by Carolyn Bond
Next to an old tree casting jagged shadows across the ground, Nanette Black’s granite stone came into view. Lily made her way over the brown dormant grass, being careful not to step right in front of any headstones where she knew a coffin lay underneath. It just seemed rude to step on a grave. Reaching her grandmother’s final resting spot, she finally spread a small lap blanket on the hard ground to sit on. She pulled her knees up against herself and hugged them. Closing her eyes, she let her head drop back as she looked up into the evergreen tree’s dense mash of branches. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The crystal winter sky was a blue so deep you could almost make out the darkness of space behind the atmosphere.
Returning her focus to the earth beneath her, she relaxed into a cross-legged pose with her feet tucked under the knee-length hem of her dress. She studied the etched letters on the stone, tracing them with her fingertips. A soft wind picked up the edges of her loose blond hair causing the roots to stand on end and giving her an unexpected shiver. Despite being the only living person on the hill, she no longer felt alone.
It always happened here. She felt a caress on her shoulder that could have been a touch or a soft wind. She looked around to be sure, but as she expected, no one else was visiting the cemetery.
“Grandma, I know you’re here. I’m glad. I miss you.” She paused, thinking, before starting again, “You know that guy I was seeing? Andrew? Well, he broke up with me. I guess it’s for the best. He says he never loved me. I,” she hesitated. “I thought he did.” She scrunched her brows trying to understand how she could have been so wrong.
Lily could imagine her grandmother’s expression. “I would have told him, ‘Good riddance!’” Lily could hear the words ring in her head as clear as day.
She continued, “I know there will be others, but I’ve already given my heart to a man who didn’t love me and look where I am now. What if Andrew had married me?” She paused, “I know what he wanted. I tried to be that person. He wanted a nice wife. I could be a nice wife.” Flicking away the fallen pale blue berries from the cedar tree on the ground beside her, “I just also want to change the world one child at a time. Lots of them. Whole classes full of them. Is that why he didn’t love me? Because I wanted more than just him?”
She sighed, picked up a sprig of cedar that was on the ground beside her and twirled it in her fingers. The strong woody scent tickled her nose.
“Grandma, I wish I could hear what you have to say about it. If you can, help me find the man who would love me with all of his heart.”
She rested in the quiet company of souls who couldn’t speak to her, but she knew sat with her in her sadness. The greenery in the cedar tree, with tiny blue berry-like cones, had always been her favorite for making Christmas garland. Holding it next to her nose, she took a deep breath and let out a sigh. Using a rhinestone-encrusted pin she had in her hair, she secured a sprig and fastened it back to hold her shaggy bangs out of her face.
Chapter 2 – Black’s Farm 1889
She felt a tapping on her cheek and heard a gentle man’s pleading, “Lass, are you well? Lass?”
Her mind swirled without catching on any coherent thought. She felt the cold that had permeated from the ground into her back. Her body convulsed in a shiver. The fabric of her dress clung to her with wet heaviness.
“Where am I? What happened? My car?” The words never left her mouth but rolled in her head.
Reality pulled at her like a magnet insisting she leave the dream world she was lost in and her eyes fluttered open. She had been pulled up into a semi reclining position by an arm that felt like a hot oak tree branch. She focused on the face of the man attached to the arm, which was only a few inches from her. His eyes seemed familiar, as though she knew him, but she couldn’t think of his name. His velvety Scottish accent rolled off his tongue.
“There you go, lass! Come on, now! I dinna want to startle you.”
“Did I wake up in Scotland?” she thought to herself.
He was coaxing her toward consciousness. Before she could clearly make out his features, her body was already reacting to him. Warmth grew in the deep pit of her belly like a smoldering fire. The world stopped spinning and her eyes connected to his. In the same instant, the fire in her belly coursed through her insides, lit up every nerve in her spine, and settled into a pulsating flash under the base of her skull. She was not injured. This was passion she had not felt in a long time.
