Page 27 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

I opened the cover to the inside of the binding. Inside in my brother’s neat hand was his name and the word “diary.”

I swallowed. This was my brother’s diary. I had known that he kept one. Sometimes Henry fancied himself to be a writer. He read anything and everything that he could get his hands on. He told me once that he planned to write his own memoirs someday. He planned to have a life deserving of a memoir. It pained me to remember that. Henry would never have the chance to live that dream.

We were poor, but my mother insisted on one thing: that we both go to school and learn to read and write, skills that she never had. She had said, “Education is the only way you will go anywhere. It will make your life easier, and that of your children. Remember that. I want that for both of my children.”

Henry had said, “Why does Willa have to get educated? She’s a girl. All she has to do is get married. She does not need to worry about earning money and being able to read.”

My blood had boiled when he said that, and had I not been on the other side of our mother at the time, I would have kicked him in the shin for his unkind words. I should have been able to learn to read just as much as he should.

“I will remind you, my son, that I was married once to your father. Where is he now? Willa, just like you, needs to be able to stand on her own two feet. There is no guarantee that the person either of you will marry will be the support that you need. You are your own support. Beyond yourselves, you have each other. Promise me that you will always stick together.”

I had crossed my arms. I was still angry at Henry for suggesting that I didn’t need to learn to read because I was to get married.

When neither of us said anything, my mother had said in a forceful voice, “Promise me. You must promise. You are blood and must care for each other. Always.”

My brother and I promised my mother in unison. I didn’t know how much we believed at the time we would keep that promise. Frustrated with my boisterous brother, I hadn’t thought that I would put much stock in it at all. Then, years later, our mother died, leaving us alone, and the promise became the lifeline that tethered us together. It was like an invisible string braided by our mother’s hand. It was unbreakable.

And I had kept that promise until... until my brother was killed. I not only failed Henry, but I had failed our mother too. I should have been more insistent that he not take the stable hand job. I should have kept a better eye on him.

Why did he take that job? Why did he have to push for something bigger and better? Why hadn’t he been content where he was? We would never be in a position to have everything we wanted like the Dickinsons or the other wealthy families in Amherst. It was impossible, but we could be content. Contentment had not been enough for my brother. If he was still among the living, it would never be.

I shook the memory from my mind.

I flipped to the first page of Henry’s diary and began to read.

I started to keep this diary as a testament of what I learned. What is inside of these pages is truth and should be treated as such. Not everyone will want me to reveal what is found here, but I trust if you read on, you will find truth here.

Willa, if you are reading this diary that means I have failed in my mission. It started as a way to make more money so that I could give you the life you deserve. But it became much more than that. I realized I was doing something that could make a difference for hundreds of lives. I hope you will understand my motives.

You are so much more than a sister to me. You are a sister, a mother, and a friend. You must keep the secrets that are found inside these pages. I will not ask you to join my cause, but I do ask you that out of your love for me, your only brother, you will protect it. Do not share what you find here with the adversary. If you do, the cost would be too high.

Adversary? What was Henry’s meaning in this?

I will not mention the names of any guilty parties in these pages, he wrote. To write the names down would be far too dangerous, but I still wish to record an account of my experience.

I sucked in a breath. The words on the page were as if he came back from the grave and spoke them to me himself. They were full of passion and hyperbole. It was the way that Henry spoke. Everything was of the utmost importance to him. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed by it.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Should I read the diary beginning to end or skip to the end? I laid it over my lap and it fell open to an entry for the last day I saw my brother alive.

I saw Willa today. I climbed up the side of the house that she is living in and jumped through her bedroom window. My, was she very surprised! As expected, she scolded me for coming to her employer’s house unannounced, but I secretly know she was happy to see me. She’s working for the Dickinson family now. They are a wealthy family in Amherst. The father is some kind of politician type. I have no use for politicians myself, but Willa seems to be happy with her new employer, and I must say that it made me happy to see my sister in such a comfortable and spacious room all to herself. She’s worried about me as to be expected, and she wasn’t happy when I told her I left my job at the warehouse.

What she has to understand is that it will all be worth it in the end. Since I left the warehouse and started my new assignment, we have a real chance of having a home of our own or going out west like I think that we should. I know Willa doesn’t want to go. She has never been a great fan of change, and living on the frontier would certainly be a change from the predictable society of Amherst.

But if Willa wants to stay, I will stay. She has been a good sister to me and has saved me on more than one occasion. I would not be here without my sister. She is the person most dear to me in the world. I cannot imagine caring for another soul as much.

I closed the journal then and tears fell from my eyes. How could I read on after reading those words? Henry was the person most dear to me in the world. He would never be replaced in my heart. Knowing that he had felt the same both comforted and pained me.

How could I continue with any of it? Reading this diary? Finding out what really happened to Henry? Life? All three and much more seemed too heavy to bear. I didn’t know if I was up for the task.

I stilled as another tidal wave of grief washed over me. As I did so, a loose piece of newsprint fell from the pages of the diary. I set the diary on my bed and picked up the piece of paper.

Unfolding it, I found that it was a map, and not just any map, but a map of Amherst. On the map there were ink dots barely noticeable to the eye. An equally tiny number was beside each dot on the page.

An owl was sketched in the corner of the page. I recognized Henry’s hand in that. He loved to sketch when he was a child and still did as a young man.

What did this mean? What was this map in my hands? My heart thundered in my chest. What did I do with this information? Where did I go with it?

I folded the map up, tucked it back into the diary, and wound the leather strap around the diary again. I would have to try to read this later, on Sunday, my day off. Yes, I would read it Sunday when I wasn’t as tired.

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