by Various
***
When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know how much time had passed. The bright sun temporarily blinded me. I stood on the shores of Lake Michigan in downtown Westport. Two old ships were docked along the pier, and a few more were anchored in the harbor.
Everything was different, and old.
I squinted and focused on my surroundings. The familiar rows of piers and yachts were gone. Men worked to lower a series of sails on the large, wooden ship closest to me. The men wore period costumes. I didn’t remember Aunt Barb talking about a festival of antique ships today.
Wait. I was getting a bag of dirt out of the barn at home. How did I get here?
When I turned around to face the city, my heart sank. Shops and restaurants I frequented were gone. In their place were a few buildings with hand-painted signs. Westport Town Bank was across from the pier, and next to it was the General Store. How could that be? Yesterday, it was the boutique where Aunt Barb bought my prom dress, and the Carmichael Feed and Mill on the corner should be Rusty’s Anchor. Horse-drawn carriages filled the street, and men and women in odd-looking clothes went about their business.
The town I knew was gone. Was this a dream?
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the city I remembered would be there when I opened them again. No luck. The more I looked around, the faster my heart raced. A girl stood beside a stack of crates on the pier, laughing with someone I couldn’t see. People acted like everything was normal, while a tidal wave of panic surged through me. A woman exited the General Store with an armful of purchases. Couples strolled down the dirt road, and a boy stood on the corner waving newspapers at passersby. I felt like I was in the middle of a movie set—except there were no cameras or crew around.
I took a deep breath in hopes of calming my nerves.
“Good day, Emmaline,” a man said, startling me.
Emmaline? When I turned to face him, he tipped his hat and smiled.
“I’m looking for Miss Catie.”
“Catie?” The question rolled off my tongue before I registered that he expected me to know the woman he was searching for.
He nodded his head. “Miss Catherine,” he replied, as if that would answer my confusion.
“Ah—”
“Mr. Spencer, there you are,” an older man said, interrupting the uncomfortable moment. He looked at me and nodded. “James Spencer, I’d like to introduce you to some gentlemen that arrived from Michigan,” he continued. James turned his attention to two men, both wearing similar uniforms. For a second, I thought I recognized a man in the distance, heading toward the General Store. He had dark hair and a similar stride to Ben. What would he be doing here?
“It was a harrowing trip,” one of the uniformed men said.
“We’re lucky to have made it alive,” the other man added.
“Yes, very lucky,” James answered, shaking hands with them. I politely excused myself and followed the man that resembled Ben.
Walking away, I felt bogged down and unable to move at my normal pace. Looking down at myself, I discovered I was wearing outdated clothes, like everyone else.
What had happened to me?
“Ben!” I called, but he didn’t answer. I yelled a second time, and he turned; but when he saw me, his smile turned flat. Was he still mad at me?
I raised my hand to wave as someone tugged at my other arm. I barely caught another glimpse of Ben before my body spun around. Relief overwhelmed me when I realized the blonde girl in front of me was Claire. We’d been best friends ever since I moved to Westport, but for some reason, she looked different today. Her hair was blonder and worn in a strange style that looked a hundred years old. That was completely unlike her, and suddenly, I wondered if she was the girl I saw at the pier.
Instinctively, I hugged her, but she pushed back. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
I shook my head. She started walking, and I followed. “Did you see Ben?”
“Who?”
“Your brother,” I answered.
Claire turned toward me and wrinkled her forehead. “We don’t have a brother. Mum miscarried, remember?”
Mum?
“Father will be a while, and Mum’s waiting. We must prepare for the cotillion.”
“What cotillion?”
Claire stopped midstride. “What is wrong with you today?” She gave me a sideways glance before answering. “The spring cotillion.”
I didn’t understand. Was I being punked?
Claire stared at me. “You are definitely forgetful today,” she said, her gaze penetrating to my soul. “You were spying on me, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Claire was silent for a second, then reached for my hand. “Mum’s waiting. We must hurry.” She walked at a brisk pace.
I followed obediently, and she mumbled something under her breath. Why was she angry?
“Claire, tell me what’s going on here,” I demanded when we stopped to let a carriage pass. The smell from the horse was far different from the exhaust smell I was used to in the city. Claire glanced at me for an instant, then ignored me. She took a step forward, but I pulled her back.
“Where are we? And why are you dressed like that?” I questioned firmly. Claire had never acted like this before.
She raised her chin, her expression serious.
“Miss Emmaline! Miss Emmaline!” a young boy selling newspapers called.
“We’ll talk at home,” Claire mumbled. Before her words completely registered, the boy approached me.
“Miss Emmaline, would you like today’s paper?”
“No, thank you.”
“Mr. Warren said I am to give you a complimentary paper each day.” His eyes were wide, and I believed he was just following directions.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my back.
“Yes, Johnny, please give Miss Rice today’s paper.”
Miss Rice?
Looking up, I found myself staring into the eyes of a stranger. He stood close enough that I could smell spice on his breath. Taking the paper from the boy, the man folded it in half and handed it to me.
