The First Musical: Chapter Four: Johnathan, Part 3

The girl auditioning had a flighty little voice. I marked her sheet chorus in the event she made the cut. Chorus didn’t have a lot of parts but there would be quite a few of them for the scenes in which they did appear. Her voice wasn’t strong or powerful even with the microphone on her ear. I wasn’t even sure I was going to cast her, but I always felt badly for dismissing people before they were done. Given my latest actions, I didn’t want to feel worse than I already did.

When the mousy thing finally finished, I thanked her, calling forth the next person.

The college had allowed me to use one of the smaller auditoriums as I planned to cast mostly students in the production. There was a small balcony, but no orchestra pit, and the seats needed to be replaced. Even the walls were drab and dated. The stage, at least, was in decent condition with a beautifully carved—though faded—proscenium.

Carmen sauntered onto the stage, her blond locks pulled back into a high ponytail.

“I’ll be auditioning for the lead,” she said, as though I didn’t know already.

“You don’t even know what the available roles are.”

“I know there has to be a lead female role of some kind.”

“The production is entitled Musical as there is no other title given to it. You may claim to audition for the lead, but I will ultimately decide if you make the production at all.”

“I realize that,” she answered. “I’ll start now.”

And she did. Her voice had a certain beauty to it, but there wasn’t anything raw about it. She was trained to sing, and in that training, she seemed to have lost the soul of her voice. I marked Carmen down in one of the two secondary roles. It would suit her, playing one of the best friends to Gisele’s lead. Hopefully it would minimize damage control as she would be the better of the two.

“Thank you, and we’ll be in touch,” I said, as I had for probably the thirtieth time that night. “Next?”

A few people later, Baron stepped onto the stage. He had a demanding yet unassuming presence, standing with his feet apart and his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Sing a few lines from your favorite song.”

Shrugging, he began a country song; I was right about him. He had a great baritone voice. If I needed, he could probably hit most of the tenor and bass ranges. I marked him down for the male lead’s friend.

“Did you want a part?”

“I don’t care,” he said, shrugging again. “Did she audition?”

“Yes, she auditioned,” I said, adding a question mark to his sheet and setting it off to the side. “Thank you, we’ll be in touch. Next?”

From there the auditions went downhill. It seemed every person who had ever thought they might be able to sing came. I was somewhat grateful, though. It meant I had more time to think about Gisele and how I would begin her rehearsals.

We could start right into the thick of it, but that would be impossible. It would be giving her a crutch without her realizing it. Then when her rehearsals coincided with everyone else’s, we wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch. Next?”

I had a month with her. In that time, she had to learn to trust me as well as herself. The production would fall apart if she didn’t trust especially herself. Trusting me was just a bonus. There had to be a balance between working on the music and working on her self-esteem. I didn’t yet know where that was.

“…Next?”

A Tale of Two, Excerpt 4

Caroline Smith

152 Country Lane

Alpena, Michigan, America

August 25, 1892

Beloved Caroline,

Thank you for your letters. Thank you for remembering me. I am preparing to cross the great Atlantic Ocean so I may join you and your family in Michigan. There is no need for your father to travel such a distance to New York to retrieve me. I have more than enough for the full journey.

Mother passed shortly after you left for America, and Father passed earlier this month. Mildred was wed yesterday; it was in Father’s will for her to marry, to celebrate his death by taking vows he took years ago rather than mourn him and put it off forever. William and Mildred are wonderful together, and so happy. Looking at them makes me yearn to be near you again.

There is nothing I want here, so I have given the physical assets of my inheritance to Mildred and William as a wedding gift. Mildred wants to live in London and raise her children as we were raised in the same house, so the estate will stay in the family for some time. William would be foolish to go against her on this.

I kept the rest of my inheritance for the journey to America and to start a comfortable life there. Perhaps I will start my own business as my father did here. Mildred insists I stay a while longer; I must comply, in large part because my boat to America doesn’t depart for a week. Granted, by the time you receive this, I will be on my way.

Be sure to tell John to shape up or I’ll have to crack down on him. Tell Marie I’ll give her a story twice a day when I arrive, and thank your parents for their thoughtfulness. As for you, Caroline, I love you. I have since the day I saw you in the market. Now I’m following my heart, for it’s gone to America. I ask a favor of you: don’t promise yourself to anyone as of yet.

If I could, I would appreciate staying with your family until I have my own home. Please also tell your father that I will gladly take the farmhand job, if it’s still available, until I know what I’ll do longer-term for income. Father taught me never to fear hard work.

Oh, Meagan married in May, before Mother’s death, to a British gentleman. And she is with child, a fact of which she is very proud. She wishes Mildred to hurry and join her in expecting a child so their children can grow up together. There is never a dull moment here it seems, nor in America from the sound of your writing.

I shall hope to see you again soon. Until then, I send my love to you.

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

A Tale of Two, Excerpt 3

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

July 20, 1892

My dearest Josef,

I realize it has been a long while since last I have written. I am dearly sorry. It has not been easy. John has been difficult, but Father has promised him a more canvas and some paints if he helps with the chores. We own 500 acres of land. It was more expensive than rumor, but we are living on some of the most fertile land available. Father hopes to purchase another 500 acres in the next year.

Our new home was finished last week. Father recruited some men from the nearby town to help. He initially sought John’s help, but then conceded for most of the construction. John was pleased and spent time drawing the lake animals he sees. The folk in town have warned us winter is fierce this far north. Mother started working as a seamstress so she could afford fabrics for winter clothing. Father has found work in odd jobs and as a farmhand to our neighbor in the east. It is too late in the season for summer crops and too early for winter crops, so these jobs shall support us. I am aiding with the income, working as a maid to a wealthier couple in town. Mother insists I stop, but their wages combined are not near enough to cover the price of food and clothing, John and Marie are growing out of everything they own. Father makes one dollar and fifty cents (the American currency) a day, plus whatever he is paid for odd jobs; Mother makes seventy-five cents a day. Both work every day.

