, how could I have known?" Violet hugged herself defensively. "And don't call me Baby or
I'll
kill
you.
Anyway, it didn't look like a copy, did it? I mean, it looked old. The ink spill was real. And it was in Hal's own handwriting—you saw that for yourself." She hugged herself again to ward off the chill. It was quickly growing dark. The nighttime fog was settling over the bay, enshrouding San Francisco's hills. "Come on," she said, filled with an urgency to be home. "Let's hurry."

They ran to the bus stop and were just in time to catch the bus. As they climbed aboard, Rose turned to Violet with a smirk. "Copy or not, you should have seen how cool I was. Like I'd been a master spy for years. I just crept right up and slid the letter under the desk, up against the wall. It looked like it had just fallen off, somehow."

"They'll know it wasn't really there all the time, though," Jasmine said. "I just hope that Ms. James doesn't put two and two together. You know, the letter reappearing the very same afternoon a girl who nearly fainted—causing a convenient distraction—starts asking questions about old letters!"

"I had to find out where they got Hal's letter from," Violet said defensively. "There may be more."

"Yeah—but what if that historical society place has a whole trunkful of letters from your darling Hal—only off-limits to the public?" teased Jasmine. "What then? Will you go back to your life of crime?"

"Her life of crime and deception," Rose pronounced with relish. "But I'll admit I was impressed with your performance, Vi. You were great, too, Jazz," she added generously. "When I heard the moaning and looked over and saw you proppingupViwith all those people crowding around, well, itseemed, sort of
too
real. Like playing with fire, if you know what I mean."

She and Jasmine exchanged one of their twin looks. "I know," murmured Jasmine. "I thought so, too."

"What?" asked Violet. "What do you know?"

"Oh—" Jasmine tossed back her hair. "Well, pretending like that ... Tempting fate."

Rose frowned at Violet. "You
do
feel all right now, don't you?"

"I'm
fine.
But I'm never going to be a criminal again."

"Even if there are dozens of letters from Hal at the historical society?" pressed Rose.

"Well ... don't tempt me." Violet grinned. "No, my life of crime is over. Well—nearly." She patted her backpack. "Wait till you see what's in the back of this ledger!"

Jasmine and Rose groaned aloud. "Oh no, don't tell me—," began Rose.

"Is it another letter from Hal?" squealed Jasmine.

"No. It looks like more diary entries." She met their incredulous looks triumphantly.

"Well, come on!" cried Rose. "Let's see them."

"Wait a minute. We have to get off here." Violet led them off the bus.

The three girls huddled together while they waited for the train. Violet opened the ledger and leafed through the pages to the first diary entry. Before she could begin reading, the folded paper slipped out and fluttered to the concrete.

"Grab it!" yelled Violet as it drifted toward the BART tracks. Jasmine stepped on it, halting its flight. "Watch out, don't tear it!"

Jasmine unfolded it and studied the page. "It's just an old sketch. Not bad, really. In fact, it looks sort of like that kid we met—Sam. But why would the artist draw lines through his face?"

Rose peered over Jasmine's shoulder as Violet's heart began to pound harder. "Yeah, it makes the guy look like he's standing inside a fence or something. Like he's in a cage."

Violet reached with trembling fingers for the paper. "It's not Sam, and it's not a fence," she whispered, gazing down at the familiar face in wonderment. "It's a grid for a needlepoint pattern."

"How do you know that?" demanded Rose.

"I've seen it before," Violet said. "In a dream." She smoothed the page with her palm and looked up at her sisters. Excitement coursed through her, and a tingle of jubilation. "You know what? I have a feeling this must be Hal."

"That's totally
weird?
" Jasmine squealed.

"Come on, quick," ordered Rose. "Let's read the entries. Maybe they'll explain everything."

Violet tucked the needlepoint pattern into the ledger, then turned the pages until she came to the diary entries at the back. The faded script that at first looked so difficult to decipher seemed to unfold as she went along, as if it were eager to be read.

 

"
January 4, 1906

"
Dear Diary,

"
Well, this is a Ene kettle of fish!

