Natasha's Diary Read online

  Stewart pushed himself away from the wall. He reached for the banister and pulled himself up the stairs, struggling to raise each heavy, rubbery leg. He opened the door to Hope’s room. His mother was sleeping on her side in the small bed. Hope was holding her teddy bear, her back snuggled into her Nana’s chest. Afraid he would wake his daughter, and desperate for rest, Stewart closed the door. He entered his bedroom and closed the door. The bedspread and sheet had been pulled down in welcome. There was something on his pillow. An envelope with the words written in bold letters in Natasha’s hand writing.

  ‘My Darling Husband’

  Overwhelmed, he took a deep breath, attempting to get oxygen into his lungs. He exhaled slowly, sat on the bed, picked up the envelope, and broke the wax seal. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see—to find. Her will had not entered his mind. After holding her body in his arms for the last two days Stewart had been certain he could not shed another tear. He assumed he’d accepted her death, but this made it so final. Official. The sight of the legal document brought tears to his eyes. I can’t concentrate. This has to wait. God has placed weights on my eyelids. I can’t read this until I sleep. He placed the will on the nightstand. Tempted to rest his head on his pillow, he knew he wouldn’t sleep well in his clothing. Struggling for the strength, he stood and removed his clothing and flopped onto the bed. Extending his arm, he pulled the sheet and bedspread over himself. Within minutes of closing his eyes, he was oblivious to the world.

  * * *

  A knock on the door dragged Stewart from his sleep. Groggy, he wished for the ability to sleep around the clock, but that was impossible. He had responsibilities. Hope needed him. He would sit by her side as she ate her meal and then put her to bed for the evening.

  “Yes?” He groaned, struggling to open his eyes.

  “Stewart.” It was his mother. “Nanny and Natasha’s brothers have arrived to visit. It pains me to say this, but arrangements for Natasha’s funeral must be made in haste.”

  Nanny. She was the last person he wished to see.

  “I require a moment.”

  He pushed himself out of bed. Noticing the food on the tray on his dresser, he nibbled as he dressed. With the last bite in his mouth, he opened the door.

  “It’s pleasing to see your face, although you do not appear rested.” Eliza kissed his cheek.

  “I’ll retire for the evening once Hope is sleeping.”

  He followed his mother down the stairs and into the parlour. Nanny, Marcus, and Joshua were on the sofa, their backs to the windows. Across from them, his father sat with Hope on his lap. He didn’t see his sister.

  “Poppa,” Hope squealed in delight the moment she noticed him. “Papa. Down,” she begged.

  Stewart extended his arms, and Hope ran to him. He scooped her up in his embrace and buried his nose in her hair. Fresh grief swept over him.

  “I missed you.” He kissed her forehead, and then the tip of her nose, making her giggle. Carrying her to the chair, he sat with his daughter on his knee. Stewart listened as Marcus spoke of their final conversation with their sister.

  It was difficult to hear Natasha’s brothers admit their prior knowledge of her plan. His first impulse was deny them all rights to see his daughter. From the corner of his eye, he could see Willard gauging his reaction, as was Eliza. As tempting as it was, Stewart couldn’t deny his wife’s siblings and friend the opportunity to know his daughter. During his final hours with Natasha’s body, he had time to think. It was Natasha’s wish to take her own life. She was an intelligent woman pushed to the brink by desperation. In her panic she could see no other solution than to end her life to free him and their daughter. It was the only way she knew to end the seclusion. Now, he must move on without his wife by his side.

  Through his relationship with Natasha he had bonded with her brothers and Nanny. When asked, they had assisted him and Natasha. Because of their help, he and Hope had three glorious years with Natasha. Other than the two dreadful nights escaping their homes, he had wonderful memories of his wife with their little girl. Nothing would erase those memories. It would be painful, but he must force himself to accept their explanation and apology. Hope deserved the privilege of knowing her uncles and her mother’s closest friend. Still, allowing visitation with Anna presented a concern for Stewart. The king could have his sons or former employee followed. He didn’t want Natasha’s parents anywhere near Hope, especially when they were living at such close proximity to the castle. The men could walk to his parents’ home, as Natasha had in the past.

