"What did you mean, 'dress to go to bed'?" Martha asked. "We have to wear a dress into bed?"
"It's just a figure of speech, dear, but we'll have to wear proper nightgowns. No large tee shirts, pajamas, or birthday suits. Besides, it will probably be cold. And, to keep our shapes, we may have to wear a sleeping corset to bed. I heard somewhere that once women started to rely on a corset, they had to continue to wear one to keep their insides from moving back where they would be naturally."
"God, I hate nightgowns," Roberta said. "They twist around me while I sleep."
"Amelia, how are we going to pass for people from this time period?" Elizabeth asked. "We're from the 21st century. We're bound to screw up royally at some point."
Softening her voice considerably, Amelia said, "I've heard the past described as a kinder, gentler time. I don't know if that was true or simply the imprecise memories of an older generation romanticizing their earlier lives. Until we know, let's assume it's correct. Forget feminism and just think ultra ladylike at all times. Think soft and gentle. Think polite and considerate. When you must talk, speak as sweetly as possible, like I'm doing now. My beautiful sisters, you can do this if you try. You just have to get your mind in concert with your body. Remember to think polite thoughts at all times. Don't argue with any man, for any reason, and never interrupt one to express your own point of view. And remember the era where we've found ourselves. There is no television; nor are there any radios, computers, cell phones, microwave ovens, or even airplanes. I'm not sure about electricity, or automobiles, because I don't remember exactly when they were introduced. So be careful about what you say. Okay, my loves?"
"Oh Amelia, that was wonderful," Elizabeth said. "I can't believe what a change seemed to come over you."
"I just wanted you to see how it's done. Your brain has to be two steps ahead of your mouth; perhaps three or four for you Roberta, so think before you speak. Pretend we're performing in a play, and practice in your bedroom. Pay close attention to the inflection of your voice. It's the key. Now, I'm going to get ready for bed. Ring for the maid when you work up the courage. I'll stop back before I get into bed."
Returning to her bedroom, Amelia tried to ignore the icy hand that held her heart in a viselike grip. She was more frightened than she would have believed possible, but she didn't want the others to know. She would have preferred that they all stay up throughout the night, just to see if the spirit returned to release them from this awful nightmare, but that wouldn't have been proper. And in the Victorian period, named after the ruling British monarch, morally rigorous behavior was everything. All things considered, it would be best to go to sleep, and hope that they wake up back in their own reality in the morning. If they didn't, she would know that her worst fears were correct. She knew that Renee could definitely handle the situation, and Erin could probably handle it, but poor Megan might wind up as a basket case. Meg needed someone else's strength to draw on, for her own courage to shine. Amelia silently reprimanded herself for using their real names in her thoughts, and reminded herself once again to only think of her girlfriends by their new names.
After pulling the sash cord next to her bed, she waited patiently for a servant to come. The maid that had helped her earlier arrived several minutes later.
"Would you like me to help you prepare for bed now, Miss Amelia?" the diminutive young servant, shorter than Amelia by several inches, asked as she entered the bedroom.
"Yes, please. What's your name?"
"It's Betsy, Miss. Betsy Jones. But everyone just calls me Bitsy."
Amelia smiled as she watched Bitsy stoke the fire a bit to warm up the room in preparation for the disrobing. The young girl with chestnut hair wielded the poker expertly, showing considerable strength for such a small woman as she coaxed ever greater flames from the burning logs. She then stepped behind Amelia to start unbuttoning the dress after Amelia had removed her bodice. Amelia assumed that they didn't have zippers in this time period, and as Bitsy worked she began to search her mind for any bit of information regarding when they were developed. She simply stood quietly, not much more animated than a department store mannequin, as layer after layer of clothing was removed. Bitsy carefully hung most of the clothes in the wardrobe closet, while setting aside the undergarments for the laundry.
When Amelia finally stood dressed only in a heavy nightgown and sleeping stays, Bitsy asked if she wanted her slippers. She answered yes, since she didn't intend to go to bed immediately. From start to finish, it had taken about thirty minutes to prepare for bed.