"
As my Christmas gift to Hal, I agreed to apply for the position he'd been after me about, though I did it only to please him, not because I really thought to land the job. But shortly after applying, I had word that I would be hired
and must start immediately. Hal was beside himself with excitement for he wants me here so badly. This is not the sort of work I ever had in mind to do, but I will do it for Hal. With my dear parents gone in last winter's influenza epidemic and no other family to speak of, I am all alone in the world and have to earn my living—at least until I marry.
If
I ever marry. I packed my bags and moved here to Chance Street in time to see in the new year, since I do long to help Hal out in every way I can. It seems my poor charge fell down the cellar stairs before Christmas, and her injuries, along with her weak heart, make her unfit to work in the shop or do housework, and she needs the most tender care. I don't know how well I will suit in the long run, though, never having done this sort of work, and. I cannot teach Jane and Rachel, the little sisters, piano as the last companion, a Miss Abigail Chandler, did, but I can apply compresses to bruises and sit by the bed and read aloud just as well as anyone! I can help with the bookkeeping, too. Mr. Stowe has given me a stack of ledgers and the responsibility of keeping track of the accounts. I hope my talent for mathematics makes me equal to the task. The pay is not much, but I keep reminding myself I am doing this for Hal after he has begged and begged me, though what good it will do me in the end I cannot say. At least V seems friendly and disposed to be agreeable, the neighborhood is pleasant, and I get my room and board for free....
"

 

Violet looked up at her sisters. "I was right. But I can hardly believe it."

"Believe what?" asked Rose.

"Right about what?" asked Jasmine.

Violet's voice held a note of awe. "See what it says here about falling down the cellar stairs? Remember I fell down into the cellar—because
there were no stairs.
And here's more about this person's heart problems—'her weak heart.' I think whoever wrote this diary entry was just starting a job looking after V. I've
got
to find out everything I can about V and Hal. It's not just for my earthquake project, you know. It's way more important than that." Violet turned the page. "Listen, there's more.

 

"Poor thing." Jasmine sighed as the train pulled in. "It sounds like a horrible job."

"That's cool about the dreams coming true," Rose said. "I wish mine would."

Violet held her finger in the ledger to mark the page as the girls filed onto the train and found seats together.

"What does the next entry say?" pressed Jasmine. "There are more, aren't there?"

"Just one more," said Violet, turning the page. She had to raise her voice a little as the train began moving. "The writing is a lot messier in this one. Harder to read.

 

"
February 14, 1906

"
Dear Diary,

"
Valentine's Day, but no flowers for poor old me. Two dozen hothouse roses, though, for V from my own darling. It is nearly midnight now, and soon will be the 15th, just
another ordinary day, and so my pain will ebb. I watch V sleeping Stfully from my place here in the big armchair. She becomes more fragile daily, and the doctors come more often to visit. There's a problem with her heart, I am told, and it seems to be worsening. It's harder for me to keep her comfortable because she wants so much to be useful to her parents and lively with Hal when he comes to visit. Her father said today that he must not visit so often because it excites V and the excitement is not good for her heart. Still, they will write to each other. That is—I write the love notes she dictates. It is sometimes more than I can bear!

"
She asked me to draw a picture of Hal, and so I did. A very good likeness, if I do say so myself. She then had me pencil in
a
grid across the sketch and transfer it to muslin so she could make a needlepoint pillow cover. 'So I can sleep with Hal's cheek pressed against my own,' she murmured. No doubt I will find it hard not to seize said pillow and press it instead right over her face as she sleeps!

"
Jesting aside—and it is really most horrible of me to joke at all when Vis truly so ill—the needlework seems to be all that engages V these days. I am glad to see her happily occupied, stitching Hal's hair or dark eyebrows onto cloth. While she is busy, she doesn't chatter so much. Really, her chattering is making me nervous. She says very strange things now and has nightmares nearly every night that disturb our sleep. She shouts about bridges and cries out that the children need help, and we must save the little girl ... I ask her what bridge? What children? What girl? But she cannot tell me.