1. OBEY THY FATHER & THY MOTHER
My name is Emmeline Morgan. I was born in England on October the 20th, 1483. I was young once; fervently beautiful. Until one day in 1505 - on the 11th of December to be quite precise - I was murdered. I've survived through the ages and have seen many things; witnessing all the vibrancy and dullness of several lifetimes. I am now near journey's end and wish to tell you my life story before I leave this world and enter the next. It is a story of unspeakable love, unseen betrayal, endless loss, unyielding loyalty, the certainty of trust, and the hardship of forgiveness. I want someone to know I existed. I want to be remembered. And when you, dear one, ascend to the gates of Heaven - the likes of which I shall never see - you can tell them. I was here... for a hairsbreadth in eternity.
My childhood was a happy one; I was a gay young girl with a vigorous spirit and a knack for adventure. The house I grew up in was two stories high with a large stable that ran along its eastern side. We were fortunate. It wasn't a house at all really, it was an inn. It lied just off the main road at the edge of a small patch of woods. Father had won it off the former owner in a night of risky gambling and many drinks. Though it was an inn, Father insisted it shouldn't be used as such. Our nicely windowed and thatched homestead was to be used as a farm house. Nestled in the middle of farmlands, it only made good sense. No one would travel this way who wasn't a farmer, and the farmers that were this way did not require room and board.
My father, a tall, stern man was a blacksmith. He'd converted half of the twelve gate stable into his workshop. Farmers from all around were always in constant need of horseshoes, tools, or the occasional horse bit. This gave us a nice steady flow of clients without having to travel toward town to sell our goods. That was something we did once every season to sell Father's finely crafted weaponry; swords particularly.
The unforgettable sounds of clinking and clanking metal would wake the rest of us every morning. I welcomed it. The sweet chimes of softened iron being pounded on the anvil swelled my heart with ardent alacrity. I relished the possibilities of a fresh new day because of it. My mother and sister, however, felt it was a daily nuisance.
Dragging herself out of a deep slumber Mother would get dressed, and then tend to the livestock and gardens. She worked hard, grinding the flesh from her slim fingers to bone to keep her unappreciative smith happy. She never noticed though, always focusing on the love he did show her. When he found time to show her he cared, he made up for the days he'd let slip by without I love you or a thank you. He'd dedicate an entire day to her; showering her with gifts, surprises, and of course, roses. His affection docked in the harbor about once every month, but that never stopped Mother from waiting. It was a rare sort of romance. Her fortitude was matchless, likewise was his devotion to her.
My younger sister, Adrian, was always too young to ever manage physically taxing chores. Mother would have her do simple ones like milk the cattle and fetching pales of water for the horse and cattle troughs. I was expected to pick vegetables, carefully collect chicken eggs, churn butter, and sweep the house so Mother could scrub the floors. She would teach us a new chore every so often, gauging our abilities by our maturity. We admired how Mother could keep such a large house in such tight order. We were working people, – peasants – but just because we looked like them didn't mean we had to live like them. Thankfully, we were but a few of the farmers in England that were independent, not employed by the lord of an estate. It was my Father's strong back that kept us afloat and my Mother's silence that taught us a woman's manners. They were my inspiration.
I was never educated as a child, nor was my sister. We were only taught two things as children: chores and swordplay. Father felt it was necessary for a woman to defend herself; and despite Mother's protests, he would teach us each night before dinner. Being a smith and a former squire, he knew a thing or two about swords. Slash, parry, slash, step, riposte, step, slash, step, thrust! I began lessons at fifteen and for five years my Father was my sparring partner, then Adrian started. He would have us engage each other, using wooden branches, always critiquing as we fought. In the beginning I was the better swordsman, though as time passed, Adrian grew stronger. She was my equal, possibly even better. This sparked a small fear that often manifested in our duels.