Marie has taken to playing by the lake with John. You should see them. Both have skin as tan as the Indians. Mother says it is a sign of good health and youth. She wishes she could stay in the sun all day instead of work in the musty shop of Madame Coutier. She is French, but one of the best seamstresses I have ever seen. She works quickly and accurately. Mother struggles to keep up.

Father still wishes you join us. He says there is room for another at Mr. McGreggor’s farm, should you be interested; I know it is different work than to which you’re accustomed. John says he is too creative and young to work right now, but Father encourages him to take up an apprenticeship in the spring.

John ignores Father when he tries to show him skills and trades. He would rather be a boy the rest of his life than do any work. Mother is too exasperated with him to begin to point out what we have been through and what he must do to help. I have tried many times and failed. John only wants to paint and write and play. Father is worried he will amount to nothing, never marry, and live at home forever under the protection of Mother and him. He fears most for when he and Mother pass to the heavens and John is still acting like a boy. I know from the way his brow furrows at supper this troubles him greatly, and from the way he glances at me, that I am his hope for John. That if they should leave the earth I should take care of him, but he is too polite to impose. Marie also knows he is worried about John, but John refuses to think anything of it. He is convinced Father hates him. I fear this shall become true if he does not come out of his conceited dream. He is not aware of it, but he is destroying us in this new land.

Marie is learning to sew. Most nights, Mother is too exhausted to show her, so I teach her as I was taught. I am tired when night falls, but her energy and eagerness to learn is enough to keep me up for hours teaching her on scrap cloth. Mother is impressed, I can tell by the way she beams in the candlelight the next morning looking over Marie’s work. I am pleased as well. Neither of us knew how quickly Marie would learn; she will best me before long.

My work is hard, but I am paid well. Fifty cents a day, in fact. I work from sunup to sundown, nearly twelve hours a day. And when the lady, Mrs. Johnson, has her child, I will have to stay nights to tend to it. The child is due next month. Her midwife predicts a girl. The Johnsons will be joyous when the child joins their family.

Most of the time, Mrs. Johnson is by herself while her husband does business in New York and other cities along the coast. She sits mostly in her room because she is with child. I tend to her needs while the other maid cleans and prepares the child’s room. They also have a chef who cooks every meal as well as shops in the markets each morning. Sometimes, Mrs. Johnson invites me to dinner. This is only when her husband is away and she craves company. They have sumptuous food. I’ve had dishes I never knew existed. Mrs. Johnson inquires frequently of my past. She knows there is someone special to me back home. She says she can tell by the glow in my eyes when I speak of home.

Mother is pleased with my earnings. She believes I only make three dollars a week. I have not told anyone but you that I make three dollars and fifty cents a week. I hide the extra fifty cents in the jewelry box you gifted me. Yes, I still have it with me. I’ve saved five dollars; I am saving for something special.

I hope this update does not bore you. There are many young men here, but none know me as you do. You are the only one to whom I can entrust my true feelings. It is difficult here, but easier than in England. We can survive month to month without worrying from where the money is coming to pay for our needs. I miss you terribly.

I pray you come to America. If you decide to come, inform us. Father will use some of what remains of our savings to meet you at the port and bring you to Michigan. There is plenty of room for another.

Please write back. I miss you too much.

Always with love,

Caroline Smith

152 Country Lane

Alpena, Michigan, America

A Tale of Two, Excerpt 2

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

May 10, 1892

Dearest Josef,

We found land the day after my last letter to you. Yesterday we left Ellis Island. For every kind person we encountered there, we met several more who were weary and unpleasant. Thankfully we hadn’t needed to stay long, Mother had all our paperwork in order, and the medical tests were short, given we all are in good health. The literacy tests were quite simple for us, though I know others from our ship struggled. Marie had some difficulty, but she is only a child of six. It was expected. For her age, though, she did extremely well. And John informed me he found the test unbearably dull. He thinks they should tell fascinating stories of old instead of political accounts.

Father is purchasing a ticket to Michigan. The gossips were correct; there is no land available near where we arrived. All of the land is in the west. Because of the Gold Rush and Transcontinental Railroad, it has opened for settlement. There is lots of land for little money, or so we are told. The trick is having enough to get there. We are not taking the Transcontinental for it begins in a place called Omaha and goes to California, a place where the streets are rumored to be paved in gold. We will travel on a different locomotive. (We are lucky it has not left yet.) But Father says a ticket that far is too expensive. One day when I am wed, he says, he will pay for two tickets so that my spouse and I may live by the ocean in wealth and happiness. He does not understand that I love the country. It is all I know. As I sit here in this crowded place writing you, I feel at a loss. There are so many people; the streets are filthy and reek with the smell of waste. People dash from one place to another and dress strangely. Why would I want to live in a place such as this?

Father will purchase land by the lakes in Michigan and build Mother a new home. John is dreading this, often questioning why we cannot live in town. They fight more everyday, Father and John. I begin to think Father is ashamed of him. I do not understand why, though, when John is so talented in other careers. But it is not my place to wonder.

Mother wishes you well, and Father bids you join us. He has offered to pay your ticket to Michigan if you can find a way to America. And he will aid in building you a house, as well as give you some of the land he intends to buy.