She drank in his gaze and in the space of three seconds, determined no man had ever affected her so quickly. Jet black hair, loose and wild, framed a swarthy face with a short growth of dark facial hair. She found herself staring into eyes that were the uncanny likeness of the sky over Cedar Hill: that deep celestial blue that hints of a universe hidden behind it. She had no control over her wandering gaze that drifted down his face to lips that she yearned to feel on hers.
Regaining her composure, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. From this upright position, she could see his odd clothes: a natural colored, plain tunic over a pair of darker trousers and boots that almost had a handmade look about them. He wore no watch or other jewelry. He watched her looking him over and leaned back proudly as if pleased with the attention.
“Do you like what you see, lass?” chuckling.
“What?” she answered.
“Well, it’s no every day a bonny lass affords me such attention,” he smiled broadly.
She blushed and darted her eyes away, “What? What happened? My car! Did you see my car? Did I pass out?”
She turned her gaze back the creek looking for her car and then stood up, ignoring his confused expression. She stumbled from rock to rock to get a better view of the mouth of the creek. A small envelope floated past on the water. It was the envelope with the money she got out at the bank that morning. Bending at the waist, she splashed around with her hand in the silty creek mud to draw it toward her but it zipped by undeterred from its path toward the choppy river. She heard him clear his throat and jerked around to see what was bothering him. She sighed in frustration now that her money was gone with her car.
He had turned his head and partially covered his eyes to block his view of her.
“What? What’s the matter?”
He nearly choked on his words, “Lass, you’re in your chemise. Where is your dress? Were you bathing? In that dirty river?” The last question was strained.
“What?” She was getting frustrated with this odd talking man, even if his dialect did make her stomach float like a butterfly. “What are you talking about? This is my dress.”
“Ach! Well then. You’ll be needing a covering, lass, unless you want to be hauled off by the sheriff for indecency.”
“Huh?” her mouth fell open as she quickly examined her dress front and back, twisting this way and that. The only thing wrong was that it seemed a size too large for her now.
“Mind you, you’re a right bonny lass, despite the mud and bits of tree in your flaxen hair, but that much leg you only see on a wee bairn.”
“A what? You aren’t making any sense. Didn’t you see my car go over the bridge and into the creek? Who are you, anyway?”
“The name’s Evan. Evan McEwen. And nay, I did not see anything fall from the bridge. What is this kargh that you speak of?”
She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the midday sun and squinted as she looked again. The bridge was a simple wood bridge, not the caterpillar-like gray metal bridge with arched supports.
“What? What happened to it? That’s not the bridge. But,” her voice trailed off. She turned back to look him over. “What do you mean ‘what is a car?’”
“I have never heard of such a thing. If you describe it, I’d be happy to help you search for it among the rocks.” He started to move small rocks around with the toe of his boot.
The shock was easing but her frustration was growing. None of this made sense. She clenched her fists and started walking up the bank. Maybe with a better view, she thoug
ht, she would be able to figure this out. Something tickled her mind. Something he said was bugging her but she couldn’t remember what it was. Then it hit her: flaxen hair. She reached up and grabbed a handful of hair and pulled it around to her face to look at it.
She gasped. Long blond hair. Her short sassy auburn hair was now very long and as fair as vanilla ice cream.
“Miss, uh, you shouldn’t be about dressed like that. Let me help you get home. What’s your name? Where‘re your people?”
“What in the world?” she muttered about her hair. Then realizing her asked her a question, “I am Lily Black Wallingsford. And my people live far away from here.”
“Black? You said Black?”
She turned to face him. “Yes. Do you understand English? Where are you from?”
“Ay, lass, I understand English fine. I’m a Scotsman. I only asked to be sure. Ye’re sitting on Black’s farm, so how can yer people be far away? Perhaps ye hit yer heid and now you’re confounded.”
He stood up and started walking toward her shielding his view of her from the neck down with the back of his hand.
With his hand raised, she thought he was about to strike her. “What are you doing? Get back!”
