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The Secret Diary Of Sarah Chamberlain

By Sarah Norkus

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Chapter One Saturday, June 14th 2008
Em stomped her foot in frustration as she watched her mom disappear down the attic stairs to answer the door.
“What the…?”
She looked down in astonishment at her right shoe. It now stood at an angle an inch above its mate. She inched her foot backwards to reveal a wooden slat no longer flush with the floor. Em adjusted her grip for a better hold and lugged the three legged antique writing table backwards, leaning it up against the wall. Kneeling down beside the slat, Em hooked her fingers over the end of it and tugged. The slat rose about six inches and stopped. Em glanced down into the empty hole. She cautiously slid her hand into the cavity as far as it would go and jerked back when her fingers touched something. Lying flat on the floor, Em peered into the hole and promptly sneezed from the dust she had stirred up. Absently, she rubbed a finger across her nose. Unable to see the object, Em’s fingers crept around the circumference of a small, fabric wrapped bundle. She pulled it out into the dusty light from the dormer window.
Em felt a strange tingling race up her spine as she stared at the small parcel she held like a precious stone. The fabric was a piece of coarse cotton. She wrestled with herself about the right thing to do. She knew she should give it to her mother, but her excitement over the find was escalating. She unfolded the piece of cloth. Inside was a small leather book about three by five inches. The brown leather was rough and pebbly under the finger she trailed across the cover. Embossed in gold across the middle were the words, My Diary. The edges of the cover contained small cracks, but otherwise, it seemed to be in good shape. Em gently opened the cover to the first page, which had yellowed with age. Written in very faded ink were the words, This diary is the property of Sarah Chamberlain.
Em turned to the next page. The paper was thicker than she’d expected and didn’t crumble at the edge when she turned the page. In the top left corner was a faded date—June 20th, 1860. Em began to read the elegant handwriting.

Oh, what a glorious day! Could it have been more perfect? I am sure it could not. My Robert was so dashing in his pearl gray trousers and dress coat. I felt like a princess in a fairy tale in my lavender wedding dress with embroidered pink roses beautifully sewn along the bodice and hem. As we stood holding hands before the altar at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church saying our vows, I knew that my mother approved and smiled down on us from Heaven. My infernal hoop not withstanding, the reception was absolutely lovely. It was held on the lawns of the Bolling Estate with my cousin Beatrice Wainwright as hostess. Robert and I danced and danced, ignoring the talk of unrest between the states being whispered around us. When we tired of dancing, we drank chilled wine and nibbled on exquisite delicacies prepared by the Bolling staff. I’m too excited to write more, so I will close, dear diary. It is my wedding night after all.

Slightly intrigued with the first entry, Em turned the pages to the last entry. The page was blotchy and some words were too smeared to read.


June 24th, 1865
I have just returned … the funeral. … must write … down while I can think … overcome with despair… need for my laudanum and the … of sleep. Amelia and Abby hover … concerned … well-being. Robert is dead. … blows to the head … three o’clock … June 21st. The guard’s account is a foul lie. … said Robert attacked him. The guard … shouting and Robert grabbed … guard … the neck to strangle him. … guard repeatedly hit him in the head … butt of his rif … Robert told me last week … the Confederate gold … I know that is why … is dead … wouldn’t tell … they murdered my Robert. I have an appoint … to talk to … eral Hartsuff … his headquarters. If … the last thing … I will clear my dear husb…name.

