20March2025
Dear Diary,
Tonight I found myself once more seated in the snug little cottage on the edge of the Cotswolds, the fire crackling while Mrs. Jenkins, the village seer, spread her battered deck of tarot cards across the oak table. Her eyes, dark as a moonless night, bore into me with a sharpness that made my skin prickle.
Is there something you wish to know, dear? she asked, her voice a soft sigh. I clutched the edge of my seat, nodding, and dared a glance at her weathered face. You remind me of Aunt June, heavenblessed indeed, she murmured, crossing herself. A faint, wistful smile tugged at her lips. Your grandmother was a striking womantall, graceful, her neck and shoulders as elegant as a swans. She was clever too, though she never finished beyond the fourth year of school; the war stole those dreams.
Mrs. Jenkins fell silent for a heartbeat, then continued, Your mothers spirit was fierce, always fearing for her loved ones. And your grandfather? Loyal to the very end. She chuckled, a raspy, knowing laugh. Even though June was married, a single glance from her could ruin a mans reputation, and shed grin at his misfortune. Yet your own grandfather loved you dearly and was true to his word. As for the boys, her flirtations were nothing more than harmless fun.
I could not hold my curiosity any longer. Mrs. Jenkins, did you know my grandmother? I asked, breath catching. She winked, the candlelight flickering in her eyes like tiny gold sparks. Oh, sweetheart, we were as close as a needle to its thread. We caused quite a stir in our youth! she recalled, her voice husky with nostalgia. Do you know who taught me the art of reading cards? she asked, narrowing her eyes.
My eyebrows rose. Could it be Aunt June? I whispered, excitement bubbling.
Shes the one! Mrs. Jenkins declared with a proud nod. Look at these cardsplain to the untrained eye, but June could read them at a glance, knowing exactly what had been and what would be for any soul. Ive borrowed a little of her wisdom over the years.
I laughed, unable to contain myself, pointing at the silvery strands peeking from under her headscarf. Is any of this true, dear?
Dont mock, child, she warned, her tone dropping, and her stare turned as sharp as a hawks. A chill ran down my spine.
Im sorry, I was only teasing, I pleaded, eyes wide with feigned innocence.
Mrs. Jenkins sighed, softening. Oh, Thomas, youre a skeptic! Ill let you off this time, but remember: you cannot outrun destiny, especially not on horseback.
Do I have a destined partner? I asked, heart thudding.
She smiled, her wrinkles deepening. Looking to peek into the future, love? she teased. For us old folk, anything is possible. She shuffled the deck, her hands steady. Perhaps when you think of me, youll cease the foolish jokes.
She turned the first carda regal King of Hearts, his crown gleaming. Ah, this one, she said, pointing at the red king. Youll fall for a man of strong character, but hell be a wandering soul. Best you steer clear; otherwise youll weep bitterly.
She lifted another carda vibrant Queen of Spades. This lad will be honest and kind, though his arrival may be delayed. Hell bring sweet happiness, but not without a few bumps.
We both laughed, the room filling with lightness.
I have visited Mrs. Jenkins often since my mothers passing; her cottage has become a sanctuary. Though I never met my own grandmothershe left this world long agoMrs. Jenkins took me under her wing, treating me like the cherished granddaughter she never had. She never charged a penny, but she welcomed tea, scones, and fresh bread with open arms.
Later, as we shared a warm slice of lemon drizzle cake, I asked, Mrs. Jenkins, can I learn to read the cards myself?
She paused, chewing thoughtfully, her dark eyes locking onto mine. Perhaps you have the gift after all Come back tomorrow, if youre serious.
The weeks have flown like swallows. Yesterday we were children, splashing through puddles and flying paper kites. Today were finishing our GCSEs, a summer of endless possibilities stretching before us. I raced home with my report card, eager to boast of my top marks. Instead, I found Mum in tears, clutching a letter from Aunt Nell. Another invitation to move back? I thought, remembering how fiercely Dad opposed the idea.
Dad kept insisting, Our little farm, the chickens, the cows, the riverthis is home! Yet Mum whispered, Weve never tasted fresh strawberries, never picked cherries from a garden.
The first day of September arrived, and the whole school turned to look at us. In the assembly, my sister and I stood in matching dresses with delicate lace aprons and towering bows, a stark contrast to the modest attire of most of our peers. I worried more about fitting in than about the dresses.