Thanking Bitsy for her help before she left, Amelia waited for a few minutes before putting on the heavy robe of magenta velvet that had been unpacked from her luggage and hung in the chifforobe. First checking the hall for traffic, she slipped out and walked to Roberta's room. When she knocked, Bitsy answered the door and informed Amelia that Miss Roberta was dressing for bed. Amelia said loudly enough for Roberta to hear that she would stop back later, then walked to Martha's room.
In response to her knock, she heard, "Come in." She found Martha sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed. Amelia sat down, put her arm around Martha's shoulders, and asked, "Have you rung for a maid to help you?"
"Not yet."
"You have to do it, dear. The servants will start to talk if you don't."
"What do I care if a bunch of servants in this crazy mixed-up dream world talk about me?"
"If they do, it will only be a matter of time before it gets back to the family. Martha, look, you're a beautiful young woman, and there's nothing to be ashamed of. Being dressed and undressed by servants was expected in this time period. No one is going to think anything is wrong unless you start to act suspicious. And not dressing for bed is suspicious. So do what you have to do, and pull the sash cord."
"I can't, Amelia. I just can't. We don't belong here. This isn't my body. I want my Megan body back. I want to go home." Martha began to sob, so Amelia pulled her close and held her as she wept.
"Martha, you must do this. I've done it, and Roberta is currently doing it. Now it's your turn. We'll find a way back home, I promise you that. But for now this is something that we must all do. It's time for you to step up and pull that cord. Now let me see you do it."
Martha pulled back, wiped at her tears, then stood and walked very slowly to the cord. She turned to look at Amelia's approving face once more, then tugged on the cord twice. Walking back towards Amelia, she slowed, then stopped as she began to weep again. Amelia went to her and held her until she got herself under control. After wiping away Martha's tears, Amelia continued to hug her until a maid arrived.
Doris Little, whose impressive stature contrasted sharply with her name, responded to the summons for assistance. At five-feet ten or eleven inches, the thirty-five-year-old woman towered over the two young women, and looked fully capable of handling any chores around the house. Amelia told Martha that she would return shortly, and left the bedroom as Doris began to unbutton Martha's dress.
Walking to Elizabeth's room next door, she found her dressed for bed. Doris had been there just before coming to help Martha.
"Is everything okay, Elizabeth?"
"Yes, Amelia. Doris was very helpful. In fact, she did practically everything; I only had to stand there. There wasn't a lot that I could do though. Except for the bodice, most everything was buttoned or tied behind my back."
"The first time for each new thing that we face will be the hardest. Martha is going to have the most difficult time. We must all help her as much as possible, alright dear?"
"Yes Amelia. I'll do what I can."
"Thank you, Elizabeth. I know that we can count on you. You've always been there for us when we needed you."
"Amelia?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Do you really think we'll be able to get back home if this isn't a dream?"
Amelia wanted to sigh loudly and then shout out in frustration that she didn't know, but instead said in a very calm and confi
dent voice, "Yes, I do, dear. It's just a matter of finding out how we got here in the first place. If there was a way to get here, there has got to be a path back."
Although she'd tried to sound very sure of herself, she had no idea where to start looking for a way back if it didn't happen automatically when the sun came up. She was hoping that if the spirit of the house was in fact responsible for them being there, wherever 'there' actually was, that his power to hold them would dissipate with the coming of the light from the new day.
She sat with Elizabeth for about twenty more minutes as they discussed how people from the nineteenth century acted and talked. Not that she considered herself any kind of an expert, but she was a more avid fiction reader than the others. They agreed that their most difficult task would be to learn about the backgrounds of the bodies they'd found themselves in. Since they couldn't very well ask people to tell them about their own pasts, they would have to learn surreptitiously. They must each keep their ears open and minds alert to any mention of each other's history, and pass on the information as soon as possible.
