Emily's Bridge - Part 1

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In Stowe, Vermont as a covered bridge that is supposed to be haunted by the spirit of a young woman. This is the true story behind that tale.

Emily's Bridge
Part I

By Jamie Lou

Edited by Kristina L. S.

This is a work of fiction. Most of the places mentioned do exist but none of the characters are based on real people and any resemblance to a real person is coincidental.

Thanks, Kristina, for help, suggestions and catching those stupid mistakes all of us make. Any errors that remain are my own

CAUTION: This story includes a somewhat graphic murder scene so please be warned.

Prologue

In the town of Stowe, Vermont, east of the village called Moscow, is a covered bridge known officially as the “Goldbrook Bridge” because it crosses Gold Brook. The locals just call it “Emily’s Bridge” because it is said to be haunted by the spirit of a young woman of that name. Lest you think that I am making this up, go to Google and search for the phrases "Emily's Bridge" and "Stowe, VT" together; you’ll get over a hundred hits that you can read for yourself.

There are many different stories about how Emily’s spirit came to haunt the bridge. The most common tale is that she and her lover were to meet at the bridge and then elope. He never showed and she, in despair, committed suicide by either throwing herself into the stream below or by hanging herself from the rafters. Both of these possibilities seem equally unlikely. As to the first: neither the streambed nor the water in it is terribly deep and jumping in might leave one with a broken arm or leg; more likely a person would only end up with scrapes and bruises. Regarding the second: it does not seem plausible that a young woman, waiting to meet her beau would have a length rope readily available with which to hang herself on the spur of the moment.

Another account has it that Emily was left at the altar. Driving her carriage at high speed to find and confront the unfaithful wretch, she went off the curve in the road at the bridge and into the river, killing herself and her horses. This story is more believable than the previous two legends but one can’t see the spirit of an accident victim hanging around to haunt the place.

Yet another source for the origin of the supposed haunting comes from a woman who claims to have made up the story in the early ‘70s, while she and a bunch of college kids were sheltering in the bridge during downpour.

There are more stories and numerous variations, none of which are true. The bridge was indeed inhabited by a spirit for a while but the real tale is stranger than you would guess.

The account that follows is mostly based the story related to me by my grandmother shortly before she died in the early 1990’s. Parts have been corroborated by contemporaneous newspaper accounts, diary entries and information from some other secondary sources I’ve found at various local historical societies and also at the State of Vermont Historical Society. There is enough supporting evidence for significant portions of my grandmother’s narrative that I believe it to be true. So, I present to you:

The True Story of Emily’s Bridge

By J. L. Wendelin

Emil McAllister, looked up momentarily from his book as the train’s whistle sounded at a crossing in Richmond. He was reading The Well at the World's End by William Morris. It had been published in 1896 but had taken almost a full year to reach a bookstore in Burlington. He’d wondered at that - in this modern age, where steamships could cross the Atlantic in a couple of weeks why should it take a full year for a book to get from London to Burlington? It was beyond his comprehension.

He tried to read his book but his thoughts kept returning to the weekend ahead. Emil was traveling to Stowe to spend the weekend with his uncle and, most especially, his cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth — Lizzie — was 19, a couple of years older than Emil, and he was amazed she was not yet married. However her father had doted on her since her mother had passed 10 years ago and was sympathetic to her not wanting rush into marriage. He was also a very modern man. He supported women’s suffrage; he was a Unitarian after all and thus, by definition, liberal. Lizzie was to meet Emil’s train in Waterbury and drive him to their house in Moscow where her father, Joshua Acworth, owned the lumber and grist mills, the smithy and general store.

Eventually Emil gave up trying to read and stared out at the Winooski valley passing by as his mind roamed. Lizzie had always been his favorite cousin because she understood him. She understood that Emil really wanted to be a girl.

He didn’t remember exactly why he had told her but it had been 6, no, 7 years ago — he’d been ten and she, twelve. They’d spent the summer together as he helped out around her father’s businesses. One afternoon, late that summer, they were lying on their backs, side-by-side, on the bank of the mill pond when she asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

After a long pause he asked, “Are you certain you want to know?”

She wondered at this. She’d asked it in a light-hearted way and Emil was reacting seriously.

“I was just wondering, Emil,” she answered.

“I…” he started, “I want to be a girl.”

She rolled on to her side and placed her elbow on the ground, supporting her head with her hand. Looking at him she asked, “Truly?”

“Yes,” he replied.

‘But, why?” she asked.

He remained on his back, staring into the clouds. “I don’t know. I feel wrong, as if I should be someone else.”

“I know it’s a sin,” he continued, “but I want to be a girl.”

Lizzie was quiet for a long while before she responded.

“Emil, father says that everyone must be true to themselves. And everyone has one true spirit under God. Maybe your spirit is a girl.”

He rolled to face her and propped his head on his hand also.

“Do you truly think so?”

“I don’t know, Emil. Who knows what God thinks? Maybe you are supposed to be a girl.”

“Oh Lizzie, I don’t know what I should do.”

“Well one thing is certain, you daren’t tell anyone else.”

He hadn’t.

Emil had spent a part of every summer since then with Lizzie and her father. His parents said it was so he could broaden his education and learn from his uncle. He knew they were hoping maybe Uncle Joshua would consider making Emil his heir. Because he only had a daughter and (they assumed) she couldn’t inherit his businesses, and because Emil, being the youngest of four sons of James and Lydia McAllister, would not get any of his family’s enterprise, it was natural for them to expect Joshua might be amenable to passing his endeavors on to Emil.

Of course, nothing like that would ever happen. Emil and Lizzie both knew that her father had no such plans. The three of them had even talked about it and Emil’s parent’s machinations in this regard. It was understood by them all that Lizzie would be the sole beneficiary of her father’s estate. That understanding did not however prevent his uncle from trying to impart some business acumen to Emil or the boy from trying to learn all he could from his uncle.

Lizzie, for her part, tried to do everything she could to help Emil with his problem of being in the wrong body. She had no doubt that this was indeed the case. They spent countless hours talking about it: she would challenge him on it and he would explain his feelings about it. And then there were the clothes.

During his next summer’s visit Lizzie asked him, “Have you ever put on a dress?”

“Not really,” he replied. “I tried mother’s petticoat once but it was much too large.”

Emil’s mother was a large woman — “big boned” was the polite term. He’d been lost in the voluminous fabric of her under things.

“Would you like to try some of my clothes?” Lizzie asked.

He just stared at her.

She saw him take a deep breath.

“Could I?”

“Of course,” she answered firmly. “Father is going to Waterbury on Saturday. We have to oversee the loading at the mill in the morning, but we have the afternoon free. We could try it then.”

She watched as he considered this. His thoughts were almost transparent to her. When he finally realized she meant it and began to understand the implications of that, his face lit up. His eyes welled with tears as her threw his arms around her.

