The Letter Game

2009-06-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

ANNOUNCEMENT:

The Letter Game is currently on hiatus indefinitely while Brynne and I figure out where we want it to go and try to organise things.

Thank you for reading.

-Layli

2008-07-24T12:05:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Dear Vi,

Saturday through Wednesday, huh? I hope you have a good time with him! Jason, that is. I’m sure you will. He’s fun to hang out with.

The Washburn boys spent ALL DAY yesterday at our house because their grandparents had some thing they had to go to. All three of them. They basically sat in Grandpa’s living room and played card games. I can’t sit on the floor very well, because of my cast, but it’s okay. Brennan brought his iPod and plugged in a pair of speakers. The boys have pretty good taste in music—they all like this group called Drosophilia Endobranchia (at least, I think that’s how it’s spelled…I guess it’s the name of a fly or something?). I dunno. But they’re burning me CDs. I guess the band has three albums. If I like them enough I’ll get them to give me copies I can send to you, too….

God. I miss you, Vi.

Hang on, mail’s here…

I got a letter from Mom! Hang on, let me open it…

…

Oh God. VIOLET! You’ll probably have got yours by the time this gets in the mail. This is what mine said:

Dear Abby,

Things aren’t too good with your dad and me right now, so you might be staying with your grandfather longer than I expected. I didn’t want to tell you this—I wasn’t going to—but you’re a big girl. I’ve written to your sister as well. If the stay lasts even longer then you can either go to school there or stay home with a distance curriculum. But it’s probably not a good idea for you to come home right now.

If that’s the case, I want you to seriously consider attending the area high school. I went there, it’s not bad. Staying home wouldn’t be ideal for a variety of reasons.

Please don’t listen to closely to Dad. He’s getting old and sometimes he mixes up reality and fantasy.

Love,
Mom.

I don’t even know what to say. My head is exploding. Seriously. All that stuff about Dro-Soph seems pretty stupid right this minute and—

GAH.

I don’t know what to do.

Love
Abby

2008-07-23T21:51:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Abby, in case you haven't noticed, I've decided to jump on the Facebook bandwagon. Jumping is fun! Anyhow, I found Luke (Turner) and added him as a friend. Talking to him is kind of weird. He's really nice, and usually I can forget exactly who he is, but there are times when I'll remember, and it's a bit awkward. But we talked on the phone for over an hour a couple of days ago, and I think we'll stay in touch. Especially since he has Facebook.

Jason's staying with me from Saturday until Wednesday, which should be fun. I have yet to look in the drawers under Aunt Zinny's bed, because I've been babysitting and volunteering at the library. I would call Aunt Zinny and ask her about a bunch of stuff, but she's at some sort of conference on the West Coast, so that'll have to wait until she gets back.

When Jason gets here, we're going to do a bit of poking around. And I'll think of something to tell him when the time comes. I've always had your dose of blarney in addition to my own, and it shouldn't fail me now.

I'll write more when later, now I have to run!

Love,

2008-07-23T13:47:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Dear Violet,

I was going to wait for you to reply to my last letter before I sent you this, but then I was looking through the drawers in my bedroom and I came across some pictures.

Seriously. You should see these. I scanned them in to the computer and I put them on Facebook, but a) I’m unreliable on Facebook due to Brennan’s flightiness (okay, it was really nice of him to let me use his computer, no hard words) and b) I think you’ll want to see these in hard copy.

Three pictures.

The first one is the only photo I’ve ever seen of Mom’s whole family. I think it was taken in 1979, and oh man, it’s so funny!

Okay, so I kindasorta knew that Grandpa and Gram were hippies back in the day – that’s why I was so surprised to find that Gram came from an Amish background. But when I found this picture, I about threw up in my mouth. I mean, after I got over the fact that it even existed. I have never seen a picture of my uncles. Have you?

I brought it to Grandpa and he looked at it and told me who was in it. I wrote the names on the backs of my copies, but I don’t know if you want me to do that with yours, so I’ll just tell you here.

On the left, with his foot on a box and a mullety hairstyle, is Uncle Max. The uncle who died. Gramps said he was seventeen that year. Next to him in the horrible horrible short shorts and muscle tank is Calvin, who was thirteen…GOD. I’m so happy those short shorts are out of style on men. Hideous.

Next to him, obviously, is Gram, her hair already going gray (I’m not so fond of the cut!). She’s holding Susanna, our aunt who I didn’t know about either. Then is Grandpa (don’t even LOOK at that hair!) and then is Mom. She was fifteen. She looks so much like you!! Seriously. I’m diggin’ the baby poop green shirt/dress thing, too…and next to her on the end is Joey, who was…10? Yeah, that’s what Grandpa said.

1979. Oh man.

The second picture was taken in 1986. So Mom and Dad were engaged, which explains why she’s in the portrait. She would have been 22 and Dad was 21…weird to think, huh? And Dad still has that weird tie. Though not the red glasses (with a pink shirt?!), thank God. Then is Gramps and Granny, looking very cute, though Granny’s hair has that feathered look they did back then that I hate. And Gramps has a dorky bowtie. And he was only 48, four years older than Dad is now, but his hair is completely gray!

Then is Uncle Joseph. The one we didn’t know about. Have you any clue yet as to what happened to him? He’s thirteen there, but a pretty young-looking thirteen. And then Aunt Zinny is eleven.

And then the last picture…well, you don’t have to look at it if you don’t want to. It’s of our family. You know…you, me, Mom, Dad, and Sammy. I’m astonished yet again by how much you look like Mom…except you have Dad’s eyes. I have to admit, Dad looks pretty loveable in his incredibly dorky kind of way. And Sammy looking way to skinny for his shirt….

It makes me so sad. What happened, I mean. God, I miss you.

So. About the Cobbs. I’m assuming they’re the Eagle family, the ones cast out for killing off the Sparrows (or whatever they did to them. Pretty shocking really. But I’ll definitely keep an eye out for the Cobbs….

Grandpa says that tomorrow he’s going to show me some of the stuff in his boxes. You know, the old drawings and stuff. I’ll let you know how that goes!

Love,
Abby

2008-07-22T19:51:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

No time for internet café the other day but when I told Brennan about it he said that I could get on his computer! YESS! So I’ll email you as soon as possible. Also, I’m getting a Facebook account because Jason said he wanted me to so he could actually TALK to me…guess I’m caving. SIGH. ;)

This is quick, so it’s probably not worth the stamp, but just wanted to let you know I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth.

Love you,
Abby

P.S. Yeah, got your letter, I’ll answer your questions when I have time.

2008-07-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Abby,

I don’t have a whole lot of time before I have to babysit, so this’ll be short.

I opened the package from Judith. It contained a gorgeous metal hummingbird wall hanging. I think it’s Mexican. And I’ve tried rubbing it, pressing on different parts of it, and saying ‘open sesame’, but nothing happened. I think I’m just going to have to wait until it does something on its own. Fortunately, I can just stick in with all of Aunt Zinnia’s trinkets, and no one will notice it. There are half a million hummingbirds in my room anyhow.

And I think I’m going to try looking under my bed again and seeing if I can figure out a way of seeing what’s under there. I’m sick of not knowing.

And do you remember anything about fog on the day Sammy died? Because Lucas mentioned it being foggy, but Dad never said anything about that, did he? And it wasn’t foggy at home, so the fog must have covered a tiny area…

I’ll write more later.

Love,

P.S. Jason just emailed me and said that he’s going to come see me next weekend. It’ll be nice to have some company.

2008-07-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, Pennsylvania

Vi—

Wow, I’ve really been procrastinating this darn thing. There was so much information in your letter that I had some trouble getting my head around it all…mostly because it STILL doesn’t quite jive with everything else I know, but I guess maybe different families, different perspectives, all that.

You’re probably wondering why this letter took me so long. UH. Three whole days. Well, first procrastination, second, a speeding car hit my bike while I was out on ‘roadkill patrol’ yesterday, knocked it over, knocked me under it, I ended up breaking my ankle. So that puts paid to my ‘job’, but Steve wants to see me this afternoon to go over the sketches and talk about them. It makes it sound like he’s a teacher and it’s a school assignment, you know?

So I’m laid out on the couch. Grandpa still doesn’t have a TV (did I tell you that before?) so there’s not a lot to do but read. And boy, have I been doing a lot of reading. One of these days Grandpa says he’s going to go through those drawers upstairs with me, but we haven’t got round to it yet.

I gather the thing with Lucas Turner wasn’t as exciting as I thought it was going to be! That’s okay. Let me know if you’re still keeping in touch with him.

Love,
Abby

ETA: An announcement: Brennan Washburn is driving Bradford, Brandon, and me to the city tomorrow because in addition to breaking my ankle, the brush with the car also caused Blood and Gore (OK, not gore, just blood) and my shirt and jeans are both permanently stained. Nothing to serious, just I scraped my arms and knees up pretty badly. So the long and short is, I need some new clothes, and Brennan was going anyway so he offered to take me along. I’m not particularly looking forward to it…but I’ll let you know if anything interesting happens while we’re there. I might get a chance to talk to the boys a bit more…though I thought the same thing about the roadkill project and it turned out to be a no-go. They just ignored me.

Anyway—

Mall. Store. Possibly an internet café, in which case I will most definitely take the opportunity to email you (and Mom). Until then, all my love,

Abby

2008-07-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Abby,

I know you’re dying to hear about Lucas Turner, but first let me tell you about what I picked up at G & G’s friend’s house. When I pulled up to her house, I just sat in the car for a couple of minutes trying to figure out what to say when whoever it was opened the door, because G&G wouldn’t tell me anything about what I was picking up, whom I was picking it up from, or why. They just kept saying “You’ll see when you get there.”

The house looked exactly like the other houses on the street, small and neat, with a bright garden and newly shingled roof. When I got out of the car and walked up to the door, I thought I saw the curtain in the next house move a bit, but it was probably my imagination. Nevertheless, I was jumpy, both about meeting this person and having to talk to him/her and in general. Anyhow, a slightly plump, motherly looking woman opened the door for me, and told me to “come inside and have some tea, it’s mighty hot outside.”

I could tell that she had straightened the living room in anticipation of my arrival, because the rest of the rooms had a healthy, lived-in clutter that the living room was lacking. It made me very uncomfortable, knowing that somebody had gone to that much trouble over my coming to pick up something for G&G. When I sat down and sipped my tea (have I mentioned that ‘tea’ always means iced tea here?), she sighed and said, “I don’t suppose your grandparents have told you anything about why you’re here. They never did explain much of anything to anyone if they could help it.”