Everyday Marie begs to hear a story. She misses your fanciful tales of knights and dragons. I am not good at that sort of thing. And John misses you dearly. You were a role model to him, following your heart as you do. But he misses how you drew Father’s attention away from him. Forgive my brother for such selfishness, but he does not like it when Father nags him.

We are preparing to leave. Father is dreadfully confused. The language is similar, yet so different. I am mailing this from New York, and promise to write from Michigan. By then, we shall own land, a home, and maybe an address so you can write.

I am dreadfully sorry this takes so long. It is not an easy journey. I shall explain more in my next letter.

Loving you always,

Caroline Smith

New York City, New York, America

A Tale of Two, Excerpt 1

Josef Calloway

1325 Queens Avenue

London, England

May 6, 1892

Dearest Josef,

There is little light to write by, and the horrible rocking of this dreadful ship shakes my pen. Father was foolish in spending so much for such an unworthy vessel, especially when we are saving money for other things. Every day the weather grows worse around us, and Marie prays alongside Mother that God spare us. There are some days when we fear the ship will capsize.

On days like these, I long for the quiet countryside of England. I miss the feel of solid ground beneath me. Fear overcomes me. Land should have been spotted days ago, but still all we see is the same gray waters lapping at the ship’s side.

Everyone hopes you are well, especially John. He hopes you will follow us soon. He fears plowing the fields Father intends to purchase when we arrive. I laughed when he first brought this to my attention. Still, John fears Father. He thinks Father despises him for being weak and preferring the arts to agriculture.

If you should follow us, I bid you find a seaworthy ship, one more suited to passengers. Our community quarters are in the cargo hold, and most of us are forbidden to go to the upper decks. Sickness spreads in the filth like a wildfire. Several lie ill in beds made from spare blankets and luggage.

I miss you dearly. Once we arrive, if ever we do, I shall inform you of our plans, so you may attempt to contact us. From what I hear, farmland is scarce where we will port. We can only hope we won’t have to travel far. Please know that I am well.

Love always,

Caroline Smith

The S. S. Sarah

A Tale of Two, Part 7: Caroline, Josef

September 13, 1891

Soon it shall no longer be the thirteenth, but it shall be the fourteenth. That is the wonder of city parties. They go on for hours, never seeming to end. If Josef were still with me, he might remark that I am glowing. The dress he provided me with is perhaps the best I shall ever wear. Oh how I wish the night had never ended. Granted Father will probably have me married to Paul Brown before the new year has settled, I cannot help but long for Josef. My dowry is meager, so the chances of such a match are likewise.

September 14, 1891

The night could not have been more splendid if it tried with all of God’s will behind it! Caroline was a vision of beauty, grace, humor, intelligence…the list goes on! What she was not was everything a jealous woman might be.

…

A Tale of Two, Part 6: Josef

September 12, 1891

It is absolute perfection! The dress she will wear, her smile, her hair, everything about her!

She said yes!

I dreaded meeting her today, dreading rejection. Her mother directed me to the meadow with the yellowish green grass and wilting flowers. Caroline was in the same place I found her last time. Another book, something more worn this time, curled up on a branch of the changing oak. For the longest time I watched her sitting there read.

She is gorgeous. The sun seemed to rest only on her; the wind combed through her hair. A smile played across her face every once and a while as she read.

I stood there, unmoving, afraid I would find it all a dream.

“Josef?” she asked.

At first, I didn’t hear. She repeated my name, her soft voice cutting through the crisp air.

“Yes?” I finally found my voice.

Caroline smiled brightly, as if she had been awaiting this moment. She hid her book as I advanced on the tree.

“I was wondering when you would come,” she said, slipping from the branch into my arms. She let me hold her in my arms briefly, but then moved away as if something were wrong.

“I’m here now,” I said as she slowly walked around the trunk of the oak.

“Yes; you are.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Yes…I mean no…I mean…”

My heart pounded in my chest.  Something was wrong; she was losing confidence. Losing her easy nature.

I followed her around the tree, trying not to let on to my insecurity.

“Nothing is the matter. It’s just…”

“Do I intimidate you?”

“You asked me that last time.”

“Has your answer changed?”

When she finally responded, she said, “I don’t know.”

“Why is that?” I asked more calmly than I felt. Hundreds of emotions bombarded me at once and I barely dared to hope this meant she felt the same.

“I don’t know.”

“Does your heart race when I’m near?” I asked, my hand touching hers.

Caroline jumped away from me, walking off a ways and clutching her hand to her chest. “No,” she said quickly. “Not at all.”

Some part of me longed to tell her how she made me feel, though I knew she would become uncomfortable. More so than she was already. The rest of me wanted to leave it be. To have her answer and be on with life.

I stayed near the tree, though I yearned to hold her again in my arms. “I meant no offense. I was curious to know if it happened to you as well.”

“What do you mean?” Caroline turned to me but kept her distance.

“It seems I suffer from a desiring heart. Anytime I am near you, or think of you, my heart soars and my mind struggles to sound intelligible.”

“Why do you tell me this?” she asked softly, as though each word was an admission.

“Because I want you to know. I want…I want you, and all the joys you bring me. It is…you delight me so, and I want to feel that way always.”

Caroline twisted where she stood, as though thinking and rethinking to run from me. She stopped, facing neither me nor the direction of the homestead. “I don’t know what to say; I never do around you. I feel lost.” Her hands were white from squeezing each other. “No one has ever made me feel this confused; joyous and worried, grateful and untrusting…there are so many emotions and thoughts…I don’t know what to do.” Tears brimmed her cinnamon eyes.

I started toward her, unable to bear the sight of her distressed, but was surprised when she ran to me and cried into my shoulder. She apologized repeatedly. My arms held her close to me; I comforted her, whispering everything was all right.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry. It is all my fault,” she whispered.