  “I’m concerned your father or mother will—”

  “Follow us?” Marcus questioned. “It’s a valid concern, but unwarranted. They have been warned about the consequences. Allow us to assure you, they will not risk it. Mother never stood up to Father while Natasha was alive, but she does now. You must trust us.”

  Lacking an option, Stewart faked his best smile. Joshua, Marcus, and Nanny left with an open invitation to visit the Donovan home and his daughter.

  Chapter Three

  Natasha’s funeral took place in the small church where she and Stewart were married. Stewart stepped down from the buggy, adjusted the jacket of his black suit, took Hope into his arms, and straightened the plain navy dress Eliza had sewn for the occasion. Ensuring his sister had the roses for the casket, they followed his parents and sister into the church. Surveying the congregation, he was relieved to see the pews were filled with family and friends. Stewart lowered Hope to the floor and gripped her hand.

  “You must remain close to Poppa,” he instructed.

  His parents stopped to speak with acquaintances, but fearing he would break down, Stewart avoided eye contact. He stared at the floor and guided his daughter to the front of the church. It would be a long, difficult day. An emotional day, but his last opportunity to see his wife. He took his seat, placed Hope on his knee, and looked to the other side of the aisle. With a slight nod, he acknowledged Marcus, Joshua, and Nanny. His parents and sister joined him on the pew. The priest stood at the pulpit and began speaking. Both Marcus and Joshua gave eulogies that touched on the good times they’d shared with Natasha, and her love for her husband and child. Stewart’s father spoke on behalf of the Donovan family. Then, one by one, family and friends approached the casket. He forced himself to make eye contact, but never uttered a word, only giving a slight nod. He appreciated the support, but he had no words he could bring himself to share. Sympathies and condolences, regardless of the sincerity, wouldn’t bring his wife back. His father returned from Natasha’s coffin, squatted, and whispered to his young granddaughter, before taking his seat beside his wife.

  “Come with Poppa,” Stewart whispered.

  Hand in hand, father and daughter approached the wooden box that held Natasha’s body. He removed a piece of paper from his pocket and looked at the imprint of Hope’s hands and feet. Eliza and Vicki had coloured the soles of Hope’s feet and her palms and fingers. Under the hand and footprints they wrote. ‘I love you, Momma.’ He placed the paper on Natasha’s stomach, and then lifted his daughter to see. “Momma will appreciate this in heaven. She will always love you, sweetheart.”

  He had spoken to his parents about this moment and whether to encourage Hope to kiss Natasha. Momma feared possible nightmares. Not wishing to traumatize his daughter, he decided against it. Stewart kissed Hope’s forehead and lowered his daughter to the floor before glancing toward the pews. His father stood, took a long-stemmed red rose from Vicki, and joined him at the casket. Stewart took the flower and watched his father guide Hope back to the pews.

  With his little girl settled, Stewart turned his attention to Natasha’s still body. Lifting her hand, he gave her fingers a tender kiss. How am I to say goodbye? I miss you, horribly. My heart has never experienced such pain. I wish to kiss you. To take you in my arms and never release you. The grief, a physical pain, twisted his gut. He placed the rose on her chest and rested her hand over the stem. The room was so quiet y
ou could hear a pin drop. The silence added to his misery. He hated that everyone in the room was listening for his words. His mind went blank. He removed a second piece of paper from his pocket and placed it under her rose. He whispered so quietly, he barely heard his own voice, but Natasha could hear him. He could feel her presence at the casket. A tear fell on the paper.

  “I love you, Natasha. I’ll love you for all eternity.”

  He kissed her lips for the last time, and then looked at her beautiful face. With a heavy heart, he closed the lid on the oak casket. He would never see his wife again. He couldn’t force himself to move, but stared at the box that held his love. A full minute passed in the silent room before he turned to face the congregation. The tears streamed unchecked down his cheeks.