Deciding that she should check in with Roberta before it became too late, Amelia stood up to say goodnight to Elizabeth, who then asked her to help her remove her robe. Amelia even helped her into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck and tucking her in. For some reason that she couldn't fathom afterwards, she bent and kissed Elizabeth on the forehead, before dimming one of the gaslights and turning the key-like extension that shut off the other. The act of tucking Elizabeth in wasn't something that she ever would have done as Arlene.
Proceeding to Roberta's room next, she knocked, then entered when she heard, "Come in." Finding Roberta sitting cross-legged on the bed in her nightgown, Amelia immediately scolded her. Horrified by the rebuke, Roberta asked, "What did I do?"
"Never, and I mean NEVER, tell someone to come in when you are not decent, unless you're absolutely sure who it is. You never asked who was at the door, or if I was alone."
"Decent? I'm wearing the heaviest flannel nightgown I've ever seen in my life. It's like a blanket. All you can see, besides my head, are my hands and feet."
"A nightgown like that might be okay around the house in our time, but it's not proper clothing in which to greet visitors in this time. Would you walk around in a hotel lobby dressed like that?"
"Um— probably not. No, I wouldn't."
"Then use that as a test. If it's not something that you would wear while walking around a hotel lobby, don't invite anyone in unless you know who it is and would want them to see you dressed that way." Softening her voice, she said, "Alright, dear?"
"Yes, Amelia. How do you know all of these things?"
Amelia hesitated for a couple of seconds as she thought. "I don't know, dear. They just seem— proper. Perhaps it's because I've always loved watching old movies on the cable channels, and I've read a lot about the nineteenth century by authors of the period. Until we learn first hand, we should use their novels as examples of how nineteenth century people behaved. And we should use the most conservative examples. It would be far better to be seen as too old-fashioned, than too loose."
Amelia passed on all that she and Elizabeth had just discussed about learning everything possible about each other's past from the other guests in the house, then helped Roberta into bed and tucked her in. Without thinking, she bent and kissed her on the forehead, before dimming the light and leaving.
'One more stop,' Amelia thought. Knocking softly at Martha's door, she heard "Who is it?"
"It's Amelia, dear. I'm alone."
"Come in, Amelia."
When she entered, she saw that Martha had been weeping again. She went to her and Martha started anew. Amelia held her, and tried to comfort her, as Martha's body shook from the crying. When she managed to get herself under control Amelia asked what had happened to set her off.
"I'm just so confused Amelia. I don't understand why the spirit had to do this to us. We just wanted to talk to it. We weren't trying to hurt it or anything. I want to go home. I want to see my family."
"As do we all, dear. But we have to make the best of it until we find a way back."
Remaining with Martha until she was calm again, Amelia tucked her in before returning to her own room. Sitting alone on her bed, she reflected upon what she had just done. She had tucked each of her friends into their beds and then kissed them on the forehead as if she was their mother. It was true that, as Arlene, she had always been the unofficial leader, sort of the alpha female, to use twenty-first century terminology, with Roberta as the beta leader, but this was different. Or was it? They had always looked to her for leadership, so it might be natural for them to continue to look for her to lead now, even though her outward appearance had changed so radically. Tomorrow, they might be back in their own reality and this would only be a bad dream from which they had awakened. If that was to happen, it couldn't come soon enough.
After dimming one lamp and shutting off the flow of gas to the other, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her neck, sad that there was no one to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight. Despite the presence of her friends nearby, she felt more alone than at any point in her life. For several years, whenever she had been troubled, there had been an inner voice, guiding her and calming her fears. That voice was missing now. When she strained to listen, all she heard was silence. Its absence heightened her fears. Rolling onto her side, she slowly drifted off to sleep thinking about her family and wondering if she'd ever see them again.
* * *
Chapter Five
Amelia awoke the next morning to the same ruminations about her family and situation that had filled her mind as she drifted off to sleep. She was quite naturally devastated to discover that she was still trapped— wherever it was she had been taken. That this wasn't a dream was now almost a certainty. If one believed that the spirit's ability to maintain a complex hallucination dissipated with the rising of the sun, the alternatives were further reduced. Compounding her misery was the incredible cold in the room.