The missing confederate gold! What if this diary held the secret to unraveling the location of the gold that no one had found in almost 150 years!
A floorboard creaked and Em glanced towards the stairs. Carefully, she folded the cloth around the diary and placed it back in the hole, snapping the wooden slat shut. Em positioned herself next to the writing table as her mom appeared at the top of the stairs with a strange man grunting from exertion.
“Em, this is Mr. Wright of Wright Brothers Antiques. He has generously offered to replace the missing leg for free so we will be able to finally display the writing table downstairs.” Turning to Mr. Wright, Elisabeth continued, “Twice a year, The Benevolent Ladies Society of Petersburg allows tours to be conducted through the Chamberlain House by the Petersburg Historical Society.”
Perspiring profusely in the hot attic, Mr. Wright extracted a large handkerchief from a back pocket and quickly wiped the sweat off his flushed face and neck. Shoving the hankie back in his pocket, he held out his hand to Em.
Trying hard not to look disgusted, Em smiled and shook his hand. “That is very generous, thank you.”
Mr. Wright exclaimed, “Your Society has a superb collection of antiques downstairs. The melodeon is an exceptionally fine piece. I would like to examine it, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all. During our tours, some of the ladies, including my daughter, dress in period costumes and sing songs from the Civil War era while one of the ladies plays the melodeon.”
Spying the writing table, Mr. Wright changed the subject. “You were right; this is small enough for the two of us to move.”
Elisabeth leaned over and grabbed one end while Mr. Wright bent his portly frame and grabbed the other. Together, they succeeded in carrying the table down the attic steps. Em waited a couple of minutes and then pressed her finger on the odd-looking nail at the edge of the slat. With a click, it opened. Em raised it up a couple of inches and removed the bundle. Making a decision, she uncovered the diary and slid it gently into the pocket of her baggy capris. She dropped the piece of cloth back in the hole and closed the secret hiding place. She would give the diary, along with the cloth, to her mother once she finished reading it. Em stepped to the landing, turning off the light switch as she descended the steps.
* * *
During the short drive from Petersburg to Colonial Heights, Em put her hand protectively over the pocket containing the diary and avoided looking at her mother. Her mother said Em had one of the most expressive faces she had ever seen and that she could never take up a criminal career; she wouldn’t be able to lie her way out of trouble.
Elisabeth parked the silver mini-van in the driveway of their two-story brick home and set the brake. As Em shoved her door shut, her mother yelled over at Caleb, who was mowing the lawn, to hurry and finish. Em’s thirteen-year-old brother shook his head and pointed to his ear. Elisabeth pointed to the sky. The two looked like they were starting an impromptu game of charades. Craning her head back, Em saw dark clouds building overhead. She waved to her brother. Like all siblings, they had their ups and down, but most of the time they got along fine. Em preceded her mom into the house and raced up the carpeted stairs to her room.
“Em, don’t forget the laundry you have to finish,” her mother said.
Groaning, Em turned and headed back down the stairs to the laundry room beside the kitchen. She opened the dryer door and lifted the lid on the washer. Grabbing fistfuls of damp clothes, she threw them in the dryer. As she turned the knob and pushed the “on” button, the machine sprang to life. Em dumped the last load of dirty clothes into the washer, poured in the detergent, slammed the lid, and pulled the knob. She sprinted back to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time and turning left into her bedroom.
After easing her door shut, Em reached in her pocket and carefully pulled out the diary. Her body pulsed with excitement at the thought of uncovering a treasure. Every summer, in July, her extended family rented a house on the beach in Nag’s Head, North Carolina. She and Caleb would pretend to be pirates and take turns burying the pirates’ booty. They would bring odds and ends from their bedrooms and dig holes in the sand to bury the treasure, leaving clues on post-its around the house.
When she was ten, Em had uncovered a ruby ring, while digging a hole to hide her brother’s baseball. She begged her mom with a hundred “pretty pleases” throughout the rest of the day. With no way to locate the owner, Elisabeth said she could keep the gold ring with the small red stone. Em gazed at the third finger on her right hand, where the ruby ring rested as if it had always belonged there.
Em kicked off her sandals and sat on the sage and rose patterned quilt draped across her bed. Leaning against the headboard, Em crossed her legs and opened the dark brown cover. Sliding her finger under the page, she turned it slowly to the second entry.

October 11th, 1860
Finally, Robert has located a property of good repute, so this will be our last night at the boarding house. It is located at 515 High Street among other lovely homes and townhouses. I thank our blessed Lord every day for Robert’s position as manager of one of the Bollings’ tobacco warehouses. The income provides us with quite a decent living. Mama’s furniture will arrive at the house tomorrow, the exception being my writing table. A special piece commissioned by my husband, it has stayed here at the boarding house with us. We have hired two free Negroes, Moses and Rachael, to help with the daily chores. Both of us are in complete agreement that we will own no slaves. Unlike most of our kinsmen, we believe it is a sin to own another human being. Goodnight, dear diary. I have a long day tomorrow.

Em paused. Five hundred fifteen High Street was the house that the Benevolent Ladies Society of Petersburg owned. It was called the Chamberlain House after the owner who donated it to the Society. Em turned back to the first page. This diary belonged to the lady that had donated the house. The writing table Sarah mentioned may have been the very one Em and her mother had moved earlier that day. A little chill traveled up her spine at the thought. Before she could read further, a buzzer sounded. Hiding the diary under her pillow, she jumped from the bed to go switch the clothes in the washer and fold the dry ones.
Just as she folded a pair of bright orange gym shorts into the basket, Em’s mother walked into the laundry room. Elisabeth was an attractive woman in her early forties. Her amber eyes showed puzzlement.
“Where have you been? I thought we were going to bake chocolate chip cookies.”
“Right I … er, I forgot. Can we do them now?”
Making sure her mother couldn’t see her face, Em rushed into the kitchen. Grabbing the cookie sheets and roll of chocolate-chip cookie dough out of the fridge, she averted her face until she was sure the flush was gone. As her mother pulled out the white plastic cutting board, her dad, walked into the room. At six foot three inches, he towered over the petite form of his wife.
“How are my two favorite girls?”
He set his briefcase on the counter as thunder rumbled loudly to the east. Pulling open the kitchen door, Elisabeth yelled for Caleb.
“I’m in the garage!” Caleb shouted back.
Two minutes later, a loud rush of wind accompanied Caleb through the back door. Struggling, he managed to slam it shut just as the heavens let loose a torrent of rain. Two of the patio chairs blew over and slammed into the deck railing. A deafening clap of thunder followed immediately after a streak of lightning and Em grabbed her dad. She held on tight like she was five instead of fifteen. More lightning and thunder followed as the rain pounded the windows. Pulling his daughter close, Daniel hugged her tight. After the grim diagnosis eleven months ago, Daniel never took an opportunity to hug his daughter for granted.
The storm passed over, and the sky lightened up to a dull gray. Em let go of her dad, feeling sheepish over her fear. Giving Em a reassuring wink, Daniel loosened the knot of his tie and left the kitchen. Relieved that the electricity was still on, Elisabeth and Em went back to baking cookies.
It was three more hours before Em could get back to her room, and she was chomping at the bit to discover clues about the gold and Robert’s murder.

