The Collision of the Perpetual Senses

As Richard entered the house just after Nell he was stunned to see Mr. Watkins sitting in the kitchen reading the paper with a cup of tea.  It was warm out. A fire in the kitchen made the house absolutely uninhabitable and sweltering.  A glass of ale would be the fitting beverage of choice Richard thought.

“Mr. Watkins, sir.  If you please.” He said.  Henry never looked up from his paper.  Richard found this disconcerting and was about to confront the head butler when he heard Nell yell out from down the hall.

“Leave him --- he can’t see you anyway.” Nell said loudly.  She walked quickly through the house clomping with her thick-soled shoes and made her way down the stairs to the cellar.  As Richard entered the basement all he found was Nell’s lifeless body lying on a door that had been taken off its hinges, a makeshift slab for the poor girl’s corpse.  A few candles had burned down and a Bible rested on the old wicker chair. 

“Nell?” He whispered but he was aware that she would not answer.  She was quite dead.  When he touched her she was as cold as the walls that preserved her.  It was all so strange.  He could see his own breath and he felt colder than he had ever felt before even on the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of the storm.  His fingers were numb and his forearms tingled with pins and needles. He wondered---hoped he was dreaming but as he turned to move up the stairs he saw his father standing there in the very same clothes he had drowned in almost twenty years before.  He shook his head from side to side.

“Da?” Richard murmured. Again the man shook his head.

“Ye have to go home, son.” He said.

“Home.” Richard repeated unsure what his father meant.  Did he mean Ireland?  London?  Or his country home in the flatlands?  He was at home here in Manhattan. It was all so confusing.  His head spun and his stomach felt queasy.

“To ye’re wife, sure.  She’s wretched with grief over ye.” He added. “This one.  She was your cousin.  A wee babe when we sailed for Liverpool, sure.” The information shocked Richard and he stood there for a moment trying to take it all in. 

“Such a pity, tsk, tks.”  The man added. The new scullery maid was a relation of his.  What were the odds in a country so vast with so many opportunities that little Nellie would end up working for her only surviving cousin.  He wondered if she ever knew. He gazed at her gray white face and colorless lips.  Her eyes had sunken a little and her hair was brittle now.  Her hands folded over her heart were stiff with rigor mortis and her rosary beads tucked just inside the palms with the crucifix neatly arranged on her abdomen caught a flicker of light from the stairwell.

“Have I died, da?” Richard asked softly.

“Not yet…Go home.” And the man turned and slowly made his way up the cellar stairs leaving Richard alone with Nell once again. 

 

Ashley arrived a little early to get a table near the window.  She didn’t like crowds and sometimes the restaurant that had been chosen could get overrun with trendy dinner patrons.  She had a slight claustrophobia that at times became acute when positioned in a corner of a busy eatery with people blocking her way to the exit or bathroom.  So she was a little high strung.  It only added to her list of eccentricities.  She tried not to dramatize it like other people in the family.  When she felt anxious she merely stated her discomfort and then attempted to quietly correct the perceived imbalance.  Either that or she would step outside to get a breath of fresh air until the anxiety subsided.  For Ashley it all came down to being fully engaged.  If she were not completely captivated by the people or the place or the moment then her innate sense of wonder took over and like divining rods searched for the person place or thing that could enrapture her.  However, her southern upbringing and stringent code of etiquette forbade her from being rude or inconsiderate of others.  Perhaps both sides of her coin were working at cross purposes and her panic resulted from a perceived coarseness.  She found her spot at the restaurant---a table in the window near the front door.  Perfect.  In case of a fire she could be one of the first ones out.  Ridiculous!  It was irrational and she knew it but she didn’t care.  She was too young to be old and the idea of mortality fueled her choices more and more as time marched on.  She thought perhaps she might be obsessive compulsive.  But that turned out to be wrong.  She didn’t wash her hands one hundred times a day and avoid stepping on cracks in the sidewalk.  Sometimes she’d forget to wash her hands altogether and go out in public with oil paint stains under her fingernails and in the crevices of her skin.  As for cracks she stepped on them and even walked on the steel grating that covered vents in the sidewalks, a dangerous exercise since at least once a month someone was falling through them and needing to be rescued.  There was a fearlessness about her in some areas of her life.  She was not safe.  And no one could say that about her.  She was trustworthy and comforting but not safe.  And she wasn’t boring either.  When she felt inclined she could engage in a conversation about anything and make it seem like the most fascinating thing on earth.  She was a good listener if the other person was willing to talk.  She could listen in silence as well summing up a person by the information they withheld and the way they carried themselves.  She could have been a detective but the mystery she was interested in solving was the universe itself.

