Garnet or Garnets Curse

the river. The Loire River is the longest river in France and I had yet to see where it ended. People called this valley, “The Garden of France.” Everywhere the eye looked there was beauty, from the olive green forests to the ancient castles sitting high upon the limestone cliffs.
    Indeed, it was beautiful. I could not help but wonder, was it more beautiful beyond? On the other hand, would I find it like the river that flowed before me—unpredictable and dangerous?
    On the way home, I was appreciative of my time alone. It had given me time to reflect over the last days. I decided my first step was to speak with Charles and demand access to all of my Auntie’s records. If he were not agreeable, I would come back to see Lawyer Bastille. Then I could determine the path before me.
    It was always peaceful in the country. The melody of birds singing and the horse hooves clicking was soothing. With the autumn sun draping over my back, I must have momentarily drifted off to sleep. I was brought back to consciousness when an image of my Auntie’s face flashed before me.
    Suddenly, I am reminded of the dream I had the night she died. It was not just a nightmare. Auntie was trying to speak to me from the grave. Somehow, someway I knew I must find a way to reach her.
    I parked the carriage and entered the house through the servants’ door. My heart was pounding, but I calmly walked into the kitchen. Ellen, the cook, looked up at me. “You have missed the noon meal,” she said, eyeing me for evidence of where I had been .
    “Yes, I know. Is there something for me now?” I asked.
    “Of course,” she said, and stopped her work. She opened the cupboard and in a matter of minutes, she set a plate of food in front of me. I tore open the bread and stuffed the block of cheese and the piece of dried venison inside. Sara watched but said nothing.
    I excused myself and started up to my room, hoping to recapture a vision of Auntie. In the hall I saw Charles approaching. I dropped my head intending to pass by without incidence. Charles called out to me, “Garnet, it is not wise to go out alone. I understand that I do not have control over you, but I cannot support your actions.”
    I thanked him for his concerns and started for the stairs. He took hold of my arm bringing me to a halt. “I have held off giving you this letter until after the funeral. It has been in my keeping for many years. It was your aunt’s desire that you receive it upon her death.” He handed me the letter, turned and walked away.
    Once in my room, I sat down at my desk to eat. I opened the envelope and took out the letter. I had expected it to be her final words of endearment and hoped it would offer financial advice. I would have considered the letter false had it not clearly been in her handwriting.

    Garnet,
    “Listen carefully to my words, child of the seventh generation. You shall find the secret chronicles of the Dragos beneath the seventh step leading to the west chamber. Protect it with your life; arm yourself with its words.”

    I stuffed the letter in a box under my bed, opened the door and stepped out into the hall. I was relieved there was no one watching me as I headed for the west chamber. It was not forbidden to me, but I rarely went there anymore. It was once my parents’ domain.
    I used to go there as a little girl and pretend that they were just away on holiday. I would talk to my mother’s painting hanging over the mantel and try on her dresses.
    When I came to the door leading into the west chamber I pulled on the door, but I could not open it. I feared it had been locked. I pulled harder and the door swung open, nearly knocking me to the floor. I assumed it was stuck from the years of being closed up. The steps were covered with cobwebs. I counted one, two, three, four, five, six and then froze before the seventh step. Slowly I pulled on the seventh step and it easily lifted up like a lid on a box. Before my eyes was a large book. My hands were trembling as I lifted it. It was heavy. The cover was worn leather and the gilded pages were sewn together.
    With the book in my hand, I climbed the balance of the stairs and opened the door to the west chamber. Strangely, there was a light burning in what was once my parents’ bedroom. I walked into the bedroom and before me was the bed where I was born and my dear mother had died. There was not a sign of life, but the room was clean and the curtains were open.
    I walked into the