Before our training could result in too many welts and bruises, Mother would put a stop to it for a nice dinner. We weren't wealthy enough for schooling of any proper sort, but I believe Mother and Father did just fine. It was due to that very lack of schooling that Father would set aside a bit of money each time he was paid to buy us a book when we reached our twenty-second year, hoping that we would gain some sort of education. He always wanted the best for us, they both did. And in the precarious way that the universe tends to endure, it was on the birthday of my twenty-second year that my story began. It was autumn.
The timeless war waged by sun and moon was slowly overturning. The lunar cycle was gaining favor on a battlefield of emblazoned billowy clouds. Behind them was the backdrop of an impeccable bellflower purple. The sun was setting across the crest of the distant hills, creating wondrous silhouettes of waltzing grasses in the foreground of the heavenly spectacle. We sat at the edge of my family's acreage beneath our favorite oak tree. Its long, sprawling branches provided a shade that only enhanced the scenery. It was all so serene. The cool breeze kissed my cheeks in passing. I grinned in youthful frivolity.
Sitting between my best friend and my younger sister, it was hard to imagine my life any more perfect than how it already was. My mind rolled in a field of thoughts as I contemplated what book Father had bought me. I didn't care what it was, so long as it was a book with proper bindings and pages to fill the empty corners of my over-developed imagination.
"This is how I want my wedding ceremony to be," chirped Adrian, "Vast oceans of beauty and light." My sister, like I, also had an imagination on her; too much adventure inside such a petite young woman. She was feisty, a pistol. Her opinions were like an amaranthine flood and her mouth was a dam that she rarely kept braced. Even so, Adrian's opinions were usually accurate and always incontrovertible – rather vexing at times.
"I wish mine had been so beautiful…" Mary lamented. Adrian's impish face turned thoughtful as she reflected on that day. Her long, waved, charcoal-brown hair, – a reflection of my own – flitted on light wind, catching in the corner of her lips. She fussed with it; drawing it back and barricading it with her palm.
"It was 'so beautiful'. The unplanned rain made it special – romantically unforgettable. Besides, you and Jonathan were smiling throughout ceremony." She seemed sure in her assessment, beaming.
"He was smiling. She was crying." I countered. I reared my head up to adore the sky, straying onto the fringes of the conversation, not necessarily wishing to commit to it.
"Really?" Adrian said, her certainty now occupied by bewilderment.
"Yes," Mary assured her flatly, "I was." Her wild, Irish red-blonde hair twisted and flipped at the will of the winds that had crescendoed for a moment and then fell. Her forest green eyes seemed distant; still lamenting her exaggerated loss.
"It was more like a blubbering wail of a thousand woes," I revised. "Very dramatic, very intriguing." My gaze upon the solar and lunar waltz was halted by a swift slap, and a sudden sting. I massaged my shoulder, locking eyes with the deviously playful expression on my best friend's face.
"You can be so stubbornly humorless, it's embarrassing!" – I prepared myself for another blow and giggled - "Honestly, I don't think we can be friends. At least not in public." Adrian struggled to suppress her chortling to no avail, hopping into my end of the arena. Mary then wrinkled her button nose and jerked her head away from us. She crossed her arms in silly, childish agitation.
"Well at least I am married!" she gloated.
That was a typical strategy of Mary's – the final effort of desperation to win any argument with me: reiteration of my marital status.
"She's right you know," agreed the voice of a pixie-faced turncoat. I swiveled my head back to Adrian. I knew her loyalties were shaky!
"Right about what?" I questioned. I was more than content with the lack of betrothal and husbandry in my life. Where there were young men, there was trouble, and where there were young women, there were men. Their strategy for snatching us was always dreadfully predictable: lure one of us as far from the pack as possible, and then, snap! If they had to, they would turn us against one another – this happened only once between Mary and I, but he wasn't worth it. He was far too handsome, and likewise, far too dense. They were rude, obnoxious, cavalier, belligerent, ostentatious, self-destructive, daft-minded, foul-mouthed, swine – with the exception of Father, bless his heart. All that men added up to was one thing: complication.
Mary was lucky to find a man so perfectly matched. Jonathan did for her whatever she wished and never once did he ask for recompense of any sort. I knew she'd found something special when she introduced us. He was a fine gentleman, and in my opinion the last.