“Oh! Thank you!”

Saturday afternoon they spent in her room, dressing him in various outfits.

First she had him undress completely. This was not completely out of the ordinary for them. They had swum together naked — skinny-dipping, as it was called — a number of times. There was nothing untoward about this or sexual in the least. Both knew about sex; they’d both seen horses, cattle and other farm animals mating, they knew the mechanics of it but did not equate what they were doing with that at all.

“Here,” she said, handing him what looked to him like short breeches, only made out of silk and with frills at the waist and knees. “These are bloomers,” she added, “They go on first. These are like men’s pantaloons. Most of my drawers are open at the crotch but these aren’t. I wear them when I’m riding.”

Emil stopped tying the waist of the bloomers and gave her a puzzled look.

“Why are they open?” he asked.

“Silly,” she answered, “you know girls have to sit when they… when they use the privy?”

He nodded.

“Well the split makes it easier. When you have a dress and petticoats and chemise… believe me it is easier than pulling down bloomers. But closed drawers are much more comfortable and practical for riding”

“Oh,” was all he could offer in return.

After he pulled the on the bloomers she showed him what appeared to be a plain, white dress. “This is a chemise. It’s an under-dress,” she explained. She held it with the skirt open for him to put on. He put his hands together and slipped into it, spreading them into the short sleeves and standing straight to let it settle over him. It seemed very plain and came down below his knees.

“It’s just an under-dress,” she said. “Nobody is supposed to see it. If you were older you would wear a corset over it to make your waist smaller. My mother wore one when she dressed up by I don’t have one yet — father doesn’t think they are healthy for young girls and won’t let me get one.”

She went to her wardrobe and chose a dress for him. It was a plain blue and white plaid with a high neckline and full sleeves. The cuffs and collar were of a white scalloped material. As with the chemise, she held it for him as he slipped it over his head.

As she buttoned up the back she commented, “I always have to ask father to button this one for me as I can’t reach them all myself.”

“Does he mind?” wondered Emil.

“Oh, no! Of course he’s helped me dress since I was a little girl — after mother passed.”

He turned to admire himself in the mirror. The dress came almost to the floor, as did all her dresses. She stood next to him and thought that they looked almost to be sisters.

The dress seemed very natural on him. He was turning left and right as he observed himself. And then she realized how very feminine he looked.

They had spent the rest of the afternoon with him trying on her dresses. It was fun for both. Later as evening approached, Emil returned to wearing his regular clothes as they anticipated her father’s return. They worked together to prepare the day’s supper. Her father arrived at around seven o’clock to find a meal ready for him and was none the wiser.

Over the next few years they had had other opportunities for him to play dress-up; that was how they thought of it, as dress-up. Even though he wished himself a girl, he wasn’t - and wasn’t ever going to be one. He could not be one; he could only pretend to be one every so often.

But now, on Friday October 8, 1897, Emil was traveling to Stowe. He was to spend the weekend with her and she promised they would go to a dance on Saturday. And he was going to go dressed as her cousin Emily.

Elizabeth met him at the Waterbury station with her buggy. This was her buggy, not her father’s pulled by her own Morgan stallion, Stanley, — a horse she also used for riding; Morgans were versatile animals and used in many roles from riding to pulling both farm equipment and wagons or buggies. They put Emil’s bag in the boot in the back, climbed in and headed out of town on the Stowe Road. She drove.

As they traveled north, Lizzie explained the details of their weekend plans.

“Father will be in Montpelier tomorrow and Sunday so we needn’t worry about him. The dance is at Smythe’s farm — they live over on the east side of town, on the Gold Brook Road. They have a huge barn and they clear out the center bay for the dance. It should be great fun — they always have a harvest moon dance in October. I’ve told Mary — that’s Mary Smythe, she’s a year younger than I… I’ve told her I’m bringing my cousin but nothing else. So you can go as Emily. Oh it’s going to be so much fun…”

Lizzie tended to go on like this sometimes. Emil was used to it and just let her chatter. It was so different from her demeanor when she was talking business. In those instances she would be very succinct, to the point, and not distracted by anything else.

Emil thought to himself, “She’s babbling.” But he didn’t say anything. He contented himself with the occasional nod, “Uh huh,” and “Yes.” Mostly though, he half listened as he thought about the dance tomorrow. He was going to go dressed as Emily!

He had dreamed about doing something like this, going out in public as a girl. His mind drifted to skirts swirling about as “Emily” danced with… a boy. He had not believed it could be possible until he had received Lizzie’s letter about the dance and her father being out of town and her idea to invite “Emily”. When he’d read that, his chest got tight and his pulse throbbed in his ears. Now here he was, riding to…

“Emil!’

His thoughts were interrupted by Lizzie’s exclamation.

“What? Sorry, I was day dreaming.”

“I noticed,” she said with a laugh before continuing. “I said; guess what I have for you?”

“I have no idea. What?”

“A corset.”

“A what?”

“A corset,” she repeated. “It’s my old one but it should fit you fine. Although I honestly don’t know why we wear them, they’re terribly uncomfortable. But if you’re going to go out in public, you need to wear one. Everyone expects it and it would be awfully poor taste not to.”

“Lizzie,” he started, “Uh, I don’t know what to say. Um, thank you.”

“Yes, well, thank me again after you’ve been wearing it all evening,” she admonished.

They chatted while driving on. She tried to give him some background on all her friends and other’s he might meet at the dance. She also warned him about the Miller boys.

“They’re good dancers but they always try to grope you, either through your dress or under it. Don’t let them get you in a dark corner. And, whatever you do, stay away from them if they get drunk — and they usually do, get drunk, I mean. They get vicious when they’re drunk — worse if it’s whisky. And since their daddy probably brings bootleg whiskey through Smuggler’s Notch from Canada, they often drink whiskey.”

She stopped for a moment before she continued quietly, almost whispering, “Now, I don’t know this for certain, but I’m quite sure John Miller got Nancy Johnson… with child. She was sent off to New York and no one would say why. That was two years ago and we haven’t seen her since and her family won’t talk about her. I know she went to a couple socials with him that summer.”

“Anyhow,” she added, “You need be careful around them. John. And his brother Isaac.”

They finished the last mile to her house in silence.

That evening around the dinner table and afterwards in front of the fire in the parlor, Emil, Elizabeth and her father held a wide-ranging discussion about the state of the world. Politics, the economy, the weather — all were fair game. Her father felt that the economy had finally turned the corner and was recovering from the Panic of ’93. They all wondered what that meant to both families’ businesses. Elizabeth opined that President McKinley was too beholden to the business combines and trusts; she liked the idea of the free silver movement advocated by Bryant in the last election. This led them to a dialog about the effect the monopolies and banks might have on their lives in small town Vermont. Emil was sure the papers that backed McKinley were fanning the flames for a war with Spain. All three felt that the reasons used to advocate for war were inflated at best and likely completely spurious.

