Emily's Song

by Christine Marciniak

“She’s not telling the truth.” His father swatted at a fly beleaguering his head.

  He’d come to that same conclusion himself.

  “Perhaps not all of it.” He thought perhaps she had been misused by some male guest at the ball, and naturally she’d make up a story to cover that. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “Don’t forget you announced your engagement to Miss Johnson last night.”

  He had been looking across the field but jerked his head toward his father. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, I saw the way you looked at Miss Parks at breakfast. Do not do anything to jeopardize your alliance with the Johnsons.”

  “Of course not, Father,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Miss Parks, whoever she was, however intriguing she might be, would be gone by this afternoon. She posed no threat to Dinah. None at all.

  Chapter Five

  Emily

  Emily followed Elizabeth to the parlor after breakfast. She’d seen parlors like it before, when touring historic homes. This was even more amazing than being in a museum, because everything was real and functional, unlike the wax fruit they’d put on tables, or the checkerboard that would be left set up with a half-finished game to make it look like a room was lived in. Here there were a couple of books stacked on an end table next to a gas lamp. There was a writing desk with a pile of correspondence on it and a jar for ink. There was a basket of embroidery on the floor by the rocking chair. The fireplace clearly was used regularly, she could smell the lingering wood smoke from it, even though it was not in use now, on a warm morning. There was even a blue parakeet in a wrought-iron cage preening himself.

  “How long have you known Dinah?”

  She really wished she’d never said she knew Dinah. It was hard enough to pretend she was from this time, even for a couple of hours, without adding that to the mix. She needed to find a way to get back to the fishpond and fast. If these people didn’t already know she was lying through her teeth, they’d figure it out pretty quickly, and their hospitality would come to an abrupt end.

  “Oh, it’s hard to say,” she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Dinah’s one of those people who once you meet them you feel you’ve known them forever.”

  Elizabeth seemed to consider this answer and apparently didn’t find it lacking, for she smiled. “How true. We can wait in here until your people come for you.”

  That would be a long wait.

  Her one hope was that the elder Marshalls and their daughter would leave before long, and then she could wander, unobserved over to the pond and dive in. Would it work? Would it take her home? If she knew for certain it would, she could enjoy her little sojourn in the past, but as it was, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but wanting to go home.

  For now, though, she needed to play the role she’d assigned herself, so she didn’t get hauled off to jail for breaking and entering before she had the chance to get back to the pond.

  “Come, sit with me.” Elizabeth sat on the horsehair sofa and patted the seat next to her expectantly. Sitting itself was slightly problematic. Mrs. Marshall, the epitome of old-fashioned grace, had not mocked her inability to work her clothing at all at breakfast but had instead given her the hint she needed to succeed. She repeated that process now, lifting the back of the hoop slightly before settling into the sofa.

  “Since you were ill, I suppose you missed the engagement announcement.” Elizabeth picked up a piece of embroidery from the basket and set to work on it.

  “Um, yes, I suppose I did.” She wished she knew how to embroider so she could have something to do with her hands. “Who got engaged?”

  Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery and frowned.

  “Why Sam and Dinah of course. You would know that, being her friend.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” So the handsome Mr. Marshall, the man of her dreams, such as they were, was not even available for her. Why else would she be dumped back more than a hundred and fifty years in the past, if not to find the one man for her? Great. She’d found him, and he belonged to someone else. “I knew about that. I thought you meant that someone else got engaged. Yourself for example.”

  Elizabeth busied herself with her embroidery again.

  “No, not me. Not yet.” She glanced at Emily, from under lowered eyelashes. “Did Dinah say anything about Joseph maybe going to make his intentions known soon?”

  She sounded so young and hopeful, Emily felt a tug at her heartstrings. “She didn’t say anything. But you know she’s been rather preoccupied.” That was a safe answer. Anyone announcing an engagement or planning a wedding was bound to be preoccupied, as she had every reason to know.

  Would Dayna and Johnson even know she was missing, or would they have left for their early flight, reasonably thinking that she was still comfortably asleep in her room? She needed to think about something else. Anything else.

  “Tell me about Joseph.” Any girl in a state of infatuation loved talking about her guy. If that wasn’t considered a universal truth, it ought to be.

  Elizabeth’s face lit up. She had a dimple on one side of her face. It was quite endearing, actually.

  “Mr. Fitzsimmons.” She gave a contended sigh. “I only call him Joseph because we’ve known each other since we were children. It’s hard to remember to be proper sometimes.”

  If she had to be proper, she wouldn’t even know the rules.

  “So, he’s your beau?” The word sounded old fashioned on her tongue, but saying anything else in this setting would have seemed ridiculous.

  “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be proposing to me any day now. Honestly,” she lowered her voice. “I thought he’d ask me last night, or at least ask Father for my hand. But, I suppose with Sam’s announcement, the timing wasn’t right. And then, there’s the war. I’m sure he’ll enlist, but will he want to get married before he leaves, or wait until he comes back?”

  Emily stopped paying attention after the word war. War.