“No…it is all mine.” I could not believe I had made her cry! This had not been my intention.

“You must think me ridiculous,” Caroline said, wiping away her tears and stepping out of my arms. “Mother would be disappointed in me…crying in front of a guest. And a gentleman, no less.”

“Then she shall not know. It’s my fault, after all.”

“It isn’t, really, though I suppose there’s no point in arguing.” She laughed, fanning her face with her hands. “I really am sorry. I’ve no idea what came over me.”

“I don’t mind; I quite liked your nearness.”

For a moment, all she did was smile at me. “I quite liked your nearness, as well. Though I must be mad; from tears to joy in moments. I can’t say what will be next.”

“Then we must both be mad.”

She returned my smile, the color evening across her face again.

“I have thought about your proposal.” Her arms crossed under her bosom and her gaze cast downward.

“You have decided it’s too much trouble then.” My eyes turned to my shoes as I kicked a small rock. It had been too much to hope.

“To the contrary;” she stepped towards me, dropping her arms and lifting her wide eyes to my face. “If the offer still stands, I should like to attend with you.”

It is difficult for me to describe the emotions that cascaded through me at her words. All of this joy swelled in my chest; my heart felt as though it had flown to the moon. My stomach all but disappeared somewhere below the earth. If it had not been attached, my head would surely have flown into the air screaming with exultance.

“The offer stands; I would never dream of going with another.”

And that, journal, is how Caroline agreed to be my companion for Father’s ball, making me, officially, the luckiest man in England.

A Tale of Two, Part 5: Josef

September 11, 1891

I must restrain myself from stealing away to her again. Truly, the only reason I went yesterday was because I longed to be near her. Mother still is unwell so no one but you knows my secret. Father may know soon if he does not dismiss it as a charity. With as preoccupied as he has been lately, I would not be surprised if he does. He has been preparing a ball with his business partner and it, in addition to my mother’s illness, has him stressed. He hardly noticed my absence yesterday.

Oh, it is taking all of my strength to keep from going to her. I wish she would come to me, but that is not possible given her responsibilities.

I hope she decides to attend the ball with me. If not, Father will force me to go with Abigail Jones. Not that she is unpleasant and well bred. It is that she gossips incessantly. She is so absorbed in her own world that nothing outside of it affects her. Heaven forbid if it should.

Caroline is so…different. There’s an easiness about her. She could make Father relax if ever they meet. It is her nature to be calming. I am certain she has many suitors, many in her social class no doubt. I hope it is not too late for me.

A Tale of Two, Part 4: Caroline

September 10, 1891

Mr. Calloway visited our farm today. I had not been aware he was coming, nor that he had arrived until midday when Father came in from the fields with our guest. I was preparing lunch for Mother, John, Marie, and myself when he unexpectedly returned. Father normally worked the fields from sunrise to sunset, when he could see what he was doing no longer.

“Margaret, Marie, John, Caroline! We have a guest,” he called, shutting the front door with a heavy thud.

I started toward the living room, but shied into the shadows when I saw our guest. Marie bounced before him; John stood there, hands shoved so far in his pockets he might have punched holes in them, and said, “We met him a fair few days ago, Papa. At the market when Caroline took us shopping with her. He lives in town.”

“Yup,” Marie agreed as Mother joined them. “He was really nice to Caroline. He said he hoped to see her again. He kept on smiling at her and made her cheeks turn red. I thought it was funny.”

I listened to them from back in the kitchen, slowly preparing the rest of lunch, adding more to accommodate Father and Mr. Calloway.

“So you have all met?”

“Yes, sir,” John replied as Marie said, “Yup.”

“It is a delight to meet you again, Marie and John.”

I could imagine Marie beaming and John sulking.

“This is my wife, Mrs. Smith.”

“Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Tis a pleasure to have you with us,” Mother said. “It is not often we have young men come to call.”

“It is not often they visit the countryside,” Mr. Calloway mused.

Mother and Father laughed. I didn’t know what to do. My heart was pounding rapidly in my chest again and my stomach felt as if it were flying and sinking into my feet simultaneously.

Mother excused herself and came into the kitchen. “Is everything ready?”

“The bread and cheese are in the basket, and the soup is just about finished.”

“Very good, Caroline.”

“Will you finish the soup? I have some chores to finish.”

“We have company, dear.”

“I shan’t be long. I promise.” I slipped off my apron and hurried outside the back way before she could object or grant permission. I had completed my chores at dawn, as Father demanded, but a part of me wanted to be away for a while. Away from Mr. Calloway.

Part of our fields Father kept as pasture for our few heads of livestock. Flowers were long gone from sight, but the pasture grass was still green. I made my way to the tree on the other side. I sang to myself as I climbed into the lower branches and pulled my book from an unused hollow. I am not sure how long read; to me, it seemed they would only have begun lunch, but my sense of time was almost as good as my haggling technique.

“How does one find themselves in a tree with a book? Particularly a lady?”

I nearly fell from my perch. My hand flew to the locket at my throat so as to stop my heart from bursting forth.

He laughed goodheartedly. “I am dreadfully sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

“Well, you did, Mr. Calloway, very much so. And I do not understand your humor,” I said rather sourly.

“Do not be mad, dear Caroline.”

I was utterly confused. Why would he refer to me in such a way? Gentlemen did not show such favor to a farmer’s daughter.

“What would you like?” I asked, very much glad I was in the tree.

“Three things if you do not mind my asking.”

“I am indebted to you. I have no choice.”

“If you prefer to view it that way. First, I would like it very much if you came down from there.”