Saturday day dawned clear and warm — for an early October day. Her father got an early start for his trip to Montpelier. Emil and Elizabeth spent the morning and early afternoon at the mill supervising the operations there. They finished before two o’clock, locked the office and returned to the Acworth house.

Once in the house they looked at each other and started giggling, then out-right laughing, hugging and a bit of jumping up and down. The tension they’d held in check all day bubbled out.

“Oh! This is going to be so much fun,” exclaimed Lizzie.

“I can’t wait,” Emil responded.

Now they could start the real work of the day: getting “Emily” ready for the dance.

“All right,” Elizabeth declared taking charge after they had settled down, “first we need to get cleaned up. There’s warm water in the reservoir on the side of the stove and the kettle on top should also be pretty full. We’ll each take a bucket to wash with and then I want to do your hair.”

“My hair?” Emil asked.

“Emil… It looks like you haven’t washed it in a week. I have some scented shampoo that will give it a nice shine. I’ll trim it a little and then give it a little curl. It’ll look great and smell good too.”

“Lizzie… oh, would you?”

“I will. Now go to your toilette. I’ll get you a house-dress to wear while we do your hair. And some clothes for you to try. Oh, and the wash tub is in the closet at the top of the stairs.”

Emil took a pail of warm water to his room and set it the nightstand. He retrieved the wash tub and its attending oilcloth, spread the cloth on the floor in front of the nightstand and placed the wash tub on it. As he prepared to undress, Lizzie entered with the promised house-dress, laid it on the bed and departed.

After disrobing, Emil stepped into the tub and began his ablutions. He poured some water into the wash-basin atop the nightstand and washed his face and hands. Then, using the washing-cloth proceeded to clean this arms legs and torso. He did this with a minimal amount of water to only just wipe his skin with the wet cloth. Soaking and soaping the cloth well, Emil cleaned under his arms then squatted in the tub to thoroughly wash his crotch and behind. He then rinsed both his under-arms and nether-regions with a soaked washing-cloth. Emil liked to be clean. At home in Burlington he was often teased about the time he spent in the bath.

Stepping out of the tub onto the oil-cloth, Emil picked up the towel hanging on the side of the night-table to dry himself. He was pleased that the tub had caught most of the wash water; very little was on the oil-cloth and none had gotten onto the wood floor itself. He carefully patted his skin dry; he couldn’t stand to rub the towel across his skin the way he’d seen his brothers do it — it was irritating.

After placing the towel back on its bar, he went to the bed, picked up and put on the house-dress Lizzie had put there for him. It was a simple garment that he pulled over his head. The sleeves came to his elbows and there were three buttons on front to close the top.

“Are you finished?” called Lizzie from her room.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Would you empty the tub for me and fetch it here, please?”

“I will. Just a minute...”

He emptied the tub into the pail then took tub and oil-cloth into her room and placed them near her nightstand.

“Thank you, cousin.” Then Lizzie thought for a moment before saying, “Why don’t you dump your bucket and then get us something to eat. There should be some bread and cheese in the pantry and milk and… I think there’s still a bit of ham, in the ice box. We shouldn’t eat much as there will be loads of food at the dance. While you do that I shall get cleaned up. Then we can wash your hair.”

“That’s sounds splendid,” replied Emil.

A short while later Lizzie joined him in the kitchen. She emptied her wash water into the sink and pumped a little fresh water into the pail to rinse it.

“It’s almost three so we shouldn’t dawdle,” she cautioned.

They ate quickly and then, with Emil leaning over the sink, she poured a pitcher of warm water over it. Lizzie poured some of her shampoo onto her palm and subsequently massaged it into Emil’s hair.

“I got this the last time I visited you in Burlington,” she explained. “It’s from London. Doesn’t it smell wonderful? The box said it has almond, sandalwood and jasmine in it and the formula comes all the way from India originally. I just love it.”

Emil was reveling in the scent and the feel of Lizzie’s fingers working their way though his hair. He always got goose-bumps when someone else washed his hair and was disappointed when she finished.

“All right, I’m done,” she declared. “Here comes the rinse.”

With his hair cleaned, Emil sat near the stove while Lizzie brushed it out and trimmed a few loose ends. Earlier, she had placed a couple of curling irons on the cooler end of the stove; she tested them now.

“Just right!” she pronounced.

Emil’s hair was a light brown color, tending towards red. He wore it shoulder length which was considered old-fashioned and out-of-style for men but not that uncommon. He liked it that long because it made him feel more like a girl. It was slightly wavy but was by no means curly.

“I’m only going to use these to give you a slight curl at the bottom, “Lizzie told him. I have a comb that was my mother’s. We’ll use that to bring the sides together at the top and then let it fall down the back. All right?”

“That would be nice,” was all Emil could get out — he was almost over-come.

When Emil’s hair was completed the two went upstairs again and into Emil’s room to dress.

Emil quickly donned the drawers — noting they were the open style - and chemise. He stood as Elizabeth picked up a black corset off the bed and handed over for him to examine.

“This is my old one. The bust is a mite small for me now and it’s not terribly fashionable but it’s a perfectly good Gage and Downs. It’s really what they call a corsetwaist and much more comfortable and practical for a working girl than a regular corset. My new one is a different style from the same company. They are good quality and not as expensive as some of the others.”

Emil took it in his hand. The outer material was black sateen with embroidered pink and blue flowers, the lining was plain cotton. It was open at the front with a stiff metal band running up each side.

“It’s a busk,” Elizabeth informed him. “See how one side has the pins sticking out the other the loops the hook over them? You put it on and fasten the front then I’ll tighten the lacing in the back. Come now, we need to get going.”

Elizabeth assisted as Emil wrapped the corset around himself and fastened the busk at the front. She then told him to let out his breath and pulled the lacing snug on the back and tied it.

“I won’t pull it too tight,” she said. “Unless you’re used to it, it would hurt something awful.”

As it was, Emil felt quite constrained around his tummy. But he could still breathe with relative comfort and he noted in the mirror that, even though he did not have a classic hour-glass figure, the profile reflected was decidedly feminine.

Elizabeth followed his gaze. “I believe we must remember that you are Emily from now on.”

“Come,” she added quickly, “Time’s a wastin’!”

Emily pulled on a petticoat which Elizabeth tied at her waist. Elizabeth then handed her several handkerchiefs to stuff into the top for her corset to pad her “bust”, after which Emily put on a corset cover.

“That will smooth the line of the corset and also protects the dress. Now, sit on the bed and I’ll put on your stockings ‘cause I know you can’t bend over to put them on.”

She pulled the black silk stockings up to Emily’s thighs and tied them with a garter on each, one black, the other yellow.

