The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life at Rose Red by Ellen Rimbauer Read Free Book Online

implication from you that I have
    behaved in any way unbecoming. I was born, bred and raised a
    lady, dear sir, and you will kindly remember that fact before leveling
    such accusations at me.”
    “I meant only—”
    “You meant to say that when I laugh my bosom is on display,
    and believe me this fact does not escape me. I have nearly come
    36
    out of my gown. I am terribly aware of that fact. So perhaps your
    indignation might give way in favor of allowing a woman to wear
    her shawl when she sees ?t, rather than forcing her into compromising
    moments of great embarrassment. Now, leave me alone!
    Go do whatever it is you do on this dreadful ship. But if you
    return with Miss Pauling’s perfume on you, John, as you did two
    nights ago—oh yes! you thought I missed that? how could I? It’s a
    dreadful scent!—then there will be hell to pay!”
    I had lost all composure and found myself shouting at the top
    of my lungs. At my husband. To my regret. But oh, Dear Diary,
    the story does not stop there. For I swear it is true that upon
    mention of the word “hell” did the gas lights in that stateroom
    dim, and the bedroom door blow open. Behind this door came a
    wind that lifted my nightgown from the ?oor and blew my hair
    straight back off my shoulders—and yet John moved not a hair.
    His handkerchief did not wave. The curtains did not ruf?e. As
    my heartbeat did subside, so too did this wind lessen. John and I
    stood perfectly still, a silence between us. The air crisp and
    smelling as it does after an electric storm, both bitter and sweet
    all at once.
    My husband said not a word, a stunned, apoplectic expression
    overtaking him. His eyes narrowed, boring into me. He turned
    and left me then, partly because there was nothing left to say,
    partly out of fear, if I read him right. I have never seen John
    Rimbauer seeming anything less than absolutely certain. Stoic,
    even.
    Until now, that is. This evening the tables turned.
    I attended dinner without a shawl, just to spite him. And I
    laughed as never before.
    37
    for the sake of expediency, and due to any diary’s
    repetitious nature, the editor chose to omit various
    diary entries. ellen rimbauer’s full diary is
    archived in the winslow library of letters and
    memoirs, seattle, washington, a copy of which
    resides along with other materials in the joyce
    reardon collection: observed paranormal activities,
    1982–1999, which resides in the wirmser
    library, beaumont university, seattle, washington.
    —joyce reardon
    38
    15 december 1907—the south pacifIc islands
    I don’t know why they bother giving these islands any name but
    Paradise. Certainly one is no different than the other, a crust of
    sand rising from the deep, palms clinging by shallow roots, wind
    and bright sky and the bluest, clearest water on the face of the
    earth. The cinnamon-skinned women, as bare-breasted as the
    National Geographic Society would have us believe, welcoming
    white strangers with wide smiles and, I fear, open arms. The sun
    beats hot as we enter the part of their seasons that coincides with
    spring and summer, despite it being fall and early winter at
    home. Our world is quite literally turned upside down.
    I lock your pages closed each night, Dear Diary, and then, in
    turn, lock you away in my steamer where I keep my underclothes
    and my toilet, con?dent my husband would never violate that
    sanctity. I scarcely know what would become of me if he ever did.
    And so it is, with beating heart and a certain amount of timidity,
    that I once again turn to you as my confessor.
    It began more than a week ago now, during a nighttime celebration
    as the Ocean Star crossed the equator. There was music,
    much drink, a proclamation by the captain, dancing and a gay
    atmosphere on board. John and I, for all our con?icts, rose from
    our beds in the morning as if we had not a care in the world.
    We had taken breakfast together on the balcony, a peaceful,
    enchanting hour. I do believe that