Okay, and now I’ll cut the descriptive stuff that I’m pretty sure you don’t care about as much as the news and get to it. Apparently, emotions give off a sort of ‘energy’, and the Kavanaugh Talent has to do with the energy that emotions give off, and what each person can do is different. I asked Judith (that’s what the lady told me to call her) how she knew all this, and she’s Gramp’s half-sister, and (as far as I understood it) she can subtly alter the general emotion of a group of people. After she told me all this, she asked me to stay in the living room while she went upstairs to fetch something. She came down with a flat, white box and gave it to me. I told her I’d be sure to give it to Gramps, and she looked startled.

“But why on earth would you give it to him? Or… So he didn’t explain anything about why you’re here? Well no, I suppose he wouldn’t. He always did leave the stuff he didn’t like to do for me. Alrighty, then. I think it’s time that I explain, at least a bit more than he did.” I didn’t think that then would be a good time to mention that it was actually Aunt Zinnia who had told me what little I knew, so I just sat there and waited for her to talk.

She took a breath and told me, “The Talented families have never been rulers. We always took the backseat, aiding and advising various people in high positions throughout history. We used to be safe and free, but we haven’t been for many a century, mainly because of the Cobbs. They used to be Talented, but lost their power after the Phoenix, the leader, found out that they were abusing it. Nowadays they’re jealous of everyone else’s Talent, and do their best to stir up trouble. There of been a couple of decent Cobbs, but they’ve been disowned and most of ‘em have changed their names. Anyhow, when the Cobbs lost their power, they lost the right to use their family emblem, and they lost the family heirloom they had that connected them with the other Talented families. No one knows what the heirloom is anymore, and no one knows where it is. The Cobbs think that one of the other Families has it though.

“An’ the point of this all is to tell you that what I’m about to give you is your family heirloom, and that it connects you to the other Talents, but you can’t let anyone who might be a Cobb or working for the Cobbs know that you have it, and you have to figure out how it all works yourself.

“You see, your Dad did, and your Granddad before him, but since your Dad married a Beecher, and you don’t have any male cousins on our side, we have to give it to the youngest girl in the family instead. But don’t you worry. There’s nothin’ that says a girl can’t keep the name of the family just as well. And in case you’re wonderin’ why the youngest in the family, it’s so the Beechers have someone to give it to.

She gave me the box, and told me not to open it until I was alone. Then, she smiled and told me to keep quiet about what she had told me, except to people I already knew were safe to tell.

She obviously thought that we were all done there, and that I should be ready to leave, but I had way too many questions to take any subtle social hints. “So there is a way for the families to communicate? Because no one really knows anything about the other families. And is Talent passed on through blood or through our last names? Nobody’s really clear on that, either. And what happened to advising people? Shouldn’t we be as well-informed as possible ourselves before we try to give advice? And how come no one ever told me or my sister any of this before? And how is it that you’ve told me more than a lot of people in my family even know?” I had to stop and take a breath.

She smiled gently, and answered, “I can’t tell you much. But the Phoenix keeps in touch, with everyone, and he passes things along. But we don’t want to put all our eggs in one basket. And both blood and name have something to do with it, even though no one knows what or how it works, besides the fact that women who give up their names don’t usually pass the gift on. About advising people, we’ve been in relative hiding for several centuries now. And as for why I know so much? I married a Washburn. Now you should take this and go. I can’t tell you any more right now.” She practically shooed me out the door.

I sort of blocked everything out and focused on driving to the McDonalds where I was going to meet Lucas Turner. I got there twenty minutes early, so I just sat there and tried to fix the conversation in my mind, especially her use of words like ‘generally’, ‘almost always’, and ‘usually’, since they changed the meaning of what she told me. I also resisted temptation admirably and didn’t look in the flat, white box she had given me at all.

Anyhow, Lucas Turner and I had both agreed to wear black T-shirts and jeans, so we found each other without any problems. He was nice. He was also very nervous at first and very glad I wasn’t mad or upset with him personally.

So that’s the news from here. How’s the roadkill sketching going? And did you have a chance to talk to the two elder Washburn boys?

I’m glad that Jason is there. And while you don’t think he’s one of your closest friends, you trust him more than most. And I didn’t tell Jason that you two should date, but I think I did say that you two would make a good couple, and I still think so. Just not right now. But I don’t think that you two should date. I’ve always thought that it’s a bad way to get to know someone. Nobody’s ever genuine on a date.

The three kids that I’m watching for three hours every weekday morning are nice, but they’re a handful. Between Elli, who’s in the ‘Why?’ stage, and the twins, Martin and George, who constantly want me to bake cookies, I’m pretty worn out. But it’s not too bad. I’m sure that once I drill it into their heads that I’m really not going to bake cookies, and that I’m only going to answer every question so many times before I ignore it, we should be fine.

Mom wrote me again yesterday, asking if I was ‘okay’, to which I replied ‘Yes, of course.’ She hasn’t really tried to write much, which surprises me, since she was so upset about our leaving. Dad hasn’t written me at all since I left, but I think it’s just that he needs some time alone. What do you think?

Love,

P.S. I still haven't opened the package I got from Judith. I'm a bit nervous about it. I'll probably look at it later, and try to figure out what to do with it.

2008-07-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Dear Violet,

Well, as I’m writing this, you have already met with Lucas Turner, so there’s probably a letter in the mail for me as I write…but I might as well do it now. I’m tired. I don’t really have the energy to write…but I got your letter this morning (the mail is always so slow on weekends!) and I thought I’d tell you about the last couple days, since you’re keeping me on tenterhooks about Lucas. :)

OK. So…Jason arrived on Friday night while we were eating dinner. He’s so tall…he makes Grandpa look kind of short and Grandpa’s not a little guy.

Urgh…I’m listening to the wrong music right now. Hang on. Let me skip the song.

Right, anyway…where was I? Yeah, Jason arrived. It was a little awkward at first, I could tell that Grandpa was reserving judgment but he wasn’t quite sure about Jason, who was being his most polite but nevertheless it was stiff.

Grandpa agreed to clear the dishes so that I could show Jason around town. We decided to go out on a walk (past the place I had to go sketch at the end of last letter…they’ve cleaned the roadkill up since then though) and I could tell Jason wanted to talk to me. We went out while I told him about my job.

“Sketching ROADKILL?”

“Violet thinks it’s perfectly suited to me.” I couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, okay, it’s a weird job. But I like it.”

“How about this town?”

“It’s good,” I said, surprising myself. “I like it.”

“Made some friends?”

“Not many.” I wanted to change the subject, but I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just shrugged.

“That’s too bad,” said Jason.

“Yeah. So after this where are you going?”

“I might go see your sister, and then it’s back to West Virginia for the first year of college,” I said.

“Oh, right. Do you miss Colorado?”

“Not yet,” said Jason. “Do you?”

“I miss my mom and dad,” I said. “And of course I miss Violet, but she’s in Arkansas, so that doesn’t count.” I paused. I don’t know what made me say it, but maybe I just felt like testing him. “And I miss Sammy.”

Jason cleared his throat and said uncomfortably, “Yeah, I’m sorry. So does much go on here…besides your job? You just go out and…and sketch roadkill by yourself?”

I wasn’t sure whether he’d failed or passed, but I shrugged again. “Nope. Grandpa has a friend—the guy who hired me—whose grandsons go on ‘roadkill patrol’ on their bikes and then call me when they find a specimen. I’m sure it’s highly unscientific and it probably is a total waste of time but Steve—that’s Grandpa’s friend—seems to enjoy it, I guess, and it’s money, which is cool, and I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Oh,” said Jason. “Yeah. You’re good at drawing.”

We walked for a bit, in silence since I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You mad at me?” Jason asked.

“Of course not.”

“Yeah…well…seems like you haven’t wanted to talk to me lately. Since Sammy…you know.”

“I’m not mad,” I said. “I just…have been having trouble, I guess. And with no internet or anyway….”

“You haven’t called, though.”

“You know how I feel about the phone.”

“Violet thinks we should go out,” said Jason.

(Did you actually say that to HIM or is he just inferring? Because I know you said it to ME like a year ago. Anyway.)

“I’m…not ready for that right now.”

“Yeah.”

Basically the rest of the evening he was pretty quiet, but I didn’t know what else to do. I know you say he’s the best friend I ever had, Violet, but I think maybe you’re confused, because I’ve never really thought that. I always thought he was better friends with you, even if he’s a year older than I am. Guess maybe he saw things differently. Anyway, he left yesterday afternoon but I didn’t have the energy to write you about it until now.

Jason did come out with me on the last roadkill sketching trip, though, and have one of those closelipped manly discussions with Bradford, at least I think it was Bradford, I wasn’t paying too close attention so it might have been Bren or Bran. Ha.

I have a headache. I’m going to go get an ibuprofen and lie down for a while.

Love
Abby

2008-07-11T21:34:00.000-07:00

Abby,

Well. I accidently let it slip to G & G last night at dinner that you had a job, and they seem to think that I need one to. Turns out that one of G & G’s friend’s daughter has five children and has been looking for a babysitter. And G & G think that I’d be good at it. I don’t mind babysitting, but I have other things that I’d rather do with my time. I haven’t actually met the kids yet, I think that’s going to happen tomorrow, and I’ll start the actual sitting on Monday. I don’t really mind having to babysit, I just wish that I had had a say about it.

Right now, I’m sitting on the porch trying to figure out how to tell you this and not sound like a complete idiot, and I’m not thinking of anything. But anyhow, when I was talking to Lucas Turner, I got the feeling of complete and sincere regret of taking someone’s life, and nothing malicious at all. I can’t explain it beyond a feeling I have, and I’m not sure whether I should trust it or not. I WANT to, but my rational brain tells me not to make character judgments simply based on a feeling. What do you think?

I haven’t talked to G & G at all in the past couple of weeks. I’ve been doing my best to avoid them, in fact. I can’t help but to not quite trust them, and I have no idea why, beyond the obvious fact that they don’t trust me.

About Jason (again!), don’t WORRY about it. I honestly don’t know if he’s gotten over you or not, but either way, he’s still one of the best friends you’ve ever had, and you know you can trust him to respect your wishes and feelings. So stop worrying about things!

And Jason called me this morning to tell me that he was visiting you this weekend, and that he would come see me sometime next week, maybe coming directly down from PA.

Whoops, phone.

LATER:

It was one of Granny’s book club friends. How boring. Why is it that everything exciting, interesting and intriguing happens to you and not me?!