Reluctantly, I slid my book back into its burrow. Mr. Calloway held out his arms and I slid off the branch into them.

“Very well then, Mr. Calloway. What is your second demand?” I asked, stepping away from him and straightening my skirts.

“Secondly, I would like you to call me Josef.”

“It is highly irregular—”

“Please?”

I breathed deeply, wishing he could have demanded something that would not get me into trouble. “Very well…Josef. And your third demand?”

“Would you honor me by attending a certain party at my side?”

“Such a decision is not up to me. You must speak with my father.”

“I already have. He gives you permission to go. But I would like to know if you want to go.”

I was taken aback. Did I want to go? “I would have to consider it. But even if I decided to go, I would not have anything grand enough to wear.”

“I shall see to that. As for an answer, the party is in three days’ time. I shall return for a reply in two. Is that time enough?”

“More than enough.”

“I should hope you decide to attend.”

“I am very much flattered at your invitation…Josef.”

“Now is that not better than Mr. Calloway.”

I giggled. It did feel better, more relaxed than Mr. Calloway. But I was not ready for him to know that. “I should head back. They will wonder where I have gone.”

“They already know, Caroline. How do you think I found you?”

“Of course, I should have known.”

“Your mother suggested I start here, at your hide-away. Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” I said aloud as my mind screamed, “Yes!”

“That is good. I should hate to think someone is afraid of me.”

Not afraid, I thought, unsure of what is going on inside myself when I am near you. “No one could fear you,” I whispered, looking at my hands folded neatly before me.

“Is that so?”

“I believe so.”

He smiled. “May I walk you home?”

“If you would like.”

“I would, very much so.”

I smiled, controlling the emotions bubbling inside me. We did not speak as we walked. He was hesitant; I felt him looking at me every now and then and saw him open his mouth as if to say something. At the house, he promised to return soon. I am not sure if this excited or frightened me. My emotions confuse me greatly.

Mother beckons me to help with sewing Marie’s birthday dress. I can hardly believe she is nearly six years old! My how time flies.

A Tale of Two, Part 3: Josef

September 4, 1891

Father recently presented me with this journal. Very well, it is only recently if you consider the word loosely. It has been almost two years since he has gifted this to me, yet you are the first page I am to fill. This is because I have a secret I must keep from Father. When Mother is better I shall inform her, but until then, you are the only one to know.

I fear if I told Father he would quietly accept it, then lash out in some way. He wants me to marry Isabelle, his Spanish business partner’s daughter. I find her obnoxious. She rambles away in Spanish and refuses any attempts made at teaching her English. This despite my efforts to gain some mastery of Spanish.

Father must not know I have found another to whom my heart calls. It sounds crazy, but I have, and I barely know her. Father would never approve, especially as she is a farmer’s daughter. But she is as beautiful as the moon and stars at night, her heart is as glorious as the good Lord’s, and her smile makes the sun envious. She is everything beauty should be. Her siblings are troublesome, but she hides her exasperation from them, showing them only kind words and empty threats. They have no idea what they have. She is wonderful.

I met her today at the market. I saw her distress when the baker would not lower his prices for her and bought her bread. She was reluctant to take it, but then what is a woman to think when a strange man purchases her food without mentioning debt? I walked with her, felt her uneasiness. Especially when I assumed John and Marie were her children. Can you fault me? A beauty such as herself is normally married young.

My heart raced all the while she was near me. I could not help but long for it to do so forevermore. She does not know but I intend to see her everyday possible.  She lives on the Smith farm with her mother and father, yet she appears as delicate as any city girl. I would love to make her mine. I intend to woo her.

Love is called Caroline Smith.

A Tale of Two, Part 2: Caroline

September 4, 1891

Father made me go into the city today. Because Mother is away at work, we cannot bother her with such a menial task, and Father must tend to the fields; it is my job to purchase food for the next week. He has given me seven pounds and sent Marie and John with me. I only hoped they would not find trouble.

I should have known better.

John ran off to watch the artists as soon as he spotted them in the square, and Marie went to touch the jewelry for sale. Both of them were reluctant to leave their fascinations. This was only the start of my frustrations.

John had hidden charcoal and paper inside his coat and began to copy an artist’s painting. The artist nearly took off his head, he was so angry. Then John thought it would be wonderful to draw an artist. Only, when the artist kept working, John became frustrated and asked if he could hold still. If I had not been there to intervene, I do not know what would have become of John. And Marie, oh do not start me!

She thought she would see what I thought of a bracelet she was going to purchase with the small allowance Mother provides her monthly, and ran away from the cart with it in her hand. The woman was incensed, but pardoned it on account of Marie’s age. The jewelry cost her everything she had. Father would not be pleased with all the mischief they were causing.

I finally convinced them to play with a group of children who were in the square with their mother; they were neighbors of ours.

The shopping was difficult. I had to haggle with several of the sellers to afford food for the week. It should not surprise you I was horrible at this and ended up spending much more than Mother would have on some items. They are horrible people, those in the London market. If they could help it, they would not spare me halfpence.

It was the last seller who gave me the most trouble. I had only a bit left to spend and he would not lower his price. I was ready to concede when a kind gentleman approached us and asked after the problem.

“This woman has not the money to pay for my bread. She wants me to lower my price but cannot give me good enough a reason to.”

“I shall purchase it then,” he said reaching into his jacket for his coin purse.

“I do not need it that badly,” I hurriedly said, turning to leave.

“No, I insist. A meal is nothing without bread.”

The seller handed him the bread in exchange for the money. The gentleman handed me the bread. When I did not accept it, he placed it in Mother’s shopping sack with the rest of our goods.

