'The Life of Ebony Ibre' is not a story of my own making, but merely a retelling of one woman's extraordinary life. Her name is Ebony Ibre.
I am Ms. Abigail Wilson, the narrator for this tale, but you may call me Ms. A. I learned about Ebony and the interesting events that happened to her by coincidence. Or perhaps was it fate?
To be honest, I've never met Ms. Ibre. I am not her descendant, nor do I have her permission in retelling her story. However distant we may be, I am still compelled to write. My connection to Ms. Ibre came about by another matter, which I will explain to you now.
On a cloudy Tuesday morning, I went to visit my grandma – who everyone in my family calls Granny. I was traveling to Granny's house because it was spring, which meant spring cleaning, and Granny needing help reorganizing her house. It is an old tradition of the Wilson family that every spring, after the big house (the family house, which isn't that big) is spic and span from spring cleaning, all the family comes to have a barbecue. And this year, I was responsible for helping Granny.
So, when I arrived at my grandmother's house with my suitcase in hand and Yorkshire Terrier, Joan at my side, my spirit and determination were at an all high! On the 23rd of April is when our annual cookout takes place, don't ask me why, it just is. Granny uses the first two weeks to tidy the house, and the third week to prepare for the cookout. So, my stay with my grandmother would be for a whole month.
Things went well and the two of us got along just fine. However, by day four, I experienced what Granny calls "the spirit of laziness". To the rest of the world, it's called exhaustion from doing meticulous cleaning consecutively for 4 days. But my grandmother doesn't think like the rest of the world.
So, using my sneaking skills, I searched the house to find an adequate hiding spot. My search brought me to the attic, and I was pleased with my find. The place was dirty and riddled with dust, but it was the perfect place to hide for hours without detection. I had convinced Granny to let me clean the attic space, so she wouldn't grow suspicious. I had full intention of cleaning the place since there was too much debris, but just enough so I could stay up there comfortably.
I called it Operation: Hide from Granny's Nagging. As I think back to it now, I find my behavior rather childish. Running away from chores isn't exactly the adult thing to do, but I was 22 at the time.
I started my mission early Saturday morning. I had already examined the room and had decided to stretch the cleaning out for 3 days. The space wasn't that large, and I figured that if I tackled a third of the room each day, that would leave me enough time to relax and do enough work to please Granny. And it worked!
Each day, I would clean an area and show Granny the improvements, and she would nod in approval. This was the beginning of me learning about Ebony. However, it was on day two that I actually made my discovery.
I finished my work in the attic early that day and after partaking in various distractions on my phone, I became bored. It was due to my boredom that I began browsing the boxes of rubbish in Granny's attic and found one filled with pictures and several journals. The pictures were of a family that I've never seen before in the family albums, nor had any resemblance to us.
I kept seeing reoccurring pictures of a middle-aged man and woman, a handsome young man, and another family that appeared to be friendly. What stood out to me were the photos that showed a young woman. There weren't many photos of her, and most didn't show her face, but she still seemed like a close connection to this family.
One photo however did capture a clear view of her face. She was standing next to the older man and another gentleman that I hadn't seen before. All three of them were posing in front of an impressive house, one that resembled a French Colonial-style home. The woman was truly beautiful. Her features resembled that of the older man's. She was clearly his daughter.
One particular photo of the young woman stood out to me. It was her sitting at a desk, writing in what appeared to be the same journals in the boxes. It was in these journals that I became aware of the Ibre family's existence and that the woman in the photo was Miss Ebony Ibre.
After reading some entries, it was clear that she and I were not relations. So how did these pictures and her journals end up here in Granny's attic? As I pondered on my newest discovery, Granny at that moment came to check in on me. At first, she thought I was and began lecturing me, but stopped after seeing what I had found.
The grave expression my great grandma wore made it clear to me that what I had stumbled upon was something of importance. Something that was supposed to stay hidden, and it was all due to my great, great grandmother, Eliza Wilson.
Apparently, my great, great grandmother, Eliza Wilson, knew the Ibre family. And somehow, some way, she stole these items from them. Granny assured me she didn't know why Grandma Wilson took the journals and pictures from the Ibre family, but she did. In addition to those, she also stole an unknown key, which has been passed down from one daughter to another, with a promise of never revealing it.
Granny had informed me that when her mother gave the items to her, she was told that the key unlocked a hidden door that held a strong power, and that within the journals was the answer to finding that secret door. I remember the disgust in Granny's eyes as she recalled that moment. She told me she didn't believe the stories and thought it was all a cover-up made up by Grandma Eliza to hide the truth.
Granny tried searching for the rightful owners but could never find them. So, here is where they rest. She never told a soul about them; she didn't want to continue what her grandmother had started. So, here they stayed.
I can't fully express what I felt that day. The level of anger, disappointment, and shame that I felt was unbearable. It was there I decided to learn as much as I can about the Ibre family, so my family's sins could finally be repaid.
I never had the pleasure of meeting my great, great grandmother, nor do I know much about her story. I did however have the pleasure of learning about Miss Ibre and her incredible life through her journals. And it is my hope, that through piecing together the recollections of this woman, will aid in my search of locating the Ibre family.
Now I present to you 'The Life of Ebony Ibre'.