West

The morning was cooler than I expected when I stepped outside. I rarely saw the servants of the house; the small army worked in general obscurity. As if needing to catch up after the storms, there were no less than eight men and women hanging linens and clothing on long clotheslines stretching behind the house. A cool fall breeze rustled my dress as I watched the servants pin new laundry up or fold dried laundry.

None of them glanced my way, and I frowned, recalling my former suspicion about someone in the house being behind the murders.

Turning away, I walked towards the small hill that marked the graveyard. I wasn't a melancholy person by nature, and the fresh air, wide-open prairielands and beautiful grounds left to me by John cheered my spirits. I lifted my skirts as I reached the dirt trail leading to the wrought iron gate surrounding the cemetery.

I paused at the fence, a weird sense coming over me, the idea that I'd be buried here, too. Shaking off the dark thought, I opened the gate and walked along the cobblestone path towards John's grave.

As with the first time I visited, the loudest of the whispers was also the unhappiest. It distracted me when I wanted to tune into John's beautiful memories. Trying to ignore it did nothing to quiet the miserable member of the dead haunting the graveyard, and I relented.

Kneeling beside the patch of grassy earth where no grave was marked, I closed my eyes and listened.

My breath caught immediately. The same nightmare I'd been having since I arrived - fire, shadows, voices, blood - emanated from the unmarked grave as well. The visions weren't any clearer, but something else was.

Pleasant memories like John's were mixed in with the scary ones. The incredible bond and love between father and daughter stranded on the frontier. Real-Josie and John had traveled together to see the natives, to town, to the wild lands of the west and the civilized east.

I saw why John wanted so much for me to be the daughter he lost. They hadn't left each other's sides since the death of her mother when she was around eleven. Josie was his source of joy and happiness, and he was hers.

Tears blurred my eyes as I typed a note to Carter. I found the real Josie. I didn't know what happened to her, aside from the shadowy, sorrowful memories that linked her grave to the room down the hallway.

Did I want to know? It was clear something horrible had occurred in the house. The idea that her killer, and that of the other Josies, was hidden among the servants returned.