“One is always yellow,” she told him, “for good luck they say. You’re going to have to wear your own boots. But they’re narrow and I don’t think anyone will notice. And if they do, they’ll only think you have no knack for choosing stylish boots,” she added with a laugh.

“Now… Are you ready for your dress?”

Emily swallowed hard and answered, “Yes.”

“Well then, step right this way.” And she led Emily to her room. There on the bed lay the skirt and jacket ensemble that was a pale blue color. The material appeared to shimmer in the light coming through the west-facing window.

“Lizzie… It’s beautiful,” Emily exclaimed as she approached the bed. She reached to touch it but pulled back before doing so, not daring to. “Is it silk?” she asked.

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, “taffeta.”

“Oh, Lizzie! I can’t… It’s… it’s much too… elegant for me,” Emily demurred.

“You can and you will,” Elizabeth countered. “I bought it for you to wear for this dance.”

“For truth?” Emily inquired.

“Yes!” her cousin answered. “Come. We must finish getting you dressed so that I have time too.” With that said she picked up the skirt and Emily stepped into it.

With Emily holding it up, Elizabeth buttoned it closed at the back and then tied the waistband. The full skirt ended with knife pleats at the bottom that almost touched the floor. Elizabeth held the top so Emily could slip her arms into it.

“It’s more a jacket than a blouse but that is a popular style at the moment. And ‘twill hide the stuffing we used for your bust better than a lighter blouse would. No one will know,” Elizabeth explained. “Now you button it while I get started dressing.”

As she fastened the sixteen buttons that closed the front, Emily examined the jacket both up close and in the mirror on the wall. The sleeves were full and loose on the upper arms but tight on the lower before flaring at the pleated cuffs which echoed those on the skirt. At the tops the sleeves puffed up a full two inches above the shoulders — very feminine. Tucked under the taffeta collar was a white lace one that extended out another couple of inches all the way around her neck. The collar was fastened at the front by yet another button.

When the buttoning was complete and the lace collar straightened and flattened, Emily stood to judge the image in the mirror. The person looking back at her was — a girl, almost a woman. There was no hint of Emil. The jacket slimmed her waist, and combined with the corset beneath gave her a flare at the hips that she did not possess naturally. Her faux bust was adequate though not large and the jacket accentuated what she did have. Her eyes glistened as she realized what she had become: an elegantly dressed, modern young lady.

“You look very sophisticated,” commented Elizabeth, “But you are my cousin from Chicago and you’re supposed to be more elegant than anyone else around here.”

“You don’t think I’ll stand out too much, do you?” Emily asked shyly.

“Of course you will!” affirmed Elizabeth, “That’s the idea.”

“But…” Emily started before being cut off.

“But, nothing!” was her cousin’s retort. “You are a big city girl visiting her country cousin. You are confident, stylish, just a little arrogant but not condescending, and you are not going to let the locals push you around. Do you understand?”

Emily looked puzzled for a moment then glanced back at the mirror and saw the girl Elizabeth had described. She stood a bit straighter, squared her shoulders, thrust out her bosom the slightest bit and replied, “Yes. I do.”

“Good!” answered Elizabeth. “Now come help me with my corset.”

Breaking away from the mirror, Emily turned to assist Lizzie.

Her cousin already had on her stockings and boots and a garment that was a combination of chemise and drawers. She had her corset around her already and was fastening the busk. “I need you to do the lacing for me,” she said. Emily complied and then assisted with the corset cover.

Elizabeth’s dress was a relatively plain affair as compared to Emily’s. A solid rose/burgundy color, when she put it on it flared only slightly — hanging almost straight down her legs. The sleeves were very generous at the top but came to very tight cuffs at the wrist; they joined the shoulders with only a hint of the puffiness that Emily’s had.

The bodice had a wide band around the waist but there was a lace trim that came around the neckline, then down the front to just below her breasts which gave the hint of a vest.

Emily buttoned up the back after which Elizabeth picked up a lace shawl from the bed and draped it over her shoulders.

‘What do you think?” she asked.

“You look very nice,” answered Emily.

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “O.K.,” she continued, “we should get going. It’ll be cold later so you must bring your cape; it’s black and plain and could be for either a boy or a girl so it won’t stand out. I have my own which is similar. Are we forgetting anything?”

‘I don’t think so.”

‘Then let us away,” Elizabeth declared.

The two girls left the house and proceeded to the carriage shed where they harnessed Stanley and hitched him to Elizabeth’s buggy.

“Throw some oats in that feedbag,” Lizzie said indicating one hanging near the stall. “Put it in the boot. And grab his blanket from the shelf there.”

With everything ready, they set off into the gathering twilight. The moon was just rising over the mountains of the Worcester range to the east. It was almost full and appeared huge as it slowly crept up from behind the hills. There was nary a cloud in the sky and it promised to be a brilliant, clear night. The girls looked forward to the dance and the evening’s entertainment as they traveled the two miles across town to the Smyth farm.

When they reached the Gold Brook Bridge, Stanley hesitated, as if he didn’t want to enter the enclosed space and Elizabeth had to flick the reigns to urge him on. A little way future down the road, they heard the sound of the fiddles playing in the distance.

Turning towards her cousin, Elizabeth asked, “Are you ready?”

Emily reached over to squeeze Lizzie’s hand. “I am!”

Elizabeth guided Stanley to a space on the fence just down the road from the Smythe’s barn. There were already many other carriages, wagons, buggies and saddled horses tied up along the roadside. They climbed down and Elizabeth went forward to hitch Stanley to the fence. Emily retrieved his blanket from the back. The two girls settled it over his back, attached it under his belly and around the front so it wouldn’t fall off. It was apt to get chilly later and Elizabeth did not want him to get cold. She noted with disdain that some other owners were not so conscientious as she hung the feedbag over his head. This would let him eat some oats when he needed.

Hand in hand under the bright full moon, they walked up the road towards the sounds of the dance. The barn was built into a hillside. Lanterns, mounted on poles lit the way up a slight incline to the rear of the barn and the second floor entrance.

The upper barnyard was lit by a large bonfire around which were gathered several young men, drinking and smoking pipes or cheroots. A couple of them greeted Elizabeth as she rounded the corner.

To the right of the barn door a man was unpacking equipment from a large trunk. Elizabeth walked up to him.

“Good evening, Mister Johnson,” she greeted him.

He turned at hearing his name.

“Why Miss Acworth. Good evening to you also.”

Realizing what the equipment must be she asked, “Will you be making photographs tonight?”

“I will,” he answered. “Miss Smythe asked me to bring my camera and I was most happy to oblige. It IS a bit nippy outside tonight but I cannot use the flash-powder inside, not in the barn anyhow. Would you and your friend care to sit for a portrait later?”

