The Hard Times (Part 2)

Two years ago, my siblings and I, were sent to Durham to see our Uncle Sam. He received a letter (from the police),explaining that we were in his care, now. At first, he sent a telegram to them saying he refused. But he never got a letter back. "Doesn't he know that we are coming?" I had asked Jane. "He must know us, or he would've said, 'I don't have any nieces, or nephews.' Instead, he refused. There must be a reason why."
I suppose she was right. When we arrived in that small little town, no one came for us. We asked a shopkeeper if he knew our uncle. All he said was, "Boy, do I feel sorry for you. He lives farther out in the country, near the seashore, about an hour's worth. I'll drive you three, since I'm so kind." He talked on and on, while he drove us there.

When we arrived, we saw two houses in the distance. "The one on the right is his. Be careful, now. He's a cold man. Has no experience of raising children." "We'll manage fine, thank you, sir."Patrick said kindly. I think the shopkeeper ignored his sentence completely, because the man went on saying, "Quite right, you'll need all the luck and help, you three can get."
We walked a little ways to the house. A man had already reached the door. "Who are you?" he demanded. His voice cracked and it sounded angry-like. Patrick had to explain,quickly, but carefully. "We are Thomas Wicker's children, sir. I am Patrick, this is Jane, and Emily." "Well, I don't need you, so why don't you go back where you came from and-" "Matthew! You'll wake the neighbors, with that kind of talk!" A woman appeared before us. She is Rose Moore................................................................

Two years ago, we arrived at the home of Matthew and Rose Moore. Us children have lived in an attic, with three small cots. One dresser and a small trunk, that they keep. It's hot in the summertime, but extremely cold in the winter. There is a school near us, which we can attend, but we have to walk 2 miles to get there. I'm starting to save some money for a bicycle. 

Since the day we came, I've noticed some odd things. One, for instance, this man that let us into his home, is not Uncle Sam. Another thing too, this woman either lives in this house or not. They're not elderly people, actually they might be in they're late thirty's. There must be a secret to all of this.
I decided I would observe everything I see or hear and write it down in my head.

When we were all called to supper, I noticed that Miss Rose was eating with us. Look at them,I told myself. My siblings are different than me. But they are always older. No, something is exactly more strange. And this is the first time I've noticed it before! I noticed that my siblings all had orange hair. I remember my mother always having the most beautiful orangish-reddish hair. It was curly, like Jane's hair, is like mother's. Father's hair had brown hair, with some slight reddish color to it. So Patrick had Father's hair. But me? My hair has always been the complete opposite. I have a pretty blondish hair.  I also noticed when we lived at home, I always liked to look at the photo album: everyone either had orange, red, or brown hair. No blondes. Am I the only blonde in my family?

"Where is our Uncle Sam? I mean, they wouldn't lie to us, would they?" I asked Jane. "Oh well, people make mistakes, besides, at least we have a place to stay." That wasn't the answer I was looking for. I decided I would need to investigate more. 

One day, after school I was reviewing my notes, in the attic:

My family had red or orange hair

The Moores' all have blonde hair

Miss Rose lives in the house

I think Mr. Matthew is replacing himself as

Uncle Samuel, but I don't have proof.......yet.

Suddenly, a gush of wind blew all my notes off my notepad! I stood up quickly to catch the papers. One fell under the door of the closet. As soon as I collected them all, I went to the closet, to retrieve the last paper. I picked it up, but my eyes slowly noticed the trunk that was beside me. I tried to open it up, but it was locked.  I looked at the keyhole.........I gasped. The keyhole was shaped into a heart. My heart was beating faster, my mind was spinning, I knew who had access to that key..............secrets were flying like the wind, I suddenly realized where the key was. I knew who had the key now...................it would reveal all the secrets now.....................................



End of Part 2

(Continued into part 3)

A picture of Durham, England

An attic, Emily might have lived in, with her siblings