About Lucas Turner and seeing him, I’ll be very careful, I won’t go anywhere with him alone, and I’ve told G & G that I’m visiting a friend there, and they asked me if I could pick something up for them from one of their friends there, and told me that I could count on this friend of theirs if I ran unto any kind of trouble. I’m sure that they meant car trouble (speaking of that, I have too driven on the highway), but I figure that I can call them if anything else happens too.

Does that make you feel better? Because I have the feeling that you’re more nervous about my whole escapade than I am.

Love,

Violet

P.S. Have fun sketching road kill. Sounds like that job’s right up your alley.

P.P.S. Did you talk to the two (elder) Washburn boys? What did they say?

P.P.P.S Can I really not tell anyone? Because I want to tell Jason about it when he comes. Keeping everything all bottled up makes me feel awful, because I’m having to do everything and make decisions based on my own very subjective judgment, and that bothers me. And your letters are great, but sometimes I need someone I can talk to more immediately.

2008-07-09T14:14:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Vi!

I just got the letter you wrote Monday, and I know you said you’d be writing sometime yesterday but I won’t be getting it till later or maybe tomorrow/the next day and I just couldn’t wait.

I can’t believe you were brave enough to call Mr. Turner (ha…every time I hear that name I think of Pirates of the Caribbean). I would never have managed it myself! But dreaming? That’s weird. My dreams have all been of Sam, and of not being able to save him. I’ve tried drawing it but even that doesn’t seem to help much and it usually does…I dunno.

Grandpa explained to me the reason he won’t let me open the drawers. He says a lot of them contain the old drawings done by our ancestors, the Beecher artists, and some of them are so old that they might not even survive daylight. But more than that—a lot even have the power, the old power, and he says there are some instruction books about using it. I’m really excited about that—it’s what I wanted to know about in the first place when we started all this.

So. I now have a job. Yes, a job—the first paying job that Abigail Beecher Kavanaugh has ever done.

What is it, you ask? You’ll laugh.

I’m SKETCHING ROADKILL for Steve. He’s doing a survey on the ways in which animals die on the road. I don’t think it’s a very good use of his time, but it WILL give me more time to get stuff out of the boys, because they’re on “roadkill patrol” and are supposed to call me whenever they get one so I can hop on my bike and run out there to draw.

Sketching roadkill. Great, huh? It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of blood or of grossness, although I can’t say I relish the idea of standing over dead squirrels or possums or whatever while the boys box me in with their bikes and hold up flags to warn passing cars that I’m here.

Yes—he’s PAYING me to do this.

Crap…the phone just rang. I bet it’s them.

LATER

Nope—wasn’t the roadkill patrol. It was Jason. Oh lord, what am I going to do?! I don’t want to talk to him, I really don’t! Argh!

OK that made no sense. I DID talk to him. What I meant was, I don’t want to see him…he’s driving down here this weekend, he said. Well how’s THAT for making things complicated? I mean it’s not like we ever dated but he made it pretty clear how he felt and I guess he’s not over that yet? Or maybe he just wants to see me. I’m OK with that, just right now it’s really frustrating because I’m BUSY and I know I can’t tell him about any of this stuff.

Oh right—why I can’t tell you. Well, here’s the story, and I don’t think you’re gonna like it but this is what Grandpa said. Apparently in the last couple years, SOMEONE has figured out how to tap into other people’s power and that’s why our Talents are losing their efficacy.

Now, I’m not saying it’s anyone at your end—quite the opposite. But the thing is, of the known Talents (and admittedly there are several ‘missing’) the Kavanaugh one is the most likely because of the energy manipulation thing.

Hang on, mailman’s here…

…

Just read your letter. Oh man, Vi, are you sure about this? I mean, Lucas Turner is all very well and good, and obviously he didn’t kill Sammy on purpose (I think his brakes failed?) but…umm…meeting him in a McDonald’s? I’m sorry, but it just scares me a little bit. I’m not going to tell you not to go, obviously, but I am going to say, BE CAREFUL. I don’t think Granny and Gramps would be too pleased about it, but….

Also: Have you ever driven on the highway before??

Not to make you feel scared or not want to do it—I’m as curious as the next person about this guy. I just want to remind you to be careful, and of course all those “internet safety” things we had to suffer through in school are running through my head right now, about meeting people alone and stuff. That said, I’m glad you’re at least meeting in a fairly busy & conspicuous place. Just don’t forget your cell phone, ha ha.

So anyway, back to why you can’t tell anyone. I’m really nervous about saying this, but I don’t think I’m going to share whatever you find out either, not even with Grandpa—not until we figure out this whole thing. There are too many secrets and if we can put together the whole puzzle, maybe we’ll have some inkling of whom to trust. Until then….

Phone again.

Jason. He wanted to know if I was mad at him. I told him I wasn’t, just I’m stressed out, and he said yeah, he’s sorry about Sammy. It was a good conversation. But weird…I feel like I’m living in a different world here and having him in it just seems out of joint, you know?.

My next letter will hopefully be fewer opinions and more fact. And—

WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP CALLING ME?!

Brennan Washburn. Squirrel down on the road just past the hardware store. Gross. Write back soon!

Love
Abby

2008-07-08T10:01:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Abby,

Lucas Turner called me this morning. And my head is spinning right now, because he lives in Springdale, Arkansas, and I’ve made arrangements to drive down and meet him on Saturday. We only talked for a couple of minutes, but he wants to meet me, and sounds really nice. Now I just need to figure out a way to escape from Granny and Gramps for a whole day.

You see, I don’t really want to tell them that I’m going to meet Lucas, but I also feel awful for not trusting them and telling them the truth about where I’m going and what I’m doing. Plus, I’m a little nervous about going to see someone I’ve never met before. I mean, we’re meeting in a McDonalds (Eurgh) right off the highway, so there will be plenty of other people there if something happens, but still…

Of course, I’m going, despite the fact that I’m worried about it. Lucas may be able to tell us something more about what happened, and I want to make sure that he really is sorry he killed someone.

On to other interesting things: I tried to get into the drawers that were under my bed, but as soon as I knelt down to pull them open, I would feel really weak and dizzy. Maybe G & G didn’t know that there was something physically stopping me from opening the drawers. Or maybe they were trying to see what would happen if I found I couldn’t open them. I certainly hope that whatever it was that caused me to feel faint when I got close to the drawers won’t alert anybody about my late-night snoopilicious activities.

I plan to look at all of Aunt Zinny’s knickknacks closely this afternoon, since I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll keep my eyes out for hummingbirds.

Love,

P.S. I’m really, really, nervous about meeting Lucas Turner. Can you tell?

P.P.S. I think you should try talking to the two older Washburn boys. See if you can get them to tell you about the test that the families had to pass etc.

P.P.P.S. I haven’t told anyone. But please, please tell me why I can’t. I’m dying for some real information!

2008-07-07T20:45:00.000-07:00

Abby,

I’ve been dreaming about Lucas Turner practically every night. And when I was looking through Granny and Gramps’ notebook for Aunt Zinny’s number, I saw an entry in the very back for Lucas Turner, but since then I didn’t know that was the truck driver’s name, I temporarily forgot that I had seen it before.

So, when I got your note from the post office, I spent a couple of days racking my brains, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the information. Last night, I had a dream that Lucas was looking through a notebook that looked exactly like Granny and Gramps’ little notebook with the hummingbird embroidered on it, and when he got to the last page, he raised his eyebrows, and then I woke up.

So this morning, being the curious cat that I am, I just had to look in the notebook, and I found his number. Now, not only do I want to know how G & G got his number, I also want to know why. It feels almost as if they know that I want to contact him, just to know what he’s like, instead of having to imagine the scene over and over again without having any idea who he is, even though I’ve never mentioned anything like that to them.

Anyhow, now that it’s eight PM and G & G have gone out to dinner with friends, I think that I can call him. I’ll let you know what he says.

Later:

He wasn’t home. I left a message on his answering machine. I think it went something like: Hello. This is Violet Beecher Kavanaugh. I would like to talk to you a bit about what happened, and about Sammy. Please call me back at 870-793-3970.

I really couldn’t say that much more, or else I would have started crying, and I didn’t want to give him the impression that I wasn’t calm and collected.

So now all I have to do is wait and see. I’m bad at that. Maybe I’ll snoop in the drawers under my bed while I’m waiting. I’ll write you as soon as anything happens or I find out anything exciting.

Love,

2008-07-06T10:33:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Hum. Sounds to me like Aunt Zinny’s dissing the Beechers, because from the sound of it, we didn’t actually have any choice at all…it was either keep the power or lose it. Hmm. That makes a certain amount of sense, though…oh my goodness, I’ve learned SO much more since the 4th when I sent you that last letter. Crap. Sounds like there’s been a HUGE disconnect between what’s gone on with the Kavanaugh side and the Beecher side.

Okay.

Grandpa knew about the test, but not that the Kavanaughs passed it. Here’s what he said:

“Long ago, there was a split in the Families and something went wrong with some of them. You know how it is with power—you read enough. It corrupts.”

“Yeah—‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’, isn’t that it?”

Grandpa grinned at me. “That’s right. The forty-nine Old Families gathered in Philadelphia and the leader—the patriarch, then, since women were not considered of much value—underwent a test that would determine the fate of the family. They say that two passed. Everyone else failed and was given a choice: lose the power, or keep it with a loss.”

Which is basically what Aunt Zinnia told you, but just wait and listen to this!

“Everyone was gathered in a room. Most of the leaders walked away then and there, but seven who had failed agreed to take on the burden without knowing what it was. Thus, nine Families of Power remained: Owl, falcon, peacock, heron, hummingbird, robin, egret, sparrow, and eagle.”

“Can you say that again?” I asked.

“I have something that will help you remember.” He stood up and went to the cupboard. He rummaged around for a while, and came up with a large, square piece of paper. It was a gorgeous drawing, Vi, of bird portraits—

“But only seven,” I said. “Where are—the last two?”

“The eagle family destroyed sparrow,” said Grandpa, “so they lost their power.”

“Who arbitrates this, anyway?” I asked. “And who decided that we had to lose something?”

“I don’t know,” said Grandpa. “It was hundreds of years ago. I only know this because the robin gift is eternal memory, and that’s what Steve has. Why his memory is poor enough that he forgives Hattie her problems, I don’t know. But then, she might not have the power, but she’s shrewder than she makes out. I would be careful around her, Abigail…and that grandson of hers, the youngest. He reports just about everything to her.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Have you been sharing this with Vi?” Grandpa asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. But tell her…to be careful. It sounds strange, but…the only reason the last seven families have remained intact this long is that we’ve been very, very careful with our secrets. No one knows which families have their powers intact—which can exist without the gift. I think owl is one of them—I don’t know about the second.”