“Oh, forgive me, I forgot… Mr. Johnson, this is my cousin, Emily Mayfield. She’s visiting for the weekend.”

“Miss Mayfield,” he said lifting his hat slightly.

Emily started to reach her hand out to shake his, caught herself and covered it by pulling her cape around herself.

“Mister Johnson, Pleased to meet you,” she said with a slight curtsy.

“A photograph would be splendid. Don’t you think so Emmy?” her cousin asked.

Emily nodded.

“We will come out for a portrait later, Mr. Johnson.” Elizabeth said as they took their leave.

“Ladies,” he answered and returned to his equipment.

“I almost shook his hand, Lizzie,” Emily whispered.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. Come on.”

Entering the barn through a small door built into the large, main door, they stopped to let their eyes adjust. There must have been 30 kerosene lanterns suspended from the overhead beams or attached to hangers mounted on the vertical posts down the center.

Emily surveyed the scene before her. The center section of the barn was about 30 feet wide and 90 feet long. The dancers would have to navigate around the support posts in the center, but then, this was a barn dance. The area cleared for the dancing was normally filled with farm implements stored for the winter: plows, mowers, rakes, wagons and other sundry equipment needed to manage a large, modern farm. Some of this had been stuffed into the last two bays at the far end. Other apparatus, she realized they had passed in the barnyard on the way to the door. On either side, the mows were full of hay, laid in over the course of the summer, as well as, she noted, in some of the bays above the dance floor.

Near the small door through which they had entered was a large woodstove standing on a platform of bricks, its smoke pipe extending outside through a hole in the large, barn door. This stove, along with the heat filtering up from the cows, horses and other animals on the first floor, took the chill off.

She took in the barrels and buckets of water and pails of sand close at hand and also placed intermittently along the hay mows on either side. Fire in a barn could destroy a farm. Emily was surprised the Smythes would risk it but Elizabeth said they had been sponsoring these dances for years.

To the left, beyond the stove, were a number of tables laden with food and drink. Emily noted a couple of hams; at least one goose and two turkeys, still steaming; wheels of cheese; many loaves of bread, rolls and biscuits of various kinds; baskets of apples and pears — a true harvest feast. Nearby were kegs of drink mounted on the “X” shaped frames of saw-bucks. The smaller one, surrounded by younger children, she assumed contained sweet cider. The two larger ones must have hard cider and ale for the adults. She noted there were more kegs nearby.

About half way along the cleared floor, set to one side was a raised floor that looked to be planks laid across some 12” beams. This was the stage for the performers. The band was made up of two fiddle players, a short man with a bass that appeared almost too big for him but which he seemed to handle quite well, a banjo and a man with an instrument Emily had seen recently at other dances — a guitar.

She wasn’t sure this later one, the guitar, would catch on. It didn’t have the volume to get past the fiddles or the banjo. It was fine for accompanying quiet ballads but was overwhelmed by other instruments at dances.

The band was playing a reel and there were a half-dozen couples dancing along with it.

Elizabeth grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her along the floor saying, “Come! You must meet Mary Smythe, since this IS her dance.”

Lizzie led Emily across the barn to a group of girls gathered at one of the food tables.

“Mary!” she called as they neared the group. “Mary, you must meet my cousin.”

Emily was still flustered from her near mistake with Mr. Johnson and she was nervous. She needn’t have been. Elizabeth made the introduction.

“Mary… My cousin Emily Mayfield from Chicago. Emily… Mary Smythe.”

“Emily, welcome to my party. Elizabeth has told me so much about you. How are you finding Vermont? What a splendid dress. Where did you find it?”

“Girls,” she announced to those gathered around her, “Come meet Emily from Chicago.”

Overwhelmed and barely able to get an answer in, Emily did her best to nod and smile and say “Thank you.”

Then the girls all came to greet and welcome her. She was surprised that most were warm and friendly and honestly seemed happy to receive a stranger in their midst. She soon felt comfortable among them and, at least temporarily, part of the group. Emily grabbed a bite to eat and listened to the other girls gossip about the boys at the dance.

Soon the band’s caller announced the start of a new dance. One of the girls grabbed Emily and pulled her into the line forming for the set. The caller walked the dancers thought the steps and then, after asking if everyone was ready, the band started.

Emily loved contra dance and knew this particular one well but needed to concentrate on being the follow rather than the lead. She found it easier as the dance went on through the figures and the progressions. All too soon the dance was over and she found herself paired with a young man who introduced himself as Sean Flannigan from Morrisville. She, in turn, gave her name.

“You’re Lizzie’s cousin?”

“That I am,” she returned.

“Well, welcome to Vermont,” he declared not realizing that he was at least the tenth person to do so. “Um… would you like something to drink?” he asked hesitantly.

It occurred to her that Sean was not completely comfortable meeting new people, especially girls. He seemed unsure of what to do or say next. She could understand that. Hearing the caller announce the next dance as a waltz, she said, “Thank you but I’m fine.” Then she asked, “I know this is a bit forward but… how about after this next dance?”

Sean looked at her, seemingly relieved that he wouldn’t have to make conversation, and answered, “That sounds good.”

He took her right hand in his and placed his left at her waist. She could barely feel it through her corset but that wasn’t important. She did have to remember to put her left hand on his shoulder, not at his waist as Emil would have done.

The music started and Emily had to concentrate on the dance. Soon, though, she was swept up in the rhythm and the steps and the man leading her through the dance. And it all seemed to flow naturally. Sean, she realized was quite a good dancer; he led with a gentle but firm ease that belied his discomfort talking to her earlier. After what felt an all to short time, the waltz was over.

“Now I’ll take that drink,” Emily informed Sean after they completed the final figure.

The couple proceeded to the cider keg at the end of the dance floor. Sean drew them each a mug full which they sipped while observing the next dance, another reel. Each commented on the talents of various couples while they watched. Emily was enjoying herself immensely. She engaged Sean in conversation and was able to determine that he was a journeyman surveyor, working with a master to set the final borders between several towns in Lamoille County. Some of the original grants dating back to King George or earlier were vague about exactly where one township ended and another began. She found it fascinating that in this day and age, on the verge of the twentieth century, they were still trying to sort out claims and grants made in the 1700’s.

Neither of them noticed the large figure approaching until he declared his presence with a loud, “So you’re Lizzie Acworth’s cousin from Chicago, huh?”

Emily turned and had to look up to meet the eyes of a boy who was over six foot tall. She could smell the whiskey on his breath even at a distance but it was over-powering when he leaned over to say, “Not much to look at. Are you?”

“And you are?” she asked with as much haughtiness as she could manage.

“John Miller,” he replied. “Com’on, lets dance,” he said as he grabbed her arm and started to pull he out to the dance floor. But she stopped and pulled her arm away.

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

He turned, surprised at her reaction. He reached to take her arm again but Emily would not have it. She did the only thing she could think of: she slapped his face.

