The Wish Collector
Page 56

“Hmm,” he said. “That is a challenge. If he doesn’t have faith in himself, he’s going to find it difficult to have faith in you. He’ll hurt you if you let him.”
“I . . . I know, Dad. That’s what I’m worried about.”
“So don’t let him.”
Clara let out a tearful laugh. Her sweet dad had so much faith in her, he thought she could do anything, convince anyone, rule the world. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too. You’re extraordinary, Tiny Dancer. And that young man of yours must be extraordinary in many ways too if he’s won your heart.”
“He is. He really is. I wish so much you could meet him.”
“Me, too. I miss you, sweetheart.” There was a short pause. “Do you want to go to the zoo tomorrow? I know you love the giraffes, Tiny Dancer.”
Clara’s heart sank, pain ricocheting through her. “Yes, Dad,” she said on a whispery breath. “I’d like that.”
She heard some shuffling sounds and then it was Mrs. Lovett’s voice on the phone. “Sorry, dear. I was hoping he’d be with you longer than that.”
A tear ran down Clara’s cheek and she swiped at it as she smiled. Happiness mingled with sadness and it was almost too much to bear. “It’s okay, Mrs. Lovett. I’m so grateful for those few minutes. Thank you for calling me.”
“Of course, dear. You be well.”
She hung up the phone and sat on her couch for a few minutes longer, a smile on her lips as several more tears ran down her cheeks.
“I’ll miss you,” she said to herself, her voice echoing back to her in the small, underground space. How many more moments like tonight would she get? How long until he didn’t remember her at all?
After a minute she got up and went outside. She needed to feel the breeze on her face, to look at the sky and remind herself there was beauty and joy and magic and mystery in this great wide world, and she wouldn’t ever stop remembering that even when she was hurting. Especially then.
It was a beautiful night, clear and quiet, a million shards of diamond stars scattered across the sky.
Clara looked down the block toward Mrs. Guillot’s but her porch light was off and there was no light coming from the front room of her house either.
She remembered back to the moment several days before when she’d seen Jonah on the news as she sat in Mrs. Guillot’s and a smile played at her lips. Jonah.
Clara leaned back against the brick next to her door.
He must be extraordinary in many ways if he’s won your heart, Tiny Dancer.
Oh yes.
As she stared in the direction of Mrs. Guillot’s porch, the place where she’d first heard about Windisle Plantation, about Angelina Loreaux, her tired, emotionally taxed mind began drifting. It felt good to allow her thoughts to float away, to swirl around, weightless.
Her experiences, the intriguing stories and bits of information she’d received over the past few months mixed together and she let it, not stopping to examine any of it, simply letting the words and memories tumble aimlessly inside of her brain . . . Angelina and John, she and Jonah, the mystery, the curse, the riddle . . .
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
I just regret. I've made a career of it, here, behind this wall.
If Angelina lingers, she lingers for him. For the soldier man.
Vague knowledge drifted just out of her reach, as nebulous as early morning fog. She let it go, not attempting to grasp it . . .
The note. John's betrayal . . .
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
My mama, she didn't know how to read, but oh, did she know how to sing.
Clara’s eyes widened as she stood up straight, blinking into the quiet street in front of her. She didn’t know how to read. Mrs. Guillot’s mama hadn’t known how to read . . .
Clara pulled out her phone, dialing Jonah’s number.
“Clara.”
“Jonah, hi.”
“Hey, what’s wrong? You sound upset.”
Clara shook her head. “No, no. I mean, I talked to my father, but it was wonderful. It made me sad, too, but, no, the reason I’m calling is, how common do you think it was for slaves to know how to read?"
"Read? I . . . I guess . . . rare. Why?"
Clara paced, something taking shape in her mind, information repeating, forming. "John's family delivered the note he wrote to Angelina, right?"
"From what I know."
"Would his family have approved of him and Angelina? A wealthy Southern family?"
"I . . ." He paused for a long moment, obviously thinking. "No."
"Right? And how likely do you think it was that Angelina knew how to read?"
He was silent again. "Probably not very likely."
"But what if . . . Oh my God, Jonah. What if they lied about what his letter said? She wouldn't know, would she?"
Excitement made Clara’s heart beat faster. She felt it in her gut. She was right about this.
"You could be right. But how would it ever be proven?"
"The note. We need the note."
"The note's long gone, Clara. No one's ever found it. If his family did lie about what it said, they probably took it with them."
Clara’s excitement dipped and her shoulders sagged. "But they might have left it, thinking it wouldn't matter since she couldn't read it, and no one she was close to could read it either . . ."
“They might have, but if they did, Angelina herself probably disposed of it. Believe me, if that thing existed, it would have been in my brother’s file.”
Crap. Clara let out a disappointed sigh. “You’re probably right.” Still, the idea that she’d connected several of the puzzle pieces persisted. Maybe it couldn’t ever be proven, but Clara believed she was right, and the possibility was both exciting and so horribly tragic. They’d lied to Angelina, stealing every last piece of her hope. Had they planned on blackmailing John into marrying Astrid when he arrived home from the war with a threat to Angelina’s safety? Her life? Oh how easy that would have been. A sharp pang tore through Clara’s heart.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll dig through the attic a little bit tomorrow, okay? See what I can find.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do just about anything for you.” His voice was suddenly gritty, his tone so serious it made Clara’s breath catch.
Just about. She made note of the caveat, but happiness infused her anyway. She’d received a maybe from him the night before when she’d asked about candlelight. Maybe . . . Such a beautiful word when previously it had always been no and never.
“Maybe you could come over tomorrow night. I don’t have to get up early the next morning.”
Although a little lost sleep was worth it to Clara, she did have early practice the next day and the performance season was drawing so close. She needed to be at her best at rehearsal. “I’d . . . I’d leave the lights off.”
Jonah hesitated for only a moment. “No, Clara, I don’t think so. Not yet.”
The stab of disappointment that hit Clara was very small and fleeting. Truthfully, she just wanted to see him. Or, well, feel him. She just wanted to be with him, and if that meant she only went to him for a while, that was okay. “I understand, Jonah.”
She heard the smile in his voice as he asked her about her day and they began to speak of both mundane and important things. The things couples spoke of. The small details of their lives that were only shared with each other.
She told Jonah about her conversation with her father, and he sounded both happy and sad for her. Clara stared at the darkness of the sky, closing her eyes as her wish collector’s velvety voice filled her ear and her heart. Although somewhere in the back of her mind, that ticking grew louder, stronger, more insistent.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Did you order something?” Myrtle asked. “This was in your PO box.”
Jonah turned toward her where he stood at the sink, rinsing his dishes from lunch. Myrtle placed a small package on the counter as Jonah dried his hands. He peered at the label. The item had come from somewhere in Kansas. Ah, the charger he’d ordered from eBay. “Yeah. Thanks.”