December 21st, 1860
Christmas is almost here and I wish I could be more joyful. My home is very festive with all the evergreen holiday decorations. Our Christmas tree came from the Whitaker’s farm on the outskirts of the city. Today I strung cranberries and popcorn and wound them among the branches. Next came the bits of ribbon and crocheted ornaments. Lastly, I clipped candles to a few branches. Robert and I lit the candles together and declared it a masterpiece, and then I burst into tears. Holding me close, Robert asked what bothered me so. I told him how fearful I was of his leaving me if there truly was a fight between the states. Drying my tears with his handkerchief, he kissed me ever so lovingly and told me not to fret so. He said that we would carry each other in our hearts if we were separated, and he promised to always return to me. With a heavy heart, I close, dear diary. I will get down on my knees and pray that the states’ differences can be solved without bloodshed.

April 25th, 1861
My hand trembles as I write this dreadful morn. It has happened. Fort Sumter has been fired on. I am terrified of Robert leaving Petersburg and going to war. I can write no more, for my hand is shaking so badly.

Em sighed. She wasn’t really interested in reading about the war. But she needed to read every entry so she wouldn’t miss any clues to the gold. Longingly, she glanced over at her collection of Sherlock Holmes mysteries on her bookcase. Flipping the page she read the next entry.

June 3rd, 1861
I sit here an empty shell. Robert left today to join President Davis’ treasury staff in Richmond. That is the only blessing in this accursed madness. He will have a civilian position at the Treasury Department, but must also join the militia. Neither one of us wishes to give up our home, so we will travel back and forth between Petersburg and Richmond. My sister has a townhouse in Richmond, and I will take the train and stay with her a few days each month. Robert explained to me that although he will not be on the front lines, he could be called up at any time to help defend Richmond. I am going to miss him terribly … so much that my heart is breaking. At the railroad station, I clung to my love, crying my heart out. He wept too, but his tears slid silently down his cheeks. He is such an honorable man. He does not agree with the politics of the war anymore than I do, but he will see his duty accomplished with integrity. I too must be brave. I am not as optimistic as some who think the war will be won within the year. I must pray to God for strength if I am to make it through these bleak days. I will close now, dear diary, as I feel more tears threatening.

Em felt a stirring of sympathy for the couple as she thought through the implications of Robert working at the treasury. If he worked there until the end of the war he may have known where the money went when Jeff Davis fled Richmond. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. An hour had sped by as she read those few paragraphs. Her eyes were burning, and she knew it was because she was straining to make out the words. Rubbing them, she decided to wait until tomorrow to read more. Looking around the room, she searched for the best place to hide the diary. Opening her closet door, she moved her extra blanket a few inches and slid the little book into its left-hand corner. As she turned back into the room, her cell phone beeped. Crossing to her walnut dresser, Em picked up the cranberry colored phone and looked at the readout. Megan, was texting her.

Emily Grace, B-ball 2MRO @ park, 1pm. Tell Caleb.

Pushing buttons, Em texted back.

We’ll be there. And don’t call me Emily Grace. You know I hate that name.

Snapping her phone shut and setting it down on the dresser, Em pulled her long hair out of the elastic band she had twisted into her hair that morning. Her auburn mane glinted with a copper sheen in the lamplight. Despite wanting to resist the temptation, her green eyes were drawn like a magnet to the image of her disfigurement in the mirror. Em’s finger traced the pale white scar on her neck from left to right. Sighing, she pulled her cotton pajamas from her dresser drawer. After changing into her pale yellow pajamas, she went into her bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair. Turning out the bath light, she crawled into bed, reached her hand to the lamp switch, and turned off the lamp. Lying on her pillow with her arms crossed beneath her head, she thought about Robert and Sarah. What did they look like? Yawning and suddenly tired, Em turned on her side, cradled her pillow to her cheek, and fell asleep.

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