With questions piling up rapidly in her mind, she looked to her surroundings for answers. The antique four-poster bed on which she lay was covered with a fringed canopy, and the room itself, illuminated by two wall-mounted gas lamps that burned with flickering, soft-yellow flames, looked like something from another century. A fire blazed brightly in a fireplace, yet it was cool in the bedroom. The most outrageous floral wallpaper that Arlene had ever seen, covered the walls. Large chrysanthemums in shades of pink, white, and yellow on a beige background filled most available space. Perhaps her grandma might like it, but it was making her nauseous, unless that queasy feeling was a residual effect from the smelling salts. The furniture in the room, aside from the bed on which she lay, consisted of a wide dresser, tall armoire, matching chifforobe, nightstand, a dressing table with mirror, several comfortable looking chairs, and a writing table with a straight-backed chair. The furnishings appeared new, and seemed to be constructed of stained and varnished cherry. Heavy damask curtains, with a floral pattern like that of the wallpaper, covered the two magniloquent windows.
"But who were those people?" she asked aloud in the empty room. As the sounds issued from her mouth, her hands flew immediately to her throat, where her fingers encountered something rigid. "Is that me?" she asked herself aloud as her fingers explored the thing wrapped around her neck. "What's wrong with my throat?" To her relief she discovered that it wasn't a bandage. It felt more like the starched collar of a garment. "What's going on?" she said aloud in the strange voice. "Where're Megan, Erin, and Renee? And where the heck am I?"
A wet and clammy sensation on her forehead prompted investigation, and she removed the damp washcloth that she found there, holding it up to look at it. If finding herself in a strange bedroom, surrounded by strange people, hadn't been enough of a shock, the sight that greeted her eyes next surely qualified. There was nothing particularly significant about the plain white terrycloth washcloth she'd found resting on her forehead, but the hand holding it was not hers, although it was attached to her wrist.
The washcloth fell limply to her chest as she opened the hand to stare at it dumbfounded. She had been looking at her hands for sixteen and a half years, but this one was foreign to her. The fingers were slender, but short, and the nails, usually nibbled down to the quick, actually extended slightly beyond the fingertips. Raising her left arm, she discovered that the hand on that arm was a match for the right. Even in the flickering yellow light from the gas lamps she could see that they were pale. Where her hands had been deeply tanned, these appeared not to have seen the sun in years. And where earlier she had been wearing a tee shirt, each arm was now encased in the tight sleeve of a garment.
Knowing that she couldn't be content to lie peacefully on the bed any longer, she tried to get up, but she was prevented from bending by something wrapped tightly around her chest. Her first thoughts were that she had injured herself when she had fallen in the mansion's entrance hall. Sure that she must have damaged her ribs, she gently probed with her fingers, but she couldn't find any tender areas on her chest. Using one of the bed's heavy posts, she pulled herself off the bed and to a standing position without suffering any spasms of pain. The incomprehensible predicament in which she found herself had so thoroughly occupied her mind that she hadn't consciously realized until that moment that she was wearing a floor-length dress, and shoes with stubby heels.
Probing gingerly at her ribcage once again, Arlene came to the realization that it wasn't a bandage around her chest and waist at all; it was a corset. She'd never worn one, but she'd seen pictures of the old whalebone corsets popular a century ago.
Now that she was upright, and reasonably certain that she hadn't been injured, she did what any woman would do in a similar situation; she hurried over to face the mirror mounted above the low dressing table. As she stepped in front of it, her eyes opened wide with fear, and she began hyperventilating. She quickly became light-headed and grabbed at the table for support. The person staring back at her from the mirror looked nothing like her. The slack-jawed, frightened expression on the reflection's face was the only thing that she could readily comprehend.
"It can't possibly be," she said aloud as she tried to slow her breathing. "People don't just spontaneously transmute into someone else." Yet she couldn't deny that the image in the mirror seemed to be an accurate reflection. Raising her arm, she shook her hand very quickly, watching carefully as the image did the same. She knew that such tricks could be perpetrated in the movies, but that was all part of carefully choreographed scenes using two people and special mirror angles, or computer editing after the scene was shot. This was happening instantaneously. And then there was the matter of her different hands.