She caught sight of a woman on the other corner across the street.  As the woman moved Ashley realized it was Victoria.  She wondered what Victoria was doing in Chelsea.  Maybe she lived in Manhattan and commuted to the huge white house for work.  She remembered she needed to make a note and scribbled down, ‘Call James, Peter and Felix about the columned house in Brooklyn.’  James and Peter were two artists from Texas she had gone to school with that now worked and flourished in New York City. And Felix was another Texan she had been engaged to briefly a few years before.  He was an investment banker but his life at work was more important than a relationship and so they agreed to be friends.  It was funny because Ashley saw more of Felix when they became compatriots than when they were a couple.  She would need all of the guys help to get the wooden Indian out of that house if it, indeed, were scheduled for demolition.  When she looked up again she noticed that Victoria seemed to be moving towards the restaurant.  Her gait was the same as earlier in the day even though she was wearing jeans. That same sensual pleasantness washed over Ashley as she studied her.  At that moment she realized that she had been watching Chelsea. Her face came into sharp focus as she made her way through the front door of the restaurant.

“Hi. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”  Chelsea said smiling as she slung her purse over the back of the chair.

“No, no. Not at all.”  Ashley said and she realized she was staring and quickly grabbed for her glass of water.

“You all right?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” Chelsea said as she situated herself and picked up the menu to peruse.  Chelsea was nervous.  Her hands trembled a little and it was magnified by the paper menu she held.  It shook like a leaf in the wind.  As Chelsea caught Ashley’s astute eye she giggled and shrugged. 

“Low blood sugar.  I’m famished.” She said as she averted her eyes and set the menu down.  But Ashley knew better. 

“I have so much to tell you.” Chelsea said as she gazed over the entrée selections.

“So do I.”  Ashley replied.

“You first.” Chelsea said quickly.

“Well.  You know I said I had to deliver some baked goods to a friend in Brooklyn earlier.” Ashley began.

“Mmm, hmmm.” Chelsea murmured.

“A few weeks ago I went on the house tour in my neighborhood and I stumbled upon this huge almost southern plantation looking house with columns and everything.   And the woman who seemed to be with the historical society, I don’t know, she must’ve been a reenactor or something because she was dressed in Victorian garb, she seemed really troubled.  It was at closing time and so she asked me to come back and so I did and brought some cookies because I thought it would cheer her up and---“

“Aw, that was sweet of you.” Chelsea interjected.

“So when I went back earlier today she was there.  And I asked her what her name was and she said Victoria---“ Ashley continued.

Chelsea choked on the water she was sipping and she reached out and took Ashley’s hand.  And before she could speak that same feeling washed over her of her most fervent unknown wish fulfilled and a kind of unending joy and bliss but this time there was a physical element to it.  And as she gazed at Ashley still talking she could see that man, Richard Rhys that had appeared to her, in Ashley’s eyes.  Something clicked and that moment and the feeling and the emotions all locked into place as if something had lain dormant for twenty-seven years or even a hundred years.  She was awakened somehow.  There was an electric connection that gathered its power from some divine all knowing force.

