Invisible World

by Suzanne Weyn

  At this I gasped, and my hands flew to my face in alarm. Since our girlhoods, Bronwyn had claimed to be able to rise out of her body and travel about the earth in something she called her astral body.

  I well remembered the first time she told me of this power. I was seven and I had crept into her room one night, seeking her out to help me with a loose tooth.

  Bronwyn was not in her bed but sat cross-legged on the floor, slumped against the wall, asleep. I couldn’t even detect breath coming from her. Panicking, I began to shake her. When she wouldn’t rouse, I was about to go for help, terrified that she was unconscious or worse. I was almost out the room when she called to me.

  Tears of worry running down my cheeks, I threw my arms around her. “There, there, pet,” she soothed, stroking my hair. “There’s nothing to fear. Guess where I was.”

  “Where?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

  “In India, at a most beautiful place called the Taj Mahal. Oh, I loved it. I wish you and Kate had been with me.”

  “In India?” I’d questioned, rubbing my eyes. “You’re joking! How could you ever get to India and back in one night?”

  That was when she told me that she would get into a state of meditation, and when she was in a deep-enough trance, her spirit would rise up from her body. I tried to imagine this and found it wasn’t very hard to do. I had a book with drawings and it showed witches who flew across the moon at night.

  “Do you ride on a broom?” I’d asked.

  “Of course not!” Bronwyn had snapped with unusual ferocity. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too, pet. You just shouldn’t say such things. It’s dangerous.”

  “Why?” I asked, but she shushed the question away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “Just put the thought out of your head,” Bronwyn replied. “There’s no broomstick involved.”

  “Can anyone leave their body to travel around?”

  “That’s a hard question. Do you know when you dream and then, in your dream, you feel that you’ve tripped on a step or on some stairs, or are even falling from a roof or a cliff?”

  I had those dreams all the time, so I nodded.

  “Well, some people, including me, believe that the falling dream is your astral body’s first attempts to rise, but then — being inexperienced at it — falling back. To travel on the astral planes of existence, one must study and practice meditation so that the astral body keeps rising and does not fall.”

  “Can you teach me?” I asked hopefully.

  “When you are grown, I will,” Bronwyn said. “Astral travel is a serious art, not for children.”

  After that night, Bronwyn had never mentioned her astral travels to me again — at least not until this day. If I’d ventured a question, she’d simply put her finger to her lips and gently shush me. I was never quite sure if I believed her.

  Kate’s voice broke through this memory, returning me to the present moment. “Did you spy on Van Leeuwenhoek while you were in your astral body?” she asked Bronwyn.

  “Late last night I went into his room while he slept,” Bronwyn admitted. “On his desk, I found five vouchers for ocean passage. One of them was for a ship to carry him home to Holland.”

  “And the other four?” Kate inquired.

  “The other four vouchers were for passage to America,” Bronwyn revealed.

  “America!” I gasped. She might as well have said they were tickets for a trip to the moon! I’d never even met anyone from America.

  “Who do you think the tickets are for?” Kate asked.

  Bronwyn pointed to Kate and me. “One, two …” She pointed to herself. “Three …”

  “And Father is four,” Kate concluded, to which Bronwyn nodded.

  I couldn’t even imagine what America would be like. Gazing out to the horizon of the ocean, I tried to picture a strange new world on the other side but nothing at all came into my head.

  Maybe working with animalcules wouldn’t be so terrible — if I could do it in America.

  INSIDE OF A WEEK’S TIME, I FOUND MYSELF LOOKING BACK at dear England from the deck of a many-sailed ship, the Golden Explorer, headed for America. My respect for Bronwyn’s powers had been vastly renewed. Van Leeuwenhoek had indeed changed our lives, just as she’d predicted. With incredible speed, Father rented the manor house to a family who wanted to spend the summer in the country. We were packed and out the door within a matter of days.

