Deadwood

I was walking silently down a darkened hallway; I had the feeling it was night. The soft feel of fabric brushed against my legs, and I realized I was wearing a long skirt. Shrugging, I continued on my mission. But there came a noise from somewhere off to my right. I paused to listen, heart rate speeding up. And that’s when a hand reached out and clamped itself over my mouth, dragging me as I struggled into a darkened room and closing the door.

I was about to let out a scream when I heard a very familiar low chuckle from my attacker. Gently the hand was removed and I whirled on him. “Thomas Madigan, you scared me half to death! What if I had screamed and woken the whole house hold?”

“I’m sorry, Alice.” He apologized, taking my hand in his. “I just couldn’t resist.”

It was so dark that I couldn’t see his face, but in my heart I knew he was strikingly handsome. He moved closer, pulling me against him. I could feel his breath on my cheek and I trembled slightly in anticipation. I was not disappointed; his lips gently found mine, and fireworks exploded in my head.

Too soon we were pulling apart, still floating on the high of the other’s kiss. “We should get back to our rooms.” He murmured softly, and I could tell by the way his hand lingered in mine that he was reluctant to do so.

But we couldn’t risk any more time. If we were discovered together like this, the consequences would be dire. “Until tomorrow, at the cottage,” He whispered, as I slipped out of the room and tip-toed back to my own.

When my eyes fluttered open the next morning, I half expected to be in that other house. The dream had been so vivid, as if it had really happened. And with a start I realized it might have. Could it be possibly that I was dreaming of an event that had taken place more than a century ago?

That’s silly, I told myself. I only dreamed of it because of what I had read in the journal. It made sense to me that I had thought up an encounter between the two forbidden lovers, like something out or a romance novel. I did have a very wild imagination, after all.

The events from the day before seemed so far away and unreal. They were at the back of my mind until I opened my nightstand drawer to find some lip balm and ended up staring down at the journal. I remembered that Oliver and I were going to the library, and I thought about writing down the names and dates so I wouldn’t forget. But I just as quickly dismissed the idea; I knew I would remember.

The sound of a motor could be heard coming up our driveway. I peeked out the curtains curiously, wondering who it could possibly be. I was surprised to see Oliver pull up in a gleaming old truck. With a quick good-bye to my mom, I hurried out to greet him.

“It’s my Dad’s. He let me borrow it for our trip into town.” Oliver explained when he noticed my questioning look. “Hop in!”

The ride into town was short. I decided to refrain from telling him about my dream. I was still convinced it was just a dream and nothing more.

Along the way he told me about some of the history, and his mind seemed to be an encyclopedia of whose who in the town. “And here’s the library,” He said rather proudly as we pulled into a parking spot out front.

It was a beautiful old building, boasting Gothic architecture and stained glass windows. “The building was a church at one time,” He said as I studied the windows with interest.

The shelves of books seemed to go on forever in every direction. I hardly knew where to start. So we approached the kind middle-aged library and she directed us to computers that held a database of old newspapers. “I hope you find what you’re looking for!” She called happily over her shoulder as she left us to our research.

It wasn’t long before we found information on the Quinn family. Apparently Mr. Quinn was involved with law, and had become very wealthy. Edmund Barnes was the song of a prominent plantation owner in the south, and he never seemed to miss an appearance at all the right parties. Thomas Madigan owned a general store, passed down to him by his father. He was described as a kind man who had a heart of gold.

Now I moved on to looking up information about Alice. A few moments after I started my search, I gasped loudly. “Oliver, you need to come read this.” I said urgently, my eyes scanning the article again.

“What’s this?” He murmured as he read the title.

18 July, 1816

LAWYER’S DAUGHTER FOUND DEAD AT COTTAGE

Alice Quinn, daughter of Jonathan Quinn, was found dead at a summer cottage on her family’s property yesterday. It should be noted that the body of Thomas Madigan, owner of the Madigan Family general store, was also found nearby. There are no suspects as of yet, but the authorities are doing all in their power to solve this horrendous crime. “It’s absolutely dreadful,” Edmund Barnes was quoted as saying. “And it was the poor dear’s birthday too. I wouldn’t be surprised if that heathen of a man killed her and then offed himself.”

Authorities are looking into the possibility of a murder-suicide. The Quinn family could not be reached for comment.

Oliver gave a low whistle. But something had struck me as I read it again. And then it finally dawned on me. “Her birthday was July seventeenth.” I said in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, that’s what the article said.” He looked down at me, his eyebrow raised. “Why is that important?”

“Because,” I swallowed hard. “That’s my birthday, too.”