When The Spirit Moves You

by Thomas DePrima

  Amelia smiled. "That's wonderful, Martha. I'm so happy for you."

  "Thank you. How did Jeremy do with your parents?"

  "They both liked him. We haven't discussed his visit yet, but I could tell how impressed they were. He didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable as Mummy interrogated him about his family. Of course she did it in a most pleasant way."

  "Tad's family is so well known that Mother and Daddy didn't question him about them, but Daddy did talk to him privately when he first arrived, to speak with him about his expectations for his future. Tad told him that he would be joining the family law firm after completing his studies."

  "Will Tad be coming back with Jeremy in a couple of weeks?" Amelia asked.

  "He said that he'll come as often as classes and weather permit. In another month we can start looking forward to spring temperatures, and that will make traveling easier." Sighing, she added, "I've really started to tire of all this cold weather."

  "I'm looking forward to spring also, and to returning to the mansion for Anne's wedding. I've missed seeing Elizabeth and Roberta. I'm so glad that we both live in the same city. They're all alone with their new families. It has to be so much harder on them."

  "I couldn't have made it if I didn't have you so close. I would have wound up in one of those asylums that you've spoken of."

  "Not at all! You have an astounding inner strength, Martha. You've adapted to our difficult situation better than any of us. You would have been just fine."

  Martha turned to her with an enigmatic smile, then reached out and pulled her close. They hugged for a few seconds and then turned to face the approaching salesperson. Martha never saw the look of concern that came over Amelia's face as she thought again about the tarot prediction and wondered exactly what the future held in store for them.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  It was most unusual for Amelia to receive two letters in the Friday afternoon post. One she recognized immediately as being from Jeremy, but the other hand was unfamiliar to her. While the second envelope bore no return address, Amelia did note that it was almost certainly from a woman, and the postmark indicated that it had been mailed in Philadelphia.

  She naturally read the note from Jeremy first, his third since his initial visit to Hartford the previous weekend. After telling her how much he missed her, and how he could barely contain himself until he arrived at her home again a week from Saturday, he told her of his studies, his professors, and the antics of his friends. He closed, as always, by professing his undying admiration.

  Smiling, Amelia set the letter down, with the intention of replying after reading the other. Amelia knew of only one person in this time that lived in Philadelphia, and the mauve envelope was clearly expensive stationary. The smile that had adorned her face since opening Jeremy's letter disappeared in a heartbeat as she read the note from Margaret Stemple.

  'I know that you've been seeing my husband behind my back', the brief letter stated. 'I warn you to cease your shameless advances immediately or face the wrath of an irate wife.' The note was signed, 'Mrs. Jeremy Westfield.'

  Amelia breathed deeply, and reread the note several more times. It was obvious that Margaret had added another layer to her delusion about her relationship with Jeremy. After carefully placing the note back into the envelope, Amelia put her hands on her lap and thought about the situation. She couldn't see any way of resolving the conflict on her own. She knew that Mad Margaret needed professional help, but she wasn't even sure if such psychiatric help was yet available.

  Mr. Turner had just settled comfortably into his favorite chair, lit his pipe, and begun to read the evening paper when his daughter entered the parlor a few hours later. Looking up at her, he smiled and said, "Good evening, sweetheart. How's my little girl tonight?"

  "Hi Daddy," Amelia replied, crossing directly to his chair and giving him a perfunctory peck on the cheek.

  His many years as an attorney had taught him to read attitudes and faces pretty well, and he instantly knew that his daughter was troubled. "What is it, dear? A problem with your young man?"

  "No— well yes, sort of."

  "No, yes, sort of? Which is it, honey?"

  "The problem isn't with Jeremy, but it does involve him. It's quite— complicated."

  Mr. Turner nodded slowly, refolded his paper and set it upon his lap before placing his pipe in the holder on the small lamp table next to him. Looking at Amelia, he asked, "Would you like to tell me about it?"

  "Yes Daddy. I don't know what to do."

  Walking to her mother's favorite chair on the far side of the small table, Amelia turned it a little more towards her father and sat down. She'd had all afternoon to choose her words, but hesitated now that it was time to actually give voice to them. Her father waited patiently, allowing her the time she needed.

  "There was an incident at the Westfield mansion during the engagement party," she said, "and I'd hoped that it was over and done with, but apparently it isn't."

  "What sort of incident?"

  Amelia spent the next fifteen minutes relating everything that had happened at the party, and the subsequent conversations about Mad Margaret, while her father listened carefully.

  "And this Mad Margaret, as you call her, has done something new that affects you?" Her father asked when she was done.

  Holding out the envelope with the note, she said, "I received this today."

  Taking the envelope, her father removed the note. She watched his face as he read it, but never saw the slightest bit of surprise there. He had spent years learning to mask his emotions while in front of clients, and he was in that frame of mind at the moment.

  "You're sure that there can't be the slightest bit of truth to this assertion of marriage?" her father asked after reading the note several times and digesting every word.