  This idea of sailing abroad to study Van Leeuwenhoek’s animalcules captivated Father’s scientific imagination. The reminder of his grandmother and mother and of their tragic fate worried him, though. When he voiced his fears, Van Leeuwenhoek reassured him, “You will be working in isolation with my associate, using his laboratories in the city of Saint Augustine. I will join you there within the next month. These experiments will be conducted under conditions of utter secrecy. We don’t want to open ourselves up to ridicule before we see if the work bears any fruit at all.”

  “Father, you know that I’ve never heard the thoughts of animals,” I reminded him as we stood watching the churning waters below us. “I only see pictures in my head. I believe that might be how animals think, in images.”

  “So then you will tell us what images you see. When my mother worked with the unborn, they couldn’t speak yet, but she sensed any discomfort or fear they might be expressing.”

  Bronwyn and Kate came alongside us. Kate was nearly green with seasickness and leaned heavily on Bronwyn. “Why don’t you lie down in your bed below, Kate?” Father suggested.

  Kate leaned forward over the side of the Golden Explorer. “That only makes things worse, Father,” she replied. “It’s stifling hot down there.”

  I felt so sorry for her. “How long will this voyage take?”

  “Five to seven weeks depending on the weather conditions,” Father reported.

  Bronwyn put her arm around Kate’s shoulders. “Come with me, pet,” she soothed. “I have packed some ground ginger root, a remedy for nausea that will help you. Perhaps we can persuade the ship’s cook to boil it in a tea for us.”

  “Bronwyn will fix her up,” Father remarked as Kate and Bronwyn departed.

  Many days were long and uninteresting. There were some children on board, younger than me, with whom I would play various games, just to pass the time. Their parents were content to let me occupy their offspring. I didn’t mind since the children were pretty and lively.

  In the evenings, we dined together at a long table next to the Golden Explorer’s kitchen. The quarters were tight, which forced everyone to be friendly. At every meal, Father sat beside and spoke to a man of learning named Reverend Finnias. They debated everything imaginable.

  “The goal of natural history is to catalog the creations of the Lord,” Reverend Finnias insisted one night.

  “I disagree,” Father replied. “This new age of scientific reason insists that we ask the question of how things work. We must be continually measuring and weighing our results in a scientific manner.”

  “Don’t speak to me of science!” Reverend Finnias thundered. “Science is the portal by which the Devil works his malfeasance. Science makes people question God.”

  “Not at all,” Father argued. “There is room in the world for both God and science.”

  These conversations stretched long into the nights. Though Father and Reverend Finnias could never seem to agree on anything, neither man ever lost interest in the debate.

  After a few weeks of baking sun and mild breezes, the voyage was beset with stormy weather, day in and day out. It greatly impeded our progress. By the time we had been at sea for nearly seven weeks, we had not even reached the Bermudas. Although I was eager to be finished with this journey, I was nervous about reaching the island of Bermuda, which I had heard referred to as the Isle of Devils.

  “Why is it called that?” I asked the helmsman, Felipe, one gray, rainy afternoon.

  “It’s a sca
ry place, that’s why,” Felipe replied. “The waters are madly turbulent. Many ships go down by the Bermudas. I have heard reports of a giant, red-clawed hand that rises from the waves and pulls entire ships and their crews down to a watery grave.”

  I could picture the scene and it made me shiver. “Aren’t you afraid to go there?” I asked.

  Felipe shrugged. “Do not worry, my little friend. I have been watching the stars at night. We will pass through the deadly location in calm waters. All will be well.”

  I couldn’t decide if he was telling me the truth or merely making up a tale to dispel my worry. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Very sure.”

  Down in the lower deck, where Kate, Bronwyn, and I shared a very small space made up of a double-level bed and a cot with our cases clustered around to create a sort of room, Kate attempted to distract herself from constant seasick nausea by reading a volume containing the plays of William Shakespeare.

  “How’s the reading?” I asked her.

  “Thank the heavens I have these plays or I would lose my mind,” Kate replied.

  Bronwyn came in, wrapped in her heavy blue robe, her hair braided. She peeked at Kate’s open book and smiled. “Ah, you’re reading the Scottish play, my favorite.”