“Lass, I’m afraid yer boggled in the heid.”
“I’m not boggled, whatever that is!”
“What else would a sensible person think finding you lying passed out in a creek wearing yer sark and not knowing you were on your own people’s land?”
“My people haven’t lived here for nearly fifty years since the last of them passed away. I have no idea who lives here now.”
“That so, huh?” He looked into her eyes questioningly.
“Yes! My great-grandfather was the last to live here as an old man. I’m not even sure when he passed but I think it may have been before my mother was even born.”
“And who was your great grand pappy?”
“Carlton Black”
“Carlton,” he turned away and scratched his head. “What about Bettie and William Black? Are they your kin?”
“Bettie? Ye mean Sarah Elizabeth?”
“Yes, Bettie.”
“Well, Sarah Elizabeth and William Black were Carlton’s parents. Way back in the 1800s.”
“Way back, eh?”
“Yes. Why are you smirking at me?”
“It’s just you say you didn’t hit your bonny head, but you don’t seem to know what century you’re in. Another thing is that little Carlton couldn’t be a great-grandpappy. He is only eight years old. If I add that into the rest of the odd things about you, I’d say you were a downright loon.”
“What?” She put her hands on her hips. “I didn’t hit my head. I nearly drowned. You must be talking about some other family. Like I said, my family is gone from here now. They have been since Carlton died, probably in the 1960s.” Her fingers crawled across her hips to her belly of their own accord and she looked down at them. She pressed the fabric against her skin and pressed her forehead into a wrinkled mess. Her waist was now firm and small enough that she could nearly touch fingertips around herself. Her jaw fell open as she tried to take in this new fact.
“I don’t think this is my body,” she mumbled to herself. “Is this some kind of crazy dream?”
He stopped then and stared at her steadily.
“Lass, perhaps ye better come in and get a bite to eat. I’m worried about ye. Yer talking crazy.” He raised his hand to stop her and looked around. Thinking better, he said, “Bide here.”
He disappeared behind the bluff of the creek and returned shortly with a sheet.
“I’m worried about me, too,” she mumbled to herself. She pulled a lock of now damp blond hair around to her face. Even her fingers didn’t look like hers. They were more delicate. She reached up to her face with both hands and felt like she were blind. It was not her face. Soft, young, supple cheeks met her finger tips. Her mouth was much smaller than her wide grin. She ran her hands over her bosom and froze. Looking down at her ample hourglass figure, it was no wonder the man acted so oddly.
“This was hanging on the line, so it’s still a bit damp, but it’ll cover you to get inside without causing a spectacle.”
She hoped this was not some sort of prudish fundamentalist religious farm, but for the sake of modesty, she pulled the sheet around her shoulders. She hadn’t heard anyone use the word ‘spectacle’ like that since her grandmother Nanette was alive.
***
Earlier, Evan was heading to the creek to blow off some steam. It was all he could do to walk away without landing his fist in Brian Everbright’s hooked nose. The muscle in his right arm twitched as he flexed his fingers. The man raised Evan’s hackles by just standing there. Brian was the son of a merchant who had a department store in Stephensport. The store modeled itself as an emporium for the needs of a proper estate. Complete with ready-made house staff uniforms, you could sail in right off the Belle of the Ohio and pick up everything a dignified home would need.
The store was not the problem in Evan’s mind. If people of means wanted to spend their money frivolously, that was their business. However, he could do without Brian Everbright’s sour puss look of contempt, as though Evan just standing next to him would sully his waistcoat.
Brian had been walking down Main Street when Evan turned to leave the blacksmith’s shop. The Black’s fool ox had managed to pull apart two links of chain on the plow when it hit a limestone slab. Evan thought the animal was so stubborn it would rather tear the plow apart than give in to solid rock. Evan said goodbye to Mr. Ames in the shop and collided into Brian.
