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of paper, yellowed with age met her gaze. It was rolled into a tube and tied with a thin, black ribbon.
    “What in the world is this?” She whispered, as if the house were listening. A chill crept up her arms. Amelia wanted to read it, but she also dreaded to do so. Swallowing hard, she pulled the ribbon off and unrolled the delicate paper with care.
    December 12, 1905
    I must tell my story. Otherwise, it will be as if I never even lived. The Winthrops will make sure it is erased, along with me. The master of the house—James, as he told me to call him-- beguiled me with kisses and gifts. I was too young to understand his intentions until it was too late. I found myself carrying a child. When I told him—stupid! Stupid girl that I am!--what had happened, he ordered me to silence and told me all would be well. I trusted him. He was all kindness to me. The day of my delivery, he spirited me to a midwife in the woods who had been called just for this purpose and sworn to secrecy as well.
    After the baby was born, I fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the terrible labor that went on for many hours. When I awoke, the midwife told me the baby was dead and that I was to return to Stormcliffe in two days after I had rested. I begged her to please tell me the truth about my child. When I saw him, he was alive and of good color. She refused, but I wore her down with my crying , wailing, and begging.
    She told me Master Winthrop crushed the baby's skull and was to bury him in an unmarked grave. I promised her I would never tell her that I knew, but I don't know if I can keep the secret any longer. The Master throws terrible glances my way. He agreed to bury my son, Erastus, as I named him, in the family graveyard, off to himself with no marker.; however, I fear for my life everyday. If his father finds out, he will be disinherited and kicked out of this house. I have sent word to his father that I must talk to him. He is a kindly man and I know he will believe me and do right by me and the child. I must end here. Someone is coming, and it is very late, much too late for any normal visitor. Fear fills my heart. ~LV
    The letter ended. Amelia sat back on her haunches, horror flooding her veins. It seemed quite likely that Lucy Vincent hadn't hung herself at all. Winthrop had come to her in the night and killed her, staging her death to look like a suicide. Because of his position in the community, the death was likely unquestioned.
    “Oh my God. The poor girl.” She knew what it was to be pregnant, alone, and afraid. Now, Lucy Vincent's words to her made sense. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect my baby from the horrors of this world and that you couldn't either. I wasn't strong enough. I didn't know what else to do.”  Amelia wept, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away after a few moments.
    Afternoon shadows filled the room. Amelia secured the letter back in its hiding place, unsure about what to do with it at the moment. She thought it deserved a place in the town's library and archives, but today wasn't going to be the day to worry with it. Amelia stood up to check on Lottie. The baby  slept peacefully on her play mat, her tiny mouth a perfect, round O. Amelia gently picked her up and lay her in the crib to finish her nap.
    “I promise you, Lucy Vincent, I will protect this baby. Thank you for looking out for her. I found your letter. I hope you can be at peace now. I know your story, and I'll make sure the world can know it, too. You will be vindicated and understood.” She hoped the ghostly teenager could hear her—wherever she was now.
    T he feeling of foreboding that had been with her still hung over her spirit as Amelia left the nursery.
    * * * *
    “I wanted to call before it got too late.” Bard sighed. “I won't be home until after 9. Just leave something in the fridge for me. If you need to go to bed, that's fine. Don't feel like you have to wait up.”
    “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”