A girl named Lucy approached me, her eyes bright. Im Lucy, she said, her smile warm. Dont worry, the boys here are lovely. She offered to sit with me at the same desk, and the two of us became inseparable.
During a break, a boy named Tom strummed a guitar, his voice trembling with heartfelt longing. Lucy whispered to me, Do you think hes fallen for you? I shook my head, but the ache in my chest told another story.
Soon, the schoolyard buzzed with stories of football heroes and cricket stars. Tom, the star striker, sprinted faster than a hare, his throws soaring farther than any of us could imagine. The girls cheered, but his gaze lingered on a quiet girl named Eleanor, whose eyes seemed impenetrable. Toms confidence waned, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Autumn arrived, followed by a crisp winter. The school prepared for the Christmas ball, rehearsing poems and songs, stitching elaborate costumes. My friend Maya chose the role of playful Olga, while I became the shy, thoughtful Tilly. Aunt Nell sewed us flowing gowns that brushed the floor.
At the ball, Cinderellaour dear Lucyfluttered in, beaming like a sunrise, and crowned us with compliments. When the first waltz began, Tom approached, his eyes sincere. Emma, would you dance with me? he asked, voice barely above a whisper. I felt every cell in my body lean toward him, my hands resting lightly on his shoulder as we twirled beneath the chandeliers. The music lifted us, and for a fleeting moment I believed in eternal happiness.
Later that evening, I turned to my cards again, seeking reassurance. What does tomorrow hold? I asked, my voice trembling. The cards initially promised a bright future with Tom, even a lavish wedding procession. But then a dark Queen of Spades appeared, her gaze icy, sending a shiver through my heart. By morning, Toms eyes were filled with love, and my fear melted like frost in spring.
Months passed. A new trainee, Miss Claire, arrived at schoolblack curls, striking eyes, and a lively spirit that captivated everyone. She taught us with enthusiasm, and many of us, myself included, adored her.
Tom promised a date on Saturday, then missed it. He slipped away again on Sunday, preferring to be with Claire. One afternoon, I saw Tom laughing with Claire, oblivious to my presence. Their eyes met, and I realized they were destined for each other. My heart pounded like a drum, but Ivymy steadfast friendcomforted me, urging me not to dwell on the loss.
A few weeks later, Ivys birthday arrived. She invited us over, and her mother baked a towering Napoleon cake. After the guests departed, Ivy turned to me, eyes sparkling. Emma, will you read our fortunes? she asked, eager. I obliged, spreading the cards across the table. The cards foretold two husbands for hera whimsical jest that made us both laugh.
Later, as I laid the final cards, a cold chill ran down my spine. The Death card appeared, its skeletal figure stark against the crimson background. I gasped, No, this cant be!
At that moment, Aunt Nells voice echoed from the kitchen, Emma, thats just a symbol of change, not an end. I laughed nervously, trying to shake the dread.
Months turned into years. My mother, ever curious, asked me once more to read her cards. She worried about a looming journey and a serious blow to her fate. The cards hinted at a distant trip and an unexpected hospital stay. She soon received a telegram: Anna, come quicklyyour brother has suffered a stroke. Within the hour she was on a flight, the sky a blur.
Life continued its unpredictable dance. One night, while I lay alone in my locked bedroom, I heard heavy footsteps in the hallwayslow, deliberate, as if someone massive were prowling. Moonlight slipped through the curtains, and the house seemed to tremble. My heart hammered, and I whispered a prayer, Lord, if You are there, protect me. In an instant the footsteps stopped, and an eerie silence settled.
In the morning, my mother burst into the room, her face pale. Emma, what happened? she asked. I told her everything, and she sighed, My dear, stop meddling with the cards. This gift isnt divine; perhaps something darker follows you. I burned the deck that day, feeling a strange lightness in its absence.
Looking back, some of Mrs. Jenkinss predictions did come true. Lucy married her great love, and they welcomed a beautiful blueeyed daughteronly to perish tragically in a car crash. My sister Maya found a wonderful second husband after her first marriage fell apart. Claire excelled in her teaching career and eventually married a kind gentleman, settling in a charming cottage by the sea.
I am now in my early sixties, and I can say with confidence that life, with all its twists and turns, remains a marvel. All I ask of myself now is to live fully, cherish each moment, and smile at the simple joystea at dawn, the scent of rain on the hedgerows, and the lingering warmth of a good memory.
Until tomorrow,
Emma.