Leaning closer to the mirror, she ran the alien hands along the strange face, watching their journey in the mirror and feeling the exploration as they touched the finely sculpted nose and high cheekbones. It was her face, but it wasn't her. It didn't even remotely resemble the tall redhead that she'd seen reflected in her bedroom mirror just that morning. The image that she saw now was that of a petite brunette, stunningly beautiful, with long braided hair arranged carefully atop her head. The luscious mouth, deep blue eyes, and unblemished skin belonged in a painting by one of the great masters, or perhaps captured on a marble sculpture, not staring back at her from this bedroom mirror.
'No,' she thought, 'this just isn't possible. This must be another of the visions that I've been experiencing since I entered the house. But— this one is so real compared to the others. And the others lasted only a few seconds. So— it can't be a vision. And if it's not a vision, this must be a dream. That's why it's so different. Well, if it's a dream, I can wake up.' Arlene pinched herself, hard; then winced as the nerves in her leg screamed at the bodily abuse. "I'm not dreaming," she said aloud. "That hurt, and I'm still seeing that other girl in the mirror. But I know this isn't possible."
Taking two quick steps back from the mirror, she paid closer attention to the clothes she was wearing. A button-front bodice of dark-brown velvet presided over a gorgeous taupe silk gown whose wide skirt hem was trimmed with two layers of dark-brown ruffles and lace. The elegant collar was high, and stiff with boning. As she felt at the thing mounted above her tush, she realized that pillow-like object was a bustle. She knew that the dress was no cheap rental product from a local costume shop, but rather an expensive, custom creation. Lifting the front of the skirt, she counted no less than five petticoats, all made of expensive fabrics with handmade lace edging. She should have been hot with all the clothing she was wearing, but she was actually a little chilled. She realized the building's air conditioning must be cranked up to full for it to so thoroughly overcome the crackling fire in the bedroom's fireplace.
Dropping her skirts, Arlene again stared intently at her reflection in the mirror. She experienced another wave of dizziness and realized she was hyperventilating again. She groped for the table, but had already become so unsteady on her feet that she would surely have fallen if a young woman hadn't suddenly entered the bedroom and grabbed her arm.
"Amelia, you should not be up yet," her savior said as she was helped over to the bed. "If I hadn't come in when I did, you would certainly have fallen again."
The young woman who had come to her rescue was striking, and moved with an effortless grace that you surely had to be born with. Dressed in a beautiful floor-length gown of golden brocaded silk, she had the face of an angel. Her deep-blue eyes, tiny delicate nose, and soft lips, were set amid silky-smooth, perfect skin. Long blond hair, gathered carefully into a large bun atop her head, covered just the tops of her ears as it glistened in the light from the gas lamps, and her long sleek neck melded gradually downward into perfectly formed shoulders. The diamonds in her stunning necklace and matching earrings appeared as real as any Arlene had ever seen. From the glass of white liquid that she held in her hand, Arlene surmised that this was Anne, and that the glass must contain the warm milk. She really hated warm milk, unless it h
ad chocolate in it, of course. Chocolate could fix almost anything; except perhaps the brussels sprouts that her mother enjoyed so much. In Arlene's mind, nothing could make brussels sprouts palatable.
"I was so concerned," Anne said. "You cannot imagine the relief I felt when you were found, but then I became alarmed again when all four of you abruptly screamed and then fainted in the foyer at the same time. It must have been a terrible ordeal. The weather has turned so ghastly that Daddy says we might be snowed in for a month. You, Roberta, Martha, and Elizabeth may have to extend your visit." A perfect set of even white teeth glowed brilliantly as she added quickly, "Isn't that wonderful?"
"Yes, wonderful. Um, you say that it's snowing? In June?"
