Glimmers (17 page)

Elle is animatedly explaining a fantastical story. She has to catch her breath in between words. “I’m thinking, I’ll fly like a fairy and change that light bulb up there, once and for all!”

“That is very thoughtful of you, dear,” says my mother. “Don’t you think so, Paige?”

“Yes, she is a child after my own heart!” I say, beaming at Elle.

“You should just have Dad get a ladder and change it for you,” Liam adds helpfully.

“That’s probably a more sensible solution. I’ll mention it to your father,” I say, marveling at how much Liam is like his father—practical. How sweet.

Mom is one of those people with the natural gift to charm just about everyone around her. She’s wonderful with her grandchildren, and they adore her in return. When my children were babies, she’d hush them to sleep by whispering sweet lullabies.

I nudge Elle and Liam aside and give my mom a proper greeting.

“How was your trip?” I say, while still hugging her. Ah, she smells like a fresh bouquet of flowers.

“I barely managed to avoid rush hour traffic in Jacksonville, but I’d say it was a good drive,” Mom says cheerfully.

“I hope you’re hungry. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes!”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she says half-heartedly and lavishes more of her attention onto her grandchildren. “Will Hailey be joining us?”

“Um, I couldn’t get a hold of her. Sorry,” I say, and this is sort of the truth.

After acknowledging my absence will go unnoticed, I return to the kitchen.

“Something smells good. Is this another one of Delilah’s recipes?” inquires Elliott, finding me as I am carefully arranging each plate.

“Yes, but let’s not talk about Delilah in front of my mom.”

“Right, of course not,” he says and then whispers silently in my ear, “Any new visions today?”

“No, I had a perfectly normal day,” I say, but I must admit, I’d like to have another vision. I’m beginning to think they’re fun. It’s like watching a movie in 3D or being in a hologram. However, it’s probably best to not reveal this bit of information to Elliott. He isn’t exactly embracing my new gift like I am. He says it brings up too many questions about my health and that makes him uneasy.

My mother wanders into the kitchen. She raises her eyebrows up and throws a sly glance in my direction. “What are you cooking? I believe my mouth is starting to water!”

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment. You’ll just have to wait and see,” I chide.

“Mysterious. Have you been taking cooking classes?”

“The truth is, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Hmm, we’ll just have to see about that.” My mother looks at me curiously then shifts her attention to Elliott, “Who is this handsome fella?”

“Good to see you, Mom,” he says.

“Nobody mentioned that Paige has been learning how to cook,” my mother says, as she flutters about the kitchen. “Elliott, how did you ever manage to nudge her in that direction?”

“I didn’t have to. One day, she simply stopped burning our dinners,” Elliott says.
“Well, I’m sure you’re thankful for that,” my mother says.

“Hey, I can hear you,” I say. “And for the record, I wasn’t that bad of a cook.”

~ * * * ~

My roasted chicken is a huge success! After dinner, Elliott helps unload the remaining items from my mom’s car, most importantly, my new heirloom. Just as I had hoped, it looks fabulous in my bedroom. I hang the gilt mirror above the table, and then pull up one of my chairs. It looks amazing. I fall onto the chair and gaze into the old mirror, wondering how many women have stared in its cool surface. My mother joins me, sitting on my bed.

“You seem pleased,” she sighs with contentment. “I’m glad this piece means something to you. This heirloom has been passed down from generation to generation. It was special to your great grandmother and her mother before. Are you going to search the table for the hidden treasure?”

“Please, if there was a secret treasure inside, it would’ve been found decades ago. There’s really no point.” Later, I’ll probably search through the table thoroughly, however, I’m not about to admit that in front of my mother.

“You know, Paige, it’s practically tradition to seek out the contents of the table. Your grandmother did, and so did I,” my mother says and flashes a mischievous grin.

Not being able to stop myself, I pull out the drawer and rummage around. First, I feel along the right side, but don’t find anything. I tap my fingers along the back, still nothing. Then, I run my hand along the left side and notice the wood feels loose. A box slips out of place, and I am able to pull it out of its confined space. With feverish anticipation, I investigate the object.

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.