  “Macbeth, yes,” Kate confirmed. “Why is it your favorite?”

  Bronwyn crawled under the covers of the narrow cot she slept in across from us. “Because it’s Scottish and it has the three witches in it,” Bronwyn replied. “They’re really awful, frightening women, but they have all the best lines. Back in the fifteen hundreds, Scotland had terrible witch hunts. My mother told me about them. Her own mother was killed just as your grandmother was. Women were burned without any evidence against them at all.”

  “Why do you think Shakespeare made his witches so evil?” Kate questioned.

  Bronwyn grunted, waving the question away. “Oh, he was playing up to King James the First, who was always ranting about witches. I think the king was just a sharp politician trying to scare his subjects so they’d worry about something other than the irresponsible way he was ruling them.”

  That night I had a nightmare where Kate, Bronwyn, and I were tied to a stake surrounded by straw. A man in a black executioner’s mask was approaching us, a lit torch in his hand. Screaming with fear, I sat bolt upright, blessedly awake once more.

  “Bethy, what’s wrong?” Kate asked from below.

  “Only a nightmare,” I answered. “Sorry.” After that, I couldn’t fall asleep again. I was probably too frightened the dream might return.

  Days and days passed, some stormy and others so calm that the ship could not seem to move forward at all. On one particular night, the sea was much calmer than usual, and though Kate remained belowdecks, there was color in her pale cheeks for almost the first time since we had departed England.

  “Which play are you reading now?” I inquired as I perched at the foot of her bed.

  “It’s called The Tempest, Shakespeare’s last play,” Kate replied. “Shakespeare was inspired to write about a shipwreck on a deserted island because of the reports he was reading of shipwrecks off the coast of Bermuda and these other islands that we’ll be coming to.”

  “Right where we are now?”

  Kate nodded enthusiastically. “The English were only starting to explore the coastline at that time, and the sailors were sending back reports of terrible wrecks.” Kate put the book down. “It’s really a wild story about a wizard and his daughter who are shipwrecked on an island. It’s full of magic and strange happenings.”

  “Do you think Shakespeare believed in magic?” I wondered.

  “It certainly sounds like he does in The Tempest, but I don’t know. It’s only a story.”

  I returned to the upper deck, and immediately a warm breeze ruffled my hair. I saw Bronwyn looking out to sea. Her hair danced around her head, swept by the ocean breezes. The setting sun illuminated her face in a soft glow. “Beautiful night, pet, isn’t it?” she commented when I joined her.

  “Windy,” I replied, holding my hair back so it wouldn’t whip around my face.

  “I love the wind. It’s thrilling. One never knows what will blow in on a strong breeze.” A powerful gust threw us both into the side of the ship. Bronwyn clutched my wrist to keep me from toppling completely. She laughed merrily, exhilarated, her blue eyes shining.

  The wind flapped her skirts violently and she seemed to lift from the deck. A strong image flashed before me. I saw Bronwyn chuckling gleefully as she swooped and dipped, riding the air currents.

  The picture was joyful yet unsettling. I closed my eyes to dispel it, and when I opened them once more, Bronwyn was in front of me, gazing into my eyes with concern. “Are you all right, Bethy? Did something frighten you?” she asked.

  It felt foolish to ask her if she had just then been riding air currents, so I shook my head. “I’m all right.”

  Bronwyn put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me tight. “What an adventure we are having, eh, pet? What fun!”

  I understood what she was feeling. I felt it too — that this trip would turn out to be the adventure of a lifetime.

  FELIPE HAD READ THE STARS INCORRECTLY. THE CONDITIONS near the Bermudas were very turbulent. And the rough weather continued for the next day and through the following night.

  That night, I lay in the upper berth of the small sleeping compartment I shared with Kate and Bronwyn. The Golden Explorer pitched terribly in the howling wind and I could hear rain lashing the sails. Our only light was the short stub of a candle flickering in a glass lantern nailed to the wall. The candle threw long, wavering shadows against the wall and floor in an eerie display.

