Garnet or Garnets Curse

autumn sun, but the wind foretold the coming of winter.
    It had begun to rain. My thoughts were only to close the window, but I was seduced by the beauty of the valley and the sensations of the cool mist against my bare flesh.
    For an undetermined length of time, I stood there pondering over the elements of my life, until at last sleep wooed me.
    I neglected my nightgown and lay upon the bed undraped. An unknown passion stirred inside of me. I desired something I had not received.
    The rain peppering down upon the roof served as a lullaby and I soon fell into a deep sleep. There is an old saying that a rainy night opens the gate to dreamland. Such was certainly the case that night.
    I dreamt I saw Auntie standing at the mouth of a long windy tunnel. There was a desperate look on her face. She was trying to tell me something important, but the wind swept her away. I tried to call out to her, but everything went black.
    I was awakened by a scratching sound at my bedroom door. I arose, slipped on my dressing robe, slowly opened the door and discovered Bella, my Auntie’s little dog. Assuming she was frightened by the storm, I lifted her up and tucked her into bed next to me.
    I was troubled no more with dreams and slept soundly. Just after dawn I was awakened by a sharp knock on the door. The intruder did not wait for me to answer before entering. I sat up quickly to see Auntie’s maid, Harriet, standing at the foot of the bed. She looked as pale as a ghost and her voice was stern, “Get dressed Garnet, you are needed downstairs.”
    I was slow to move and she clapped her hands. “Hurry, they are waiting for you in the main kitchen.” She turned quickly and disappeared out the door.
    I took no pains with my appearance, tucked Bella under my arm and stepped out in the hall. As I passed by Auntie’s bedroom, the door was closed. It was not unusual; she was a late sleeper.
    When I walked into the kitchen, the entire staff was there. I looked at their faces but their eyes were downcast. When Auntie’s advisor, Charles, stood up to speak, I knew. Auntie was dead. I felt my knees go weak and I fell to the floor.

    Chapter II
    False Friends

    Sometime later, I opened my eyes. My head was pounding. I panicked. I did not know where I was. I tried to sit up, but I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. “Lay still dear,” came the familiar voice of Harriet.
    When the cobwebs cleared out of my eyes, I realized I was lying on the sofa in the hall. Harriet raised her hand in the air and quickly Charles was standing by her side.
    “What happened?” I asked him, trying to read his mind.
    “The doctor will be down shortly to speak with you. Perhaps we should wait until then before we discuss the details.” He turned quickly. I could hear his heels clicking down the hall.
    I insisted on sitting up, even against Harriet’s wishes. It was then that I saw the entire staff hovered at the end of the hall, watching me. Their noses were red and their eyes misted with tears. I stood up and started walking toward them.
    As I neared, they drew up as if they were frightened of me. Harriet saw the inquisitive look on my face and took hold of my arm. “Garnet, this has been a great shock to us all,” she whispered. “Let’s go to the library and wait for Dr. Lowers.”
    When we walked by the servants, they darted through the kitchen door, like rats running from a cat.
    Harriet opened the door to the library and left to prepare a pot of coffee. She closed the door behind her and locked it. It was a most uncomfortable feeling, for I was not sure if she was trying to protect me or trap me.
    I paced the room, ran my fingers over the dusty shelves and opened a book or two. Then after what seemed like an inordinate length of time, I sat down. I laid my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. For many years this room had remained the same. Even with my eyes closed, I would recognize it by its odor, a combination of musty old books and leather.
    The mind is peculiar. It will travel back across your past and settle on events without your consent. There in the dim light I recalled a trip Auntie and I took to Paris. We rode the French Rail from Orleans to the city. On the train were two women wearing black crepe garb and veils to hide their faces. Auntie seemed annoyed by my questions. While we were in Paris she bought me a so-called “mourning doll kit.” The doll was dressed like the women on the train and came with a small wooden