Evan had been plowing all morning and had a good layer of dust from head to toe. Brian made a disgusted groan and began slapping his black jacket to send the offending earth flying. After the confused outburst subsided, he looked up to determine the source of his sudden dust bath and the muscles of his cheeks simultaneously scrunched upward while his brows pressed down causing his eyes to narrow to tiny slits.
Evan suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. The scene in front of him was comical. You would be hard pressed not to assume Brian had been attacked by fire ants from the way he danced around. Then with the sudden change of countenance ending in a glare, Evan found himself checking his features for deadpan expression so as to not light the fuse and have Brian explode. The bottled up fury was palpable.
He was about to apologize out of courtesy, but then Brian did it. He went too far. He stepped forward and thrust his finger up in Evan’s face. Growling out the words, his venomous hatred let loose.
“Evan McEwen, you don’t know your place in this town. Since you are new, I’ll give you a lesson. Your filth is a disgrace. Maybe in whatever backwards hovel you came from there were no civilized gentlemen, but here you will have to learn to respect the class of men that make Stephensport the fine city that it is. Left to scum like yourself, this town would be nothing but a muck-filled river swamp knee-deep in sludge, just like you. Now you will work very hard to make sure I never get close enough to you that your filth could touch me. Am I clear, Hillbilly dog?”
With the word ‘dog’, Brian gave Evan a two-handed shove before turning his shoulder away and setting off up the sidewalk with his chin jutted in the air. Evan had been the object of scorn before, being an immigrant, but this was the first time someone had cut him so low. The bile rose in his throat as he thought back to all he had endured just to get to America. Brian Everbright had no idea and Evan was certain Brian’s mamby-pamby wimpiness would never have let him survive the same journey. He watched Brian march away like a dictator and the sting of truth hit him like arrows with acid tips. His family in Scotland had several descendants of Billy Boys who’d supported King William in his defeat of King James II. Now here in America, any Scotsman was labeled a Hillbilly for their differentness.
Any pride one had for their convictions, for being known as a Billy Boy, was stripped away here. Billy Boy had turned to Hillbilly and its connotation of ignorance. Brian would
never understand the bravery of being a Billy Boy and opposing the sitting king and what’s more, he didn’t care. This was America. The land with no kings. The land where you could make yourself a king if you were smart enough. The colonialists in America saw only their own history as valuable and whatever respect Evan had in Scotland was gone here.
***
Lily glanced behind her as she walked. The man seemed lost in thought. They made their way up the bank and across a narrow strip of harvested farmland. The cool clumps of dirt crunched as she stepped across the rows in her sneakers. Decaying foliage lay in withered frost-bitten layers. Not being a country girl in the least, she couldn’t figure out what crop that must have yielded. The back of a red brick two-story home could be seen hidden behind a thicket of skeletal bushes and leafless trees. She slowed as they came to the clearing between the trees and the house. The big farmhouse was just as she had imagined a few minutes before when she was walking up the creek. She turned back to him seeking assurance. The whole ordeal about her drastic body changes, her apparently inappropriate dress and the sheet had her worried. If he thought she looked out of place, who knew what the occupants of this home would think. She had the urge to just run back to the creek and bridge. Surely her car was somewhere close. None of this made sense.
“What ails ye? Get on, now. Ye canna be seen out like that.”
There was no reasoning with him. She’d just let him lead her to whatever destination he seemed to think would help her and then she would get out there as fast as she could. As they approached the back of the house, the door flung open and a panful of water flew through the air in a silvery streak with steam rising off its back as it flew. Lily jumped to avoid being hit.
“Laws a’mighty, Evan! Sneaking up on me like that, you nearly got scalded! And who is this?”
A short tiny woman in a full-length black Victorian dress complete with high neck and lace around her wrists stood in front of them with her hands on her hips. Lily didn’t see her move her legs but somehow the spry young woman seems to have flown down the steps and appeared within inches of her. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled tightly back into a bun with rings of curls framing her face. Though she had no make-up on, her porcelain skin contrasted with the burst of rose on her cheeks and lips.