 

“---And the park worker said the house is going to be torn down.” Ashley said softly.  And as the last bits of sound escaped her mouth she could feel Chelsea’s hand on hers.  Chelsea had stopped listening and it was evident that she was now searching.  Ashley could hear the hum of the intertwining.   And the waves of sensation began to roll through her.  It was that same feeling of being on the ocean.  The same sensation when Victoria had taken her hand to show her the Indian.  Yet it was no longer platonic.  In the ‘now’ it had become corporeal. 

“The painter.  Rich, Richard…uh, Rhys.” Chelsea stumbled. “He was married to Victoria Thornton.” Chelsea said and the words collided with Ashley’s ears like huge gongs and her heart raced and her face grew hot and she sipped at her water as if parched.  She was speechless.  And the two women sat there searching each other without a word maneuvering a maze that transcended time and space. Ashley saw Victoria and Chelsea stared into the current face of Richard Rhys.

 

His hands began to regain feeling. The pins and needles seemed to subside and he was no longer chilled beyond recognition.  He could feel warmth and with his eyes still closed he let his hand move across the wiry hair of the bison robe that covered him.  The sensation was soothing and reassuring and somehow luscious.  The crackle of the fire bled into his consciousness and the soft in out of her breath as she lay next to him made him realize that he was truly home.  Victoria shifted in her slumber and she gently laid her head on Richard’s chest.  He was aware that he was unclothed and he was ever more aware that Victoria had shed her bodice and skirt and various layers of underpinnings in order to lay skin to skin.  She was warm and her presence there was a salve for him.  Her incalescence brought him back from the edge of existence.  He knew he had not died but was hovering somewhere in between.  It was a place that he was curious to explore but the experience rendered him weak.  As his hand swept across the fur once again it made him tired.  His muscles ached as if he had been through some extreme physical ordeal and perhaps, he actually had.  One of her hands lay across his abdomen. He could feel her heartbeat and yet he was so frail his body could not truly respond to her.  Not yet.   But his heart bloomed as the quiet minutes passed lazily into the night.  The wind stopped blowing and he wondered if the snow had finally ceased.  He cocked his head a bit to find Michelangelo standing in the kitchen her eyes drooping idly about to nod off.  Victoria shifted again and her hand swept across his chest.  He caught it in his own hand and carefully threaded his fingers with hers.  Her eyes opened slowly, sleepily and he studied her carefully.  At that moment she looked like a little girl still swimming in her dreams.  She let out a soft sigh that held the weight of water.  It held all the relief and the worry and the breathlessness of hope.

“Richard?” She whispered and her eyes grew moist and she cupped his face and kissed him again and again and her tears made his cheeks wet.  Then she studied him in the firelight taking in every nuance and drinking in whatever magic had moved across them in the interim.

“I’m sorry.” Richard whispered and his voice crackled from phlegm and unconsciousness and dormancy.

“Sorry for what?” She asked a bit confused.

“Illness.” He managed to say.

“Shhhhh.” She replied and she put her finger to his lips and then sensually traced the outline memorizing them for times when they might be apart.  She got up slowly and he watched her lithe figure move like a silhouette against the orange glow of the fire.  She added more wood to the embers and stoked it until it caught and the flames grew ever higher.  She set the kettle on and another pot filled with water.  Then she pulled a quilt from the couch to keep her warm as she fetched a clean cloth to wipe him down.  She moved like a shadow into the kitchen where Michelangelo eclipsed her.  The equine’s ample form moving smooth like the shadow of the moon.  She reappeared carrying cloth and a ceramic container covered with something metallic.  Victoria’s face seemed perplexed. 

“Did you see this when you went through the pantry the other day?”  She asked.  Richard shook his head ‘no’ and he was truly bewildered by it.

“There’s a card here.”  Victoria discovered and she opened it:  For the Lady of the house.  I hope you enjoy this sweet little concoction and secret recipe from North Carolina.  I sincerely wish you happiness and joy.  Your friend, Ashley.