"Oh, dear," Anne said, worry instantly replacing the smile that had so briefly adorned her face, "you're still dizzy. It's January, dear, not June; and it's been snowing since yesterday. Once we learned that all the trains had been canceled, we thought you and the other girls would find accommodations somewhere along the way and wait out the storm. We never expected you to try to reach the house during this blizzard. We would never even have known of your situation if one of the horses from your carriage team hadn't suddenly appeared at the barn. A groom followed its tracks back to determine where it had come from and found where your coachman had fallen off. The poor man had unhitched the animal from the carriage harness and then clung to it bareback, with frozen hands, for as long as he could. He fell off onto the road, unconscious, not a hundred feet from the estate gates. The horse must have heard or smelled our animals and found its way up to the stable. When the coachman regained consciousness, and told his story, Daddy immediately dispatched all of the men in sleds to search for you. They finally located your carriage, stuck in a snowdrift about five miles from here, but they feared that you had all succumbed to the cold. The men swear that none of you seemed to be breathing when they reached you. But upon arriving here at the house, all four of you suddenly woke up and appeared to be quite all right. Then— you all screamed like you had just come face to face with the devil himself, and fainted dead away in the entrance foyer. The strangest thing is that none of you four are suffering from even mild frostbite. The doctor can't explain it. It's an absolute miracle."
"Oh, yes," Arlene said guardedly, "I remember now, Anne. Thank you."
"That's alright, dear. Here, drink your milk. It came from this evening's milking and it will make you feel better."
Warm milk would probably rank as one the last things Arlene desired at that moment, but she decided that she should drink at least some of it. It would give her time to think without having to respond to questions. To her great surprise, the warm milk was delicious. Its rich, creamy taste was nothing at all like that of the two percent that her mom always bought. As she drank deeply, she thought about her situation. She knew that she needed to find Renee, Megan, and Erin, if they were here. Anne had mentioned that a Roberta, Martha, and Elizabeth had been with her. Could they be her missing friends? From beneath a thick, creamy, milk moustache, Arlene asked, "Anne, where are Roberta, Martha, and Elizabeth staying?"
Gesturing with her hands, Anne said, "Roberta is in the next bedroom, Martha is directly across the hall from you, and Elizabeth is in the room next to Martha, and across from Roberta."
"Are they, uh, feeling alright, now that we've been rescued?"
"Yes, thank heavens," she said in a relieved voice, putting her hand to her bosom, then qualified it with, "but they're all so confused, just as you are. The doctor told me that Martha and Elizabeth didn't even know their own names at first. It must have been simply dreadful out there. Daddy says that your coachman may lose a couple of his fingers, and half of the toes on both feet. I think that Doctor Rogers is back with him again, now that each of you have received a preliminary examination. We are very fortunate that the doctor had come for the party."
"Party?"
"Yes, dear, my engagement party. Don't you remember?"
"Oh yes, of course. I'm sorry, Anne. Please bear with me. I'm improving."
"Don't let it upset you, dear. After what you've been through, you're entitled to a little confusion. You'll feel much better in the morning. A good night's sleep is all you need." Handing Arlene a white cloth napkin, with which to wipe her mouth, Anne said, "I must return to my guests, dear, but I'll come back up again later. Why don't you try to get some rest now?"
"Yes. Thank you, Anne."
As Anne leaned over and wrapped her arms around her, Arlene knew that she couldn't just sit there, so she responded in kind.
"I'm so very relieved," Anne said with a sigh, "that you and the other girls are well, and so happy that you could all come. It will be just like being together at Miss Peterson's Finishing School again. I have been so looking forward to your visit. And just you wait until you see all the eligible men that my brother Jeremy has invited. Eight of his friends from Yale will be here. He says that each one is better-looking than the next. And they're all good catches. You're all so very lovely, I'm sure that they'll be fighting over you and the other girls before your visit is over. Well, I have to get back downstairs," she said, pulling away. "Get some rest, dear."
"I will, Anne. Thank you."