“Leave me be!” she commanded.

He raised his fist and appeared ready to strike her back when Sean Flannigan stepped between them.

“The lady said no, John, leave her alone!”

The two boys glared at each other. Miller seemed ready to fight Sean when several other people rushed up, including Peter Smythe, Mary’s father and the host of the evening’s dance.

“Miller!” he yelled, “Stop right there.”

John Miller froze and looked at the older man.

“Sir?” he asked.

“You’re drunk John,” Mr. Smythe informed him. “And you’re bothering my guests. You need to leave. Now!”

That final command would brook no dispute. The Miller boy deflated and took his leave grumbling about how bad the party was and sprinkling threats left and right as he made his way to the door.

When Miller was finally out the door Mary’s father turned to address Emily. “Are you O.K. Miss Mayfield?”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry you had to endure that.” Then he addressed the others who had gathered around. “Alright, the excitement’s over. Let’s all get back to the evening’s entertainment.”

Emily and Sean watched the current dance as they finished their cider. He then invited her out for the next one. As she swung through the figures and steps, Emily tried to forget the incident with John Miller as her thoughts drifted to the daydream on the drive into Stowe. Here she was living that dream. Her skirts swirled about her as she spun happily. Emily finally felt she was home — where she belonged.

Later, during a general lull in the festivities, Emily and Elizabeth had a bite to eat and then stepped outside to see Mr. Johnson about the promised portrait.

The photographer, it seems, had been busy most of the evening and was down to his last glass plate so the girls timing was most fortuitous.

Mr. Johnson had a large grey cloth nailed on to the side of the barn to cover the wood siding. If front of this was a pair of stools. The girls settled their skirts around their legs as they sat. Johnson slid the large glass negative into the side of his camera and then stepped up and with a muttered an apologetic, ”May I?” made a couple minor adjustments to their positions, fluffed out their skirts a bit and returned to the camera.

“Now,” he said, “You must hold your breath or it will cloud the image. And try not to blink when the flash-powder goes off. Ready?”

They nodded their assent.

“Alright, here we go. A little smile.” He removed the cover from the lens and counted down, “Three. Two. One.”

The flash-powder burned; incredibly bright in the darkness.

“There!” he said.

“When might it be ready, Mr. Johnson?” Elizabeth inquired.

He stopped for a moment to consider this. “I would say Wednesday, Thursday at the latest.”

“I’ll stop by your studio on Friday when I come into the village.”

“Could you make a second print for me, please?” asked Emily.

“Certainly, Miss. That will be no problem at all.”

The two girls went back inside. Emily looked around for Sean and spotted him across the room. However, before she even started over to meet him she was approached by another boy who asked if she would join him for the next dance. She did.

Emily danced with several other partners before she joined with Sean again for another waltz. Whirling around the dance floor she was smiling; this was probably the happiest she had ever been.

Eventually, the evening wound down. Elizabeth found Emily and suggested that they should leave. Emily wanted to stay — she was having great fun — but she realized the night had to end so she reluctantly assented.

Elizabeth and Emily made the rounds to say their goodbyes and then exited the barn. Hand in hand the girls walked down the lane laughing and reminiscing about the evening. They found Stanley, contented, where they’d left him. In spite of the evening’s chill he seemed comfortable. Elizabeth decided to leave the blanket on him for the trip across town; they would not push Stanley on the drive home and the blanket would keep him comfortable.

The sky was clear, the moon was full and the road was lit almost as if it were twilight, not midnight. As they approached the bridge crossing the Gold Brook, Emily realized she should have used the privy before they’d left the Smythe farm.

“Would you stop at the bridge?” she asked.

“Whatever for?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

”I need to pee,” Emily answered.

“Oh.”

Elizabeth reigned in Stanley at the bridge. Emily jumped down and walked to the roadside at the end of the bridge. She squatted, pulled her dress, petticoats and drawers out of the way and relieved the pressure on her bladder.

Climbing back to the roadway she said, “That certainly feels better.”

Elizabeth gave a quick laugh and returned, “I’ll bet it does.”

They both turned at the sound of approaching horses.

“Good thing you’re finished,” said Elizabeth with a laugh.

Her mirth quickly faded as one horse was urged forward and skidded slightly as it was reined in between Emily and the buggy.

“And what have we here?” John Miller inquired. “Well it’s Lizzie Acworth and her bitch of a cousin from Chi Ca Go.” He drew the city name out to three separate words.

“What do you want, John?” Elizabeth asked.

“Shut up bitch. I want your cousin. She owes me.”

At that he jumped down from his horse and walked up to Emily. She backed away, on to the bridge itself, but he grabbed her saying, “Oh no girly. There’s no Sean Flannigan to protect you this time. You’re mine!”

Forcing her to the side of the bridge he pushed his mouth against hers and kissed her. He smelled of sweat and whiskey. He reached down to get under her dress and petticoat.

“I’m going to make a woman out of you, you virgin cunt,” her told her.

She tried to push him away and squeezed her legs together in an attempt to ward him off. Then she heard Elizabeth yell, “You leave her alone, you bastard.”

Emily looked up and John Miller also stopped for a moment to see Elizabeth jump down from the buggy. But Isaac Miller was there in front of her, grabbing her to prevent any interference she might attempt.

John Miller returned his attention to the girl in front of him. He had his hand under her dress and was reaching up. Even though her legs were tight together he slid his hand up her thigh and between the opening in her drawers. But where he expected to find her slit he encountered something else.

“What the…,” he exclaimed and pulled his hand away as if burned. “You’re a friggin’ guy!”

He stepped back, horrified, and Emily thought for a moment she would be okay and he would just leave, until he said, “You sick bastard.” He punched her in the stomach.

Even through the hurt, she felt the boning of her corset break under the impact. The pain of his fist driving into her was outside of anything in her experience.

“You… You…” John Miller sputtered.

He turned, started to move away, but then returned to her. She could feel his rage radiating. He bent and pulled something out of his boot. The moonlight glinted off the steel of the blade in his hand.

Time seemed to slow as her eyes were glued to the blade. She watched, frozen as it came at her. She saw it enter her belly. In a detached way she noted every inch of that penetration. There wasn’t any significant pain - for a second, no worse than a bad cut on her finger. Then, agony. It spread. He twisted the knife and moved it around to do as much damage as possible before he pulled it out.

Emily was in shock. In disbelief she brought her hands to her belly, trying to stop the pain and the bleeding. At some point in the back of her mind she worried that she was bleeding over Lizzie’s brand new dress. Then her knees gave out and she slumped down onto the planking of the bridge.

She saw the Millers leave. She saw Lizzie rush over to her. She felt her cousin’s arms wrap around her and hug her. She heard, at a distance, Lizzie’s entreaty,
”Emily! Oh Emmy…”

Emily coughed and grimaced at the pain.