Sliding from beneath the warm covers and quickly donning her dressing gown and slippers, she hurried to the fireplace where she used the poker to turn over the charred remnants of last night's blaze. She thought she might rekindle the flame, but the fire was completely extinguished and only tiny pieces of charred wood remained among the ashes in the hearth. Firmly shoving the iron rod that would close the fireplace damper, she ensured that what little heat was in the room would remain. She knew that much from having a fireplace at home. Mostly decorative, it was actually used a few times each year around the holidays, but they kept the damper closed the rest of the time. The radiator against the outside wall was presently warm to the touch, but the frigid weather outside seemed too much for the heating system, so it wasn't doing significantly more than keeping the bedroom somewhat habitable.
In the hope that it would help warm the room, she opened the draperies and let in the sun. The snowy spectacle that greeted her eyes made her gasp! What seemed like mountains of glacial white powder covered the landscape for as far as the eye could see. The storm, which until then had been just a superficial part of a seemly impossible nightmare, had so far dumped over three feet of snow, and drifts as much as four or five feet in depth had accumulated in places. The frigid Northeast wind continuously searched out minute slits around door and window casements in the house, alternately whistling and sighing at each small victory.
As she looked out upon the mounds of frigid white powder, still growing beneath a dark grey sky filled with moisture-laden clouds, Amelia pondered the problem of snow removal from roads and railways in the minimally mechanized society of 1883. She was certain they didn't have the snow blowers and massive snowplows she was familiar with. For all she knew, they waited until it melted in the spring. The bad feelings that she had about the situation were growing steadily more severe. She was convinced that the spirit's power was rooted at the estate, but no one was going to permit them to leave the house whi
le the weather was so inclement. The girls were indeed going to be stranded in the house for a month if they didn't find another way back to their own reality.
A knock at her door interrupted her speculations and sent her scurrying back to the bed, where she called out, "Who is it?" from beneath the protection of the bedclothes.
"Bitsy, Miss," a squeaky voice from outside the room answered.
"Come in, Bitsy."
With a bucket of glowing coals dangling from her left hand, and a small bundle of kindling wood suspended from her right, Bitsy entered the room and smiled cheerfully. "Good morning, Miss," she said, before walking straight to the fireplace where she opened the damper and quickly built a small fire from the kindling. She left, but returned in less than a minute with two small logs cocooned in a carryall of coarse burlap, which she carefully removed from the sling and placed on the grate above the flame. They would sustain the fire, and provide the real warmth after the kindling had all burned off.
"Would you like me to prepare the water for your bath, Miss Amelia?" Bitsy asked, once she had finished at the fireplace.
"Yes please, Bitsy."
After first turning up the gas on the small, six-gallon water heater in the bathroom, Bitsy helped Amelia remove her sleeping corset. She smiled and curtsied before continuing on to the next bedroom.
Alone again, Amelia stood in front of the fireplace with her nightgown raised almost to her waist as the fire warmed her body. The heat from the fire felt wonderful, but she finally had to drop the nightgown because the fire became too intense as it grew from a tiny glow to a roaring blaze. She estimated that within half an hour the temperature in the room had risen to the far friendlier vicinity of 65 degrees Fahrenheit.
As she entered the attached bathroom for the first time, and glanced at the ancient plumbing fixtures of white porcelain and enameled cast iron, Amelia couldn't help thinking aloud, "Thank God that we have indoor plumbing and hot water." Ten years earlier and they might have been using chamber pots. Bathtubs would have been filled with water heated on stoves and carried in by the bucket. At least in 1883 they had the beginnings of modern indoor plumbing and waste disposal. If it wasn't so cold, there would be no need for the fireplace. It was only acting as an additional heat source in support of a central heating system. Wall and ceiling insulation technology products were something that would be developed in the future, and the present boiler, probably coal-burning, might be a little too small to accommodate such a large manse in severe weather.
When The Spirit Moves You Page 7