"You aren't married and it's beyond odd, it's unnatural, Emma." The bracings of the dam were down… and here came the flood. "The townsfolk should be calling you an old ma-" I unsheathed wrathful eyes upon my sister, cutting her comment asunder before I drowned in its wake.
"Not another word or I will show you how unnatural I can be!"
"And you say I'm humorless?" Mary interjected, dissolving my anger instantaneously. "Perhaps it is you that we should not befriend publicly, old maid." I ignored the comment and moved on.
"Perhaps, did it ever occur to either of you that I love my life the way it is? I have my best friend, a caring sister, and a wonderful family. I've nothing more to ask for. Why should I complicate such a beautiful lifestyle, compromise it; slaughter it on the altar of society's laws?" I sounded as if I'd rehearsed it before, yet this was the first time the three of us had spoken of my feelings on the matter.
"You wouldn't compromise anything, Emma," Mary contradicted. "Men aren't all poor manners and arrogance. Marriage doesn't remove you from your lifestyle, it reinforces it." Her eyes were sincere, caring, and to my disappointment: Christian. That was Mary's only flaw in terms of independent thinking. Her faith in God was admirable and in no way did I ever disrespect that, but it veiled her eyes from understanding other walks of life… like my own.
If finding a mate and getting married was so natural and reinforcing, why had God not blessed me with a lover? I respectfully denied His existence for that and many other reasons. It wasn't as though I never tried mind you; it was the simple fact that every man I'd ever met was – at least in this edge of the world – utterly ordinary. I wanted someone who wasn't. I wanted someone humorous. I wanted a respectful gentleman; one who could show you he was with the mere sound of his smooth voice. But most of all, I wanted a man who was… elegant… a man whose sheer dignity quelled his need to ever be self-absorbed. If he were handsome I wouldn't mind that either, though for imaginary purposes I'd settle for elegant.
"I'm not sure men are a risk that I'm willing to take… not just yet," I admitted timidly.
"Well, stick to sooner rather than later. Don't let your adventurous spirit draw your attention for too long." Mary said drily. Her words made me realize the irony in my life. Adrian was just as opinionated; just as stubborn and adventurous as I was, yet she welcomed the thought of marriage. And even though she's had little luck in the past - through no fault of her own - she still pursued it. Her first man was trampled by a horse, the other died of dysentery; dubbing her the "Calamity of the Salisbury Plains".
For a very brief, very doubtful moment, I considered the possibility of marriage. If my sister, a young woman who echoed my personality so much – and by genetic accident, my looks as well – could find it in herself to long for such a virtue, why not I? Was I being too harsh in my assessment of the opposite sex? Did they disserve any better? What if I grew older and older each year, gradually withering into nothing but grey hair, brittle bones, and frail skin? I shuddered at the thought, but so long as I had my lifestyle: best friend, sister, and family, what else could I ever want? What else could I ever long for? It all sounded too good to be true. I voided the thought of a handsome prince before it became cancerous. What if I took down the wall I'd built to shut out the men I'd crossed? Taking down bricks made of solid distain, and removing mortar mixed with stereotypical immoralities seemed too great a task. Perhaps I was, in fact, unnatural… but if I was, how was I to understand natural? It was a tricky business living against the grain.
"I will think on it," was all I agreed to, and with that, they silenced all other thoughts. "We should head back, Ady, or Mother will add us to the soup." She agreed with patient eyes.
"I should head back as well, Jonathan must be starved," Mary chimed playfully. "You you know how he gets when he's hungry." My sister and I exchanged looks. Jonathan was so soft-spoken and humble that no one could ever see him lashing out in any fashion, least of all over a meal. Had they not been married, he'd have been mistaken for a monk.
"What about Aislin? Don't you think your baby girl will be just as hungry?" asked Adrian.
Mary sighed, "Don't remind me"
The mentioning of my three month old 'niece' brought the mood back to a charming childlike spirit. Aislin was the latest addition; raising the membership of our matriarchal triad by one. Mary had birthed her in early August; her first child and hopefully not the last. She was the daughter we all three shared and all three loved so fiercely. It was she who made me realize I wanted a child more than I did a husband. A child I can deal with. But since you need one to achieve the other I was left foiled once again.