“It hurts Lizzie.”

“I know. But you’re going to be O.K. Come on. We’ll get you to a doctor.” She started to lift her cousin but stopped at Emily’s exclamation of pain.

“I can’t,” winced Emily.

“Then I’ll go get help.”

Elizabeth tried to extract herself. Emily grabbed her arm, saying, “Please stay. I don’t want to die alone.”

So Elizabeth held her.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your dress.”

Elizabeth let out a sob

“Lizzie,” she managed, “I’m cold.”

Elizabeth could feel her shaking and pulled the cape over Emily.

“Emmy, I sorry.”

Her cousin’s voice seemed distant to Emily.

The last thing she remembered thinking, maybe even saying was, “I love you Lizzie.”

And she thought she heard, “I love you Emmy.”

Gray swirled about Emily. She didn’t know there could be so many shades of gray. There was no color. “Why?” she wondered. The dim twilight had no source, it just surrounded her. Yet she could see nothing, not even herself.

She also wondered why she felt no pain. She remembered the dance, the bridge, the knife. What was going on? Where was she? She thought she must be dead — her memories included the blood leaking through her fingers as she held her belly. “What’s happening to me?” she screamed, silently. She heard no voice.

Panic overwhelmed her. Her thoughts raced. She cried. She flailed out but felt naught. She was floating, swimming, it seemed; could touch nothing and feel nothing around her. Other than the gray clouds she saw, (Around her? In her head?), she had no sense of anything else: hot or cold, up or down, time passing. Thrashing about, her hand finally touched something - and something touched her. She explored.

Her hand felt her belly and her belly felt her hand. This was worth pursuing; a sensation in the void. Emily moved her hand up her torso and encountered a breast. She wondered how she could feel a breast when she wasn’t really a girl. But her fingers were touching her own nipple and that nipple was certainly not the tiny male version she’d had previously. As she investigated this new piece of anatomy she felt a connection between that nipple and her crotch — something was reacting down there and it was different from what she remembered as Emil.

Emily began to suspect that a major change had taken place. But still… She slid her hand down across her belly, felt the curly hair she expected but further down… nothing. Well not exactly nothing but not what she’d known before. Emil had timidly investigated a girl’s privates once and that was what Emily discovered at the base of her belly. What she had only explored then, she could feel being explored now. Soon simple examination turned into an almost frantic pushing and stroking and rubbing. When she came, the sensation was much different than what Emil had ever experienced; she felt it in every part of her body rather than concentrated on that one small area.

After a time, she had no concept of how long, she dozed.

She awoke to find herself naked, in a bed in a large white room. Sitting up she noticed that she was, physically, still a girl; it hadn’t been a dream — or she was still in a dream. Emily stood and ran her hands up over her body. Cupping her breasts she felt their fullness. They were larger than some girls she knew, certainly she thought, bigger than Lizzie’s, but they didn’t seem too big. Her waist was much smaller than Emil’s had been and her hips had gained a significant feminine shape. She wished for a mirror to be able to see herself fully.

“Turn around, my dear,” a voice told her.

Emily whirled to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was a large woman, much taller than Emily with an ample bust, and quite large hips. She wore a simple white robe.

Emily immediately felt that she could trust this person but wanted to know, “Who are you?”

“That is not important at the moment. You should turn to your left. There is a reflecting glass.”

Emily turned and saw her reflection and was astonished. She brought her hands to her face in surprise and took a gasping breath. The girl in the mirror was quite beautiful. Never in her wildest dreams could she have hoped to look like this. She ran her hands down over her body again and turned to view her profile.

Turning to face the woman who was now beside her, she asked, “Did you do this to me?”

“I did.”

Emily’s eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you.”

The woman reached out her arms, inviting Emily into her embrace. Emily felt herself drawn in and encircled by the woman’s arms. Her head barely reached the taller woman’s bosom. She was overcome. Everything that had happened came back to her - the tears and sobs flowed.

Cried out, Emily recovered her composure finally and stepped away.

Still sniffing she realized her tears had soaked into the woman’s robe.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” She started to reach towards the woman but then decided she couldn’t do anything about it. “I’m sorry about your robe.”

“That is quite all right, my dear. Do not worry yourself.”

Then she asked, “Are you happy with your new body?”

Emily looked puzzled. “It’s… it’s perfect.”

The tall woman looked down at her and smiled. “It is not exactly perfect. You are still human.”

After this last comment sunk in Emily looked up and asked, “Can I ask? Who… or what are you?”

“Ah,” Again the smile. “There is a question without an easy answer. Come my dear. Let us go sit and talk.”

Emily, suddenly uncomfortable with her nakedness asked, “Um, Ma’am? Could I, ah, get something to put on?”

“Oh! Yes, certainly.” She waved her hand and Emily was clad in robes similar to her own.

They left the room and walked down a long hall until they entered a room with a large doorway at one end. The view was stunning. They were high on a hill looking out over brilliant blue water of a large, half circle bay. Sails were visible on the water in the distance and a large island was visible on the horizon. It definitely was not Vermont. The older woman indicated they should sit on a padded bench looking out at the view.

“Where are we?” Emily asked.

“No place on your world,” was the only answer she received.

Something occurred to Emily.

“Am I dead? Is this heaven?”

“No, this is not heaven, at least as you know it. Although it could be… As to your other question, yes and no.”

“How can I be dead and not dead?”

“You were murdered. You do remember that, yes?”

Emily nodded.

“You now have the choice. You can pass on or you can try to get back to your own world.”

Emily let this sink in. Then she asked, “Are you God?”

That brought a laugh from the other woman.

“I am… one. Of many.”

“Many,” Emily repeated.

“That would certainly surprise Pastor Roberts,” she thought to herself.

The woman laughed and said, “Yes he probably would be surprised.”

At Emily’s confused look Ceres said, “I can hear what you think.”

Emily mulled this over.

“Can I ask your name?”

“You can ask, but I will not tell you. A god’s name is a powerful thing and should be known only to the gods. But I have been called by many names. I am the earth mother to some. The Greeks of your history called me Demeter and the Romans Ceres.”

“The Goddess of Agriculture?” Emily asked. “Your statue is on the statehouse in Montpelier.”

Ceres smiled.

“It is,” she agreed, “although that one does not look much like me. Your ancients in Greece and Rome made better images. I wish I had been there when Larkin Mead was carving that image but… Still, it is nice to nice to have your kind still honor me.”

“But why would you, a goddess, help me?”

“Because I care for your kind, for women and their birth cycles, for mothers and their children; I am one of the few deities that take an interest in the affairs of humankind. I help things grow, and not just plants but humans and animals also. And you are one who should nurture others.”

“But I’m not really a girl, or least I wasn’t before you changed me.”

