The Diary of Cozette Read Online Free PDF Page A

this,” he choked out in a whisper and took leave, disappearing into the darkness without a word. I was left utterly confused and breathless.
    After a few moments, I gathered what was left of my pride, remembering Edward’s words as I hurried back to my room. I lay awake into the wee hours of dawn replaying the incident in my head. What had I missed? How had I offended him? Was my behavior like that of a common whore? I would find him and make him tell me to my face.
    He had no knowledge of what he’d awakened. I was captivated by this curious desire to feel again the intensity of the raw hunger of passion.
    Were these the same emotions that drove Edward to his mindless aggression? If so, then is it possible to have such feelings without being connected to the intimacies of the heart? Nevertheless, all the better the passion if given these intimacies?
    So many are the questions spinning through my mind and I have no answers, but this I do know. Ernest by his gallant and gentle compassion, has restored, perhaps set free for the first time that which Edward destroyed. He is evidence that there are still gentlemen in this world turned upside down.
    ~A.C.B.

June 23, 1871
    Ernest says we cannot meet and does not know when we will be able to again. He fears Mr. Abbot is watching us more closely. I have kept busy with my chores and have taught some of the young girls to read and to write. I hope he will send word soon to meet him. I have so many questions with regard to these unusual feelings inside me.
    I am not sure Ernest feels the same after we last met, but I am compelled, when I see him again, to press him further for the answers I seek.
    I have caught Mrs. Abbot watching me from the window as I hang the laundry. Perhaps Ernest is right—we need to be careful. I would hate him to lose his position. Now that Elizabeth is gone, he is the only one here saving me from going mad.
    ~A.C.B.

July 7, 1871
    Today Mr. Abbot sent Ernest and a few others to a neighboring farm to help with the harvest.
    “We are cheap labor, Cozette. Mr. Abbot says the pay is good and has promised each of us a share of the payment, once the harvest is complete. I do not trust him, but neither can I turn down the offer. My mother grows more ill. I am afraid in this I have little choice. I will return after harvest, they say, late September, early October.”
    Over two months without Ernest? I had to be strong. I didn’t want to appear childish. If I wanted Ernest to see me as a woman, I would have to be strong. “I will think of you daily.”
    His eyes touched mine in a way his hands could not.
    “You will? I will carry that thought then and it will make the time breeze by. I will send word when we are to return. Meantime, please be careful, my little bird.”
    I stared at him over the clothesline, my knuckles white from holding it tight, keeping myself from skirting beneath it and into Ernest’s safe embrace.
    “Mr. Abbot is waiting.” He gave a nod, looked at me once over his shoulder and disappeared around the side of the house.
    “I will do the same, Ernest,” I whispered after him.
    I do not know how I will stomach these next few weeks, but for the sake of Ernest, I will find a way.
    ~A.C.B.

August 17, 1871
    I have taught myself to whittle. It is a primitive form certainly of passing the time, but I find it an agreeable one. One of the young boys helping with the garden showed me the small penknife he carries in secret. He says it was his father’s. I am no good at it and much better creating with words, so I have discovered. I have taken to telling stories to the young girls at night as we lie in our beds. It gives them something other than despair to go to sleep on. I abhor the nights, when my mind and heart is restless with thinking about Ernest. I wonder if he is thinking of me? Perhaps I will whittle a spear and poke out Mr. Abbot’s eyes for taking my Ernest away.
    ~A.C.B.

October 1, 1871
    The young boy with the knife slipped a