We looked out onto the last bit of sunlight, on the precipice of the horizon. It fell faster, at a quicker pace than I'd expected. I thought of marriage, Mary thought of Jonathan, and Adrian thought of her cadaverous former lovers. We were a trio of outstanding singularity; precious and unique. We stood up, exchanging "farewells" and "good-byes." Leaving the crest of the hill set beneath a star-speckled sky, I adored the moon, realizing the origins of the word "lunacy."
Mother had cooked a special meal for us that night due to the occasion and everyone was excited. It was a delicious chicken soup. The smell was so unbearably lovely. Adrian and I set the table while Father took his chair and relaxed his sore muscles. He stroked his mustache, straining the creased skin over his cheekbones, liberating his mind from the hard day's work. He was always silent until dinner was served; evaluating his day internally with a vacant expression. After Adrian and I took our seats, Mother ladled us all some soup, then took her place at the table. She was always so prim and proper in the way she carried herself, lifting the chair, never pulling it. She never was one to eat first either. She waited for her family – especially visitors. She watched our faces with an intense, yet discreet, gaze; gauging our expression. I suspect it was her own way of reassuring herself she'd made a worthy meal.
Father said grace, the first and most memorable words he would utter every evening. His voice was a low rumble like a drum. Heavenly Father full of grace, bless this bounty, my land, and my family. May we remain steadfast as You Sheppard us through trials, tribulations, and happiness. In nomine Patris et filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Though his prayer was scripted he never spoke it so, always saying it with such affection in his voice.
We slowly sipped at the soup, enjoying it, like it was the very nectar of God Himself. Delicious could not define it. The chicken, carrots, cabbage, and onions danced on our palettes with unparalleled flavor. It was like riding a horse at a straight gallop. You're filled with immediate peace of mind – seized by absolute serenity - like you've exited our world and entered paradise… and you never want to leave. It made us forget all the troubles we had and reminded us that no matter what, we always have family.
Our satisfaction showed in the empty pot. Mother, Adrian and I washed the dishes and stowed them away on the shelf for tomorrow morning. Adrian went to bed early, too tired from morning chores and the outing she and I had with Mary earlier. Mother nestled herself into the chair just to the left of the hearth. Father was sitting in the chair opposite Mother. His heart seemed to puddle gleefully, the soup's taste still fresh in memory. After clearing his throat in the thunderous manner he always did, he motioned me toward him.
"Emmeline, come sit." He beckoned. I walked over to him, crossing the old wooden floor. The boards creaked and cracked as I knelt at his feet. My pixie face flushed reliving the excitement I'd felt this afternoon.
"Yes, Father? What is it?" I queried innocently.
"I have something for you," he said, reaching to his coat. It hung off the side of his chair. Father produced a clothe-wrapped present and handed it to me. It was thick and heavy. My heart crescendoed, skipping two beats: one in joy, the other in awe. I'd never received anything from my Father that wasn't a disciplinary howl or a good beating to set my adventurous – and oftentimes troublesome - spirit straight. I'd not forgotten about Father's promise. I was beyond excitement, anxiousness settled in. My eyes flashed to and from Father and the book, my imagination vivid and wild.
"Here you are," he said, almost at a whisper.
In that moment, I felt proud – honored even – to be his daughter. I looked down, adoring every squared edge. Stilling my erratic breathing, I looked back at him with a smile that split between my elfish cheeks to reveal my near-ivory smile. (I was always dentally conscious for an Englander, being born with an innate sense of unrelenting hygiene.) As I gazed upon the lump of cloth in my tightly gripped hands, I knew exactly what it was, but that fact didn't tarnish its value one bit.
"Well don't just sit there staring at it. Open it," he nudged in joyous tone.
