smile.
Marisa giggled and curtseyed mockingly. “Thank you, kind sir, but I’m afraid I’m not up for a fancy dinner this evening. Do you think our host would mind terribly if I respectfully declined his request?”
Arrie chuckled. “In the manner you bowled Savino over this afternoon, I’d wager he’ll be quite disappointed if you don’t show,” he said dryly. “However, I will tell him that milady is too exhausted after our journey, and he shall not be able to argue with that now, shall he?”
“Thanks, Arrie. I’m goin’ to bed early tonight and try to get some decent sleep for a change.”
“Cousin, I think that is a splendid idea. I’ll ask the cook to send something up for you in a little while.”
“Good thinking. I’d appreciate that.”
Arrie nodded and disappeared down the corridor. She shut the door and smiled to herself. He seemed to possess the knack for being able to put a smile on her face no matter what.
She stepped out of the dress and stiff undergarments, pulled a thin, linen nightdress out of the top drawer, and slipped it over her head. As she passed by a full-length mirror, she gasped and then giggled when she saw that the nightgown didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Grabbing her satchel, she rummaged around in it and took out her father’s book. She tossed a couple of logs on the fire, propped up the pillows, and climbed into bed. The mattress felt soft but firm as she snuggled under the comforter.
She leafed through the pages and studied the Gaelic script. It was obviously someone’s diary, but whose? Could it be her father’s? She doubted it. Her father had always written in boxy, squarish script, but this was more curved and flowing. Each entry began with what seemed to be a date followed by several paragraphs. There were small drawings, diagrams, and even a couple of small flowers pressed between the pages.
Halfway through the book, she found a piece of linen paper that she had missed before. She carefully unfolded it and saw that it was some sort of letter with writing so faded it was almost impossible to read.
Then she noticed a piece of stationery stuck between the pages near the back. She unfolded it and gasped when she recognized her father’s handwriting.
August 12
Dearest Marisa,
Doctor Martin got the results of the MRI back this morning, and he told me that the cancer has spread again. I know now that I don’t have much time left. I’m making the most out of every day I have, but it hurts me more than you’ll ever know that I won’t be around to watch you grow up, get married, and have children of your own. I hope that you will come to realize someday just how much you are loved.
You are such a treasure and a joy to me, serving as a constant reminder all these years of my love for your mother. She was a remarkable woman, and now I see so many of her incredible traits shining forth in you.
It’s so hard to sum up all the wisdom of my whole life into one tiny bit of advice to pass on to you, but if I had to, it would be this: you will be confronted with numerous choices in your life, but always strive for what is good and right and never settle for less than that which is worthy and worthwhile.
I am giving you this book and your mother’s ring. These treasures are the last remnants of the beautiful life we shared long ago. Please take good care of them and never forget that it is by choice that the ordinary person decides to live a life that is extraordinary. I love you so much, my dearest lassie. Happy eighteenth birthday!
Love, Dad
Marisa stared into the fire as the tears spilled from her eyes. She wiped them with the sleeve of her nightgown and placed the book on her nightstand. She shut the drapes but stopped abruptly as she peered through the window. There was a group of men strolling across the main courtyard below and she saw that it was Arrie, Darian, Savino, and one other man she didn’t recognize. Hopefully they had been
Marisa giggled and curtseyed mockingly. “Thank you, kind sir, but I’m afraid I’m not up for a fancy dinner this evening. Do you think our host would mind terribly if I respectfully declined his request?”
Arrie chuckled. “In the manner you bowled Savino over this afternoon, I’d wager he’ll be quite disappointed if you don’t show,” he said dryly. “However, I will tell him that milady is too exhausted after our journey, and he shall not be able to argue with that now, shall he?”
“Thanks, Arrie. I’m goin’ to bed early tonight and try to get some decent sleep for a change.”
“Cousin, I think that is a splendid idea. I’ll ask the cook to send something up for you in a little while.”
“Good thinking. I’d appreciate that.”
Arrie nodded and disappeared down the corridor. She shut the door and smiled to herself. He seemed to possess the knack for being able to put a smile on her face no matter what.
She stepped out of the dress and stiff undergarments, pulled a thin, linen nightdress out of the top drawer, and slipped it over her head. As she passed by a full-length mirror, she gasped and then giggled when she saw that the nightgown didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Grabbing her satchel, she rummaged around in it and took out her father’s book. She tossed a couple of logs on the fire, propped up the pillows, and climbed into bed. The mattress felt soft but firm as she snuggled under the comforter.
She leafed through the pages and studied the Gaelic script. It was obviously someone’s diary, but whose? Could it be her father’s? She doubted it. Her father had always written in boxy, squarish script, but this was more curved and flowing. Each entry began with what seemed to be a date followed by several paragraphs. There were small drawings, diagrams, and even a couple of small flowers pressed between the pages.
Halfway through the book, she found a piece of linen paper that she had missed before. She carefully unfolded it and saw that it was some sort of letter with writing so faded it was almost impossible to read.
Then she noticed a piece of stationery stuck between the pages near the back. She unfolded it and gasped when she recognized her father’s handwriting.
August 12
Dearest Marisa,
Doctor Martin got the results of the MRI back this morning, and he told me that the cancer has spread again. I know now that I don’t have much time left. I’m making the most out of every day I have, but it hurts me more than you’ll ever know that I won’t be around to watch you grow up, get married, and have children of your own. I hope that you will come to realize someday just how much you are loved.
You are such a treasure and a joy to me, serving as a constant reminder all these years of my love for your mother. She was a remarkable woman, and now I see so many of her incredible traits shining forth in you.
It’s so hard to sum up all the wisdom of my whole life into one tiny bit of advice to pass on to you, but if I had to, it would be this: you will be confronted with numerous choices in your life, but always strive for what is good and right and never settle for less than that which is worthy and worthwhile.
I am giving you this book and your mother’s ring. These treasures are the last remnants of the beautiful life we shared long ago. Please take good care of them and never forget that it is by choice that the ordinary person decides to live a life that is extraordinary. I love you so much, my dearest lassie. Happy eighteenth birthday!
Love, Dad
Marisa stared into the fire as the tears spilled from her eyes. She wiped them with the sleeve of her nightgown and placed the book on her nightstand. She shut the drapes but stopped abruptly as she peered through the window. There was a group of men strolling across the main courtyard below and she saw that it was Arrie, Darian, Savino, and one other man she didn’t recognize. Hopefully they had been
Similar Books
