It is not the chill of the night time that makes my body tremble. It's when my thoughts wander to that saintly man. I gaze from my window to the hill as I watch the warm glow from his home and pray he perhaps is thinking of me as I am thinking of him. I can scarcely wait until Thursday next when we will again be in one another's company! He walked from Oak to Main Street yesterday though he didn't see me as his head was bent against the driving snow and I, a distance away.
"See?" Cynthia said. "I told you'd I'd solve it! It is Annie's diary, written when she first met Rev. Martin! Isn't it romantic?" Dean hardly had time to detail their day's activities before Cynthia proudly showed him the transcribed text.
"That's great," Dean said, reading the century-old writing. "How much did you translate?
"Only the one paragraph. It's real pick-and-shovel work, maybe an hour a page. But you were right-'X' equals a period! That's why there are twenty-seven characters. Once I figured that out, it all began to fall into place."
"Is this the first page?" Fred asked, looking over Dean's shoulder.
"No. But I'm going to start at page one and decipher the entire notebook in order. It's like reading a novel!" Cynthia, usually much more reserved, was as excited as Dean could remember.
"It reads more like a paperback romance than a best seller," Dean said. "I've never met anyone who talked like that." "Don't be a poop! It's very romantic, even if the language is a bit stilted."
"You gotta remember the times," Fred said. "Folks were a bit more formal back then. But this is a real find! The museum will get a big kick out of it." He scratched his head and scowled. "That reminds me. I gotta bite the bullet and go see Miss Worthington, with my hat in hand, and explain how I misplaced that picture she kindly lent me."
"I searched high and low Fred, but no luck," Cynthia said. Dean frowned. "I'd still bet my last buck Claire Quincy has it in the bottom of her suitcase."
"Well, we can't very well go searching her room for it," Cynthia answered. Dean raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. "Don't you do it!" she scolded.
"I'd try to smooth over the missing picture with Miss Worthington by telling her about this here notebook, but I can't be sure she'd keep her mouth shut and not blab about it to the Quincy ladies."
"I guess the sisters spent the day at the museum," Cynthia said. "I haven't seen them since shortly after the two of you left to ski."