Well, now I’ve got your letter and I’m going to go tell him what Aunt Zinnia said.

Later

Hey Vi…a whole nother epiphany, my hands are shaking right now, so sorry if my handwriting isn’t that readable. Grandpa’s whole body relaxed when I told him that the hummingbirds—the Kavanaughs—don’t have a burden.

“That’s good,” he said. “That means, Abigail, that there’s a chance the burden won’t be passed to your sister.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“When you give up your name,” he said, “you will keep your power but it will not be passed to your children.”

That makes sense to me, Violet—it explains why there aren’t a gazillion branches of each family floating around. The talent is confined to the name. Which makes me wonder how many Beechers there are who have our burden and our talent. What about Harriet Beecher Stowe? Do you think she was a relative of ours? That would be awesome! Also the name thing explains why I have the gift even though I’m not blood related. Speaking of which—Grandpa says (and this makes huge sense, too) that the Beecher talent is the gift of bringing things alive on paper—I’m an “inkbreather”. Only I haven’t come into it yet. He says that in the old days, we could genuinely draw living things and they would spring off the page, but it hasn’t been that strong in a long time.

I’m sending you a fair copy I made of Grandpa’s chart. On the back are written the things we know about each family. I think all this is FASCINATING, but what I want to know is, why has this all been forgotten and disguised? Is the same thing that “went wrong” with all the Families all those years ago coming back, or are we still paying the price for “going wrong”? It sounds like the Kavanaughs have things good (which might explain why Dad is so much better-adjusted than Mom) but how come there has been no communication between all the families—Grandpa didn’t know the Kavanaughs were one of the two and Aunt Zinnia didn’t even KNOW about the seven?

Well, part of it is Steve. I think that, from what I gather anyway, the Washburns inherit a certain piece of memory from their ancestors. I don’t know what their ‘burden’ is, but I do know that they have one…Grandpa was quite clear on that.

Maybe I’ll find out more tomorrow…I’m supposed to be biking with the boys again. Ugh.

Love,
Abby

MONDAY, July 7

P.S. DON’T TELL ANYONE ABOUT ANY OF THIS!!! I haven’t time to explain just now…more to come in the next letter.
P.P.S. Not even Aunt Zinnia.

2008-07-05T09:54:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Here’s what I found out form Aunt Z: The Kavanaugh power has to do with manipulating energy. Everyone in the family can do different things, and so there’s no way of knowing what my power’s going to be. She also told me that there are about fifty families with various kinds of Talents, and that each has a bird as its emblem. The birds were originally used as signatures, before most people knew how to write.

Aunt Z hinted that something happened in the past, that there was some sort of test, and the families that passed it were able to keep their powers, and that the families who didn’t pass either gave up their powers or kept them with a price. I told her that Grandpa thought we had a test, and she said this is because the Beechers have hidden the fact that they failed the test, and now they assume that “Talent equals loss”.

Also, she doesn’t know why Mom’s family is so bent out of shape about her having married Dad. See if you can find out, will you?

I haven’t had the time or energy to snoop around here, but I’ll get working on that soon.

Love,

2008-07-05T09:32:00.000-07:00

SATURDAY, July 5, 2008

Vi -

I'm in the post office and I just mailed your letter, and it occurred to me that, hey, you asked me in one of your letters (can't remember which one) the name of the truck driver who hit Sam. And I couldn't remember what it was, and anyway I'd forgotten you'd asked, but now I've just realized that it was in the paper and the clipping is on Grandpa's fridge, so I read it on my way out the door. His name was Lucas Turner, and according to the article it was only his second trip so he was pretty inexperienced, too. I think I feel kind of sorry for him.

Why did you want to know?

Love
Abby

2008-07-04T20:55:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Dear Violet,

Happy Fourth of July! I didn’t get a chance to open your letter till this afternoon, and we’re leaving to watch the fireworks in an hour, so I’d better get right to things.

Peacocks and hummingbirds! I cannot BELIEVE you brought that up, that’s so funny! Listen:

So the three Washburn boys arrived right after Grandpa finished his story. That was Tuesday. They’re seventeen, sixteen, and fourteen, and I’m having a lot of trouble telling them all apart—they all have B-R names which makes it extra difficult. Brennan, Bradford, and Brandon. They all have sandy hair. Brown eyes. Freckles. I think Bradford, the second, is the tallest, but he and Brennan are so close in height that it’s hard to tell.

I can’t guarantee, either, that I’ll ever get much information out of them—they don’t seem to take me very seriously. They brought me Brandon’s old bike so I could ride with them (no helmets)…but then they got ahead of me and talked among themselves, so I didn’t get much chance to talk. And I think they tried to confuse me on purpose—when their names are shortened to Brad, Bren, and Bran, it’s really, really hard to figure out what’s going on.

So have you found out what the whole deal is with the Kavanaugh Sacrifice or whatever? Grandpa hasn’t told me anything yet, except when I asked him what Sammy’s death meant for us.

“It means that, soon, the Beecher power will start to appear in you and your sister,” he said.

“What about the Kavanaugh power?” I asked, thinking of you.

“That sacrifice has yet to be made.”

I was shocked. “So someone else will have to die?”

Grandpa shook his head. “No,” he said. “That burden is ours alone. The Kavanaughs do not share their burden with anyone else; Violet is the only one who can tell us what it might be.” Concern furrowed his brow. “This,” he added, “is the reason the Families have never crossed before.”

“Do you mean,” I said, “that my children will have to bear the Kavanaugh and the Beecher burdens?” I felt silly saying it.

“I do not know,” said Grandpa. “It has never happened before—and you might have been able to shake off the Beecher power if your mother had not been so stubborn about keeping her name.” He shook his head. “Pride—that, my dear Abigail, is our standard, evident in even our emblem. Your mother thought that by choosing not to use her power, she would be able to save her children. But she refused to let go of her name and she gave it to her children.”

…leaving me THOROUGHLY confused.

That was yesterday. Today, Hattie and Steve invited us (and, it felt like, half the town too) to an Independence Day party at their house. There were a ton of kids and we all played tag on the front lawn. I didn’t want to, but I thought maybe it would help me get something out of Brennan, Bradford, and Brandon.

Well, it didn’t. I dropped out after lunch and sat under a tree with my new set of watercolors. Of COURSE I remember Mom and her peacocks—she’s still got them framed all over the house. I never understood it, but I think I do now. I found myself drawing them, too, all blue and gold and green. They’re pretty…then I started thinking about pride and our emblem and I realized. Vi, it HAS to be that each of the Families is distinguished by a bird. What’s a cross between a hummingbird and a peacock? I have to think about that one.

Sorry let me digress for a minute—so if we give up our name when we marry, it sounds like neither the sacrifice nor the power passes on to the next generation. That means that, in theory, because Mom gave us the Beecher name and thus the sacrifice, Sammy dies, meaning that the Kavanaugh name dies, meaning that whatever the sacrifice/power is, it dies, too.

Unless…crap. Joseph. I bet you ANYTHING that somewhere in the world we have a renegade uncle named Joseph Kavanaugh. Aunt Zinnia should be able to tell you about him…and about the power and the sacrifice. Geez.

I still don’t know what the Beecher Power is. I think, from what Grandpa said, that it will manifest soon. I think it has something to do with dreams, but I don’t know what.

So, where was I?

Oh, yeah. While I’m drawing this peacock, Brennan or Bradford (I don’t know which one) comes over and looks over my shoulder and says, “You like to draw?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Runs in your family, huh?”

Now that I thought about it, he was right. Grandpa, of course, and Mom if she weren’t so determined to not be like him, and me. (I’m starting to wonder, Vi…do you think maybe that, really, you’re a Kavanaugh and I’m a Beecher? In a weird way, it makes sense. Maybe that’s why it worked out that I’m here and you’re there. And I’m more like Mom and you’re more like Dad.)

“Yeah,” I said again.

“I don’t draw, much,” said Brennan/Bradford, squinting at the paper. “Peacock? Geez, you guys are so….”

He MUST know about us, Vi. “What’s your bird?” I asked him.

I could see from his face that it was a bad question to ask. Taboo, sort of. But he DID answer. “Robin,” he said. “For tenacity.”

Then he wandered away, and I heard someone call his name but I couldn’t tell if they said Bren or Brad.

Grandpa’s yelling up the stairs—the fireworks are starting any minute. I guess I’d better go—let me know what you think about all this. Love you!

Abby

2008-07-02T11:07:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Abby,

Sorry I was mad. But let me point out that I didn’t know Sammy was driving, I didn’t know that it was a truck that hit them, I didn’t see the car, it took everybody TWO HOURS to tell me what was going on, and on top of it all, Mom wouldn’t let me go to the funeral.

And about Mom, I think you misunderstood me. I didn’t mean to imply that she had something to do with Sammy’s death. I just meant that I don’t think she’s been entirely truthful or open about things recently. And I wanted to know if you had picked up on that as well or not.

Speaking of that, do you know the name of the truck driver that hit Sam? I had a dream abut him last night.

About Jason…he emailed me yesterday, and asked me if I wanted to drive up and visit you sometime next week. I told him no, and he asked if he could come visit me instead. I got the impression that he was lonely, so I said yes. I promise to leave you out of it, though. But please tell me, what conversation after the funeral?

I’m sitting here waiting for Aunt Zinny, but I should start from the beginning. I didn’t go to the library last Friday, I went this morning, when Granny and Gramps both went to heaven-only-knows-where. I wandered through all the sections, and checked out three books by Laurie King. As I was milling around, the man at the reference desk asked me, “Are you Eric Kavanaugh’s daughter?”

“Um, yeah. I’m staying with my grandparents for the summer.” I told him.

He told me that his name was Charles, and that he had grown up right down the street from Granny and Gramps’ house. “I used to be madly in love with Zinnia. We went to senior prom together. And I was lab partners in chemistry with Joseph.”

I didn’t ask who Joseph was, because I would have felt like an idiot, but I figured that he was Dad’s older brother. I smiled politely (hah!) while he talked a bit about Aunt Zinny, and I realized that even though I didn’t think Granny would approve of me contacting Aunt Zinny, she hadn’t expressly forbidden me to do so. At that point, I got very antsy and wanted to get out of the library as quickly as possible.

When I got home, I looked around for Aunt Zinny’s phone number, and finally found it in a little notebook under the coffee table. The notebook had, of all things, a hummingbird embroidered on one corner. Do you remember that when we were really little, Dad used to love hummingbirds and decorate anything important with hummingbirds? And Mom did the same with peacocks. I think that’s an interesting coincidence. Is there anything with a peacock on it at Grandpa’s house?

