Strange old headstone
photographed
behind Gracey Mansion[notes written about 31 Aug 1941?]
I felt much better when I awoke this morning.In fact, I felt so much better, I went for a stroll through the wooded area behind the Mansion. George has forbidden me to go there now, but something draws me to the Blood Family Cemetery.
It is as if someone there is trying to tell me something, perhaps a warning.
It is such an odd sensation, I dare not mention it to anyone.
Since I became ill, George watches me with great concern. It becomes more and more difficult to slip out of the house, to visit the cemetery.
However, George had gone into town today, to meet Madame Leota's train.
With Augustus, Phineas, and Ezra riding the rails like hobos this week, and Cousin Asa driving George's carriage to the train station, I was free to explore at will.
It taxed my strength greatly, to cut back the thorn bushes around one particular stone, and I am sorry that I did so, for several reasons.
Of course, I am still rather an invalid, so my endurance is brief.
However, what disturbs me more is the image I discovered when the brambles and thorns were cleared away. It is a strange old headstone, apparently representing Mary Magdalene.
Perhaps in another setting, the statue might be charming. It measures barely three feet tall, and the figure of Mary resembles a miniature person.
What chilled me the most, was the face on the statue. Although this is another Blood family headstone, it could be an exact portrait of Madame's daughter, Little Leota.
Of course, the statue is too old to be a portrait of her. And Little Leota could not possibly sit still for a sculptor.
Lately, Little Leota seems worse. She wanders the halls of the mansion, singing ditties rather like some mad Ophelia. I fear she may come to a similar end.
I have not missed Madame and Little Leota while they have been in New Orleans, visiting their relatives. Nevertheless, I know the cooking will improve when Madame is back in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on each dish, particularly mine.
With the amount of food Madame insists on feeding me, one would think I'd have put on considerable weight. It is this odd illness, I'm certain, which prevents that.
I would agree with Madame, that it is only her cooking which prevents me from wasting away altogether. However, even George has noticed how much more robust I have been since Madame has been on holiday.
Perhaps there is some seasoning that Madame uses, which aggravates my health?
She has been so attentive to me in recent weeks, I dare not suggest that. She has a delicate temper and I have been grateful for her recent interest in my welfare.
But I keep thinking about that rather frightening statue in the cemetery, and my thoughts turn morose.
Only to you, dear diary, will I admit that the figure seems to be mourning for me.
No doubt, my thoughts are still clouded from my recent illness.
(This is the last entry that we have transcribed from Emily's handwritten journal so far.)
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