642 Things to Write About: Great-Great-Grandmother’s Diary, June 16, 1865

For the next week, we’re going to be doing something different on the Pencils Blog. In addition to pencil news and updates, our staff will be writing short stories using prompts from 642 Things to Write About, the most popular book in the Pencils.com Bookstore.

This story, by Gina Verrastro, is based on the following prompt: 

You find your great-great-grandmother’s diary. On June 16, 1865, she wrote…

Dear Diary,

I fear this will be the last entry I shall ever write. Mother says I’m being horribly dramatic, but it is very easy for her to say so when she is not facing the almost certain death that Pat and I are. Mary says I must be brave for Pat, and I am going to try my hardest because I don’t want Mary to be cross with me, but the very thought of setting foot on the train tomorrow fills me with dread.

Mary says that living with Uncle Nino in Philadelphia will be an opportunity for Pat and me, and we should be excited. Uncle Nino doesn’t have any children, and the house will be much quieter without eleven brothers and sisters all shouting at once. We’ll get to go to school, and we’ll work for the family business. No one will say what the family business is. Pat thinks we’ll be spies, but he’s only six. Babies can’t be spies.

Oh Diary, we won’t be anything at all if we don’t survive to see Philadelphia! Trains are terribly dangerous. There was that New Haven train that went right through the open drawbridge and into the Norwalk River. Forty-six people were crushed! Then there was the train crash in Rhode Island, two trains that crashed right into one another! Only thirteen people died in that one, but it was twice the trains as the other one. And just last year there was that train that hit a horse and carriage and went right into a ditch, and the bridge that collapsed. I wish Uncle Nino had never paid for our passage on this stupid train, opportunities or no!

Pardon the interruption, Diary. Pat just came bursting in babbling about how excited he is about this stupid train, and I told him to shut up, and Mary said it was a good thing Mother didn’t hear or she’d smack me for sure. Mary never smacks. I wish she would, because after Mother smacks you everything is normal. Mary just gets disappointed in you, and she looks at you with sad eyes for ages. I don’t have ages, Diary – not in this house, and not on this earth!

Mary says that at Uncle Nino’s house, I’ll have a room of my very own and I won’t have to hide in the coat closet to write in peace. She says the room is small, but even if it is no bigger than this closet so that I have to pull my knees up to sit in it I swear I won’t mind because it will be my very own and Pat can’t come bursting in whenever he pleases. Oh Diary, I hope I live long enough to have a room of my very own!

Mary has just come to call me for supper. I swear I am too nervous to eat, but I will go anyway, because it will likely be the last time I ever have dinner with everyone. If we survive this journey, Diary, I promise to tell you all about Philadelphia, and my room, and school, and the family business. Even if we are not supposed to tell about the family business, I will tell you, because you always keep my secrets. Thank you for keeping my secrets, Diary. I hope I don’t die on the train!

Love,
Gracie

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