  “Poppa?” Hope’s voice echoed through the silent building. His little girl squirmed from her grandfather’s lap and ran to him.

  “I love you, Hope,” he whispered. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the pew.

  There were a lot of whispers and even more sniffles and sobs. Allow me to get through this day.

  Standing by the open grave, tears clouded his vision. It was difficult to see the box containing Natasha being lowered into the ground. He tossed his last rose onto the casket, turned and walked away with his three-year-old daughter in his arms.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, taking advantage of Hope’s nap time, Stewart headed for the storage room. The boxes of personal items from the apartment he’d shared with Natasha had been placed there. He descended the stairs and entered the room. He noticed a crate with the number ‘1’ printed boldly on the side. It was heavy, but he carried it up the stairs to his bedroom. He set the crate on the floor and knelt to look inside. Movement in the hallway followed by a soft tap on his open door distracted him.

  “Do you wish company?” Momma asked.

  “Nay. You have witnessed enough tears. I cannot disguise my distress, but I need to be close to her.”

  “Of course, Stewart. I will respect your need for privacy. Do not feel the need to rush. I shall listen for Hope to awaken.”

  She closed the door. Stewart turned his attention to the crate and opened it. On the top was the family photograph Natasha had kept by her side of the bed. The picture had been taken at Hope’s first birthday, before she became covered in cake. Natasha was glowing as she held their daughter on her knee. Stewart was sitting on the sofa by her side, one arm around his wife and the other holding Hope’s small hand. He smiled, recalling the day vividly. He placed the picture on the nightstand. The next item was a slightly worn writing book. Curious, he opened it and recognized his wife’s penmanship. “A diary? You kept a diary?” With the book in hand, he sat on the edge of the bed and read the first paragraph. He pushed himself further onto the bed, rested his head and back on the pillow, and continued. He smiled when he finished the first entry. “This is truly a diary. This is your life, Natasha.” Curious, he began flipping pages, scanning the entries. When he turned the fifth page, a folded piece of paper floated onto the bed. Stewart placed the diary on his lap, picked up the paper, and unfolded it. The first line took his breath away.

  ‘My Dearest Stewart

  Please, I beg of you, find it in your heart to forgive me.

  The search has ended. I pray you are able to live a wonderful life in freedom. I have spoken these words on many occasions, but I pray you never question my love for you. Apologize to your parents and sister. I will no longer be the cause of pain and grief again. I never meant to hurt them. I loved them as my own, and cherished each moment with them.

  It would be impossible to love you or our daughter better. The evening we escaped the cottage was the worst of my life, fearing for the lives of you and your family. I would rather die a thousand deaths than have our daughter raised by the man who refers to himself as my father.

  I have searched my mind and my soul for another option, but after speaking with my brothers, my fears were confirmed. The search would continue. Together, we believe in our hearts it is unlikely he will stop. Father is a stubborn, vain man, and I have embarrassed him. I contemplated returning to the castle, but knew you would attempt to rescue me, losing your life in the process. I have chosen to end my life before allowing our daughter to be raised without her poppa. Hope is a precious little angel and truly a gift from God.

  I beg you, Stewart, please forgive Nanny and my brothers for assisting me. Hope deserves the opportunity to know Nanny and my brothers as well as her poppa, your parents, and your sister.

  Although physically I am no longer in your life, I will remain by your side in spirit, encouraging you and guiding you as you raise our daughter. Close your eyes and you shall feel my presence. I will encourage you to show pride when she is good and hold you back when she is naughty. I will witness her first day of school, become acquainted with her suitors as she is courted, and I am certain I shall blush when she receives her first kiss. I shall stand proudly by your side as you escort her down the aisle toward the man that touches her heart.’