Then she smiled to herself and pulled the tin foil away.  The S’mores would keep them one more day from starving. She thought she was going mad but apparently someone did come to call.  Victoria was disoriented with exhaustion and she couldn’t quite remember one day from the next.  The blizzard and their forced internment seemed like one extremely long day and night. Someone knew they were there and left them something to eat and the idea of the reality of it astounded her.  Richard bit into the S’more and the sugar gave him a rush. 

“Very interesting.” He managed to say as he inspected the desert.  Victoria draped herself across him propping herself up on an elbow.  Her pregnant belly caught the flicker of the hearth and Richard let his hand trace the contour of their progeny.  His gaze drifted into an interior meditation. Images of his dreams pervaded and he wondered what was real and what was only a reverie.

“Tell me what happened to Malachy.” Victoria said softly.  And the memories rushed in with such a force that Richard felt himself rolling on the waves once again.

Obscure Reflections of the Interior

She was rushing against time and the clock was ticking fast revealing that it was already four thirty. Usually the parks department personnel quit at five sharp. She had covered the whiskey laced S’mores with tin foil and proceeded to the footbridge that arched across the Prospect Expressway and opened up near the Kensington horse stables on Caton Place. It had been an early spring and the trees were full and green. The cherry blossoms had already burst with their fluffy pink blossoms and spread a carpet of velvety rose on the ground. Ashley moved cautiously down the empty street once again. On a beautiful warm spring day she thought it odd that no one was out making their way to the park or just enjoying the sunshine. She continued down Caton Avenue along the Parade grounds. It began to grow populated again with kids playing soccer and peewee baseball. She moved along to the corner of Marlborough Street where a pretzel wagon was positioned to sell salty dough to game attendees along with endless supplies of bottled water. As she peered down the alleyway to the stunning columned house she saw a parks department person crossing the yard.

“Excuse me?” Ashley queried. The man stopped. “Is the house still open?” He looked at her strangely and replied in Spanish shaking his head.

“Gracias.” She said in her drawl even though she did not understand a word he uttered. He moved quickly out of sight to a green pick-up and drove away. She mounted the front porch and knocked on the great door. There was no answer. She tried the brass knob and it was locked. Ashley was determined to get inside and so she walked around to the side of the house just like the nosey neighbors in North Carolina might do. She spied the woodpile that looked as though it had been picked through by vagabonds. Then she rounded the corner to the back of the house where she found muddy tracks leading from the backdoor. It was a path well worn. She knocked and waited and to her delight she saw the woman dressed in the same dark wool Victorian outfit. She wore a look of concern as she slowly opened the door.

“Heeey.” Ashley said. “I brought you some cookies---I—I made ‘em myself. I hope you don’t think it forward of me.”

The woman smiled a little and was truly taken by Ashley’s generosity. She waved her inside. As Ashley entered she took in the old kitchen with its cast iron stove, spice racks and huge pantry.

“I didn’t catch your name the last time I was here.” Ashley said as the woman surveyed the sweets.

“Victoria.” The woman replied as they sat down in the parlor. There was a small fire in the fireplace that Ashley thought was very strange. She did not see smoke issuing from the chimney when she walked up and it was May and the weather was warmish with no need to build a fire.

“It is a true rarity to find a working fireplace in New York City these days.” Ashley offered and she realized that the room was a bit warm and the s’mores might very well melt.

“The house has been very cold of late.” Victoria said enigmatically. It made sense somehow. It was an old Victorian structure and dense. It probably held the chill left over from winter. Sometimes the brownstone where Ashley lived would be cold inside when the outside air was warm.

“Soooo…How are you doing?” Ashley asked cheerfully. Victoria demurely bit into a corner of the s’more and her face lit up.

“These are delectable.” She purred.

“Oh, that makes me so happy. You know I make ‘em with a secret ingredient.” And she winked which had become her signature habit. Victoria reacted to the wink with a coy questioning smile.