“Yes you were. But you were in the wrong body. Sometimes that happens. I try to correct it when I can.”

Emily was quiet for a long while after hearing this. Then she remembered something Ceres had mentioned earlier.

“You said I could go back?”

“I did. But you have to work for it.”

“Why? How?” Emily wanted to know.

“My, but you are a curious one,” Ceres commented. “Do not you know better than to question a god?”

“No I don’t,” complained Emily with a stamp of her foot. “All I know is what they preach in church about God in heaven and Christ on Earth. And you’re not Him. And I’m dead but not in Heaven, or hell. I don’t know what to think.”

Ceres reached over to pull Emily closer.

“There, there, my dear. Do not worry yourself. You have to work to get back because, even though I am a goddess, I am not all-powerful. I cannot simply put you back on your world. I could not even get you here with out assistance from another — you might know her as Phoebe or Artemis. The strength needed to bring a mortal across the bridge into the realm of the gods is more than I possess; very few gods do. I needed her help to pull you from that wooden bridge on your world. If you want to get back, you can. That is simpler than bringing you here although it will still not be easy for you.”

“What do I have to do?” asked Emily.

“You must get someone from your world to touch you.”

“Is that all?”

“That is all. However you can only appear in that world near the bridge where you were murdered and you can only come out on nights with a full moon.” Seeing Emily’s confused expression she continued, Do not ask child, it has to do with the balance between worlds, spirit and flesh.”

Thinking over the implications of this kept Emily silent for a while.

“What happens to me between full moons?”

“You will sleep. It will be as if a single night had passed rather than a month. Although your dreams maybe… disquieting.”

“What happens if I decide not to try to go back? Where do I go?”

Ceres looked pained, as if she did not want to answer. Eventually, she did.

“I cannot tell you. I am sorry but there are rules that you must live by and there are also those that I must live by.”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” Emily prodded.

Ceres smirked, spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders in an all-too-human apology.

Emily just sat for a long while. Ceres, beside her, waited with hands folded in her lap.

After a while, Emily stood, walked over to the edge of the portico and stood watching the scene before her. There were boats on the bay. She could just make out people moving in the town below and wagons entering and leaving the same. Turning back to the woman seated behind her she wondered, “Are they all real? Could I go down there and touch them? Could they see me?”

“They are real,” Ceres answered. “They are human and live their lives much as you would. But, no, you could not touch them, nor would they see you. You do not exist for them on this world.”

Emily sat on the rail at the edge of the porch.

“So!” she said. “I can’t stay here, right?”

Ceres nodded her assent.

“I can pass on to some… place. But you can’t tell me where. It might be good or it might be bad.” Then something else occurred to her. “Or, it might be nothing at all. And you can’t tell me. Right?”

Again Ceres nodded.

“Or… I can try to get back home, with no guarantee of success?”

Yet another nod came from the goddess.

There seemed to be no choice at all to Emily.

“I want to try to get back to Vermont,” she said firmly.

“So be it,” stated the goddess.

But Emily could not quite let it go at that.

“Can you not tell me anything?” she implored.

Ceres looked at her for a moment before saying, “I think you will be an excellent mother someday.”

Emily was shocked. She had never even considered such an idea.

“Truly?” she asked.

Ceres just looked back, her face betrayed nothing.

“O.K. You can’t say anything. But thank you.”

The goddess smiled.

“What do I have to do?” Emily wondered.

“Not a thing,” Ceres told her. “Tonight you will fall asleep. The night of every full moon you will awaken on the bridge where you will try to make contact with the people of your world. But you must know, they will see you as a specter and may be afraid. You may need to wait a very long time before someone will let you make contact. It is very likely they will be fearful and try to avoid you. Remember that the only way for you to succeed will be for you to be very patient and not give up.”

“One more thing you must understand. Once you choose this course, you may not change your mind. You might stay on that bridge forever if you cannot make contact with someone. Do you understand?”

“I do ma’am.”

“Then that is how it will be. However there is a thing you need to know.”

“What’s that?” Emily asked.

“The link between this world and your world is a tenuous but powerful realm. Things often will be exaggerated.”

“How do you mean?”

The goddess looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued. “You can do great damage to the others of your people that you encounter. Your fears can overpower them, your despair will amplify their own, and your anger can do them great harm. You must be very careful, especially because you need one of them, to touch you. And remember this; they have to reach out on their own to touch you, not the other way around. That is the way of it.”

Emily turned back to look at the view while she pondered this information. She saw the greens and browns of the hills, the sparkling blue-green of the bay, the azure of the sky and the brilliant whites of the few high, puffy clouds. She let the images wash over her as she contemplated what she should do.

She looked back at Ceres, still seated waiting for her decision.

“I still want to try to go back,” she told the goddess.

“I expected you would.”

“May I ask one more question?”

“Only one?” asked Ceres.

Emily laughed. “I think so… Will I ever see you again?”

End of Part 1

Copyright 2007 JLW

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Comments

Where is Part 2?

Hey I liked this story! Can't wait for Part 2!
Hugs!
grover

Yes!!

It's a wonderful tale.

Hugs, Fran

Hugs, Fran

Wonderfully done Jamie

Breanna Ramsey's picture

This story is absolutely enchanting! Period pieces can be very challenging, for writer and reader alike, but you have done a fine job here. The dialogue is quite authentic without being overdone, and the narrative flows and sets the scene nicely. You have a real gift for this style.

Thank you for sharing, I am eagerly looking forward to more.

Scott

Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of--but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.
Lazarus Long - Robert A. Heinlein's 'Time Enough for Love'

Bree

The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.
-- Tom Clancy

http://genomorph.tglibrary.com/ (Currently broken)
http://bree-ramsey314.livejournal.com/
Twitter: @genomorph

I Googled

Breanna Ramsey's picture

As suggested at the beginning of this story, I Googled Emily's Bridge and Stowe. I have to say that looking at the pictures of the bridge sent shivers down my spine, and cemented a very strong connection to this story. It definitely adds to the atmosphere you created with this opening chapter. Well done!

Scott
Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of--but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.
Lazarus Long - Robert A. Heinlein's 'Time Enough for Love'

Bree

The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.
-- Tom Clancy

http://genomorph.tglibrary.com/ (Currently broken)
http://bree-ramsey314.livejournal.com/
Twitter: @genomorph

Nicely done Jamie

kristina l s's picture

A pleasure to read, capturing the period mood very well I think. It will be interesting to see Pt 2 and the interplay between.. spirit and flesh.
Look forward to more
Kristina

Unique angle from which to tell a story

Bravo, well done!! Thank you for a wonderfully fresh idea for this story. I am very much looking forward to where we go from here.
Kindest regards,
talonx

Intriguing

I'm not a real fan of ghost stories, but I'm curious to see where this one goes. Nicely done.

Eric