“Thank you,” I said, gazing down. The hair on the back of my neck was raised as he continued to stand there considering me.nMother had warned me of men purchasing things for women they have never before seen. He wanted something.

The laughter of children running past stirred me. Everything was bought; now I needed to locate John and Marie and return home to start supper.

He followed me as I walked through the streets searching for them.

“For whom are you searching?”

“John and Marie,” I replied, not noticing I had spoken.

His head bobbed up and down as if he understood.

“Your children?”

I looked at him properly for the first time, my eyes large.

“Not your children.”

“I am dreadfully sorry; that was rude.” My cheeks burned.

“Not at all. It was my fault for assuming.”

“Caroline! Caroline!” Marie shouted, running down the street toward me. I knelt to pick her up.

“What is it?”

“John was chasing me with Robert’s knife.”

“Now why would he do that?”

She shrugged. “Robert told him I was an Indian, like the ones in America, and he needed to scalp me. Then he handed him a knife and he chased me.”

John came running up then, stopping dead in front of me and trying fruitlessly to hide the knife behind him.

“Hand it over, John.”

“But Robert said I was to scalp Marie for being a savage.”

“I do not care what Robert said. Hand it over.”

“But…”

“Do you want me to tell Father?”

“Oh, all right.”

Marie stood beside me as I set the knife in the shopping bag and turned back to him.

“We’ll return it to Mrs. Cole on the way home. But I do not want you accepting any weapon from Robert again. Robert does not know of what he speaks.”

“But Robert said a man is supposed to scalp a savage when he sees one in America.”

“Has Robert ever been to America?”

“No.”

“Then how does Robert know?”

“Caroline…”

“Do not whine. If you whine, I shall tell Father everything.”

“Do not do that! He shall take away my charcoal.”

“Then behave. I do not want you running off somewhere on the way home.”

“Yes, Caroline.”

“I want to eat, Caroline. When is supper?” Marie asked.

“I shall start preparing it when we are home.”

I took her hand and had just begun walking away when I remembered our “guest.”

“I am dearly sorry,” I said, turning to face him. “This is Marie, and this is John.”

He smiled at them. “And you are Caroline.”

“Yes, I am Caroline. But I know not who you are.”

“Josef Calloway.”

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Calloway, but we must be going.”

“I understand. It has been a pleasure.”

“It certainly has been.”

“Shall I see you again?”

“I do not know.”

“Where do you live?”

“On a farm. You undoubtedly live somewhere in London.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“The country dirt would soil your finery.”

“I suppose you are correct.”

“Caroline, may we go?” Marie whined, twisting her face to an odd distortion.

“Do not twist your face, Marie. Or it shall stay like that forever.”

“Well, may we?” John asked, burrowing his hands in his pockets and staring holes into his toes.

“Yes.”

“What is your father’s name?” Mr. Calloway asked.

“George Smith.”

“The man who harvests the best winter wheat annually?”

“That is what they say.”

He smiled—a rather brilliant sight; “I shall hope to see you again soon.”

I turned to Marie and John; “Say good-bye.”

They muttered their farewells as I wished him my own. I was nervous as we started home. My heart would not settle. It kept fluttering around in my chest. But I was not sure what it meant. I had never felt that way before. Of course, now I am better.

Mrs. Cole thanked us for returning her best cooking knife and promised us Robert would have a talk with his father. Marie and John kept inquiring about Mr. Calloway all throughout supper and until they were tucked soundly in bed. I answered the same thing every time. “He is a man who did our family a service today. We should be grateful.” I was too ashamed to tell them what exactly he had done. That would mean admitting I was horrible at shopping and that would shame Mother.

Whatever his reason for helping me today, I would not mind knowing. But what it will cost me, I will pay. It is, after all, my fault.

A Tale of Two, Part 1: Caroline

September 1, 1891

Mother has given this journal to me to record my thoughts in this critical period before I am fully a woman. I love no man, nor have met any for whom I truly care, so I do not see how this will happen anytime soon.

“One must not be so pessimistic,” Mother says. She does not know what it is like to be a woman of seventeen and longing for a companion. How could she? She was married at fifteen to Father.

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Caroline Smith. I am the oldest of three children in our family. Father is a farmer, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Mother is a homemaker, occasionally working as a seamstress when money is scarce. We are not wealthy people, but we survive.

Lately Mother has been working for a seamstress in London so we can save money to move to America. All her friends have already left for the new world. I fear she is ashamed because she has not the money to go. She may also be ashamed that I still am unwed. But if I were not here, who would there be to care for John and Marie? Father is always busy in the fields. He has not a moment to spare. And with Mother always out to work, I am the only one left. Of course, if John ever decided to grow up, he might be a reasonable candidate for the job. That is if Father did not recruit him to the fields first.

John is a boy of thirteen. He is old enough to work, by Father’s standards, but is too busy drawing and writing to notice much else. I must give him credit for keeping Marie busy while I clean the house. She loves to watch him draw his crazy imagination onto paper.

Marie is only five, but she is an intelligent beauty. Her eyes glow whenever John takes out his charcoal. Mother says she needs to learn stitching soon, but with everyone so busy, I doubt she will.

Father has threatened several times to make them pay for their charcoal and paper; Marie takes a piece of John’s stash and tries to mimic him. I think it is fascinating. Her sketches never come out quite like John’s, but both are beautifully made.

Truly, if I had the choice, I would never marry. Anyone my parents choose would haul me into the city. I am terrified of the city. It is so different from the countryside of my childhood.

Marie and John beckon me to begin supper, so I must leave you for now.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 2

Within weeks of the march, Caroline had officially called for a complete removal of the government, as I had known she would. She explained, no matter what agreement they came to in negotiations, it wouldn’t be long before things reverted to the way they had been.

