Glimmers

by Barbara Brooke

  The box isn’t a box at all, it looks like a simple little drawer . . . but sitting inside is a mysterious velvet bag. Before investigating further, I peer back at my mother. Curious, she doesn’t seem surprised in the very least.

  “What is it, dear?” my mother questions innocently.

  “Do you know something about this?”

  “How could you ask me such a thing? Why, I am as surprised as you are!” In a theatrical gesture, she places her hand over her heart.

  I return my attention to the newly found item. I loosen the strings and the pouch falls open. I gasp in amazement! It is a treasure! A pair of cameo earrings is shimmering in my hand. I want to jump for joy…wait a minute, something isn’t right here.

  “You knew these were in there, didn’t you?” I ask, feeling a little ridiculous at believing the stories.

  “You figured it out. These too are part of the gift. They belonged to Emma. My great-grandmother added the fun treasure hunt. She was such a jokester. Paige, you would have absolutely adored her. She was there when my mother had me search the table.”

  I gaze down at the gorgeous earrings. Each has an oval band wrapped around a carved face of a beautiful woman set against a pale blue background.

  “I couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you found them,” my mother says.

  “I don’t remember ever seeing them on you.”

  “Oh no, they are lovely but not really my style. A bit old fashioned for my taste.” She runs her hand along her clothes, as if proud of her modern fashion sense.

  “Well, I’ll wear them, maybe for the shower,” I whisper, holding them next to my ears.

  “I hope you do. They deserve to be worn and adored,” she says, standing up from the bed and leaning over to kiss my forehead. “I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight. Thanks!”

  Left to admire my new things, I gently place the drawer back. I gaze into the mirror and carefully slip on my new earrings. I love them. Whoa, I feel weird. I stare into the mirror and watch as my bedroom begins to redefine itself. Everything is super clear: my new desk, my earrings, and my face in the mirror! I concentrate on my reflection and try to remain calm. I know what is happening. I’m being pulled back into another memory.

  Calmly, I watch as the objects in my room start to fade. I hear a loud cracking sound, and the room stretches and reforms. I’m dizzy, this is too much. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, inhale in and exhale out.

  When it feels like the room has completed its transformation, I slowly reopen my eyes. Although I’m getting used to the effect of flashing around, I don’t exactly know what to expect. I discover I am at the same dressing table, gazing into the mirror. However, the person staring back is from another time. Immediately, I recognize my great ancestor, Emma. She is sitting in front of the oval mirror, idly toying with her hair. At once, I am absorbed into her life. We are one and the same.

  Emma’s Story, May 1818

  Heatherwood, England

  Through my open bedroom windows, I can hear the river rushing just along the outskirts of town. The evening church bells echo throughout the vale. A cobblestone street cuts through the heart of town and horses with carriages travel along the road. The people of Heatherwood busy themselves by running errands and working their trade. Most mornings, I enjoy the scent of fresh bread as it wafts from the baker’s open window. Heatherwood is a quaint village, not too far from London.

  Rolling hills and grassy meadows surround my brick home. It is neither too large, nor too small. It serves our proud family well. At the moment, most of the household are diligently preparing for this evening's festivities. Doubtless, Papa is checking on this evening's libations; Mama will be supervising the kitchen staff to ensure every detail is perfect; and my younger sister, Victoria, will no doubt be primping. My older sister Mary and her husband live in London and cannot make it this evening. Sadly, my older brother Edmund is also away managing business for my father.

  Papa is a good man with a pleasant disposition that has helped win him a reputation of the highest regard. His small fortune was earned through clever and insightful business dealings. The name Phillip Middleton is respected far beyond our town. Papa prefers to be in the middle of business dealings, rather than at either end; he is a factor, a matchmaker of sorts, although I believe my mother tries harder at making suitable matches for her daughters!

  I am excited because in my father's most recent business endeavor, he has made the acquaintance of many of England’s most prestigious fabric makers. I am delighted, as this means he frequently returns home with bolts of fabric in the latest fashions. I smile in delight upon receiving such lavish gifts. I have become quite accomplished in the art of designing and constructing gowns.

  In fact, my dress planned for this evening is sculpted from blue silk. The sleeves caress my shoulders and tiny beads are stitched along the trim. It is one of my most recent designs. I am anxious to see if it generates any interest amongst our guests. I have very recently begun piecing together dresses for many of the young ladies in our humble town.

  I realize I am humming softly; it is a melody I once heard played on a harp. I have forgotten myself, as I dreamily run a comb through my hair. My cameo earrings are already in place, and I observe their splendor.

  My hair is hanging down, falling over my shoulders and down my back. I pull it up and attempt to tie it in place. I almost have it fastened, when my hair on the entire left side of my head comes loose and looks a mess. Honestly, how women manage pinning up their hair with ease everyday is beyond me. Fruitlessly, I try fashioning tiny ringlets.

  Through the reflection in my mirror, I notice the smiling face of my younger sister Victoria. She is at the frivolous age of sixteen and delighted with the prospect of attending her first formal gala to be held at our home tonight.

  “Why are you hiding, you silly girl?” I address her with a smile.