  “He died in the Civil War.” The inn owner had told her. That handsome, young, dynamic man who had smiled at her at breakfast, and, her cheeks flushed, who had discovered her last night, though she still held out hope that she had dreamt part of that. He was so alive now. But he would die in the war. And the war was starting. Now.

  “He’s going to go off to war?” She struggled to keep her voice even.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “He hasn’t enlisted yet, but as soon as he figures out which side to join, I’m sure he will.”

  “Which side?” She echoed faintly. She knew her history, at least to a point. Maryland had been a Union State during the Civil War. She was fairly certain she was still in Maryland. Other things from history lectures over the years came back to her. The people of Maryland were very divided, many young men crossed the border to Virginia to fight for the Confederacy.

  What side would Samuel Marshall be fighting for when he died?

  It didn’t matter, of course. He’d be just as dead and she’d be far away and back home.

  “I don’t pretend to understand it all,” Elizabeth said as she stabbed her needle into the linen. “All the menfolk can think about anymore is war. Frankly, I’m getting tired of it. I hope it’s over quickly so things can get back to normal.”

  Four years. That’s how long the war would last. Four long and bloody years. Things would never be normal again. Not the way that Elizabeth meant. She didn’t say anything though. What could she say that wouldn’t make her appear like some sort of lunatic?

  “Why are you going to Frederick with your parents?” She turned the conversation from talk of war. “If Jo…Mr. Fitzsimmons is here, why go there?”

  Elizabeth tossed her curls casually behind her shoulder. “The parties here are boring. All the men are leaving.”

  “Do you think there will be more men in Frederick?” What she didn’t ask was if she was so sure of Joseph, wh
y be so concerned about the lack of men?

  “One can always hope.”

  Mrs. Marshall glided into the parlor. “I hope you are making our guest welcome, Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Elizabeth kept her eyes on her embroidery. Emily took that bit of body language to mean that she didn’t want to discuss men in front of her mother. She didn’t blame her in the least.

  Mrs. Marshall, with her gray-streaked hair in a tidy bun, turned to Emily. “Beck tells me the dress you wore last night is quite damaged. I suppose you can send this one to Elizabeth in Frederick once you get home.”

  “Oh, let her keep it,” Elizabeth said with a casual flip of her hand. “It’s last year’s style, and those colors never looked right on me anyway.”

  Mrs. Marshall’s lips tightened to a thin line. Emily suspected she had a better sense of possible economic hardships to come than her daughter did. She’d happily promise to send the dress back, but that might prove impossible, so she simply thanked Elizabeth for her generosity.

  “Should we send someone with a message that you are here?” Mrs. Marshall folded her hands in front of her, waiting for an answer.

  Oh, if only they could. Emily forced a smile. “I’m sure someone will be here within an hour. There’s no need to trouble yourself. Unless, of course you want me gone before then?” She really hoped they didn’t. It would be so much easier to get to the fish pond if she could stay nearby until she had a chance to jump back in. And when she emerged from the water, she’d be back in her own time and have no need to bother these fine people anymore. That had to be what would happen. It was the only thing that made sense. Making sense, being relative in this case.

  “You can stay as long as you need. Perhaps we should delay our departure until someone comes for you.” From the way Mrs. Marshall hesitated before suggesting it, Emily could tell that was not what she wanted to do.

  “That’s not necessary. Really. I don’t want to inconvenience you anymore than I already have.”

  Mrs. Marshall’s face relaxed. “Elizabeth, you should go make sure that Hannah is packing what you need.”

  Elizabeth put aside her embroidery and headed up the stairs. Mrs. Marshall took the seat her daughter had vacated and faced Emily. She folded her hands primly in her lap, and Emily got the uncomfortable sensation she was about to be interrogated.

  “You were at the ball as a guest of Miss Johnson’s?”

  The only way forward here was to be consistent with the story she’d already told. Besides, by the time they could check it, she’d be long gone.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She never called any one ma’am, but something about the clothes and the setting made it seem appropriate. “I hope you don’t mind that she invited me.” Maybe it was better to go on the offensive here. “She wanted me to meet Sam, since she’d be marrying him, and we are such good friends.”

  “Odd that we never met you before.” There was a distinct hardness to Mrs. Marshall’s voice.

  Emily affected her most innocent look, eyes wide, smile unforced. “It is, isn’t it? Funny how that happens. How two people can know a third but yet never meet?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Marshall looked momentarily flustered, fidgeting with her fingers and blinking rapidly. “Yes, that’s quite true. I am sorry you weren’t feeling well yesterday. You are much better this morning, I presume.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you. The delicious breakfast certainly helped. I appreciate your hospitality.”

  Mrs. Marshall wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. “Perhaps we should send word to the Johnsons that you are here.”

  “Really, it’s not necessary.” Because they wouldn’t care in the least, not having the slightest idea who she was. “You’ve done more than enough already. I don’t want to be underfoot. In fact, why don’t I go sit on the porch and wait for my ride? That will leave you free to get ready to go without having to worry about me.”

  Mrs. Marshall put up a small protest, but ultimately that plan seemed to work for everyone and Emily rather enjoyed sitting on the rocking chair on the porch, listening to the quiet that existed a hundred and fifty years ago. There were no car tires kicking up gravel, no motors, no radios blasting, no airplanes overhead.

