My mom likes to go to garage and estate
sales. She'd lug home boxes of old junk, even dusty old books. I thought
it was so uncool, until the day I was going through one of the boxes and
came across a yellowed diary. Inside the front cover were the words, ‘Property of Delilah Brenton.’ I
read a few pages and came to this entry:
March 29, 1935
Oh I have so much to do today. So much paperwork to file and letters to send, and on top of it all I have to find all the things I need for the clinic. And of course I have to stay within my very small budget. I wish I knew how much money I'll come into. My birthday is in only 2 months and then I will get the inheritance. Why can't they let me have it now? It would make my life so much easier! Well, better get down to breakfast. Maybe I'll have time to write again later.
Later
Oh, my goodness, so much has happened. I am ecstatic. Today has been
so busy. I want to write it down before my imagination concocts its
own version of what happened.
While we
were having tea there was a knock at the door. Millie answered the door,
and came running. A young man that looked to be about 25 came into the
room behind her. Somehow he seemed familiar. The look of his eyes gave
me the impression that he was either very tired, or daydreaming. Aunt
Constance sprang to her feet before fainting back into her chair. I couldn't
put my finger on what was so familiar about this boy. I couldn't figure
out what was going on. Until he spoke in a far-off voice, “Are
you Delilah?
Suddenly,
it snapped back to me, “Samuel? " I
half yelled, half asked. Then all commotion broke loose. My long
lost brother was standing right in front of me! Millie went to
fetch a wet rag for my Aunt Connie, and when we eventually calmed
down enough to talk sensibly I pulled up a chair and offered
him some tea and cake.
I was trembling
with shock and happy excitement. It had been ten years. Ten years. He
knew nothing of my struggles to study medicine. Nothing of my loneliness
growing up, and plans for my clinic. But how? Ten years ago, when the
hospital burned down, they said there had been no survivors.
“What happened? They said no one had made it out alive. . .”
"I
was in the garden with my nurse, Margaret, when the accident happened," Samuel
explained. "We
heard the explosion and ran out of the hospital grounds.
Margaret ran back to help to try and put out the fire, but didn't come
back. The last thing I remember was a flying piece of debris headed straight
me. Then the next thing I knew was waking up in St. Louis Hospital with
no memory whatsoever."
I was amazed.
I'm so tired from all this excitement. I think I'll go to bed and finish
the story tomorrow. Good night!
March 31, 1935
I feel quite strange being around my brother. I hate to admit this
even to myself, but I wonder sometimes if he really is my
brother. That's crazy. . . how would he know where we lived
and all about our family and experiences if he wasn't really
Samuel. Why would anybody even want to .. Oops there's the door.
I think it's our old friend Basil. I'll write more later.
Later
I don't know what to do or who to believe. While Basil was
using the restroom, I took a peek at what he had been writing.
Unknowingly, I had stumbled upon his journal. I knew I should
have stopped, but since it was about Sam, I couldn't. Uncle
Basil thinks Sam is a fraud! He thinks Sam is after the inheritance.
How could I not have thought of it before? He came home at
the most convenient time--right before I am to receive my trust
fund. I have to do some research.
April 3
I did some research. I discovered exactly what hospital my brother
was sent to and why. My parents kept it kind of a secret from me,
but my brother was sent to a mental institution. Apparently, they
hadn't had a lot of hope for his condition. I just realized something!
My brother arrived at the hospital only three days before the fire
happened. It's impossible for the doctors to have treated him so
quickly. I wonder if they could even diagnose him with anything
in that amount of time. I don't think they could. I also found
out about the will. It seems that my brother was to have inherited
everything. They left all the money to the oldest child, and after
Sam died, I was the only alternative. I'm about to take him up
some tea. I hope my suspicions won't show.
April 15
After having coffee with Sam this morning, I went to talk to Uncle
Matthew. I felt I just had to tell someone of my doubts. I didn't
want to seem horrid. After all, I was accusing my brother. Uncle
Matthew agreed that it was fishy, but said I shouldn't go around
accusing people. He said, "just think of all he's been through. It's natural he should seem a little unsteady and agitated.” Still,
I could tell by the look on his face that it had dawned on him also.
April 17
Sam's behavior is increasingly odd. I think he is nervous.
Maybe he realizes I suspect something. He seems jumpy and weary.
Today after having my tea with him, I was passing by the library
when I overheard Aunt Constance talking to Uncle Matthew about
my accusations. I stopped to listen further. I couldn't help
myself. For the first time she seemed to have some doubts about
who Samuel is.
May 1
Today a horrible scene took place. Aunt Constance had been quite
testy around Sam since the day in the study. They were having a
heated discussion about a book, when she let slip a terrible error.
Sam made a negative comment about one of my aunt's favorite books.
In great agitation she said, "If you really are my nephew you'd pay me more respect.” I
thought Sam would faint. The blood drained out of his face, and his chin
quivered and eyes filled with tears. He turned on his heel and ran out
of the room and out into the street. When he didn't return after an hour,
out in the cold rain, uncle and I went looking for him. It was after
midnight when we got home. Aunt Constance hadn't heard from Sam. Her
eyes were red from crying.
May 2
The police came to our house, accompanied by one of the
town's fishermen. He carried in his hand a watch that had
been taken from a body found near the river bridge early
this morning.
Here
the pages began to be crossed out, smudged and ripped. I flipped through
the diary until I came across an entry written in red ink. I couldn't
believe my eyes.
Aug.
2
Things are finally returning to normal. The money from the trust
fund has made opening the clinic much easier. Now that everything
is settled I can write this. If someone someday reads this they will
know what really happened. I can't ever tell anyone, but it is burning
inside me and I have to write.
Today
is the second of the month, the anniversary of Sam's death. Every second
day of the month I bring flowers to the bridge. It's something I hate
to do, but it's the least I can do for a relative I, as good as, murdered.
I always knew I'd be good at inventing medicines, and the one I used
in Sam's tea and coffee to keep his memory blocked and brain foggy
proved it. I even managed to convince Aunt Constance and Uncle Matthew.
I feel horrible about that. After all I deprived them of a nephew.
When Aunt Constance had seen the policeman at the door she went white
as her fine linen table cloth - but when she saw the watch in his
hand she collapsed with a look of utter horror. Apparently, the
watch had belonged to my father. The body had belonged to Sam. I had
hoped he'd simply run away and not killed himself, but it had to be
done. After all, I had to open the clinic, and I needed the inheritance
to do it.
From here
on it became blurred again, all except for the name and address. The
name didn't ring a bell, but the address sure did. It all happened right
here. Here in my home, my own, sweet home.