  “I was only curious,” the words from her delicate voice flow naturally into the air. Victoria moves across the room and sits closer to me.

  “And may I ask, about what are you so curious?” I question, after turning my attention towards her.

  “I wonder if you are at all nervous.” She stares at my bewildered expression and moves closer still towards where I am sitting. “You do realize a certain Mr. Percy Grant is downstairs speaking with father?”

  “Is he . . . hmm?” I stare at my comb. “You don’t suppose he is . . .”

  It is unnecessary for me to continue, because my sister completes my sentence for me.

  “Asking father for your hand? What else would he be doing?” She peers at me anxiously, before inquiring, “What will you say?”

  How will I answer? I am not yet certain. I knew inevitably this day would come. After all, Mr. Grant and I have practically been betrothed since childhood. Besides, I am nineteen; our friends are beginning to think of me as a regular spinster. I do not wish to disappoint Mama, nor become a burden on Papa. "Of course, I will say yes. My marriage to him has been assumed since I was a baby! I am somewhat fond of him, he is a gentleman of sound reputation, and extraordinarily sensible. I will never have to worry about him leaving me to go off on some wild adventure.”

  “Oh Emma, this will be so very exciting! Think of the parties and celebrations!” Victoria giggles, as she wraps her arms around me in an embrace. “Here, I shall help you finish your hair. Honestly, can you not manage a simple ringlet on your own?”

  Victoria swiftly situates herself behind me and hastily fastens my hair in place. With the motion of her hand, I glance at her reflection. Suddenly, she freezes; a strand of brown wavy hair is still wrapped around her finger. “I suppose you will design my bridesmaid dress. I should like it in a golden material that sparkles when I walk,” she announces brightly.

  “Do you have any other requests, dearest sister? Would you like for me to spin the golden threads by hand, as well?” I tease.

  “I cannot keep
myself from imagining what a joyous event your wedding shall be!”

  “I am certain that in your vision of the event, all eyes will be on you instead of the bride,” I say with a smile.

  “I would not imagine it any other way,” she says while laughing.

  The weak streams of the last rays of the sun flicker past the heavy draperies. After noticing the sky has transformed into twilight, we rush in our efforts to become presentable for the party. Eagerly, we check our images in the mirror and anxiously exit the bedroom, ready to greet our friends waiting below.

  Thirteen

  Our guests are rejoicing in the festivities of the evening. They dance gaily about the room. As Victoria and I descend the staircase, music from stringed instruments glides up to my ears. Although I am anxious to join in the revelry, I try to slow down my pace and watch my shoes ease down one step at a time.

  Once in view of the gathering, I smile. In the middle of the floor, some of the group has assembled into rows, facing in the direction of their dance partners. When the music begins to play, the couples wind and weave around in perfect unison. The ladies wear flowing gowns bedecked with lace and ruffles: blues, pinks, pale yellows, lavenders . . . and the men look stately in their formal attire. Most of our guests are long time familiar faces, and it makes me glad to see them having such a delightful time.

  The party is held in a long and rectangular shaped room. A grand chandelier, filled with candles, illuminates the area below. Oil paintings, adorned with large golden frames, are hung on the lovely blue walls. In between the portraits are sconces where shielded candles also help dispel the dark.

  My eyes dart over to the image of me, where I am wearing my very first Emma Middleton gown. I adore that ivory colored gown. I spent days sewing pearls into the top layer of sheer material, tedious really, but my efforts were well worth the trouble. Since Mama had not seen any of my designs, up to that point, she implored me to wear something sensible and restrained, preferably a dress she had purchased for me in London. Unbeknownst to her, I substituted her dress with one of my own. Thank goodness, both the artist and Mama were pleased with the outcome. I, however, cannot help being a little embarrassed by the portrait. The artist certainly did justice to the dress, but he also portrayed me to be far more poised and elegant than I feel.

  Victoria, on the other hand, does not mind having our guests gaze adoringly up at her portrait. I suspect she would have more likenesses of herself in the house if our parents would permit. Personally, I prefer artwork that captures an interesting moment in time and has a fairytale-like setting along with mythical creatures. I should very much enjoy crawling inside my favorite painting and explore the fantastical world the artist has created.

  “It is a festive event, indeed. Do you not agree, Emma?” Victoria whispers in hushed excitement.

  “It is,” I return her sentiment, taking in the opulence of the room.

  “The only question remaining is with whom I shall dance, first.”

  I am entranced by the flow of people, watching them twirl across the floor . . . when someone sneaks up and startles me by giving my hair a gentle tug. After almost leaping into the air, I turn and see my older brother Edmund. He laughs heartily, obviously pleased with the results of his teasing. Victoria playfully swats at him, warning he had better never do that again.

  “When did you arrive? We didn’t expect you to return for yet another fortnight!” I declare, eagerly hugging him.

  “My dearest sisters, how could I possibly stay away from a party with such an abundance of delight and amusement? Surely, you know me better than that,” he says with a smile that warms my heart. “Although my time in London was necessarily spent attending many such frivolous functions, it was called short due to a business matter.”