Initially, people weren’t sure what to make of it. They weren’t ready for something so radical, not when that would mean removing the entire governmental body in work and replacing it. In response, she explained Leirba’s Council—they left it in my name so not everything was changing—was already drafting possible temporary solutions. It was a huge country, they weren’t ignoring that fact, but this was also a huge problem. No matter what they did, it would take time.

When she presented her proposal for the new temporary government, a council instead of a single figure head, and larger councils below and at every level, people relaxed. This was her guarantee that not everyone in the most important positions would be regular or elemental, which even satisfied some of those still unsure about elementals and hell.

A few short years later, the existing government was dissolved. Every official had either been petitioned from office or forcibly removed when only a few remained. An online ballot was released and the first members of the Change Committee—the council that would lead the country in this exchange of power—were elected and met. Caroline and a regular were the co-presiding chairs, the other twenty members divided between elemental and non. Together, they decided to rid the government of political parties other than elemental and regular, so no one group had too much more control than the other. Other such decisions regarding the new government were made in those first meetings, and, slowly, were being made in each state by their elected Change Councils—the state-level equivalent of the Committee.

Last I had heard, things were running smoothly with the temporary government—though it didn’t seem so temporary as it had been in place for six years. There was, of course, plenty of chaos, but things were quieting as each Council grew stronger and reviewed their new respective constitutions for any amendments that needed to be made. Things were looking better. In another year there would be elections again for most of the Committee and Council seats, though many felt that almost everyone holding a seat would win it back so they could finish what they had started.

Caroline, in addition to her revolution work, had also come to some resolution with her parents. They remained adamantly against the movement and all related things, but she finally had the backing and the proof she wasn’t insane, unhealthy, or freakish. Though they wouldn’t back down, she argued she was still their daughter, regardless of how they thought she should be, and she was going to live her own way, with or without their approval. When they failed to provide a compelling argument for her to continue visiting, both Caroline and Ian were freed from their mandatory meetings with them. This saddened her slightly, but she was quickly consumed in other business. I had a feeling, given a few more years, they might come around to accepting societal norms had changed and could figure out they really did love her—elemental, angry, wild, and all.

Ian was painting, as he had told me he would be. His murals and collages, portraits and scenes were gorgeous and many were available for viewing online or in various magazines. He also had current shows in a New York Gallery of his Movement works, and another in England of his Pre-Movement works. There was rarely a critic with a negative comment, though even those existed.

The one piece I had explained to Caroline, the one he said I was in, he named after me: Abriel. I read an interview in which he was asked why it was called Abriel, who was Abriel. His answer: “She is the bravest person I know, and without her, none of us would be where we are today.” Though this thoroughly confused people, especially the interviewer, I felt touched. The world would know my real name, even if they couldn’t match it with a face.

By far, though, his Movement works were his best known. They depicted everything from our early meetings to our commercials, Caroline’s local speeches to small group work, his picket signs to Nick’s death. It was the single greatest depiction of modern history in the world. I wasn’t the only one to think so, and I was biased.

However, he wasn’t just painting and making appearances; Caroline wouldn’t let him off that easily. Whenever she needed help or a second, outside opinion, he was on her speed dial. He didn’t mind it so much, though. If anything, he missed having her boss him around sometimes. Since they had gone their separate ways, he was suddenly making every decision, even about his exhibitions. Occasionally, when setting up a new exhibit, he called her so someone else could decide how it should look for once, especially since she had no eye for art and could therefore give a properly unbiased opinion. No matter what happened, they were stuck together. It was a good thing they didn’t mind.

Jake and Kora both returned to college, changing their majors to political science, the new version—Jake for a master’s and Kora for a bachelor’s though it meant an extra year of study for her. Both wanted to continue being a part of the change happening around them, and politics was the place to do so.

Kora was married on the two year anniversary of the march. We were invited—Drei received the invitation through Valetta. I went alone, but stayed to the back of the crowd, dropped off her present at the reception and left. She was stunning, the wedding was perfect, and Dan couldn’t have been a better match for her. The gift was the angels of love and hope, a note tucked into the box saying, “No matter what happens in life, love and hope will always lead you true.”

Jake was reunited with his mother. There were tears and apologies and promises made anew. When they went home together, his father apologized for his cruelty, and Jake finally found his answer. He wouldn’t forget, but he could forgive them. All of them.

With his new attitude and his family reunited, it wasn’t long before Jake was dating—and then engaged to—the girl about whom he used to tell me. And guess who? Natalie, the girl he thoroughly pissed off in his ethics class. They were cute together, and they reveled in the occasional heated debate.

Mikael and Xenia co-authored a memoir on their participation in those two years with me. It was a best seller and paid for them to go through college to become environmentalists. They were both working toward doctorate’s degrees.

Xenia eventually dyed her hair back to its original color and settled down. She could be herself, and that was all she had ever wanted. Her friends and her were all still single, no man (or woman) able to keep up with them. Someday that might change, especially as more and more people were becoming comfortable with admitting they were elementals or that they were okay with those who were.

Mikael’s parents showed up not long after he was interviewed the day of the march about his involvement in the movement. They told him they had made a mistake and wanted him back in their lives. No matter how much they apologized, though, Mikael remained silent. When they stopped fussing over him, trying to figure out if he was ever going to say something to them, he told them what they did was inexcusable, but he appreciated the apologies. Then he asked they never contact him again unless he did so first.