  There were also no modern bathrooms, and she had lasted as long as she could. She needed to find an outhouse, or whatever passed for it. Beck, brought her a glass of lemonade, but she couldn’t consider even taking a sip until she had relieved herself.

  “Excuse me, is there an outhouse or something I can use?”

  “Out back by the kitchen,” Beck answered, barely making eye contact.

  “Would you mind much showing me where that is?”

  “Yes, miss, follow me,” she said, and tried to hide a sigh.

  Emily followed her through the house, past the paintings in the hall. How long had those portraits hung in those same spots? Beck led her out back to a small whitewashed building a short distance from the main house. She had been expecting something from Little House in the Prairie with a half moon in the door and corn cobs for wiping purposes, a situation she was not looking forward to. She held her breath as she opened the door, anticipating a smell much like a port-a-potty at a concert, but while she could detect the lime used to sanitize, the odor wasn’t that overpowering. The small room was whitewashed inside as well, and there was a window near the ceiling in the back to let in light. A lantern on a shelf would provide light at night. There was even a small open-topped box with what, thank the good lord, looked like toilet paper.

  She tried to hitch the dress up, but if the front went up, the back went down. She decided it was more important to have the back up, and suddenly she was very grateful for the bloomers with the split. She’d never have been able to get panties down without help. As she sat and relieved herself, she wished Dayna were here, not only to help her, after all, fair was fair, but in order to witness this incredible world. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be so incredible for her. She wouldn’t be treated as a visiting guest, but as a slave.

  Finally, she finished what she had to do and got her clothing situated once more. Either this got easier with practice, or people waited until they were fairly bursting before bothering to go. Luckily, she wouldn’t need to find out. She looked for a spot to wash her hands, and not seeing one decided her next stop, before going back to the porch to drink her lemonade was back to the bedroom she’d spent the night in. She could use the wash basin there.

  She found the room with no problem. She hadn’t been wrong when she’d gone to the first room at the top of the back stairs last night. That had been the room she’d been assigned. She was tempted to open the door and look at it again, see if it offered any clues to her present situation, but she heard voices coming up the stairs and decided not to risk it, not yet.

  She ducked back into her own room, at least if found there she’d have to come up with no excuses.

  “I’d feel better about things if Miss Parks was safely on her way home before we left,” Mrs. Marshall’s voice drifted down the hall.

  “Sam can deal with it.” Mr. Marshall sounded like a man who had bigger things to worry about. “We need to be on our way. Waiting for Elizabeth to be ready has already delayed us longer than I would have liked.”

  A door closed. and she figured they must have gone into their own bedroom. She went back downstairs and out to the porch to drink her lemonade.

  Really it was a fascinating thing, being here. She’d always loved historical homes and places where people dressed up to try to recreate a lost time. But this was real. At living history museums, she could never quite get past the fact that everyone was acting a part, and it made the past seem very distant. Here, people were basically the same, except clothes and technology were different. She glanced out at the fields. And slaves. That was different as well.

  How had she gotten here? She sipped her lemonade, and the sunlight glanced off the gold of her ring. What had happened to the silver? How did a metal just dissolve? What h
ad happened in that fish pond? How did it work? Perhaps it was like the wardrobe that led to Narnia. The fish pond was a portal to another world and time. She had to go back into the fish pond, like going back through the wardrobe, and she’d be home in her own time. Perhaps the silver had been the price of admission so to speak. Maybe the gold would disappear on the way home. She’d have a hard time explaining to her father what happened to the ring he gave her, but it would be harder to have them wonder what happened to her if she didn’t get back home, and soon.

  The quiet was refreshing, but as she closed her eyes and breathed in fresh air, unpolluted by cars and asphalt, she realized it wasn’t exactly silent. The birds sang loudly; she barely noticed them at home. In the distance people called to each other, presumably the slaves at work. Thumping and clanking came from the stables. Perhaps someone tossing hay, cleaning up the dirty, putting in new. The clanking could be someone getting the carriage ready. The fresh air wasn’t particularly fresh either. With a deep breath she caught smells from the stable of horse and hay and manure. Bread baking and ham roasting provided a more pleasant aroma.

  She opened her eyes again as the family joined her on the porch.

  “Your people have not come yet?” Mrs. Marshall adjusted her be-feathered bonnet.

  “Not yet.” She put down her glass of lemonade and stood to see them off. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

  “If you need anything before they get here, be sure to ask Beck.” Mr. Marshall pulled kid leather gloves over his hands.

  “I’ll do that,” Emily assured him. “And thank you so much for your hospitality.”

  Elizabeth was the only one to look her straight in the eye and smile. “It was delightful to meet you. Hopefully at the next ball you won’t feel ill.”

  The odds of Emily ever seeing them again were very slim, but since she had told them she was friends with Sam’s fiancée, it wasn’t unreasonable for them to assume. She returned the smile. “Hopefully.”

  Sam helped his mother and sister into the carriage, shook hands with his father, and stood back as the carriage rode off down the drive. He came back onto the porch and sat beside her.