Anyhow, I called Aunt Zinny, and the conversation went something like this:

V: Hello, Aunt Zinny, this is Violet Kavanaugh. I know I haven’t…

Z: Vi darling! Well now, it’s been ages hasn’t it? How are you?

V: Well, I’m actually at Granny and Gramps house. And I was wondering if you still lived where you used to…

Z: You’re at Mom and Dad’s house? They didn’t tell me! Wait, do they even know you’re calling me?

V: No.

Z: Well, you must want to talk to me about something in particular then, or else you wouldn’t have called. From what I remember, you were a quiet little thing. Anyhow, I still live across town. And you’ve got me interested, so as far as you’re concerned, I’m free today though, so we could go get some lunch together if you like.

V: Yes, I would like to talk to you. As soon as possible. Preferably today. Granny and Gramps have the car though, and I don’t want to inconvenience them by making them take me.

Z: You mean that you don’t want them to know that you’re talking to me, and you don’t want them to know what we’re talking about even more.

V: Yeah…

Z: Alright, why don’t I pick you up in 45 minutes. You can just write Granny a note telling her that you’ve gone to get something to eat, which while being a perfectly good reason to go somewhere, has the added merit of being true. Then I’ll drop you off two blocks down after we talk, okay?

V: Thank you. Can you pick me up in front of the Grantley house though? And can you bring me a trench coat, please?

Z: Certainly. Do you want sunglasses as well?

V: I think I’ll be fine. But thanks again.

So, Aunt Zinny is exactly the way I remembered her being. And I bet that she’ll tell me more than Granny or Gramps. She’s horridly mischievous that way. From what I know, she always was.

Now, I need to go. I’m very excited, jumpy and nervous. Wish me luck! I’m going to send this on my way down the hill, but I’ll tell you all about EVERYTHING as soon as I can. I promise.

Love,

Violet

2008-07-01T23:04:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

DUDE!

Listen to me. You’re being a total MORON.

a) It WAS an accident. OF COURSE it was. We all know it was and I don’t know where you got the idea it might not have been!
b) They didn’t really tell me anything more than you—at least, nothing I haven’t shared already.
c) You’re so full of—UGH. VI. What are you suggesting about Mom? Didn’t you see the car? It was all crumpled on Sam’s side but not on the passenger. The truck hit SAM AND NOT DAD. Dad told us about it. A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T.

I’m too mad right now to think straight so I’ll finish this later.

OK. I’m back.

Let’s make a deal: If one of us is mad, particularly in reaction to a letter we just go, we will NOT take it out on the other. We will be calm and wait to answer until we’re not upset anymore. Mind you, this isn’t only going to be hard for you: I just read your letter and got mad (a little) all over again.

I almost ripped up what I said to start with—about you being a moron—but I didn’t really mean it. And my list IS important, because upon re-reading, that’s all TRUE. Please, PLEASE read my last letter again and try to see it a little more…calmly.

All I know, Vi, is what Grandpa has told me.

That is, nothing since Saturday. He hasn’t been HOME. And Mom called once, but I didn’t bother asking.

PLEASE don’t talk to Jason. That’ll only confuse things. And I don’t really want to talk to him, either…or see him. Not now. There’s too much going on, and he…well, wouldn’t really help matters. If he calls, I guess I’ll have to talk…but otherwise, no.

Okay, I’m feeling better about YOUR letter now. I won’t say I understand because I know it’ll make you feel patronized….

Really, though, I’ve learned that generally anger isn’t a useful emotion.

Hmm.

I don’t want to ‘wrangle’ anything out of Grandpa, but I’m pretty sure he’ll tell me something soon. Maybe I’ll go ask. It’s only fair, since the Washburns are coming over at two o’ clock.

Wednesday, July 2

It’s taken me a whole day to get my head around this, but Grandpa told me a story and I’m going to set it down now. You know I’m better with pictures than with words, but that medium won’t exactly help, either.

“Accidents happen in our family,” said Grandpa. (Terrific transition, yes, I know, but that’s where I remember the story starting). “My oldest brother fell into an icy creek and died of pneumonia when he was sixteen. Thirty years later, my son Max was killed in a bank robbery. Your brother Sammy died in a car accident.”

“That’s a pretty ridiculous coincidence,” I said. I couldn’t say much more than that because I was afraid that if I did, I would cry.

“It’s not a coincidence,” said Grandpa.

“Are you going to tell me,” I said, incredulity overcoming my sadness, “that it’s like an ancient curse or something? Because that’s pretty cliché, not to mention even more ridiculous than a coincidence.”

Grandpa shook his head. “Not a curse,” he said, “but we’re paying the price for something far more serious.”

I wanted to laugh. It sounded like a joke: like something out of a sci-fi series. I half-expected him to start in about vampires or something, but he didn’t. His face remained perfectly straight and he said, “You don’t believe me, do you, Abby? You want to know the real reason you’re not allowed to open all the drawers in the boys’ old bedroom. You want to know why your mother hates me. You want to know why you and your sister have been sent away, why you don’t know anything about your family, why you’re sitting here in Port Matilda, Pennsylvania with no internet or television. Why your brother, Sammy, died.”

I felt my face crumple up. You know how I cry…I always look like I will first. Grandpa leaned forward and put his arm around my head like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Violet thinks that Mom was somehow involved with Sammy dying,” I said when I was sure I could breathe without breaking down again.

Grandpa barked a sharp laugh. “Not in the way you’re thinking,” he said to me. “The only thing your mother did was be born and then, of all things, marry a Kavanaugh.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Grandpa quietly. “Maybe Violet can tell us more.”

“And what about the rest of the story?” I asked.

He looked at his watch. “The Washburn boys will be here any minute,” he said, “and I don’t want to be in the middle of this conversation when they arrive. I can see you’re getting ideas, so I’ll tell you now: it’s not what you think it is. I can guarantee that.”

I laughed. “Magic?”

“I don’t know,” said Grandpa. “But it’s SOMETHING. Do you ever dream, Abigail? And if you do, are they ever good dreams?”

I stared at him. Outside, I heard voices, and I knew it was probably the Washburns, so I said quickly, “Grandpa, one more question—do you know if the Kavanaughs have deaths like—like we do?”

“Every family,” Grandpa said, “carries their own burden.”

That was all I got.

But I have some ideas. Do we have some kind of power for which we trade the lives of firstborn sons or something? I think that’s disgusting. And the Kavanaughs are one of these “families”, like the Beechers? I’d bet you money the Washburns have got something too. Violet…I really, really need you to find out more. If you can’t ask…well, snoop. I know you’re good at that, way better than I am. I have two basic questions: I know what the Beecher sacrifice is, but I don’t know what the power is. Grandpa will tell me that. But what about the Kavanaughs? What is their sacrifice? And their power?

This is all TOO weird. But I have to believe it’s true—and weirdly, I don’t feel as bad about Sammy dying anymore. Does that make sense to you? I’m sure it doesn’t and I’m sure it will make you mad. But the fact that there was a REASON makes me almost feel better about it, even if it feels senseless.

I guess it makes me feel less guilty. But I’m also horrified by the whole thing. I may be adopted, but I’m part of this family too. It’s just scary.

Thoughts?

Love,
Abby

2008-06-29T12:44:00.000-07:00

Abby!

I. Am. Not. Angsty. I’m furious. It’s not fair or right that Mom and Dad trust Sammy more than they trust me, and just because you’re a year older than me doesn’t mean that you should get to know things that I can’t know. And since no one in this family ever bothers to tell me anything, how am I supposed to know that it wasn’t an accident. And on top of it all, where WAS Mom? And how did she find out, if she wasn’t with Dad and, and…Sammy. And did it even occur to you that she might not have been where she said she was?

I’m not asking you to tell me everything that you know, because that would make Mom and Dad mad at you. I’m just ranting, because I can’t to Mom. She’d just look like a martyr and tell me it was all for my own good and that I’d understand it all later. But I hate, HATE being kept in the dark. Especially since no one else is. Why me?! I’m not dumber, less trustworthy, or weaker. Sometimes my parents disgust me. And it almost feels like they care so much about Sammy that they’ve forgotten they have other kids, and that we’ve lost a brother too.

But whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. And you’re going to say they have a reason for keeping me in the dark.

Have fun wrangling information out of Grandpa. I’ll talk to Granny and Gramps.

I don’t think that Jason has anything to do with everything else. And here’s a brainwave. Maybe you two could TALK. Or I could talk to him, if you want me to. I’m pretty sure I can figure out what goes on in his brain.

I’m sorry I was snippy up there, and I’m sorry this isn’t very long. Let me think things through, and I promise I’ll write a longer letter back soon.

2008-06-28T14:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Violet,

Hey, now. I don’t want to get down on you, but seriously—don’t say that about Mom & Dad, it’s uncalled for. J I know you’re frustrated but…still. Don’t be so angsty. I mean, we’re all sad, but that doesn’t give us leave to blame them. Yeah, Dad was there, but it was an ACCIDENT.

I don’t think I’ve told you the worst of the new dreams. In it, I’m in the car with them but, unlike Sammy, I can see the other car coming even before it hits…then, WHAM, I’m floating. And I save Dad but I can’t come back for Sam.

Yeah. Not like the other dreams, but yet there’s that crucial similarity: that I can’t help everyone.

But don’t blame Mom OR Dad. They’re just trying to protect us—and yeah, it’s frustrating, but be honest with yourself—even if they DID talk to you, are you certain you would listen? That you’d want to hear? I know they’ve told me more than they have you, which admittedly doesn’t seem right, seeing as he was YOUR twin, but in all seriousness (I’m sorry I keep saying that, but I MEAN it), they CARE. Of COURSE they do.

I was thinking about it last night, and I kind of realized that they just don’t want anything to happen to us. I find myself with the same fears—as in, I haven’t gotten behind the wheel of a car since it happened.

And I keep thinking….

Why did it happen when Sammy was learning to drive, but not with me? I know—that’s called “survivor’s guilt”. And i think it’s the same reason Mo and Dad sent us away for a bit, though…I don’t know. I’ve just remembered a phone conversation I overheard between Mom and Grandpa where she was shouting at him:

“I KNOW! But why Sammy?”
His reply was perfectly calm, I thought, though I couldn’t hear what he said.
“That’s what you said about Max, too!” said Mom.
Mumble mumble from the other end….
“Well, I’m sorry! I didn’t ask for this!”