  Below me, Kate moaned pathetically, one hand clutching her stomach while the other arm was flung across her forehead, in the grip of persistent nausea. How I pitied her! Bronwyn had soaked cold ginger tea in cloths and tied them around Kate’s wrists. She had given her another cloth soaked in the ginger to inhale. I had no idea what further help I might be.

  The Golden Explorer continuously dipped to one side and then rolled to the other. This relentless motion created a horrible queasiness in me, as well. If this was what Kate was experiencing without relief, I didn’t know how she could bear it. Sometimes the tilt of the Golden Explorer was so extreme that I clutched the sides of my bed to keep from being tossed off. Pressing my head into the pillow, I fought the greasy stew I’d had for supper from coming up.

  Strangely, Bronwyn was sleeping soundly on her cot, seemingly unaffected by the storm. “How can she sleep through this?” Kate complained to me, her voice thin and miserable.

  “Maybe she isn’t here,” I suggested. “Perhaps she’s left her body.”

  There in the wavering light, we both looked to Bronwyn, buried deep in the covers on her cot, noting her shallow breathing. Our governess was a sound sleeper, but she seemed especially lost to slumber’s grip that night.

  “I wish I could leave my body,” Kate said. “I would give anything to be out of my body right now.”

  A deep wave of nausea swept through me and I had to wait for it to pass before I could reply. “So do I.”

  Shutting my eyes, I imagined Bronwyn’s astral self flying back to the shore of Bermuda, the Isle of Devils. Was Felipe right? Did the Devil himself wreck ships; reach up to pull ships and their crews down into his own fiery home, as Felipe had told me? If Bronwyn was traveling out there tonight, would she encounter him?

  Despite these alarming thoughts, and even with the awful rocking of the ship, I drifted into sleep. Within minutes, I was embroiled in a dream so real it was as if I were really there.

  In the dream, I was walking through a pitch-dark forest, drenched in a storm. Wind-tossed trees bent nearly to the ground. Lightning scribbled jagged lines of brilliance across the rain-soaked sky. I was searching for Bronwyn, calling her name over and over even though my voice was being carried off by the wind.

  Finally, I saw a fire and followed its fli
ckering light until I came to an open hut. Inside it, Bronwyn sat with three other women around the fire. A branch snapped under my foot, drawing the attention of the women. Bronwyn’s face was cold when she saw me. A menacing light emanated from her usually warm eyes. She beckoned me to come closer, but something within me wouldn’t allow me to take a step in her direction. Then I realized what was frightening me. By Bronwyn’s side stood a huge black dog. Its eyes glowed yellow and its fangs were bared. It snarled at me.

  My eyes snapped open as the Golden Explorer dipped severely to the right. An almost deafening boom came from above, and then a thud as something of immense weight hit the deck overhead, rattling the walls of our cabin. “Kate!” I cried. “What was that?”

  “I’m here!” Kate called from across the room. She stood bent over Bronwyn. “I was scared and tried to wake her, but she won’t stir.”

  Scrambling from my berth as quickly as I could manage, I groped my way over toward the two of them.

  “I’m shaking her, but she won’t respond,” Kate said, a sob of fear in her voice.

  I leaned over Bronwyn’s face. At first I could detect no breath, but in the next moment I realized she was emitting slow, shallow puffs of air.

  “We should get Father,” Kate said, and then fell back against the wall as the Golden Explorer rolled once more. Clutching her mouth to fight down the seasickness, she lost the battle and vomited.

  My nausea had subsided, so I volunteered to go get Father. As soon as I left our cabin, I saw him in his nightshirt, hurrying toward me, holding a lit lantern. “Get your sister and Bronwyn and come above,” he said.

  Shouting above the din of the storm, I informed him frantically that we couldn’t rouse Bronwyn. He dashed past me into our cabin. “Bronwyn, wake up!” he bellowed, shaking her roughly by her shoulder. “Get up!”

  When she still did not wake, Father handed Kate the lantern and scooped Bronwyn into his arms. “Put on your capes and bring blankets, girls, and that’s all,” he commanded. “Get a blanket for Bronwyn.”