“Until this evening,” he whispered. He walked to the corner building and waved before going inside. Westport Gazette was painted on the window.
“Emmaline, Mum’s waiting.” Claire nudged my arm, pointing to a well-dressed woman standing beside a carriage. Claire had an impatience I wasn’t used to. She hurried off and was already seated when I reached her.
“We must prepare for the cotillion this evening,” Mum said, motioning to the open carriage door.
I climbed in. It seemed like the right thing to do. The step was higher than I’d expected, but an older gentleman offered his hand to guide me. Seconds later, we were headed out of town.
The flat, dirt road in front of the stores gave way to an uneven path the farther we rode. Despite the bumpy ride, the view of Lake Michigan was spectacular. I leaned toward the open window of the carriage and felt the cool, lake breeze on my cheek.
Maybe if I closed my eyes, I’d be home with Aunt Barb when I opened them.
No luck.
Minutes later, we came to a stop in front of a house I recognized. It was two doors down from where I lived with my aunt, but our house was gone. Piles of stone and stacks of lumber rested where my house used to be.
“Emmaline! What is with you today?” Claire shrieked.
Looking around, I realized I was alone in the carriage.
“You will not ruin this evening!”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “And my name is Emma. Not Emmaline.”
Claire shook her head and walked away.
“I’m sorry,” I called after her. I couldn’t lose the only friend I had in this strange place. “Claire, wait!”
“Why are you calling me Claire?” She stopped midstride. “The first time I overlooked it. But you know I hate that name.”
“Where am I? What year is it? Is this a dream?” Questions swir
led in my mind. This couldn’t be happening. What was going on? When Claire’s expression switched to confusion, I realized I had spoken my thoughts aloud.
“You know very well where you are. We are at home, in Westport.”
“But—”
“Why are you acting so differently today?”
Could I tell her?
“Catherine, Emmaline—you must get ready for the cotillion,” Mum said from the porch.
Catherine?
“Yes, Mum.”
I followed Claire inside to a second-floor room I guessed was her bedroom. “You saw me, didn’t you?” she asked after the door was closed. Her face was pale.
“I don’t understand,” I stuttered. Even though I didn’t know what she was talking about, she was obviously upset.
“Who did you tell?”
I sat beside her on the bed. What was she talking about?
“Father would not be pleased if he found out. You must not tell anyone.”
“Claire—I mean, Catherine.”
She stared at me, impatient.
Then, I realized it. “James Spencer.” The words came out a whisper.
“Yes.” She paused for a moment, fidgeting with a handkerchief in her hand. “I promised to marry him… to please Father. But I do not love James.”
“Who were you with at the pier?” I asked.
Claire’s cheeks turned red. “James is a decent man. A banker.”
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“He is not like other suitors. He does not have a good heart.”
Her gaze met mine again.
“When you meet someone… you know,” she whispered.
“Who did you meet?”
“Christopher.”
Even though I didn’t know Christopher, I knew what she meant. My thoughts turned to Ben, and I felt sad we’d even argued, much less broken up. I had to find him. I had to tell him I was sorry, and that I loved him. But, would he even know me here? What if he was my brother? No. Claire said we didn’t have a brother. Oh my God. Where am I?
Staring at Claire, I realized she wasn’t the same friend I had back home. She was someone else, and I was stuck in the middle of an awkward dream.
“What’s today’s date?” I asked.
Claire, or rather, Catherine gave me a puzzled look.
“The date?” When she didn’t respond, I reached for the newspaper on the bed and checked it myself. “May 10, 1889.”
Catherine took a deep sigh.
“This can’t be!”
“Yes, I know. Only twenty-two days until my wedding.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Catherine squinted at me in confusion. It was a look I was used to.
“I mean, it’s not right to marry someone you don’t love. Ever.”
Catherine scurried to her feet. “It is the right thing to do, Emmaline. It is Father’s wish. He is an important man in Westport, and we must obey his decisions.”
“I would not marry someone I did not love.”
Instantly, Catherine looked angry. “Tonight is a big night, Emmaline. You must not ruin this evening for Father. He is celebrating the christening of his new schooner and the safe return of his crew and new journeyman. We must stand proudly beside him. And, if you’re lucky, he will announce his approval of your engagement.”
“Engagement? That’s impossible. I’m too young to be engaged!”
“Nonsense. Father has arranged for you to marry Emory Warren.”
I shook my head.
“The Warren family is very stable, and the newspaper business is respectable.” Catherine gave me a weak smile. “Besides, Emory is enamored with you. You are quite lucky.”
This can’t be happening. I’m not even supposed to be here.
“Emmaline, are you feeling okay? You look pale suddenly.”
“Catherine… I’m not who you think I am,” I began.
“Of course you are. You’re my sister.”
“No, I mean, my name is Emma Bennett.”
“I can call you Emma, if you like. But Charles Bennett is already betrothed to another,” she said matter-of-factly.
A knock at the door interrupted our conversation.
“Girls, please get ready. Emmaline, your dress is hanging in your wardrobe,” Mum said from the doorway. A woman stood beside her. “Come.” Her voice was stern.