Now I want to know about Max. I think he was her brother, and I say “was” because it sounds like he died. I think maybe

Later

Sorry. Grandpa called me for lunch. My heart is going about a mile a minute—well, I’ll tell it in order, that’s the only way you’ll get any sense out of me.

So I went down and found that he’d made grilled cheese. Do you remember how good his grilled cheese sandwiches are? He makes them with grape jelly. Well, anyway, he gave it to me and said,
“This was always your mother’s favorite when she was a girl.”
“Was the room I’m sleeping in…was that bed my mother’s?” I asked.
Grandpa shook his head. “That was Max, Joey, and Calvin’s room,” he said.
I didn’t know what to ask first. “I thought you lived in Vermont then.” Yes, Vi, I was too chicken to ask about Max!
Grandpa shook his head. “Gram and I moved there after the kids were grown. Jenna wanted us to. But we never sold this house, and I moved back after Gram died. I was born here and this is where I’ll die.”
I was shocked, a little, at the grim pleasure with which he said it. I thought maybe he’d talk more, but he lapsed into silence, and I ate my sandwich. The phone rang, but Grandpa has a strict rule about no answering during meals, even though he doesn’t have an answering machine. So we listened to it ring.
“That was probably Mom,” I said.
“She’ll call back,” said Grandpa peaceably.
“Why did she want you to move to Vermont?” I asked.
“Your mother doesn’t like this house,” answered Grandpa. “Too many memories for her taste—she doesn’t understand, yet, that sometimes memories are more than you think.”
Struck by the oddness of this observation, I just had to ask: “Grandpa, who’s Max?”
He froze. “Your ma’s brother.” His movements were suddenly odd and stiff.
“Okay,” I said, not wanting to push things. “I just wondered—you talked about my room….”
“Yeah.” Grandpa leaned forward. “Look, Abby, your ma didn’t want to send you here…but it was time she learned just what ‘family’ means.”
“What?” I said, to startled to know what to say.
“Well, I guess she DID marry the Kavanaugh boy.”
“What?”
“Not that,” he said, regarding me piercingly, “she told any of you much about it ,did she? Except Sammy, of course. HE had to know. It was the same with Max, except I’m bound and determined not to let things happen the same with you as they did with my five children. So’s your mother, except she is going about it differently—and making a mess of things as far as I can see.” He must have noticed how blank my face was, because he leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“Tell you what, Abigail. If you truly want this burden, I’ll tell you. A bit at a time. But you have to promise me something.”
“What?” I asked. I know better than to make a promise without hearing what it will be, first. “Grandpa…does this have anything to do with the bureaus in my bedroom that I’m not allowed to open?”
He didn’t answer the second question. “I want you to spend some time with the three Washburn boys. Let me know if you learn anything…peculiar from them.”
“I guess, I said.”
Then I called Mom and spent 10 minutes of polite nothings before I came up here to finish this letter.

A few things strike me:

1) There’s GOT to be a reason Mom didn’t want to be with Grandpa—something to do w/ Max and Sammy and Grandpa telling me all this.
2) Max and Sammy. I think they’re connected somehow.
3) Why didn’t Mom ever tell us about her OTHER siblings? Joey and Calvin and whoever the other one was? (I suspect she has a sister but I could be wrong)
4) I think the “three Washburn boys” also are mixed up in this—or at least, Steve & Hattie are.

Now—

About the drawers at Granny and Gramps’ that you aren’t allowed to open. What if—just say—they have something to do with it, too? Maybe….

Ask if Dad had a brother who died. Or a sister, I guess, but my hunch is brother.

Have I read too much science fiction? Or is something weird going on here?

Sorry for the messy handwriting. Unlike you, I can’t type this out…and my artistic skill does not extend to writing fast. I was going to tell you about my birthday but not much happened and my hand is cramping up—so I’ll let it pass.

WRITE BACK SOON.

And try not to be upset with Mom and Dad. I’m beginning to suspect that they had a REASON for not explaining anything.

Love,
Abby

P.S. I don’t know what you mean with J, I don’t see how you think he’s involved in what happened at all, just…well, you weren’t there for the conversation after the funeral. Of COURSE he was perfectly nice and understanding, but I’m just not sure…he’s a great person but I’m not sure there’s that much GOING ON there, if you get me. In his head.

2008-06-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Hey Abby!

Yes, if you stopped being cheerful, then you might stop reminding me of a Georgia MacMillan clone. She’s so annoying. I got an email from her yesterday. She was begging to come down and see me. I really hope she can’t. Unfortunately, her current boyfriend is stationed in Biloxi, Mississippi, so she’s probably going to be within a six hour drive of me sometime this summer. Unless they break up soon. Gosh, I wish she lived in Szczecin (Poland). Trust me, if she comes, you’re sure to hear all my whining.

I’m really frustrated with Mom and Dad too. After all, they expect us to tell them everything. What is hypocrisy punishable by in the Old Testament? I haven’t bothered to look, but it would be interesting to know.

Church? What was it like? Granny went last Sunday, but I passed. I think being in a Christian church would be so, incredibly weird. I guess I’m scared to go, because I don’t know what to expect. Also, I’d feel out of place, because I’m not really Christian anyhow.

About Jason… Well, I understand why you feel the way you do, but it did happen, and there must have been a reason, even if we still don’t know why. But I can tell that he really does miss you and want to see you. Hopefully you guys will be able to spend some time together and figure out exactly what your relationship is at this point. I think you should write him. Maybe getting back in contact with him will relieve some of your ‘hanging over my head’ feelings.

How hard have you tried to get Grandpa to laugh? I think he’s lonely and sad, and doesn’t like the idea of being old and alone. I also think that may be part of the reason why Mom sent you to stay with him. You’re way better at being lighthearted and getting people to laugh. I know Mom has been worried about him recently.

Funny, I don’t miss Mom or Dad at all. About Sammy… I miss him terribly. He was always the one I talked to instead of Mom or Dad. And he took care of me, too, in a way Mom and Dad just never had the time or energy to. Or perhaps they just never realized that people need more than just food and shelter.

I would like you to know that compared to Port Matilda, Batesville is a Monster City extraordinaire. I’m glad that you like where you are. Batesville is so Southern. I like it, but it’s definitely a huge change. I’m glad I don’t have to go o school here either though. I can’t imagine having to go to a high school where everyone’s great great grandparents knew each other. Anybody whose family has been here for less than seventy years is “from off”—hillbilly talk for “not from here”. And even though our family has been here for a long time, I would still be an outsider. And that doesn’t appeal to me right now.

Yeah, I have the dreams. The new ones about Sammy are the worst though. They’re mostly about how I didn’t finish writing the story he wanted me to. And about how I told him all my problems, but he would never tell me any of his, because he was too damned protective and cared about me too much. I guess I feel like I should have done more for him.

Oh! Happy Belated birthday, sister of mine! If you want my watercolors, you can have them. At least you’ll actually use them, and they’re very nice watercolors.

I miss you.

Violet

P.S. Tomorrow I’m going to the library. I may have interesting things to tell you, seeing as I plan to talk to at least one person there. I feel like I’ve gotten some of my energy and brainpower back, so now I’m ready to do things and meet people. Of course, the ‘everyone is different and interesting’ should wear off after a couple of days, and I’ll revert back to my sarcastic and cynical self again, don’t worry.

2008-06-22T12:50:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Dear Vi:

Wow. Sounds like things are going quite SMASHINGLY. Not.

I can stop being uber-cheerful about the whole thing if you want…that certainly will make me easier to bear, I suppose. I’m just frustrated with Mom telling us so little about what’s going on. We’re sixteen and almost-seventeen, for goodness’ sakes!

We just got back from church with Grandpa. It was an…enlightening experience. Um. Well, it wasn’t a fire-and-brimstone church, which was a huge relief, because I remember going to Kayla’s church once when we were little and it almost made me cry. She said she’d send me a letter but she hasn’t yet…we’ll see how that goes, I guess. So far I’m not sure what I would say to her if she did—I feel totally separate from all our school friends.

It WOULD be nice to see Jason. But I’m a little nervous about that, too…I don’t know. It’s all very confusing and sad and I wish that NONE OF IT HAD HAPPENED. Sometimes I just want to scream. I’m so FRUSTRATED. Urgh.

I feel like it’s hanging over my head. I can’t get rid of it.

But enough of that.

I’m glad you had a nice birthday. I don’t know how mine will be—Grandpa is so formal a lot of the time. Do you remember him from when we were little? He used to laugh all the time, especially at Mom when she went on another one of her crusades. He doesn’t laugh much anymore. I kind of miss it. I mean, he was never exactly the jolly-old-Santa type, but he was happier.

You know what’s weird? I also miss Mom and Dad quite a lot. And Sammy. But, well, that’s all part of what started this whole thing….

Sorry. I’m trying to be cheery mostly because I don’t want to depress myself. In church today people kept coming up to Grandpa and saying nice things to me and about me. That’s what they do in this town, I guess. It’s weird to be here—I mean, we’re not exactly from a monster city, but it’s sure as heck bigger than Port Matilda.

I kind of like it, though.

What’s weird about this area is that you have these wide open spaces, long roads, and farmers, and but you drive twenty minutes and suddenly it’s all but metropolitan. I think that’s nice. I’ve always thought of myself as a smalltown girl but in a place this size you really start to notice how things are bigger where you come from.

I’m tired. Church wore me out—having to smile and be nice to people I’ve never met before and all that.

Soooo….

I think maybe I will write a letter to Mom. This is what I’ll say, ha:

Dear Mom, Vi and I are really angry with you and Dad for being so closemouthed about everything that’s going on and we’re tired of being sent away and kept in the dark. So stop keeping quiet about it and EXPLAIN something. I’m sure you think it’s for our own good but honestly I’m just tired of the whole thing.

Yeah. You know me—I wouldn’t do that. Besides, it isn’t TOTALLY true—I’m not THAT mad at her, just, like I said, frustrated.

Maybe I’ll add to this later, before I send it, when I have more to say.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Ugh. Sorry. I forgot about the letter. I’m not feeling great…I’ve had a headache all day. I think it’s because I’m not sleeping…have you had the dreams? I have. The old ones, of course, but also new ones about Sammy. Mostly about how I never got a chance to say goodbye—and how I never saw Mom cry. Isn’t that weird? I know she did, but I never saw it, and that really, really bothers me.

The old dreams are almost as bad…but you know how they go.

My birthday tomorrow…by the time you get this letter, I guess I will be seventeen. I think that Mom and Dad gave me the same watercolor set they got you—at least, I took the box out of my suitcase and that’s what it feels like.