It couldn’t have been easy for him, but I think that’s what had been bothering him in those times he looked sad. He was trying to figure out what he would do if they came back. It couldn’t have been easy, but he had decided for himself what was right. I didn’t worry about him, though; Mikael had surrounded himself with a new family, both from our group and from his boarding school. He nurtured and cherished those relationships, but otherwise focused on his studies.

Occasionally, all of them gathered together in our old apartment, talking or plotting for old time’s sake. Caroline had kept up the rent and had given permission for the landlord to give weekday tours as an added bonus. I think they thought now that everything was going better, I might come back. While I couldn’t stop caring about them all, I couldn’t go to them. I was dead, technically, and I felt it was finally time I started acting like it.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 1

Chapter Twelve: Working Towards the Future

After I handed control to Caroline, Drei and I returned to the apartment and packed what we needed, leaving the rest. We mailed a key to Caroline, in case there was something she needed from the last two years. Leaving the apartment was my choice, and Drei didn’t ask. I was done here, and continuing to be there…the memories would have killed me more than anything else.

Part of me felt bad for leaving them without saying anything. I could imagine them searching for us afterwards, unable to find us anywhere, confused and unsure why we had disappeared. The news crews that had been at the event talked about how they hadn’t found me to express congratulations or ask questions. Some people on the site mused I had been an angel, only there to show them the way, and gone the minute they could see where they were going again.

But I had done my part, as I had said. Anything that came next was up to them. They had to take control of their own futures, make their own decisions, and find their own way. None of them needed me anymore, no matter what they thought.

Besides, Nick was dead now because of me. I was beginning to understand the pain Caroline must have felt, but this time, she wouldn’t stop. Ian wouldn’t let her. And the note I had left with our apartment key assured her I was fine.

As for Nick, we returned his body to Lily, the only family he had other than Drei and I. I didn’t go with Drei. Imagining how she was handling it tore me apart; I couldn’t even stand to map it. It took her four days to calm down enough to make a decision. His body was cremated and the ashes spread in Winnsboro, where his family died. At last he could be with them again. In that, I found some comfort; little as it was, it was something.

Eternal: Chapter Eleven, Part 4

Screams engulfed the crowd; there was a flash in front of me, and I felt a bump, but I had no idea what was happening. It seemed impossible that someone had actually shot at me…again. But I was unharmed. Yet everyone was still pointing, their faces contorted in horror and fear. In the distance, I saw Nick’s team apprehend the shooter and quickly canvass through the crowd, searching for any other threats.

Everyone who hadn’t run was gaping, though, and when I looked at my feet, I saw why. Nick had jumped in front of me and took the bullet. I felt my heart break and my strength seeping away from me. How could this have happened? And now of all times? When everything was going so well.

Kneeling beside him, I smoothed the hair off his face. He was in a cold sweat and shaking. Glancing up, Ian was already on his cell phone, yelling that we needed an ambulance right away. The way Nick was squeezing my hand, though, I knew he didn’t have long.

“Abriel,” he whispered, holding on tighter to my hand. I could feel him slipping away and I didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be true.

“Don’t die on me,” I demanded, furiously wiping the tears blinding me from my eyes. “You aren’t allowed to die on me.”

“If you change me,” he murmured, “you’ll ruin…everything…you’ve worked for.”

I hated him for saying it because he was right, and it was what I had been thinking. Turning me had been Drei’s solution, and here it was one of my two options. But his words were true. Taking that route would undo everything I had put into motion; but I couldn’t just watch him die.

“But—”

“I’m dead…you know that.” He coughed, closing his eyes.

“Nick, don’t, please hold on,” I cried, squeezing his hand as his grip loosened.

“Finish it,” he said, struggling to inhale so he could speak. “I…love…”

“No, Nick;” I couldn’t stop myself from crying, or from holding him to me as he slipped through my fingers. Everything we had been through, everything we had done, and he was gone in seconds. “Don’t leave me like this. I love you.”

Drei knelt beside me, rubbing my back. It took me a moment to realize he was saying anything.

“—say something to them.”

Nodding, I wiped the tears from my eyes and signaled toward Caroline. She came over to join me.

Pulling myself together, I started improvising, just as we had planned. And as miserable as it made me to realize it, I had been right about how this had to end. “This is…was Nick,” I said, my voice stronger than I thought it would be. “He wasn’t an elemental, but he has been a friend to me for years, and now he’s also a victim of this injustice. It needs to end.” Looking at Caroline, I raised my hand to her. “Caroline will show you how.”

A wave of uncertainty and some grumbled complaints met me. They were scared, but this was the right thing to do. To truly take down the government wasn’t something I could do. For that, it required someone more willing to lead a coup. Complete removal of the government was the only way to keep things from reverting back to the way they had been.

“I brought you together,” I said, catching their attention again. “That was my job. I brought you together, gave you information, motivation, and a voice. What comes next requires a different kind of leadership. Caroline I trust with my life, and I hope you will as well. She will lead us faithfully into the next steps of change, and our new future.”

Despite the shock and depression in the crowd, there was applause, there was excitement and anxiousness, and I knew they would follow her. Caroline hugged me, whispering into my ear, “This is your baby, though.”

“It’s yours now.”

Some people left, more swarmed the platform, or any of the groups of elementals, asking questions and trying to find out what Caroline would do next. She made a public announcement to the news crews that she would have to meet with her advisors to discuss how to go about the next phase, but they would keep everyone posted. All they had to do was be ready to act.

While everyone was distracted, Drei had removed Nick’s body and I followed him away from the site. Away from the place where Nick had died protecting me and our campaign. Away from everyone I had worked with over the last two years, and wasn’t sure I could even face anymore. But, mostly, away from the place where my past seemed to end, and my future undoubtedly began.