  “Edmund, I wonder to hear of your change of heart, since I believe that, heretofore, your inclination toward business has been somewhat lacking. What is this manner of business of which you speak?” I ask.

  “I must admit to being astounded by your lack of faith in my diligence in this regard,” says Edmund, and we continue staring at each other for a few seconds. At last he reveals, “During my recent visit with our sister Mary, I made the acquaintance of a man from America. He resides in Charleston, South Carolina, where he possesses extensive fields of cotton. He has come to England to form a trade alliance with someone to whom he can sell his crops.” Edmund pauses, looking quite pleased. “I have brought this man here to meet Father, who will easily recognize the potential for financial gain as being quite significant. The two of them can hammer out the remaining part of the transaction on their own. I am simply-a match maker.”

  “Victoria, have you seen our brother, as of late? For this man standing before us is not he,” I say in a playful manner.

  I had not expected to see Edmund immerse himself in the work force with such uncontained enthusiasm, for his inclination runs much more to his leisure activities. He has not been known for his commitment to long hours of tedious contract negotiations. Although I frequently tease him in regard to his reputation as a carefree bachelor, I am proud of this recent change of direction.

  “Where is this newly found acquaintance of yours?” questions Victoria.

  “He is ensconcing himself in the guest quarters,” replies Edmund.

  Victoria stares speculatively at the dancing couples, appearing anxious to join them. “Edmund, it is grand to have you with us. Before evening's end, you must introduce me to your new acquaintance. For now, I shall not make our guests wait any longer,” she says then whispers in my ear, “By the way; I simply adore your new gown. Perhaps you could make a similar one for me. Although, I would much prefer it in pink.” She winks at me before flitting off into the crowd.

  “I tend to worry about Victoria and her mastery in the art of flirting,” I say. “She enjoys it far more than she ought. I pity any man who attempts to call upon her, for she usually tires of them quickly.”

  “Agreed, I wonder what we will ever do with her,” says Edmund, and we quietly laugh together.

  “It is so good to have you home. How long shall we expect you to be with us?”

  “I am not entirely certain. I suppose that depends on how long I am needed here.”

  “I do hope you will be needed indefinitely. I miss you when you are away,” I admit.

  “You know I cannot endure living in the confines of a small town for very long. The city fascinates me so. What do you say if on my return, you accompany me back to London? Mary has been asking for you.”

  “The idea of going to London is an exciting prospect!” I say before remembering the impending engagement I am about to face. “I suppose we will just have to see how events of the evening unravel.”

  “To what do you refer?”

  “I suspect Mr. Grant is at this moment asking father for my hand,” I reply and watch as Edmund’s amused expression immediately fades.

  “My younger sister, engaged. Now that is unsettling. I thought for certain you would have more time.”

  “You appear concerned. Do you not approve of Mr. Grant’s character?”

  “No, no, he is a fine gentleman. Emma, I must be honest. This troubles me. You should wait before entering marriage. There is so much of the world for you to see. Once you are betrothed, your sovereignty is over.”

  “Edmund, in case you have forgotten, I am on the verge of becoming a spinster. How can I burden our parents? Mr. Grant is an admirable candidate for a husband. Besides, you know our mother has been planning this wedding since I was a child.”

  “Our mother would understand if you decide not to marry him. Do you have even the slightest inclination of love for Percy?” inquires Edmund.

  “I do not dare ponder about such frivolous indulgences. Besides, I think even the notion of love is overrated. In time, I am quite certain Mr. Grant will be a good companion for me.”

  “Companion you say. Honestly Emma, you should seriously consider whether or not he has the same a
mbitions as you. I believe he is incapable of holding interests in anything unless his mother tells him he ought.”

  “What an unkind thing to say! For your information, Mr. Grant and I have much in common!”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Well, we both enjoy the country and parties,” I say rather smugly. “Besides, he has many good qualities. For one, he is very punctual and for another, he is . . . sensible.”

  “I see; punctuality and sensibility are the most important qualities you seek in the man with whom you wish to spend the rest of your life. Is that the best you can muster? If that is the case, then I fear no woman will ever think I am a suitable husband.” Edmund stretches his arms wide and fakes a loud yawn. “I think I am going to die from boredom, Emma. You have much too free a spirit to settle down with the likes of Percy Grant.”

  “Edmund, I have put off my marriage to Mr. Grant for long enough. Mother and Father will not be very pleased if I ruin their plans for me.”

  “Why must you marry at all? I do not understand the traditional mindset of having to marry at a certain age. In fact, you are still a child. You ought to travel and develop your own interests, not those defined for you by a husband, and that is exactly how it would be. I shudder at the thought of your likes and dislikes being formed for you by Percy, or his mother,” says Edmund, muffling a chuckle.

  “All of that is easy for you to say. You are a man, and as such, have an entirely different perspective of the world. You have freedom to do as you please.”

  “You could do the same,” he retorts.

  “Yes, in theory I could, but in reality the chances of my traveling is slight. In only a few short years, I would be seen as a ‘poor old maid.’ People would whisper cruel words behind my back. Besides, how would I afford to go on adventures? What little I have would dwindle away quickly, I fear."