I love you,
Abigail

2008-06-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

Batesville, Arkansas

Dearest Abby,

I’m glad your new room isn’t as awful as you expected it to be. Mine is light blue, with clouds n the ceiling. I think it was Aunt Zinny’s room. There are about half a million candles and knickknack sitting on everything. I’ve (so far) managed to knock over five. Thankfully, I only broke one. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever grow into my arms and legs.

My room was filthy when I got here, so I had to move all the stuff in order to dust it and wipe every single surface, and it meant that I got drawers to admire each little knickknack individually. Granny told me that I could look at everything except for the drawers under my bed. I had forgotten that until you told me that you weren’t supposed to look into the drawers in your room either.

When she told me not to look into the drawers, I nodded and didn’t say anything, because I didn’t think she would tell me anything then and there. Yesterday, I told her about cleaning my room, and how I wanted to move the bed and clean under it. I also mentioned that there was probably mold growing in the drawers, since it’s so hot and humid here. She gave me a look that made me think she was suspicious of me tying to get information out of her (which of course I was), and then said, “I think everything will be fine for now.” I couldn’t get her to say anything else about the drawers at all.

And I do hate books in which the character immediately does the one and only forbidden thing, but now I can also sympathize more. I’m dying to sneak a peek in the drawers. But if I take a peek, I will inevitably end up digging through everything in there. I’m just hoping that there will be other things to keep me occupied. Last night, as I was trying to fall asleep, I started making wild guesses at what was in The Mysterious Drawers. I have the feeling that whatever’s in my drawers will be the same thing or Dad’s equivalent of what’s in Mom’s drawers. So theoretically if I were to find out what was in the drawers here, we would have a pretty good idea of what was in the drawers there. And I know you’re going to tell me that I shouldn’t look in other people’s stuff without their permission and that I should obey Granny and Gramps, but I’m seriously trying to decide which of the three drawers to open first.

If they find out that I’ve looked, I promise not to say it was your idea.

I’m back from doing the dishes. This must be the last house in the united States that doesn’t have dishwasher. Anyhow.

My birthday was fine. I told Granny and Gramps (over and over again) that I didn’t want a big fuss, and that I didn’t want to have a party at all. It finally sunk in, so we had succotash, fried green tomatoes, fried okra and spoonbread, all made from scratch and really good. Then I got Granny’s engagement ring as a present. It’s gorgeous, but I don’t think I’ll ever wear it. It’s just not quite my thing. But it was a nice birthday.

Please, don’t even joke about Mom sending us away again next summer. This summer is awful enough. Quit trying to be cheerful about it all. It sounds fake.

It sounds like Grandpa is still as obsessed about cleanliness and order as he used to be. It sounds like he’s driving you nuts, but remember that he’s only obsessive about stuff like that because it makes him feel like he’s in control. And he’s not trying to control you in particular.

About Mom, I guess she thought that being away from everything that’s going on at home right now would make us worry less, but not knowing anything, and having to rely on her to tell us things is already driving me crazy. By the way, she did email me, and pretty much said nothing. I haven’t written her back yet, partially because I’m mad at her, and partially because I have no idea what to say.

I’ve finally convinced Gramps to lend me his library card, so that’s good. There may even be some interesting people there. I hope there’s a bench right by the door so that I can sit there and pretend to read while I’m really people watching.

I’m lucky, so far Granny hasn’t asked me to shopping with her. I hope it stays that way. I can understand why she would want the company, shopping is one of the most boring things ever, but all the packaging and advertisements in stores really tick me off. Plus, it’s depressing that people actually fall for whatever marketing ploy.

You didn’t quite get Hattie’s accent right, but it was a noble effort. Anyhow, I think there will be a lot less prejudice where you are. Hopefully Hattie will be the only one.

I haven’t met anybody yet, I think Gramps decided to give me a little bit of time to settle in, which is nice. Tomorrow, however, we’re going to go visit their friends Janie and Matt. They live two blocks away, and have five grandkids staying with them for the summer. Granny thought I might be interested in babysitting them. I’ll have to meet them first.

About being a famous writer/illustrator team, that sounds great. Dad WILL be proud, if it happens. And of course we’re going to see him again. Stop being melodramatic. You’re making yourself miserable, not to mention the fact that you’ve put a whole bunch of non-Zen thoughts in to my head.

Mom didn’t remember to give me your present. She had a few other things on her mind. Don’t worry, I can wait.

I really should go to bed. It’s ten ‘til midnight here, and I’m tired. I’ll write you a longer letter later. I promise.

LOVE,

Violet

P.S. Jason emailed me last night and mentioned that he might drive up to see you. Do you have anything to say about that? :P

P.P.S. I think you should try and convince Mom to tell you what’s going on at home. You have a better chance at that than I do.

P.P.P.S. Mom sent me a set of watercolors for my birthday. At least Dad would send me a book or something.

2008-06-17T07:49:00.000-07:00

Port Matilda, PA

Hey Sis,

Well, my new room isn’t bad, anyway. It’s all shades of yellow, which is gross, but it’s right at the peak, which of course means that it’s got two sloping ceilings & cool rails all up and down. Not railINGS. They’re these little thin b orders that run in random places all across the ceiling. I can’t really describe it…but it’s cool.

The room is pretty small. Like, REALLY small. But I have a double bed with a neat striped quilt (I think it used to be Mom’s) and the reason the room is so tiny is that Grandpa has it absolutely CRAMMED with antique end tables and dressers…and an old quilt rack that I guess is full of Gram’s quilts that she made before she died—I don’t know if you remember, since you were only 3 or 4 when she got Alzheimer’s, but she LOVED to quilt—but even though I’m DYING to have a look in all the drawers, Grandpa warned me not to. So I won’t. You’re not the only one who hates novels where the first thing the heroine does is do what she’s told not to.

But I wonder what’s IN those drawers? Old love letters? Things Grandpa thinks are inappropriate for a not-quite-17-year-old’s eyes? Geez.

I can’t believe, though, that Mom and Dad sent us to live with different grandparents like this. For ALL SUMMER. I think they were just joking when they said we’d switch next year, but I can’t be sure.

Oh—how was your 16th birthday? For the next week, we’re the same age. Go us!

Hang on…Grandpa’s calling me….

* * *

Right, I’m back. He was yelling at me for leaving the butter out on the counter. Never gave me the change to explain it wasn’t MINE, he must have done it, because I didn’t HAVE butter at breakfast, I had cereal. It’s lucky I don’t mind raisin b ran because that’s all he’s got. But he has his milk delivered every morning in BOTTLES. Rural Pennsylvania (I almost wrote ‘Vermont’ because that’s where he used to live…). I never would’ve guessed. And I KNOW it’s whole milk, because I heard Mom scolding him about it: “Really, Dad, you SHOULD drink skim!” I could’ve told her that the research suggests that without fat in your milk, your body can’t absorb all the vitamins and anyway skim milk tastes like watered chalk. But whatever.

What was I going to say? Oh, yes. I was going to ask about you. How’s life with Granny and Gramps? THEY have internet, don’t they? Grandpa doesn’t, which is why I am WRITING this. Sucks to be me, I know.

Mom SO should have known there was no reason to send us away, even after what happened with Dad. So they sent us to Grandparents. Stupid idea, really. Now I’m in Port Matilda, Pennsylvania, pop. ~630-something, the port town that’s in the middle of Pennsylvania. Landlocked. How dumb is that?

Sorry. I shouldn’t be so negative…it’s a nice little place.

Just…no internet.

No NOTHING, pretty much. And I HATE the Pennsylvania accent. Another thing about it—it’s FREEZING COLD here! Middle of June and Grandpa’s thermometer reads 65 Fahrenheit! Brrr! Where you are, it’s probably BOILING by comparison. When you write me back (and you’d BETTER) I want to hear ALL about life with Granny and Gramps. Bet it’s waaaaay different than this. I swear, you’d think no one in Port Matilda had ever seen someone even PART African-American…then I have to explain ALL OVER AGAIN how I was ADOPTED…because of course they ask why I am half-black (well, ¼ really, we think!) and Grampa isn’t.

And THEN, if he’s there, HE has to go on and on and on about how Mom and Dad thought they culdn’t have kids and blah blah blah…so they adopted me and two months after I arrive, WHAM, Mom gets pregnant, yes, Grandpa STILL thinks it’s hilarious. Clearly HE didn’t have any trouble but I’m terrified that it’s genetic or something & I’ll not….

Wait. Right. I’m adopted.

Well, yeah.

Hey, guess what I learned yesterday right after I got here? Gram was AMISH! Before she married Grandpa. How come Mom never told us THAT story??

Grandpa is VERY traditional. He’s taking me to Church on Sunday. I haven’t been to church since I was about six. No, younger. Well…I don’t know, it was right at the beginning of Gram’s Alzheimer’s. Our last Christmas here. Anyway, yeah, whenever that was, it was the last time. And now I’m going to church on Sunday.

Whoa—

We’re going to WAL-MART? Grampa just called up the stairs…GEEZ! Where’s the nearest WAL-MART?

Guess I’ll find out!

Love you lots,

Your sister,
Abby

* * *

Hey, yeah, me again.

We drove an HOUR to Wal-Mart. Just for a picture frame. Then we drove to Grandpa’s friend Steve’s house.

Steve lives in Port Matilda, too, on the other side of town. He’s about Grandpa’s age, mid to late sixties, and he has a wife named Hattie who, it looks like to me, basically sits on the porch & drinks some kind of hard lemonade. She’s a racist from South Carolina, and I hate to generalize about southerners because I know as well as ANYONE that they aren’t like that, all of them, but MAN. Hattie is something else.

We had the following conversation:

HATTIE: “Well ain’t that somethin’. Jimmy’s grandkids are colored! How’s that for somethin’, ain’t it, Steve?” (OK, so I generalized the accent, but she said SOMETHING like that)
STEVE: “Whatja say, Hattie?”
H: “Nuthin’. You just carry on with Jimmy.”
ME, trying to figure out why she calls Grandpa ‘Jimmy’ when his name is and always has been Jacob: “Pleased to meet you.”
H: “Least she got manners. I’m Mrs Washburn.”
Me: “I’m Abby Beecher Kavanaugh.”
H: “That ain’t a Jew name.” (must’ve known Mom married a Jew)
Me: “Well, my dad is Jewish, but my mom isn’t anything.”
H: “Ain’t never heard of a black Jew.”

Then Grandpa stepped in and told the story. It made Hattie laugh into her drink. Then we went home. And that’s pretty much been my day. Grandpa says Hattie and Steve’s three grandkids live with them, because their daughter died & their son-in-law ran off to Las Vegas or something, but the kids were out biking.

