“No, no, do not fret. I mean only should a dire time arise. Know that there are certain secrets I would never trust to anyone, not even your mother. But here, within this cabin, lie the answers.”
He spoke slowly, and yet it made little sense.
“The answers to what questions?” she pressed.
“Oh dear Charity, perhaps you are still too young to comprehend. Pray do not misread me; I meant to raise no alarm. Merely, should you find yourself at a crossroads, come here, and you shall discover the answers.” He clasped his hands together. “Well, I believe it is time we prepared some nourishment, is it not? I find myself rather famished.”
Though she couldn’t quite fathom how she could eat after her father’s unnerving declaration, by the time he retrieved supplies from the ladder, her stomach rumbled. As they shared a simple meal, she’d almost succeeded in putting aside her father’s peculiar warning, determined to focus on the moment they were sharing.
Yet it remained in the back of her mind, and she already knew that one day in the future, this day and the events associated with it would come to mean something rather profound.
CHAPTER34
Charity
Charity took a deep breath as her eyes opened once more. It seemed as though she had traversed through time itself, yet she was certain that this was the right place. The memory of their afternoon here was vivid once more, though she had not thought of it in a long time.
Go to the spot where eight legs once danced,
Where rain poured down on the sunniest of days
And led one to the secret haven.
Where honey dripped from the tree, yet no bees were near.
This was indeed the right spot.
She recalled the dance she had shared with her father right in this very place, with Ambrose doing his version of a dance. The rain had begun to fall amidst a sunny day. But honey? What had her father meant by that? Or had it simply slipped from her mind?
No matter; she knew her destination. She remounted her horse and rode toward the cabin, which soon came into her view. It looked abandoned, clearly no one had been here since her father’s death as the hedges were overgrown.
On her arrival, she found the door securely locked. She ambled around the cabin, past the horse she had tethered to the hitching post, yet found no way in. What was she overlooking? Her gaze fell on the letter, and her eyes lingered on the passage concerning the honey from the tree.
What did you mean by this, Father?
Then suddenly, it dawned on her. On their departure from the cabin that very afternoon, she and her father had stepped out, and she’d instantly spotted what she’d thought was honey on a tree. Eagerly, she had scampered over, only to halt in fear of the bees. However, her father had quickly reassured her, explaining that what she’d seen was not honey, but sap.
Almost at once, she located the tree in question. Approaching it, she realized it was dead, with a hollow in its center where lightning had struck. She narrowed her eyes and peered into the cavity. Could it be?
With resolve, she thrust her hand into the hole, bracing herself for the bite of whatever resided within, and then she felt it. Not an animal looking to bite her in defense of its home, but a small box. She opened it at once and found a brass key.
Oh Father…always a riddler.
Hastily, she returned to the cabin, inserted the key into the lock, and the door swung open with a creak as if it had not been oiled in many moons. Dust motes danced on the sunbeams streaming through the window.
She surveyed the room for a moment, closing her eyes; she could still detect the lingering scent of her father—or perhaps it was merely her imagination.
Charity knew there was but one place he would have left something for her discovery—the cabinet that served as a larder. Hastily, she threw it open, ignoring the multitude of mason jars and other items that spoke of her father’s plan.
She pushed them aside, scrutinizing the upper and lower shelves, but found naught of significance.
Unsure of her next course, she once again plunged her hand into the dark, feeling about. On the third shelf down, concealed behind a few jars of jam, she encountered something hard—another box. She extracted it and carried it to the small table by the window.
This had to be it.
Her heart raced. The lock had a numerical combination, and she knew precisely the digits to enter: 12—her birth date, 19—her sister’s, and 23—her mother’s. The little box opened with a soft click, revealing a binder.
“Perdition!”