“It’s my Grama’s recipe from Cherokee County. I wanted to cheer you up since you seemed so…I don’t know...forlorn, I guess is the word.” Victoria looked down and remained silent for a moment. “I don’t mean to be a busybody---it’s just that I was concerned for you.” Ashley added and she reached out to touch Victoria’s arm. A tingling rush coursed through her as she made contact and Ashley felt strangely comfortable, even sensual in the platonic sense.

“I am so grateful for your company and your lovely gift.” Victoria said and she shifted in her chair for a moment. She was so earnest it was heart-warming. And Ashley felt as if she was engaged in something exquisitely intense and numinous.

“Oh my goodness. Are you expecting?” Ashley exclaimed. Then she blushed at being forward once again but for some reason she couldn’t help herself. Victoria’s hands moved to the slight baby bump in her thick wool dress and a heartfelt smile bloomed across her face.

“Aren’t you hot in that costume?” Ashley asked. Victoria shook her head ‘no’ and then reached for Ashley’s hand. Once again a zing of an almost electric nature shot through her body and Ashley felt as if she were on a ship riding the waves of a vast ocean. Her heart grew warm and she held fast as Victoria led her up to the second floor landing where the statue of Tammany stood. The visage of the old Indian took Ashley’s breath away. She walked up to it and touched the finely hewn wood. It was dried out from years of radiator heat and fireplace soot. His regal face reminded her of all her ancestors birthed for generations in the great Smokey Mountains.

“Amazing.” Ashley murmured and she felt the intense desire to own the statue somehow. “Who is it?” She asked.

“Tammany.” Victoria replied. “My husband found him.”

“This should be in a museum---It should be at the American Indian Museum in the old custom house downtown.” Ashley sputtered. “Does your husband work for the parks?”

Victoria shook her head ‘no’.

“He’s ill.” She replied almost whispering and the forlorn look washed across her face again.

“I’m so sorry.” Ashley said and the thought of cancer or some other debilitating condition like ALS or Parkinson’s flashed across her mind. She stepped close to Victoria. “Will he recover?”

“I don’t know.” Victoria said and she turned to make her way back downstairs. Then she stopped suddenly on the staircase and gazed up at Ashley. Her piercing eyes seemed to cut straight through to Ashley’s soul and a small epiphany seemed to move across Victoria’s face like a subtle shadow or a change in the color of light. There was an ineffable knowing.

“If he does not…Then the Indian is yours.” And she turned and quickly made her way back into the kitchen. Ashley followed and watched as Victoria put the box of s’mores safely away in the large pantry.

“The Indian is mine?” She echoed astounded. Victoria nodded again in agreement and Ashley was unsure how to feel about it all.

“Well. It’s five. I guess you have to close up now.” Ashley said awkwardly and she moved through the kitchen and towards the back door. Victoria turned and stepped quickly towards the exit. “You’ll come back?” She asked concerned.

“Sure.” Ashley purred. “I’ll come back.”

“I only have Michelangelo to keep me company at the moment.” Victoria added and then she bent down to collect an old wooden bucket. Who was Michelangelo? Ashley thought and then she assumed maybe she had a coffee table book of the great Buonarroti’s paintings to keep her occupied.

“I’ll drop by again sometime.” Ashley added and by this time she was in the yard. She passed the old green truck and a different grounds man jumped out and approached her.

“Excuse me.” He said. Ashley stopped. “What were you doing in that house?”

“I was talking to the museum lady, Victoria.” She said and she started walking.

“This is condemned property. You can’t just wander around in there.” He explained. “And if there are any squatters there that you’re feeding they will be run out.”

“What?” Ashley said stunned.

“Structurally unsound. Didn’t you see the tape? And the fence? And the rats? Don’t let me catch you going in there again.” He said with a reprimanding tone.