I’m kind of glad. I’m not sure I’d get along too well with anyone who lives with a grandmother like Hattie. Though it occurs to me that her first name plus my last/middleish equals Harriet Beecher (Stowe), which is cool.

Meh.

One bad thing about the bedroom is that it’s only an old attic so it has two TINY square windows and that’s all. I can see out onto the porch roof. Maybe I’ll draw the house for you, but if I do, YOU have to send me the BEST description of Granny and Gramps’ place you can. Someday we’ll be a famous writer/illustrator team, you wait and see, ha ha ha. Not. It would be cool, though, wouldn’t it? Dad would be SO proud. If, of course, we ever see him again.

I know, I know, we will. At least he & Mom are still together. We’re not like the Washburn kids.

Think of all the books we’ve read about something like this.

Weird.

I think I kind of like this town, except for the racist old woman—it’s very small and friendly. But I’m quite glad we’re going home at the end of the summer, because I don’t like the idea of entering a school where EVERYONE has known EVERYONE since kindergarten. Though, come to think of it, I don’t even know if Pt. Mtlda HAS a high school. There might just be an area high, maybe a HUGE one.

Well, Miss Violet Beecher Kavanaugh, I expect a reply the MINUTE you get this, which should only take a day or two.

LOVE,
Abigail ♥

P.S. I just got a letter from Mom. She said she emailed you. I’ll enclose the letter for your perusal, but please send it back when you’re done. J
P.P.S. I’m also enclosing drawings of a bunch of our family. Blahhh. I miss you. I miss everyone. I drew you and me and the grandparents, cuz I thought that was appropriate, and then I drew Mom & Dad cuz there was nothing else to do.
-Abby
P.P.P.S. Yikes, I keep adding to this—but did Mom remember to give you my present before you left? I had it tucked in the back of the window seat in my bedroom, and I forgot to give it to you myself. I’ve still got yours to me, it’s in my suitcase and I’ve promised myself to hold off looking at it until my birthday comes around, but let me know what you think of what I got you. J

* * *

DEAR Abby,

Hope you made it safely to Grandad’s. Everything is fine here. I love you LOTS and I hope your grandpa didn’t forget to buy you skim milk.

I wrote Vi an e-mail, but she hasn’t replied yet. Maybe you can convince Grandpa to get internet or at least a computer, though I doubt it.

Don’t stay up too late.

Hope you’re well.

Love
Mom

1999-03-23T14:51:00.000-08:00

CONTRIBUTORS

We are Brynne Annaë (Abby) and Layli (Vi). We're two teenage girls who live too far away from each other and have overly vivid imaginations.

LINKS

What is the Letter Game?

Batesville, Arkansas

Port Matilda, PA

YOU CAN NOW STALK...

Abigail Beecher Kavanaugh
Violet Kavanaugh
Brennan Washburn
Lucas Turner
Jason Gregory
on facebook.

1999-03-22T14:41:00.000-08:00

Abigail and Violet Beecher Kavanaugh.
Two sisters, separated, each living with a different set of grandparents.
These are their letters -
This is their story.

Abby and Vi live in a world very similar to ours. On a day-to-day basis, they function just as you and I, and most of their contempories have no clue about the events that take place behind the scenes.

There IS magic. It is very much a part of the world. However, it is confined to a handful of families who possess specific powers. More than that? Abby and Vi aren't sure.

TIMELINE FOR THE LETTER GAME

5/12/08, Madison, WI – Sammy Kavanaugh dies in a car accident while learning to drive. The car is hit by a young truck driver named Lucas Turner.

6/14/08 – Abby and Vi are sent to their grandparents’ houses – Abby to Port Matilda, PA, Vi to Batesville, AR.

6/17/08 Batesville, AR – Vi turns sixteen.

6/24/08 Port Matilda, PA – Abby turns seventeen.

6/28/08 Port Matilda – Grandpa hints to Abby about the story.

7/1/08 Port Matilda – Grandpa tells Abby about Max getting killed in a bank robbery and how everyone in the family has to make sacrifices. Meets the three Washburn brothers, Brennan (17), Bradford (16), and Brandon (14).

7/2/08 Batesville – Violet is at the library and learns (from Charles) about Zinnia and Joseph and contacts Aunt Z.

7/3/08 Port Matilda – Abby learns about Lucas Turner.

7/4/08 Port Matilda – Abby is at the Independence Day party and talks to Brennan about robins and peacocks.

7/5/08 Batesville – the Kavanaugh power, according to Aunt Zinnia, is manipulation of energy.

7/6/08 Port Matilda – Grandpa explains about owl, falcon, peacock, heron, hummingbird, robin, egret, sparrow, and eagle. Eagle destroyed sparrow and lost their power. He also warns Abby that Hattie is dangerous.

7/708 Batesville – Vi discovers that Granny and Gramps have Lucas Turner’s phone number. She calls him.

7/8/08 Batesville – Vi arranges to meet Lucas Turner. In addition, she tries to look in the drawers in her room and finds herself unable.

7/9/08 Port Matilda – Abby learns that the drawers in Grandpa’s house are full of all the old Beecher lore, including instruction books. She gets her job sketching roadkill for Steve Washburn. Jason Gregory calls and persuades her to let him come for a visit. They decide not to tell any of the grandparents about what they find out till they’ve discovered the whole story.

7/11/08 Batesville – Vi gets her babysitting job.
Port Matilda – Jason comes to visit Abby.

7/12/08 Batesville – Vi visits Gramps’ half-sister Judith Washburn, who gives her the scoop on the Kavanaugh talent and also hands over a flat white package, which contains the Kavanaugh family heirloom. She explains that the eagle family are called the Cobbs and not to trust any Cobbs. She also gives a somewhat garbled explanation about a leader called the Phoenix. Then she meets with Lucas Turner, who tells her that it was foggy when he hit Sammy.

7/16/08 Port Matilda – Abby gets hit by a speeding car whilst on roadkill patrol and breaks her ankle.

7/22/08 – Jenna Beecher and Eric Kavanaugh – Abby and Vi’s parents – separate.

1999-03-21T13:05:00.000-08:00

IN BATESVILLE, ARKANSAS

Violet Beecher Kavanaugh
Date of birth: June 17, 1992
Age: 16
Parents: Jenna Beecher and Eric Kavanaugh
Siblings: Abigail Beecher Kavanaugh, Sammy Beecher Kavanaugh (d.)

Vi has been sent to live in Batesville after her twin brother Sammy's death. Her parents' recent marriage troubles don't bode well for a return to Madison anytime soon.

Patrick and Mary Cohen Kavanaugh
Age: 70 & 68
DOB: unknown
Parents: unknown
Siblings: Judith (?)
Children: Eric, Joseph, and Zinnia

Patrick and Mary seemingly have suppressed what is probably a considerable talent. Violet is living with them, but they don't discuss much with her.

Zinnia Kavanaugh
Age: 33

Date of birth: unknown

Parents: Patrick and Mary Kavanaugh

Siblings: Eric and Joseph

Children: none

Aunt Zinny, like all Patrick and Mary's children, doesn't connect all that well with her parents - she's interested in her power but, from what Vi has gotten, doesn't know as much about it as she probably thinks she does.

IN PORT MATILDA, PENNSYLVANIA

Abigail Beecher Kavanaugh
Age: 17
Date of birth: June 24, 1991
Parents: Jenna Beecher and Eric Kavanaugh
Siblings: Violet Beecher Kavanaugh and Samuel Beecher Kavanaugh (d.)

Upon the death of her brother, Abby was sent to live with her paternal grandfather. The letters she has exchanged with her sister suggest that there's more going on than only that.

Jacob Beecher
Age: 73
Date of birth: unknown
Parents: unknown
Spouse: Julia Beecher (d.)
Siblings: Unknown
Children: Max (d.), Jenna, Calvin, Joey, and Susanna

A talented Beecher, Grandpa Beecher is nervous about telling Abby too much too soon. She can't decide whether it's because he has something to hide or if he's only afraid she'll "lose it" (go insane) as some of her family members have done.

Steve and Hattie Washburn
Age: unknown
DOB: unknown
Children: a son

Steve is a Talent with little realization of the import of his gifts; his wife is friendly but conniving. Their three grandsons live with them.

Brennan Washburn
Age: 17
Date of birth: December 17, 1990
Parents: unknown
Siblings: Brandon and Bradford

A very strong Talent. Brennan's gifts make him seem a little off sometimes, but he's good-hearted and, although he teases Abby, she considers him one of her few allies in an uncertain world.

Bradford Washburn and Brandon Washburn
Age: 16 and 14
Date of birth: unknown
Parents: unknown
Siblings: Brennan

Brennan Washburn's little brothers. Brad is charming but shallow; Brandon is his grandmother's little spy.

IN WISCONSIN

Jenna Beecher and Eric Kavanaugh
Age: 44 and 43
DOB: unknown
Parents: Julia and Jacob Beecher, Patrick and Mary Kavanaugh
Siblings: Max (d.), Calvin, Joey, Susanna, Joseph, Zinnia
Children: Abigail, Violet, and Samuel (d.)

The death of Jenna and Eric's only son has brought to light certain facts about their pasts that have caused them to temporarily separate and send their two remaining children to live in other places. Both are trying to pretend that nothing is wrong.

OTHER

Lucas Turner
Age: 19
Date of birth: April 1, 1989
Parents: unknown
Siblings: Angela Turner-Lobson

Through an unfortunate series of events, Lucas happened to be the one who was driving the semi truck that supposedly killed Jason Gregory. He's met with Vi and agrees that something strange was going on that day.

Jason Gregory
Age: 18
Date of birth: March 28, 1990
Parents: Char Branhagen, Cooper Gregory (div.)
Siblings: none

Jason grew up next door to the Beecher Kavanaughs and was good friends with Sammy before he died. He's just a little suspicious of the goings-on around Abby and Vi and is determined to protect them.

DECEASED

Samuel Beecher Kavanaugh
Violet Kavanaugh's twin brother, who died on a freeway while driving with his father. It later becomes evident that, while his death was the result of a car crash, its real cause was the magic latent in his mother's family.

Maximilian Beecher
Jenna Beecher's older brother; died under mysterious circumstances, seemingly due to the nature of the magic the family possesses.

Julia Beecher
Jenna Beecher's mother; died of old age.

UNACCOUNTED FOR

Steve and Hattie's son
Calvin Beecher
Joey Beecher
Susanna Beecher
Joseph Kavanaugh