Page 118 of The Only One Left

I feel the porcelain cold against my palm.

I see the dust motes drifting through the stale air.

I smell the yellowed pages of books that haven’t been opened for decades.

I taste something metallic on my tongue. Fear, I realize, of what will happen when I look inside the urn.

Then I do look, and my gasp is loud enough to echo off the library bookshelves.

Because what I see is... nothing.

No ashes. No dust.

The urn is completely empty.

I should have known the night would end in disaster. I should have sensed it in the stormy air. All day, while pretending to be bedridden, I’d heard the thunder rumbling over the ocean like the cannon fire of an approaching horde.

A battle was coming.

And there would be casualties.

But I ignored the signs, too preoccupied with getting away to notice them. Our plan, such as it was, involved me gathering as much of my things as possible after everyone in the house had gone to bed. While I did that, Ricky would sneak into the garage and steal the keys to one of my father’s Packards. At ten p.m., if all went well, he’d be pulling up to the front door just as I slipped out with my suitcase. Then we’d drive away and never look back.

At the time, I thought it would work.

All the servants had been given their biweekly night off, which is what made Ricky think the plan was possible. Because my mother remained in a round-the-clock laudanum haze, there’d be no one else but my sister and father around to catch us.

I never expected one of them would.

At quarter to nine, I slid out of bed and quickly changed clothes. I had no idea what the rest of the night had in store, but I secretlyhoped it involved a trip to a justice of the peace. I loved the idea of Ricky and me getting married before the baby was born. The last thing I wanted was for our child to be considered a bastard. If marriage was in store for me that night, I needed to wear the prettiest thing I owned--the pink satin dress I’d worn for my birthday portrait. It barely fit, even though it’d been let out multiple times since then, and did nothing to disguise my pregnant state.

After squeezing into the dress, I tossed my suitcase onto the bed and flung it open. I then went to the armoire, grabbing as many dresses as my arms could hold. When I turned back to the suitcase, I found my sister in the doorway. She stood with her hands behind her back, holding something she didn’t want me to see.

“What are you doing?” she said, looking delighted to have caught me up and about.

“Leaving.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here.”

My sister’s eyes gleamed. “You’re running away with him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said as I dropped the dresses I’d been holding into my suitcase. Without them to cover me, my sister could now see what I’d been hiding for months. The gleam in her eyes was quickly replaced by shock.

“Dear God,” she said, her mouth agape. “What have you done?”

I returned to the armoire and grabbed another armful of dresses. “Now do you understand why I’m leaving?”

What I needed from my sister at that moment was for her to help me, comfort me, support me. That’s what sisters are supposed to do for each other. Instead, mine simply said, “Father will never allow it.”

The mention of my father stopped me dead.

“Please don’t tell him,” I said. “Please just let me leave. You hate me, after all. Won’t that make your life easier, being the only child?”

“Not when the family’s name is ruined.” My sister stood perfectly erect, her chin raised, smug in her superiority. She thought herself better than me in every way, and no longer made any attempt to hide it. “It’s not just you who’ll be affected. All of us will pay a price. Think of your reputation. Think of mine!”

“You expect me to stay here, loveless and miserable, for the rest of my life, just to preserve your precious reputation?”

---