I followed her into the hallway. She pointed to another door I assumed was my room. “Mary will be in shortly to fix your hair.”
Against the wall in my room was the same cabinet I had seen in my aunt’s barn, except here, it was new and shiny, with perfectly aligned doors and no dust. I opened the cabinet and saw the fancy dress Mum expected me to wear. Unfortunately, there was no time for a party. I had to get home.
I stuck my hand into the cabinet. Nothing happened. No quiver, no tingle. When I saw a pair of leather boots on the shelf inside the wardrobe, I remembered putting the boots on and waking up here.
Lifting the hem of my dress, I realized I was wearing different shoes. Maybe I’d switch back if I slipped the boots on again. The pair in the wardrobe wasn’t as worn as the ones I’d found earlier. The laces were new, and there was barely a scuff on the soles, but I had to try.
I sat on the edge of my bed and slipped them on.
Nothing.
I tightened the laces and walked around the room.
Still nothing.
Maybe I needed to take them off and put them on again. As I was about to try, Catherine walked into my room wearing a stunning, purple dress. Mum and Mary followed. They stared at me until I reached for the navy dress in my wardrobe. Mum gave a disappointed look when she saw my boots. Mary scurried to help me into my dress, buttoning the back, then motioning to the vanity for me to sit. She tended to my hair as Mum handed me silk shoes to match my dress.
When Mary was finished, Mum handed me a mirror. The reflection staring back at me was beautiful. Gentle curls framed my face, and a mane of thick spirals hung down my back. It reminded me of school dances and made me miss home.
Mum smiled, then quickly wiped her eyes. I saw the pride she had in her two daughters and understood why Catherine would obey her father’s instructions to marry into a good family.
Maybe living here wasn’t so bad after all.
***
Father was waiting for us outside with the older gentleman who had driven our carriage earlier.
“Ezekiel, we’re ready,” Father said when he saw us.
The man nodded and opened the door. He guided Mum and Catherine up the step and inside the carriage. This time when he touched my hand, it tingled. For an instant, I thought I remembered him.
“Good day, Miss Emma,” Ezekiel whispered.
Did he just call me Emma?
***
I nervously waited my turn.
A man motioned to Catherine to begin her descent down the staircase.
“Miss Catherine Rice, escorted by Mr. James Spencer,” the announcer called. When she reached the foot of the stairs, James greeted her with a bow. She curtsied in return and laid her hand atop his extended arm. They walked toward the ballroom, into the crowd of other guests.
My stomach turned into knots and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing myself home.
“Be strong, Emma,” a man’s voice rang in my head. I opened my eyes and spun around.
No one was there.
The announcer beside me cleared his throat, snapping me back to reality. He nodded, and I knew it was time. I began my descent, counting each step as I went.
“Miss Emmaline Rice, escorted by Mr. Emory Warren.”
The newspaperman waited for me at the foot of the stairs.
“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” I said to myself. I couldn’t make eye contact with him, I was too worried I’d trip on the layers of my dress, or slip and fall in these ridiculously uncomfortable shoes. “Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.”
A smile crossed Emory’s face, putting me at
ease. He offered his arm the way James did for Catherine, but Emory was attentive, whereas James was not.
Emory led me to the ballroom where several couples danced, but most stood in a circle around the edge of the room. I spotted Catherine on the dance floor with James. Mum and Father were chatting with another couple. They appeared pleased when they saw me.
“May I have this dance?” Emory whispered.
He smiled when I said yes.
All eyes were on us as Emory led me in a swift, eloquent dance. Guests applauded when the band finished their song and couples dispersed. Emory bowed, and I curtsied. It was something I was starting to get used to.
“Thank you,” Emory said, escorting me off the dance floor. For a moment, I felt like a princess. “Please excuse me. Your father is summoning me,” he added. Then, I realized I was living in a dream, and my Prince Charming was really Ben.
Emory left me beside a man that resembled Christopher Gallagher. As I stared at him, I realized he looked exactly like the Hollywood heartthrob whose face was spread across all tabloid magazines. He had the same eyes, the same nose, and the same smile.
“I’m Emmaline,” I said when he noticed me.
“Yes, I know.” He extended his hand. “I’m Christopher Matthews—Catherine’s friend.”
“Oh, yes.” Heat crept up my neck. “Scout’s honor, I won’t tell.”
“Pardon me?”
“Um, I promise to keep your secret.” I was suddenly warm.
“Thank you,” Christopher answered. “What you told Catherine was rather bold and brave.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your father is a very powerful man. Not many would challenge his decision.” Christopher’s words came out in a whisper, and he glanced behind me.
“I know, but—”
Christopher hushed me and took a sip of his drink as my father approached.
“Emmaline, it’s official,” Father said. “I’ve accepted Emory’s proposal for your hand.”
“What?”
“I know you’re excited, darling,” he continued, “and Emory will make a good husband. I’ll have extra hands at the property tomorrow. We’ll finish your sister’s house as quick as possible so we can build yours this summer.” Father turned to Christopher and added, “I expect you and your crew will be there?”
