PROLOGUE: THE DIARY

Prologue - The Diary

June 17, 2015

I haven’t been as diligent as I once was in writing in my diary. Of course, years ago, with my boys at home, I had much more to write about. People say it’s more difficult to raise girls, but I’m not so sure. At least my four boys stayed out of major trouble and are now married, notice I didn’t write ‘happily married’. Nobody understands that better than I do.

Now, I have some things I must admit.

I must admit, I wasn’t the kind of wife Karl deserved. I was never a farm wife who spent her time cooking, baking, canning, and volunteering at the church.

My parents were both university professors, and I grew up in an urban academic setting. At least some of that rubbed off on Connor. He was rarely seen on the farm without a book in his hands.

And now, I sit alone in this wretched farmhouse, as much a prisoner now as I was from the start. At first, I was so in love with Karl, if, in fact, one could be in love at first. When he talked about his farm, it sounded so idyllic. I fancied myself another Willa Cather, writing books about the challenges and rewards of a bucolic rural life. But none of that ever happened, and now, in retrospect, I realize that I unfairly blamed Karl for the bitterness that thwarted my literary ambition.

I must admit that Connor, my baby, was the joy of my life. Not that I loved him more than I did his brothers; we just had so much more in common, like reading, watching the clouds and stars, writing poems and short stories, and working in my garden. He never connected with his brothers nor with Karl. He was a lonely boy who never had the chance to learn how to lose.

And the last thing I must admit is that Karl was right all along about the money. But none of that matters now. The million dollars will soon be in Connor’s hands, I hope. I left him one last treasure hunt for him to find.

I remember how much he loved those treasure hunts as a child. I had him running all over this farm as he followed my clues. He especially liked it when I wrote the clues in silly poems. When he was little, the treasures started out as toys or candy, then moved to comic books, and later, a library card and a blank diary. But this, this final treasure hunt, will be one he’ll never forget.

Connor, I know you know about the money and that it’s in the safe. You watched me put it there at least once. You also know I’ve kept this diary over the years and that I hide it in an old trunk in the basement.

When they read my will, they’ll find no mention of the money in that safe; the four boys will only inherit the farm and any other holdings I have. But I know Connor, he will put two and two together and try to get the money out before the place is sold. So, have fun, Connor, and spend the money wisely.

P.S. This is the final entry in my diary.

Roberta Larson, 1945