Putting his head down, Kyle realized he was tired after all. Well, he felt better about relaxing now. He would know if anyone came to Isabel's door. Kyle closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.
Isabel had barely opened the book when she heard creaking outside, but chalked it up to her friends moving around in this old house. She doubted the Special Unit would be so quiet if they came in.
Looking back down at the book, Isabel started reading the entry that the book had opened to when it felclass="underline"
March 15, 1938
Father would not be pleased. I have not written in
over a week. When I was growing up, I never would have considered such a lapse. Of course, I never thought I would still be maintaining a journal at all at my age.
Father was so certain that every detail of each of our lives as Bentons was worthy of record. Even as a boy, I thought the idea silly. However, I maintained the daily journal religiously… out of fear of him, if for no other reason. Now I am much less afraid, but only slightly less religious in my record keeping.
I'm not as sure that posterity will be interested in my life, but perhaps the children will be when they are older. If nothing else, it may amuse them.
Well, Claire has finished decorating the house. This was probably the greatest test of my bride. When Father built the house as a gift for the birth of the baby, I told my dear Claire that we would not have to live here if she didn't like it… especially knowing Father's peculiar tastes.
And when I saw that the finished home was grand but owed more to Baron Von Frankenstein than Frank Lloyd Wright, I made the offer again. Claire refused. She recognized that the house was a gift for her, and a peace offering from Father. And considering how against our union he was, I had to admit that it was a huge step for him.
"Besides," she said. "It has great character, it will be our own castle. I think it will be very comfortable."
Isabel looked up for a moment. Isn't that how she had thought of the house? Comfortable. Again, Isabel had the
odd feeling that there was someone other than her friends sharing the house with her. She continued reading.
And she has made it so. The children love their rooms and they have spent long days having "adventures" on the grounds. Though I never would have thought it possible, this place is home. I have no doubt that we will never live anywhere else.
Besides, it keeps me close to the mills, which I have no doubt was Fathers intention. He has given up on my older brother as a successor, which suits Matthew fine.
Speaking of Matthew, the impossible has happened. He has announced his engagement. She is a lovely girl, quite too good for him, but then, my Claire was too good for me.
My wife immediately insisted that we have the engagement party for them here and has thrown herself into the arrangements with her usual fervor.
The only thing that clouds her joy is the baby's fever, but it has only been a day, and the doctor assures her that it will pass.
Isabel got a chill from that line and thought again of the empty beds in the room off the kitchen. The next entry was from the following day.
March 16, 1938
Claire is marching forward with the preparations
for the engagement party, but she is slowed somewhat because she has barely let the baby out of her arms. The doctor has been here twice today and has given her every assurance, but Claire can barely let Jonathan out of her arms to sleep.
Father seems more and more certain that war will come to Europe and that that will mean an increased demand for our lumber. He is building more mills to prepare, and I have been spending too many long days away from Claire and the children.
That will have to change. I have already told Father that he must be prepared to do without me for the month of July. I will take the first real vacation since Claire and I have married. I have promised her, and she is happy, insisting that we spend the entire month in our new home.
Father was surprised, but I stood firm, and to my surprise, he relented. I think that some of my wife's strength has rubbed off on me. Either that, or Father is finally relaxing.
March 17, 1938
The baby's temperature remains high, though the doctor tells us that it will soon pass. Little Jonathan is brave and barely cries. I thought that Claire was looking tired, so I had the doctor check her and, sure enough, she has a fever as well.
She pushes herself too hard. Though she promised to take the day to rest, I found her busy when I
came home tonight. I should have checked on her and will have to come home earlier tomorrow.
March 18, 1938
An incredible thing happened today: Father came to visit Jonathan, who now has a rash in addition to a fever. He favors the baby because he was home more when Jonathan was born. Still, an unplanned visit to his grandchildren was extraordinary. He was remarkable with the other children as well. They didn't quite know what to make of the visit, but they were thrilled by the attention.
I think Father truly is relaxing and that some good has come from this fever. The doctor tells us not to worry. Apparently, these sicknesses are self-limiting and do not last more than a few days.
Unfortunately, it seems to have come upon Claire quickly. Her fever has been high, and her rash appeared scarcely a day after her fever began. She remained in bed most of the day with Jonathan. I think this is the first time in our life together that Claire has stayed in bed after nine o'clock in the morning. If not for the doctor's assurances, I would be concerned.
Now, little Robert has begun to run a fever as well. It looks like we might all suffer together for a few days. Little Sarah and I still feel well. She is quite a help to her mother, as is Robert. I will try to come home early tomorrow to look after them.
March 19, 1938
I came home to find the doctor waiting for me. His face was grim, and he took me into the study. He said that Claire and Jonathan had begun to suffer from skin eruptions caused by pox.
I said I knew that Claire had had chicken pox as a child, and that was when he told me that it was…
I can scarcely write the word, as if by not committing it to paper it will not be real. Yet I am my fathers son, despite my many attempts to deny it over the years, and I will not let fear rule me.
Smallpox.
I can write no more today.
March 20, 1938
I called Father yesterday, immediately after I heard. His reaction was swift. I have never seen him so driven. He insisted that the doctor stay, and questioned him harshly. He knew for a fact that he and the children had been inoculated against smallpox.