Disclaimer: The Characters of the Stephanie Plum Series belong to Janet Evanovich and are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: "The Eve Of St. Agnes" is a poem by Keats. I read it in a high-school literature class and for whatever reason, it came to mind and this story came from it. There is an actual "Eve Of St. Agnes" complete with superstitions. If you do an internet search for it, you'll find more information on it.
The Eve Of St. Agnes
By TT
Stephanie wiped her forehead and wondered, once again, how she had been talked into helping clean out her parent’s attic. More specifically, how she had been convinced to clean it out with Valerie.
“Oh, wow! Look at this,” Valerie commanded for, what had to be, the fortieth time that afternoon.
“What is it, Val?” Stephanie asked, her voice flat and unenthusiastic. Valerie didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s my old high-school journals,” she informed, flipping one open. She scanned the page and then laughed out loud. “Oh, my,” she clucked.
“What?” Stephanie asked, her curiosity stirring.
Valerie blushed slightly and rolled her eyes. “Do you remember ‘The Eve Of Saint Agnes’?” she asked.
Stephanie’s brows scrunched together as she thought for a few minutes. “Nope,” she finally admitted with a shrug.
“Oh, you have to. I read Keat’s poem in class and then came home practically floating. You teased me all day until I explained it to you.”
“Still drawing a blank, Val,” Stephanie admitted, shifting another box and peering inside.
Valerie released a heavy sigh. “January 21? You have to remember. We had to go to bed without looking behind us, lay on our backs and put our hands under our head, then we were supposed to dream of our future husband who would kiss us and feast with us?”
Stephanie opened her mouth to protest the ridiculous notion when an image came to her mind. Suddenly she very clearly remembered that night and the dream she had. The image of the man in question was very clear in her mind. She was also pretty sure there had been no “feasting with”, but that there had definitely been some “feasting on”. “Oh, crap,” she whispered, the color draining from her face. She not only remembered who she had dreamed of, but he was someone who was currently in her life.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Valerie let out an inelegant snort. “Yeah, that worked really, well,” she exclaimed, shaking her head and closing the journal. “I dreamed of the Pilsbury doughboy.”
Stephanie snorted at that revelation, fighting back amused laughter at the fact her sister didn’t see the resemblance between Albert and the doughboy. “Yeah, well. It’s just a superstition,” Stephanie observed, grabbing her dust rag and wiping the layers of dust off of the box in front of her before opening it.
“Yeah,” Valerie said, her book already set aside as she continued to dig through her box. “Not like we’d ever meet who we dreamt of anyway.”
“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed softly,
End