  Stewart pulled a hanky from his pocket, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Thirsty, he took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand. Attempting to settle his emotions, he looked out the window. It was a beautiful sunny day. If it were possible, Natasha would be fussing in a flower garden up in heaven. Unable to stop himself, his attention shifted back to the letter. He continued to read:

  The best years of my life were spent by your side. I was blessed to have your love and feel the passion as we lay together. I beg of you, open your heart and allow another woman to enter. Remarry and give Hope the family we both desired. You have so much love and passion to give, I beg of you, share it with someone special. I pray to God you are able to forgive me for what I have done. I love you with my entire being, and I will for all eternity.

  Forever in my heart,

  Natasha’

  Streams of tears fell from his cheeks. He placed the paper inside the back cover of the diary and set the book in his nightstand drawer. He reached for the family portrait and looked into his wife’s beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.

  “If only I’d been more perceptive. Perhaps if I had understood the depth of your depression, we could have talked more. I could have convinced you we’d win this battle against your father.” A vision entered Stewart’s head. Natasha sobbing on their bed after a telephone conversation with her father. Wishing he would rot. “It’s over. I can’t change the past. I accept this and forgive you, but I’m grieving. I wasn’t prepared to concede our battle with your parents. I wake every morning praying you are lying by my side.”

  Thankful for his privacy, he allowed his upper body to fall sideways onto the bed. In the fetal position, he pulled the picture toward his chest and cried like a broken-hearted child. Finally, his grief exhausted, he drifted off to sleep.

  The sound of a barking dog woke Stewart from his dream. He splashed water on his face and wandered down the hall in search of his daughter. Seeing that her room was empty, he shuffled his way down the hallway and descended the stairs. Hope was sitting on the sofa, content on his mother’s lap, still dozy from her nap. Seeing him, she squirmed free and ran to him. Stewart scooped her into his arms, sat on the chair and held Hope’s head against his chest.

  “Natasha kept a diary. I found it under a family photograph.”

  Momma smiled, reached for his hand and squeezed it.

  That night, Stewart left Hope sleeping in her room, entered his own bedroom, and got ready for the night. He removed the diary from the nightstand drawer and settled into a chair. The door opened slightly. Momma peeked inside.

  “Hope is sleeping?”

  “Indeed. She was sleeping before I finished the story. It is pleasing I’m not witnessing as many tears or pleas for Natasha.”

  “Willard and I were conversing while you settled Hope. Your daughter will have inquiries as she ages.” She rested one hand on the doorframe and the other on the door. “Y
ou may wish to keep a journal, assuming you would allow Hope the opportunity to read the diary. Being a compassionate little girl, she will appreciate your effort.”

  Stewart scowled, surprised by the comment. Although he had only read the first few entries, he did not expect his daughter to have an interest in the book. He couldn’t imagine putting his own thoughts down on paper.

  “Nonsense.”

  “Do you plan to destroy Natasha’s diary once you have finished reading it?”

  Instinctively, he held the book against his chest. His wife had poured her heart into the writing. It would remain in his possession forever. “Never. I will cherish this for all eternity.”

  “Very well then.”

  The door closed. With the diary held against his chest, her words repeated over and over in his mind. Losing her momma at such a young age, Hope would not retain vivid memories. His own memories of his grandparents were faint, and both he and Vicki were attending school when they passed. “Your nana is an intelligent woman, Hope.” He pulled the diary tighter against his chest. “I shall attempt to write for you.” He turned his attention to the ceiling, hoping for guidance and assistance. Natasha. You have promised to support me. I beg of you, I do not possess your inner strength. Assist me with the words to write—his thoughts were interrupted by another tap on the door.

  “You may enter.”

  The door slowly opened and his father appeared.

  “Stewart, my apologies for interrupting, but I feel I must make a confession.”

  “A confession?”

  “Indeed. I recalled seeing a book in Natasha’s possession the evening we left the cottage. I assumed she had tucked her bible under her sweater. I am unable to put my remorse, my fury, into words. If I had spoken of my findings and you had read her entries, it’s possible Natasha would be alive today. My humble apologies, son.”