When she was again alone, Arlene tried to correlate the facts she had just learned from Anne with what she already knew or surmised. She had almost ruled out this being a dream, because her dreams were always populated by people she knew, or had at least seen. Everyone here was a stranger, including herself. If this was an extension of the visions she had experienced earlier, the spirit must have found a way to more directly influence her mind. She again willed herself to return to reality, but the vision persisted unabated. She couldn't divine what the spirit might hope to gain from this 'game,' but she saw little recourse other than to follow along as events unfolded.
It appeared that she was still inside the mansion. That made sense, as the spirit could probably only maintain control over her mind while she remained in or near the house, hence the convenience of a raging snowstorm that prevented her from leaving. And what Anne had said about them fainting in the entrance hall tied in with her memories of the encounter with the spirit. News that she'd 'arrived' with three traveling companions named Elizabeth, Martha, and Roberta would seem to indicate that they were her friends; especially since they shared the same first initials as the names Erin, Megan, and Renee. After all, the name being used to refer to her had the same first initial as her own name. It wasn't very original thinking on the part of the spirit, and must be more than just mere coincidence.
If the others were her girlfriends, it was imperative that she make contact with them as soon as possible, since it might take all of their combined wits and wills to emerge safely from the intricate delusion. She was about to go in search of them when she heard a knock on her door. She hesitated a second, and then said, "Come in."
A corpulent, middle-aged man, dressed in a black woolen suit, opened the door and entered the room upon hearing the invitation. He introduced himself as Dr. Rogers. In his left hand he carried a black leather bag, creased and worn with age, like the ones always seen in old movies from a time when doctors actually made house calls. The conspicuous smell of antiseptic that permeated his clothing further corroborated his identity. Removing something from his bag that looked like a rubber hose with a little cone at each end, he cupped one end against his left ear using the index and middle finger of his left hand, and pressed the other end against Arlene's chest. She assumed this to be an early stethoscope. He told her to breathe deeply, and he moved it around to several places as she sucked in as much air as the corset would allow. Nodding and humming to himself as he worked, he examined her face and ears carefully, then her hands, and finally her feet. He paid particularly close attention to each of her fingers and toes.
While the doctor examined her, Arlene contented herself with examining him, and the clothing that he was wearing. He appeared to be about fifty, of average height, and it looked like he sel
dom missed a meal. His light brown hair was extremely thin on the top of his head, but thick and long on the sides and back, as if to make up for what he was missing on top. He had a very thick moustache that reminded Arlene of a walrus she had once seen in a zoo, and thick sideburns that extended down and out, but not quite far enough to be considered a mutton chop beard. His white shirt was topped with a very stiff collar that left a red welt where it pressed deeply into his pudgy neck. The poor fit of the almost new suit suggested that he was either not very prosperous, or not very concerned with clothing. Then again, perhaps he just frequented the shop of a very bad tailor. The suit was slightly rumpled, as if he had been wearing it for a very long day. His black leather shoes were remarkable only because they were of the button variety common a century ago.
When the examination was complete, Dr. Rogers said, "Miss Amelia, you're surprisingly fit. I expected severe frostbite and complications, but you and your three companions are as healthy as any young ladies I have ever examined. It's most strange; but who am I to argue with the work of our Lord? Tomorrow you may join the other guests in the festivities, but for tonight, I prescribe bed rest. The servants are waiting to bring your bags in, and I shall inform them that it's alright to do so now. Goodnight. Oh, I'll look in on you in the morning hours if you don't feel fit to come down to breakfast."
"Goodnight, Dr. Rogers. Thank you."
Within minutes of his departure, several female household servants, wearing uniforms matching that of the woman Arlene first saw bending over her, lumbered in with a large trunk and several small matching suitcases. One of the staff remained behind to open the trunk and hang the dresses in the chifforobe, which Arlene noted already contained a beautiful gown. The maid turned to Arlene after carefully placing the rest of the clothing items in the dresser.
When The Spirit Moves You Page 5
