Without thinking, I opened the door easily and slipped inside. It was dark and hung heavy with the scent of mold. A naked twin mattress and two dog beds occupied one corner, the other a small cooktop and a stack of boxes and personal things piled on top of an out of use toilet. I cringed at the starkness of the living quarters, wondering why he preferred to stay in this shed rather than within the warmth of Leith’s walls. A pile of scratchy wool blankets was stacked in one corner, and the only object that hung on the walls was a shadowbox with military mementos and badges inside it.
I turned to the stack of boxes, unsure what I was looking for in Keats’s things. Surely the key to my great-aunt’s vanishing was not in these boxes, but still, something told me to keep looking.
I heard a soft whistle, and a second after that, Keats was shuffling inside the small room. I tucked myself against the corner of the wall, hiding myself behind the stack of boxes and remaining so still I failed to breathe. My fingertips worked the tiny amethyst gem in my pocket, worrying it as if I rubbed its faceted surfaces enough, it might transport me out of danger like Dorothy’s ruby-red shoes.
The dogs stumbled in then, both with their eyes on the corner of the room, obviously the scent of me clinging to the air. They’d pegged me the moment they stepped in, but they were so used to me lingering around Leith they paid me no mind. Keats hunched over a duffel bag that had previously been stashed under the frame of his bed. I watched quietly, praying he would find whatever he was looking for and leave soon, when my eyes trained again on the shadowbox over his shoulder. One badge in shades of red and white was fringed in gold and embroidered with the words33rd Infantry.My heart caught in my throat as the number came back to me. Where had I heard that before? I’d read so much and heard so many stories from Alder and Harris, was this important? Or just something else my mind was lingering on needlessly?
Keats seemed suddenly aware of something amiss, casting a glance in the corner I was hiding in. He zipped his duffel, stashing it under the bed and advancing toward the opposite corner of the room where I stood. He paused for a moment, sniffed once just like one of the dogs would do, and then was distracted by the bang of a door outside. My eyes shot out the window to find Alder, bow and arrow flung over his back and walking toward Keats’s quarters.
“Heathcliff, Tennyson, let’s go.”
Keats slapped his thigh softly, and the two wolfhounds stood and ambled out behind him. I sighed, slipping away from my hiding spot as soon as the door had closed behind them. I bumped into one of the boxes of items, the gem that I’d still held clutched in my fingers falling unceremoniously to the floor and cleaving in two perfect pieces.
“Shit,” I breathed, dropping to my knees and palming both halves in my hand. “Oh no. No.Shit, shit, shit!”
I heard Keats’s gravelly voice outside of the shed, a reminder that I still wasn’t in the clear. I pocketed my precious broken amethyst and waited, watching as Keats’s and Alder’s side-by-side forms vanished farther away in the distance.
I turned to push myself off the floor and bumped into a tower of boxes. A shoebox fell, raining envelopes written in longhand all over my head. I groaned, swiping them all into my hands quickly before moving to the doorway. I stepped outside into the sun, the few stray rays beaming through the clouds and flooding Keats’s cottage in brilliant warmth. I basked in it for a moment, cherishing the remains of it on my cheeks before I crossed into the shadow of Leith and slipped along the opposite edge of the property that they’d taken.
Lost to the shadows again.
I angled my way toward the ruins of the abbey, darting between the gravestones until I reached the winding stone stairs. They crumbled before they reached their destination, seemingly disappearing into the clouds. I climbed the first six, then planted myself against the weathered stone and unfolded the small stack of envelopes onto the step in front of me. I arranged the letters according to tiny dates written in longhand at the top. I slipped the first envelope open, this one dated March. I considered whether it was my business to read further, but then realized I was willing to read anything if I thought it could get me one step closer to the truth of what had happened to my great-aunt.
Emotion filled my limbs with lead as I fought to choke down tears. I’d crossed an ocean in search of answers. I slept each night at the top of a keep in a dilapidated old manor house that lived and breathed as if it had its own heartbeat. I wanted the answers that Leith Hall held in its walls. I wanted the truth.
I swallowed, turning back to the letters and reading each of them, line for line.
Isle of Mull, Scotland
My Dearest Fawn,
We landed on Mull just this evening.
It’s freezing cold, and the locals have frosty attitudes to match. It feels like home.
The only thing that’s missing is you.
I’ve been told we’ll camp here the fortnight as we wait for more to join our ranks. The ground is wet, and the food is already being rationed as we await another delivery from the mainland.
You dreamed of leaving Skye one day. So far, I wish I hadn’t.
Duty calls all of us here, from warring enemies to brothers-in-arms.
And speaking of arms, we’ve been told ours are little match for the ones that are aimed for our chests. Many of the men are practicing hand-to-hand combat to prepare for the worst, but I plan to maintain distance and use my skill with the arrow to land deadly strikes and defend what’s ours.
We’re told duty and honor and freedom are why we are here, but the valor of my heart lies elsewhere. With each draw of my bow, I breathe deeply and, with eyes closed, I think of you. I think of our morning stag hunts and late nights skipping stones under the stars of Skye. I think of the day we first met—the first time I saved a life. The day you slipped on the iced path and nearly fell into the well. My heart ceases to beat when I think what would have become of you had I not been there. I may have saved you that day, but you’ve saved my soul every day since.
With each step forward, I think of you.
Pray for me, Fawn. Pray for all of us.
I’m afraid we need it.
My Tender Regards,
Atlas
Isle of Mull, Scotland