  "I can't be sure of anything, Daddy; I can only relate what I've been told. Patricia Burton told me that Mad Margaret said they were engaged, and were only waiting until after he graduated to make the formal announcement. It doesn't seem reasonable to believe that they could have married since I left the estate. Anne, Jeremy, and Mr. Westfield all deny that there is, or has ever been, anything between Jeremy and Margaret, except in Mad Margaret's mind."

  "It would appear that this young woman is very troubled. I suggest that you stop referring to her as Mad Margaret, and only call her Miss Margaret Stemple from now on."

  "Okay, Daddy."

  "Tomorrow I'll send a telegram to her father explaining the situation and expressing my concerns. He may not have paid attention before, but he'll have to listen now; now that his daughter has identified herself as Mrs. Jeremy Westfield, and sent a veiled threat in her own handwriting. I'll hang onto this letter. If you receive any more, let me know immediately."

  "Do you think that she's dangerous?"

  "Anyone that's deluded themselves so much as to believe that they are married to someone who has consistently spurned their advances, is capable of almost anything. Since this letter was mailed from Philadelphia, the young woman must be there, or at least was there. To be aware of Jeremy's movements, she must have someone following him and reporting back to her. I'll send Jeremy a telegram as well, so he can watch for any suspicious characters that might be following him."

  "Thank you, Daddy."

  He smiled then, for the first time since Amelia broached the subject of Margaret Stemple. "Don't you worry, dear. We'll find a way to stop this poor woman from annoying you and your young man."

  * * *

  After their first visit, Jeremy and Tad began coming to Hartford every other weekend, and Jeremy continued to write to Amelia every single day that he wasn't there with her. She always returned a letter immediately, for each that she received. The incident of the note from Margaret Stemple slowly faded into memory when nothing further occurred in the weeks following.

  When the boys weren't in Hartford, the girls attended numerous teas, parties, socials, and special even
ts, as had their predecessors. Their busy social calendar offered them numerous opportunities to meet and socialize with young men, and they naturally found themselves comparing other young men to Jeremy and Tad. But, in their minds at least, the boys and men of Hartford were usually found lacking. Both girls were a little envious of Elizabeth, who lived in New Haven, the home of Yale University. Although Elizabeth didn't have another of the girls nearby, she did get to see Donald every evening that he was free.

  Martha and Amelia spent almost as much time together as their future counterparts. They usually shopped several times a week, not because their predecessors had, but simply because they enjoyed shopping. One day, early in May, as the girls left the shop of a prominent milliner, Amelia grabbed Martha's arm and uttered, "Oh my God, Martha. It's Samuel Clemens."

  "What? Where?"

  "Going into the five and dime across the street. Look," she said, pointing.

  "I see a man going into the five and dime. How do you know his name?"

  "It's Samuel Clemens!" Amelia said fervently.

  "Who's Samuel Clemens? Do we know him?"

  "He's Mark Twain, the writer."

  "But you just said he was Samuel Clemens."

  "Mark Twain is his pen name."

  "I thought Mark Twain was from somewhere on the Mississippi."

  "He was born in Missouri, I think, but now he lives here in Hartford."

  "Are you sure that's him? That man's wearing a dark suit. I thought Mark Twain only wore white suits?"

  "That's later, when he's older. Right now he's still young and just becoming really popular as an author. Do me a favor and wait here so I'll know if he's left the store. I'll be right back."

  Turning, Amelia hurried down the street and entered a store near the corner. A few minutes later she reemerged and hurried back to where Martha was still standing. "Has he left?" she asked.

  "Not that I could see from here. I don't know if they have a back entrance."

  "Let's go see."

  Entering the five and dime, the girls wandered around until they spotted the man Amelia thought to be Mark Twain. Approaching him directly, Amelia said tentatively, "Mr. Clemens?"

  Turning to look at the women, the man smiled pleasantly and said, "Yes?"

  "My name is Amelia Turner and this is my friend Martha Fuller. We're huge admirers of your stories and wondered if you wouldn't mind autographing one of your books for us."

  "Not at all, dear lady, but I'm afraid that I have none handy." Gesturing with his hands he said, "As you can see, they are not offered in the five and dime, a fact that my creditors no doubt appreciate."

  Amelia smiled at the humorous remark and opened the bag that she was holding. "I just happen to have a copy of one of your recent books, The Prince and the Pauper, with me. I enjoyed it very much." Amelia held out the book and Mr. Clemens accepted it.

  "Why this looks brand new," he remarked as he opened the cover. "Just how did you manage to read it without opening it?"

  "I read from a different copy. I just purchased this one from Baxter's, down the street. My friend and I saw you enter this store and I hurried to get another copy in the hope that you would consent to sign it for me."

  "If everyone who seeks my autograph was so thoughtful, I should soon be able to afford a larger house. Is this book the one you've enjoyed best from among my writings, or merely the only one available at Baxter's?"

  "It is one of my favorite books from among all I've read, not just from among your stories."

  "The happy phrasing of a compliment is one of the rarest of human gifts, and the happy delivery of it another. You have made my morning, Miss Turner."

  "If I have, then it's small repayment for the many happy hours of reading pleasure that you've afforded me, Mr. Clemens."

  "No author could hope for more." Retrieving a pencil from a pocket inside his coat, he scrawled something inside the cover of the book and then closed it. "I've finally completed 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.' It should be published sometime this year or next."

