Secret Letters Read Online Free Page A

for a moment, and he swallowed twice before he answered. “I thank you for your frankness, and I am truly sorry to have bothered you. Good day, Miss—”
    “Joyce.”
    “Miss Joyce.” He paused and his brows came down. “Miss Joyce?” he repeated, and his mouth fell open in surprise. “Not Miss Dora Joyce, of Newheath?” he inquired in an awestruck whisper. I nodded dumbly. “Little Dora, who’s known the secrets of her entire town since she could talk, who sometime back shocked even her sweet old pastor? The same Dora Joyce whose aunt insisted that she stop her ‘prying,’ if she wished the family to be welcome in society? I believe you’ve even solved a mystery or two in your little village, have you not?”
    It was my turn to blush now, and I admit that I did, happily and completely. It seemed incredible that my reputation was known in London, but this boy seemed absolutely overwhelmed, and he had just recited my little history as if it was the stuff of myths and fairy tales. It was true that I had located a missing puppy some months ago and later found a bit of jewelry for a distant relative, but I had never imagined that the news of my small accomplishments would have traveled to the city. And that my name should actually cause this peculiar boy to gawk! I was very sorry that I had tried to hurt him and resolved to make it up to him immediately. He looked quite meek now, and his tone had been at once gentle and appealing.
    “Thank you for the compliment,” I murmured sweetly. “Really, Mr. Cartwright, I am very flattered that you have heard of me. People truly speak of me here, in London?”
    His jaw snapped shut, and he grinned at me with gritted teeth. “No, they certainly do not. And I’ve never heard of you until today. Everything I said just now I learned from you, my conceited little friend. The famous Dora Joyce, indeed! And yet you accused me of lacking humility?”
    I was entirely crimson now; I could feel the heat pulsing from my forehead to my collar. And he was laughing, easily and without mercy. I hated him, hated him with an intensity that shocked me, with a force that numbed my sadness. But I did not drop my head; I would not admit defeat. I simply could not let him win, not after I had been beaten by my own bad luck and wasted plans. Today is only the beginning , I promised silently, as I glared at my opponent. I felt the blood drain from my face, and my lips went taut. This is only the beginning.
    I never expected a reaction, for I did not say a word just then. But as I glowered at him, his laugh strangled in his throat and his eyes came open in blank surprise. He shook his head and glanced away as if to clear his sight, and when he turned back to me his face was drawn and rigid, with the faraway look of a wakened memory. I heard the whisper of an exhaled breath and then the words, “Dear God,” and nothing more.
    We stood and watched each other for several moments, and when I could no longer bear the tension of the silence, I broke the spell.
    “Good morning, Mr. Cartwright, and good-bye.”
    He seemed to have the lost the ability to speak. He nodded absently and played with the edge of his lapel. As I stepped off the pavement and turned toward home, he coughed suddenly and called to me.
    “Miss—Joyce?” Was it my imagination, or had he put more emphasis on the pause than on my surname?
    “Yes?”
    “You will come back?”
    “I—I’m sorry?”
    He smiled wistfully, but his eyes were shining like twin jade fires. “Forgive me, Dora, and come back.”
    Somewhere, someone would have known the correct response. Adelaide would have found some feminine and honest words for him; my aunt would have cut him with a moral.
    I sputtered for a second and shot out, “If I do, you’ll probably regret it, sir!” and sped away with the sound of his laughter ringing in my ears.

 
    A DELAIDE WAS PACING back and forth over the parlor rug when I returned. She rushed forward when she saw