“What are you going to do? Arrest me?” She said defiantly. “Get over yourself.” And she walked away leaving the guy hang-jawed. It couldn’t possibly be condemned, she thought. Surely the guy was trying to mess with her. She would find out from Victoria herself what the truth was. For now she had to hustle back home and change for dinner.

“I shall fetch the undertaker, Mr. Watkins.” Miriam said and Henry seemed concerned. “Don’t look so worried. The snow has stopped and poor Nell has been stuck in the cellar for nigh on two days. I must do my best to maintain some sort of propriety concerning her funeral.” She continued as she wrapped herself up in her wool cape and thick black hat.

“If you insist.” He murmured. “I do wish you would take one of the Irishmen with you.”

“Nonsense.” She replied. “Mr. Riedleman is only three streets away and I will feel better knowing that preparations are underway.”

“As you see fit.” Henry replied. And she moved out into the frosty cold. It bit her cheeks and nose and she could see her breath. It was so cold she thought her breath might freeze in mid-air. The Irishmen had shoveled a narrow path out to Grove Street and down to the corner. However, the snow was six feet deep and she moved through white canyons that at times turned into crevasses. Because everything was white and she could not see above the snowline her perspective and navigation became incredibly difficult. The unlucky few who ventured out on this day found that the snow paths only allowed for the breadth of one person. Squeezing by another passing in the opposite direction became a challenge. Miriam had planned to see the undertaker and then from there inquire as to the condition of the trains running to Brooklyn. Her desire to find Victoria grew with each step and yet with each block she became increasingly aware of the danger and risk involved in such an attempt. Perhaps it was folly. She moved to Christopher Street and towards the river. She could feel the biting wind coming off the water but she could not see it. As she neared the brownstone she realized the signs were buried and the first floor of the houses were under snow. It had been some time since she had visited Mr. Riedelman and so her memory of the outside of his business escaped her. It seemed her adventure would be fruitless. Suddenly a man in black attempted to emerge from his building. With great difficulty he began digging and looked like a badger as he flung snow high up into the air. Mrs. Hopkins approached the gentleman as he rested between furious bouts of shoveling.

“Mr. Riedelman?” She said loud and clear.

“Yes?” The man answered.

“It’s Mrs. Hopkins from the Thornton house. May I be of some assistance?” She said.

“Give me a moment and I vill be free of dees white chains.” He said and his accent was definitely German. Mrs. Hopkins waited patiently until she could see the undertakers face in the shadow of his own doorway. He crawled out into the pathway like a crab skittering towards freedom. “Vell now dat is betta.” He added as he brushed the snow from his wool suit and overcoat. He tamed his wiry gray hair and stuffed it under his top hat that was encircled with a black sash that flowed down the back, a sign of constant mourning.

“Vot can I do for you?” He said sweetly.

“One of our servants unfortunately succumbed to the storm.” Mrs. Hopkins began.

“Let us valk now.” Mr. Riedelman said and he offered his arm as support. However she actually had to walk behind him thru the narrow frosted corridors.

“Nell, our newest girl died two days ago. She’s in the cellar.” She continued.

“Irish I am supposing.” He said softly.

“Yes.” Miriam answered.

“Ve’ll need a priest. I shall arrange it. Take me to her please.” He requested and they walked the three streets back to the Grove Street house.