And with that invitation I began to untie the cloth as fast as I could, but gently so as not to tug at any of its loose threads. And when I drew back the last bit of cloth, I unveiled a small wooden box. Struck with confusion, I opened it, eyes trembling. Inside were coins, loads of them. It seemed as if it were all the money Father had ever earned. I'd never seen so much in my life.
"What is this?" I choked, flustered.
"It is a gift from a Father to his daughter… You're old enough to be married now and I want you to start your own life. And if you're not married soon you'll be an old maid," he paused, hesitant. I was far too shocked to be upset with those hope-sinking words at the moment. "I want you to find a husband who is wealthy enough to take care of you. This is your dowry. You're a fine young woman, Emma, which will make up for the little you have. Finding your suitor will be easy," he assured me. He took a moment to level his voice and collect words that I would be able to take. "I don't want this life for you Emmeline. Adrian's old enough now and your Mother and I think that she can handle your chores in your stead. She herself should be married off soon once you're gone."
I shot up onto my feet. I could barely breathe. Finding a man on my own was one thing, being forced into it was another. I'd not decided whether I wanted to open my heart to someone just yet. Before I knew it, I was enslaved and bound to the laws of society, and whatever Father said went. However, I wasn't going to take this. Not without going at least another two rounds with Father.
"But Father, what about the harvest? Winter is nearly upon us and you will need my help. Mother, you both can't be serious?" Mother looked astonished that someone wanted her thoughts on that matter, though her surprise did not stop her womanly manners. She shook her head as if to rid her mind of my petulance. Her eyes were overflowing with love and understanding. I knew behind her twinkling, oceanic blue eyes… the same she'd given me… that she unwillingly had to agree with Father.
"It is your father's decision, Emmeline." Her voice was harsh, her eyes were apologetic.
"I've already spoken with the Lords of Cotswolds and Ludlow" Father continued, "and they are both very anxious to meet you. You're a beautiful young woman, Emmeline. I don't want your beauty to fade before it's too late for you to find a suitor." He was sincere, yet commanding.
"Father I don't want to be married," I protested, "I am happiest here at home with you, Adrian, and Mother. I don't want to leave. I won't!"
"Tomorrow I am taking you to see—"
"But Father I want to stay!" I yelped.
"That's enough!" he growled.
I was trapped in a familiar standoff with my father... only this time, I could sense that his opinion would not sway. I felt a knot in my stomach wrench its way up into my throat. I couldn't speak. I stood there, humiliated, wishing I'd remembered my place and not been out of line... least of all in front of Mother. Before I could take a breath, tears began rolling down my face. I had to leave. I had to escape. I wiped them from my eyes and went to the front door. I threw it open letting the chilling autumn winds trundle into the house.
"Emmeline!" he yelled after me.
"Albert, let her go... She'll be back." Mother said, shaking her head.
Gideon was my horse. He was Father's wedding gift to Mother, but he never thought of her as sweetly as he did me. Anytime I got a scrape, bruise or scolding, Gideon was there for me to talk to. He was a beautiful buckskin horse with a dark brown tail and mane. He had a sturdy, but gentle look about him. His deep brown eyes, affectionate beyond compare, could quell an infant's tantrum.
I stood there at the gate of his stable and called to him. I could barely see him under the cloak of night. I wasn't sure if he was there for a moment. Then from the blackness I heard the familiar sound of thumping hooves seating deep into the ground, announcing his visitation. He stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight and stood at the gate. He put his head over my shoulder for me to embrace him, just as he always did when I was troubled. Somehow he knew. I stroked the fine hairs on his nose and muscled jaw. I pressed my nose to his neck, taking in his unforgettable scent, the scent I cherished so much. Honeysuckle and cedar… or at least, that's what it was to me. We stood in silence until I no longer wept.
"Gideon, I don't know what to do… Father wants to send me away - to marry me off to a wealthy man for a better life. To someone who I will probably never love…" I sighed in spirit-crushing defeat. "I wish I could convince him to let me stay, but we both know how he can be when he has his mind on something he wants. I wish it didn't have to be this way, Gideon. He wants me to leave everything behind… him, Mother, Adrian. I don't want to leave her behind; I'll miss my little sister. I'll miss this place… And of course I'll miss you." He snorted and batted his ears. "I'm being forced to leave behind everything I know and enter the daunting unknown; and I don't think I'm ready for that."
