The Lincoln Room
Valerie J. Patterson

Angrier than she could ever remember being, Alex threw the diary with a force the Pittsburgh Pirates would be proud of. Instead of crashing off the far wall, the book hovered midair, then turned abruptly, and flew with great speed toward Alex. She held up her arms, protecting her face and head. The book smashed into her forearms before falling to the floor.

Frozen, steel-like fingers grasped each of her arms, yanking them down, and pinning her to the arms of the chair. The air around her moved, and Alex was flung backward, the chair and her body crashing to the floor.

Both terrified and angry, Alex jumped to her feet. “You’re a coward, Esther,” she seethed. “You’re so afraid of me that you can’t even show yourself. You attack like a coward. If I had seen you coming, it would have been you lying on this floor, not me.”

Immediately, Esther Kizer materialized not more than two feet from where Alex stood. There was a fierce whirlwind surrounding her, her dress and her hair billowing about. She pointed at Alex, and her voiceless mouth moved angrily then suddenly, it grew calm around her, her dress and hair ceasing to move.

Alex turned slowly, seeing for the first time the wall of Kizer women who had circled her, forming a formidable wall that even Esther seemed afraid of.

“Th-thank you,” Alex said softly. “Where were you when she flung me to the floor?”

Betsy seemed to smile at her joke, and Alex realized she had been telling the truth. They would protect her from Esther. They were gone as quickly and as silently as they had appeared, taking the evil one with them and restoring the room to order.

Alex looked at the diary on the corner of the table and debated whether or not she should continue. It was almost as if she were being led to read the book. Almost as if she were unable to prevent herself from reading the diary. She looked around the room. Aloud she said, “Are you able to do that? Trick me into thinking I want to read this awful book?”
No answer came.

Opening it back up, she turned to Annie’s next entry.

I have been re-reading the entries of Aunt Ruth and Mama, and I am at peace with the impending introduction.

Gone from the handwriting were the flowery curves and wisps. It became almost wooden and very precise. Alex knew Annie had resigned herself to her fate, not accepted it.

Ian brought home a new dress for me. I cried, but did not allow him to see the tears for he has never had the inclination to buy me a dress before. Of course, it is very beautiful, and it is what I will wear when I meet Grandmother Eliza. I must look my absolute best when I meet her so that Mama will be proud of me. I sense that she is still angry with me.

Ian and I have been spending more intimate moments together than we have since the days of starting our family. I cherish the time together for I shall not have the opportunity to love him for much longer. I love the feel of my husband’s arms, and feeling his warm, naked chest beneath my cheek. It is a pleasure I shall miss for an eternity.

I have talked to Clara and Cora, my daughters of six and ten years old. I have told them the stories as I have told Emily. All three girls now know the legacy they bear being Kizer women. My heart breaks when I think of my poor Ian for he will lose all three of them four years apart. They are proud Kizer girls and they will grow to be proud Kizer women. Just like their mama.

Alex couldn’t control the tears as they stung her eyes then streamed over her lashes. Her heart ached for the lives and deaths of those three little girls knowing they were born to die. Born to carry out a ritual that served only to ensure the wealth and health of men. How could a father murder his wife then lead his children to that same fate? Were their lives worth so little? Or was the value too great?

Alex drew her sleeve roughly across her face, crudely removing all traces of moisture. Literally, the accounts in that diary made her sick. She cursed the day Shelley had set it down, encouraging her to read it.

Laying the offensive literature aside, Alex shoved her laptop into her bag then grabbed the rest of her things before hightailing it out of that wretched room. It surprised her that she was free to go, but then she remembered Betsy’s promise. She needed a stiff drink and a hot bath, and she pitied the person who tried to come between her and that bath.

Without looking back, Alex made it through the library without encountering Shelley or Mrs. Vrango. Just as well, she thought, I won’t say anything I’ll live to regret.

Alex had started the car and pulled from her space just as the sheriff stepped from the curb. “How about a male sacrifice?” she muttered angrily, but slammed on the brakes just the same.

Seth Kizer threw his hand into the air as way of greeting, but she ignored him, allowing him to safely navigate out of her way before she floored the accelerator. She left him to stare after her in a cloud of dust and gravel.

Swinging by the Jolly Rancher, she picked up a grilled chicken salad then headed home. To her chagrin, the sheriff was waiting for her. He was seated on her porch swing, and wearing a most ridiculous grin. “Should have run you over when I had the chance,” she groused, parking the car and getting out.

Plastering a smile on her face, she greeted him. “Seth?”

He tipped his Stetson and stood up as she neared. “Ma’am, you nearly lifted me from my boots at the library,” he said, using a bad southern drawl.

Dutifully, she frowned. “Since you’re wearing low-top sneakers, I guess that would have been a difficult feat.”

Seth remained silent, his alert blue eyes studying her intently. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” she returned sharply, thinking it best if she kept her thoughts to herself about the likes of his family.

He shrugged. “At least I know it isn’t something I’ve done.”

“Not yet,” she fired back.

The confusion appeared in his features, and the smile fell from his lips. “If you have a bug in your bonnet about something I’ve said, then you owe me an explanation. I sure as heck have no clue about what’s eating you.”

Alex brushed past him, jamming her key in the lock and throwing open the side door. Turning on him, she hissed, “When I’m finished, just remember that you asked for an explanation.”

She stepped up on the stoop to even out their height difference and looked him in the eye. “I don’t know what makes me angry the most. Knowing what your family has done for generations, or knowing that this town has condoned it—looking the other way all in the name of good health and prosperity.”

Furious, she went inside and tossed the salad and the laptop and purse on the kitchen island then turned on him again. “Get out of my house,” she told him at the top of her voice. “How dare you treat women as if they have no value? How dare you get rich from their deaths? Get out of my house!”

Seth went to her, pinning her flailing arms between his chest and hers. It took all the strength he had just to hold onto her. When the sobs wracked her body, he held her more tightly, pressing her into his embrace until she yielded her fight and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“All those baby girls,” she cried. “Born so they could die for men to be rich. How many more need to die? How could Payton murder Betsy? I knew Betsy. She was too young to die. They all were. What gave you the right?”

He offered her no answers. Gave her no excuses. No explanations. He merely held her until she could cry no more then he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He searched her bureau until he found a nightgown, which he laid on the bed beside her.

“Put that on.” He brushed his hand over her warm cheek before leaving the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Seth went into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cabinets until he found a bottle of brandy. He placed her dinner in the refrigerator, poured the brandy, and went back to her bedroom. He grinned when he saw she had listened to him and changed her clothes. Drawing the blankets up around her, she watched him approach. He sat down at the foot of the bed and handed her the snifter of brandy. “Drink this.”

He watched her, drawn to the rose in her cheeks brought on by the strength of the liquor. Her green eyes were more intense, their color deepened by her tears and blatant need for sleep. Her normally well-put -together appearance was exchanged for one of vulnerability and pain. How could he share with her the secret he held deep within his being? How could he tell her the truth knowing it would cost him her?