Richard followed Chelsea as she made her way downtown. He found walking through the city fascinating. People talking into small black box type things and not interacting at all with one another. Everyone seemed to be floating in their own little bubble. Private conversations were being made public on every street and corner and then he studied people who seemed to be mashing buttons on these small devices as they walked heads down and oblivious to the natural world. It seemed a shame that on such a beautiful day people were being distracted with these boxes. Gazing down and not up---up to the sky---up to the person before you---up to the forces of inspiration. These odd contraptions sucked in a large portion of their souls. The majority were husks floating in the wind, their lights half dimmed by not being present. He watched his wife as she did the same. It was bizarre behavior having a series of different conversations with an object placed at her ear. And when he noticed her heart light it was not running at its full intensity. She had become removed in a way. As he strolled down Sixth Avenue several paces behind his wife he was well aware that people were stopping and staring at him even as they talked on their devices. After a while he decided to indulge a few and tip his top hat as he walked by and bid the surprised individual a good day. It was fun. It reminded him of his days when he used to be an actor in the East End streets. Then when one man screamed, “Fucking Freak!” Richard had to contain himself and let it roll off. He could certainly have engaged in a fight, but he did not want to lose sight of her so he kept on going. Chelsea stopped in front of a store and continued talking on her cell phone. Richard stepped around and thought perhaps she might finally recognize him. But she kept her head down through most of the conversation. When she did look up she seemed to look right past him. So he decided to into the store. It was an upscale pet boutique and the salesman was a bit unnerved by Richard’s appearance.

“Yes, sir, How can I help you?” The salesman said.

“I’m simply browsing.” Richard replied and he gazed out through the plate glass window.

“Are you looking for anything in particular? Dog accoutrements? Or perhaps you have a cat?” The salesman continued.

“Would you mind too much if I asked you to get my wife’s attention. She’s just outside talking on that ‘thing’.” Richard requested.

“Certainly.” The salesman said smiling and he walked over to the window and tapped gently. After a moment Chelsea turned and she dropped her cell phone.

“Well done sir!” Richard said and he stepped into full view in the window.

Chelsea retrieved her phone quickly, “Hello? Hello?” She said but the call had been disconnected. She stood there for what seemed a few minutes staring at Richard who smiled kindly at her through the glass. She wasn’t sure how to feel. He had to be a ghost or something, but her heart swelled and she felt as though she were being reunited with a love from long ago. She wanted to cry but no tears came forth. She was concerned that maybe her imagination had over run her normally grounded mind.

“God, I hope I’m not going crazy.” She murmured to herself and Richard immediately shook his head ‘no’ from inside the store. Then as she gathered her wits she moved into the store to see him clearly.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Can I help you?” The salesman asked cheerfully.

“Um. In a minute.” Chelsea replied distracted and fixated on Richard.

“I told you I’d get better.” Richard said enigmatically. And as he reached out to take her hand Chelsea was seized by a tide of emotions and her body felt as if it vibrated and hummed. She was ecstatically joyful as if her most fervent private wish had been fulfilled and yet she was not aware of what that wish had been.

“Cat or dog, Miss?” The salesman said growing a little more assertive. Chelsea turned and replied, “Neither.”

“Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” The salesman answered and turned on his heel with an attitude. Just then Chelsea realized she was alone in the pet store her hand outstretched as if in an imaginary grasp. The electric hum she had experienced had faded and she looked around as other customers tried not to stare.

“Did you just see a man in here in a frock coat and top hat?” Chelsea asked a middle-aged woman. The woman shook her head ‘no’ and quickly shuffled by. Then an older gentleman stepped up.

“Yes. I saw a gentleman in Victorian garb in here. He’s obviously part of some small theatre troupe doing Dickens or Shaw somewhere. Odd to do Dickens in the Spring, though.” He added.

“Thank you.” Chelsea said and she walked outside to see where Richard had gone.

“You’re not supposed to do that! It’s unnatural.” Nell chided as she walked up alongside Richard.

“I don’t like your tone.” Richard said gruffly.

“It is against the laws of nature.” She repeated vehemently. “You’re not supposed to be here! Victoria is waiting for you in Brooklyn. You need to go home!” She said angrily.

“Nell. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak like this before. What is the matter, lass?” He said and his demeanor changed to that of a loving father figure.

“I’m cold. And I just want to go to sleep. And company is coming.” She said and she began to grow upset.

“There, there, now. I’ll make sure you get home.” Richard cooed. And they began walking in the direction of Grove Street.