I stood, stroking Gideon's nose and watched the autumn leaves blow past the stable. The moon showed bright and full. I couldn't help but admire its beauty. When the wind sighed through the trees and their last few shaking leaves, the moon's beam lit dancing silhouettes of black across the ground and the stables. Things were calm and peaceful. There were no sounds except the creaking of branches and rattling of leaves.
I heard something cut through the silence. It came from around the back of the stables; a rustling. I patted Gideon once more, then quietly and carefully stepped around to the side of the old wooden stables. I glanced around the corner and to my surprise, it was Adrian; knelt on the ground. Her head hung low and pressed tightly to her knees. She was crying and I didn't understand why. I called after her in hushed voice, as to not alert Mother and Father to her sneaking out.
"Adrian." I approached her slowly, gauging the situation, kneel beside her. "Adrian, what is the matter, dear? Why such despair?" I whispered lovingly. There was a brief moment of silence as she wiped away her tears and looked up at me.
"Because you're leaving, Emma... I don't want you to leave me. I don't want you to leave us. What will I do without my big sister?" she sniffled. To this I was shocked. Only a few hours ago did she tell me that it was 'unnatural' to not want marriage; that I should embrace it with open arms. It would seem that whilst she was preparing me for that leap of faith, she'd forgotten to prepare herself. I thought better than to comment upon it, so I stated the obvious. Something I knew would not upset her further.
"I suppose you overheard?" I questioned innocently. She nodded and sighed, drawing a long deep breathe. "Well, how couldn't you …" I remarked, examining my saddened sixteen year old sister. I brushed back her charcoal-brown hair and tucked it gently behind her ear.
"Don't worry, Sissy, everything will be alright. You'll just have to soldier on. Be strong and listen to Mother and Father. Though don't listen too often and you'll turn out proper like me," I directed, nudging her shoulder. I caught the glimpse of a small smile out the corner of her mouth. "Besides, I'm not leaving just yet… and of course when I do, I will visit. I'll never leave you behind, Adrian. I couldn't forget about you." I kissed her on the cheek and pulled her into my loving arms. I held onto her, drowning her in sisterly devotion.
"Promise?" she said staring up at me with her big brown eyes that never failed to soften my heart. I smiled, overcome with adoration.
"Promise."
She smiled even bigger than before and hugged me even closer; as if it were our last.
"I'm going to miss our talks while we work in the gardens, helping Mother cook, picking wild flowers along the road in summer," I recalled. She smiled, reliving all the memories spent together throughout the years.
"But you know what I'll miss most?"
"What's that?" she replied.
I smirked. "One… Two..."
Adrian's eyes lit up! She hopped to her feet without a moment's notice.
"Three… Four… Better hurry!"
I covered my eyes while she scurried around the other side of the stables. I was looking everywhere for her until finally she found me. Little did I know she had hid beneath some leaves that she'd piled over herself, waiting. Hearing me draw near, she jumped out and grabbed my ankle; scaring me half to death! I tackled her to the ground, tickling her fiercely. That was a wonderful night, playing with my little sister… She always knew how to have fun, but then again she was adventurous like her old- her sister.
After we'd finished with hide and seek, we made a nice little bed of leaves beneath the tree behind our stables. We talked into the night with no sense of time or restraint, counting stars and constellations. As we lay there, I meditated on the anticipated maelstrom of my life. Maybe finding someone to love would be beneficial to both of us - Adrian and me - allowing us to grow independently, yet interdependently as well. I relished the thought.
I concentrated on casting the situation in a positive light. What if Mary was indeed correct? What if marriage doesn't compromise your life, but instead, reinforces it? These and many other questions flowed and churned and swirled through my mind. However, it was just one word that was truly bothering me. It plagued my mind and sullied my soul. I realized I wasn't afraid of marriage, nor was I afraid of losing my family. I was only haunted by one thing: perhaps.
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