  "I eagerly look forward to reading it."

  "As one of my most ardent admirers, what sort of story would you like to see next?"

  "I'm sure that anything you write will be most enjoyable, but I admit that lately I've been preoccupied with thoughts of time travel. What an experience it would be to travel back in time to see what things were really like back then, while already knowing what things the future held in store for mankind."

  "An intriguing concept, Miss Turner," he said, nodding. "Would you like to travel back in time?"

  Amelia smiled enigmatically before saying, "I think that the romanticism of time travel might clash violently with the realities of living in an earlier age. But in such gifted hands as yours, I'm sure the topic could provide many hours of pleasurable escapism."

  "Perhaps one day I shall endeavor to craft such a story. Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have my errands to complete. Good day."

  * * *

  The graduation ceremonies at Yale were to take place just two weeks before Anne's wedding in June, and the four girls coordinated their plans to attend when all received invitations from the boys. Amelia would, of course, be the guest of Jeremy, while Martha would be going on invitation from Tad. Roberta would be the guest of Charles, and Elizabeth would naturally be the guest of Donald. Plans called for Roberta to travel first to Amelia's house, and then for Martha, Amelia, and Roberta to travel to New Haven to stay with Elizabeth.

  As each day passed, the excitement of the four girls increased. Roberta arrived at Amelia's house on a gruesomely hot and humid afternoon, two days before their scheduled departure for New Haven. They had been communicating by post since traveling home, but seeing one another in person gave them new energy to again relate everything that had happened, and they talked until after midnight on the rear porch at Amelia's house that first night, while fanning themselves and sipping cold lemonade or ice tea. Although refrigeration wasn't yet available, the ice houses continued to provide blocks of ice cut from the frozen lakes the previous winter. Martha had sent a note home earlier that she was sleeping over so they could continue to chat.

  The three girls didn't permit the heat wave to deter them from shopping, and they spent the entire next day in the shops of Hartford. The following morning, Thomas, the Turner's coachman, took them to the train station where they boarded the train for their first trip together since February. It was a beautiful June day and they enjoyed each minute of the roughly forty mile trip, despite the somewhat uncomfortable seating in the antiquated train coach.

  Arriving at the New Haven station hours later, they hired a carriage to take them to Elizabeth's home. Their first full reunion was wonderful and exhilarating, but with all four girls talking excitedly at once, a bystander might have found it difficult to understand how any of them understood a thing the others were saying. After getting settled into their rooms, they spent some time with Elizabeth's family, and then went for a walk to Edgewood Park so that they might talk freely about important matters they hadn't been willing to set down in ink. Amelia waited until all the lesser topics had been discussed before raising one that had been troubling her for months.

  "Anne's wedding is only two weeks away," Amelia began tentatively, "and I wish I knew what's going to happen after the ceremony."

  "Do you think you've found a way to return to our time without help from the spirits?" Roberta asked.

  "No, my access to information on the occult has been very limited. I've read everything I could find in the Hartford area, but the few books haven't offered or suggested anything more about time travel than we already knew."

  "Then what are you referring to? Aren't we here for the rest of our lives if you don't find us a way back home?"

  "That's what I thought after the last séance, but I'm— not so sure anymore."

  "Why not?" Elizabeth asked anxiously. "What's happened to change your mind?"

  "Lately my mind's been preoccupied with
a topic I recalled from school. Remember the long discussion that we had about time travel in Mr. Dolan's ninth grade General Science class?"

  "Not really," Elizabeth said.

  Roberta and Martha shook their heads.

  "He showed us a video where the narrator spoke about possible time paradoxes, if time travel was possible. The example the narrator used was that he goes back in time and kills his grandfather before he had a chance to get married and have children. The narrator said that he would then never have been born, so he couldn't have gone back in time and killed his grandfather."

  "Oh yes, I remember now," Roberta said, "but what's that got to do with us. We're certainly not going to kill our grandparents. Mine haven't even been born yet."

  "No, of course we're not going to kill anyone, but we might have a paradox situation of our own."

  "I'm not following you," Elizabeth said.

  "Look at it this way. We believe that we were transported back in time because Anne's friends originally died on the way to her engagement party. We suspect that the deaths would have had disastrous consequences, so the spirit of Anne's long-dead father kidnapped our life forces from our time and transported them to 1883 to prevent that from happening."

  "I'm with you so far," Roberta said. "We knew all that already."

  "Now, here's the paradox. With the successful conclusion of the wedding ceremony, and the departure of the bride and groom on their honeymoon, the reason for pulling us back has been resolved on this timeline. Mr. Westfield is still alive, so he knows nothing about what happened to the original girls. When he dies, his spirit will probably cross over to the immortal world immediately. It won't remain here to haunt the mansion, thus eliminating the likelihood that we'll ever go there to conduct the séance."

  Three blank stares were the only response to Amelia's hypotheses.

  "Don't you see the paradox?" Amelia asked.

  "Wait a minute," Roberta said, shaking her head slowly a couple of times. "You're saying that if the wedding goes smoothly, then it should never have been necessary to bring us back here in the first place."