Women of the Realm

Richard woke up with a splitting headache. He was soaked through from sweating, although the fever had subsided. The Bison hide had promoted a kind of purge. He saw Mrs. Hopkins sitting quietly reading her small book of proverbs and sipping a cup of tea.

“Where is Victoria?” He asked and his voice was hoarse. Mrs. Hopkins methodically moved her chair and accouterments closer to the small wooden bed where Richard lay.

“Mrs. Rhys and Mr. Watkins have gone out to find a doctor.” She said softly.

“Why did she not send you?” He asked concerned. Mrs. Hopkins frowned a little.

“At times she cannot bear to see you ill. The weather has turned quite agreeable and she decided a walk might do her good.” She replied. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit weak, I fear.” Richard said. “Certainly I feel well enough to ride over the bridge and go home.” Mrs. Hopkins smiled because that was her most fervent wish as well.

“With the Irish holiday the roads are still treacherous.” Mrs. Hopkins said. “Not because of the Irish but because of the snow.” She clarified and then giggled. Her lightheartedness was novel and Richard found her intriguing. Then she sat silent for a moment, her thoughts rushing through her mind at lightning speed. Richard closed his eyes and let the faint murmur of revelry from the Brooklyn streets lull him into a half sleep.

“Mr. Rhys?” Mrs. Hopkins said softly. He opened his eyes and studied her for a moment.

“I…I have taken this opportunity of a candid audience with you for a reason.” She began.

“Go on.” He replied, his interest piqued.

“I suggested Victoria find the doctor so that I could speak plainly with you.” She said.

“What is it?” He asked sliding up on the pillow completely alert.

“Nell…”

“What about Nell?” Richard said growing impatient.

“Did you know that she was…a relation?” Mrs. Hopkins hinted.

“A relation to whom?” Richard said perplexed.

“To you.” She replied. The words crashed through him in an unexpected way. He had so completely blocked out his childhood and his true country of origin that it took him a minute to truly identify himself.

“How…do you know this?’ He asked softly.

“When she passed it was my duty to collect her things. She did not have many belongings. Tucked inside her small Bible was a letter or two from relatives in Ireland. Connelly. Her mother, a woman named Mareid.” She explained and then stopped and sipped her tea. “Oh.” She said suddenly remembering. From the fold of her skirt she produced an old tintype that had been trimmed oval in order to fit inside a small locket. She found the piece of tin with the image burned in and wrapped carefully in a piece of cotton.

Mareid Connelly was Richard’s father’s younger sister. She married a cobbler in County Clare far from the small fishing village where he grew up. He remembered Mareid before she was married. She was stunning with long reddish auburn hair, bright green eyes and fair skin that freckled in the sunlight. She was the catch of the area. Every one seemed to compare their beauty to Mareid. She was the gold standard of the land. Her image betrayed a hard life yet her beauty never waned. She was a handsome woman. The sight of her brought a flood of childhood memories that Richard had all but blotted out. He had rewritten his history as an orphan that no one loved. Memories before the shipwreck almost seemed like dreams, illusions that never existed.

“So…now you know who I am.” He said resigned. “I’m an Irishman.”

“So you are.” She replied quietly.

“And those revelers that everyone despises and no one wants to hire—those are my people.” Richard continued.

“Doesn’t change who you are.” Mrs. Hopkins said. Richard gazed at her for a long moment and then noticed the afternoon light, how it moved across the stark white walls. The yellow sun of Spring turned them a light cream color and for a moment he wished for something sweet.

“Who am I?” He queried.

“A man of good character…generosity…You, you are the one my Victoria loves beyond all else.” She said and her sincerity moved him.

“She should have a proper funeral.” He murmured.

“Certainly.” Mrs. Hopkins concurred.

“Have you written to them?” He asked.

“I have not…the storm made it impossible.” She replied.

“I shall do it.” He said as he slid back down on the bed. “I would like for her to have a proper monument.”

“As you wish.” Mrs. Hopkins replied. “I shall fetch you a fresh cup of hot tea.” And she jumped up leaving her book marked and in the seat of her chair. She moved like a shadow and was quickly beyond the door and down the stairs. Richard closed his eyes for a moment and he heard the light tapping of footsteps. He assumed Mrs. Hopkins had forgotten something and returned post haste. But the light footsteps stopped bedside.

“Yes?” He said, his eyes still closed.

“Are you sleeping, grandpa?” He heard a little girl’s voice say. He was startled by her presence and sat up right.

“You have the wrong room, dear girl.” He said. She was dark haired and wore a pink dress in the style he was not familiar with. She had dark eyes and pale, ivory skin and sat where Mrs. Hopkins had been. She could not have been more than five years old and yet she had impeccable manners.

“You are Mr. Rhys.” She said rhetorically.

“Yes.” He responded slowly unsure of this little girl’s lineage.

“Then I have the right room. Has Mr. Chaplin arrived yet?” She asked excitedly.

“Who is Chaplin and who are you?” Richard said and he put his hand to his head to see if his fever was spiking. He felt uneasy and strangely outside of himself.

“Oh, Grandpa, Charlie is a movie star!” The little girl explained. “You like to tease me, so.”

“I see.” Richard replied growing ever more uneasy.

“I have a secret I want to tell you.” The child began and she got up from her chair and gestured for him to lean close. She cupped her hand about her mouth as children do and whispered in his ear. “I want to come back.”

“And you shall.” He said playing along.

“Before you go home.” She added enigmatically. Heavier footsteps echoed through the corridors and they were the familiar footfalls of Mrs. Hopkins climbing the last set of steps. The little girl’s eyes grew as round as saucers and she whispered. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I know.” Richard said and quick as a rabbit she sprinted through the doorway and out into the hall.

Ashley and Chelsea lay face to face in the massive canopied bed that was centered in the iconic Victorian Bedroom suite. Both distracted by the surreal occurrences of the day.

“400 million.” Ashley whispered and her eyes glazed over.

“Holy cow, I’m not sure I can comprehend that amount.” Chelsea responded.

“Yeah.” Was all Ashley could muster.

“And that’s just looking at her obvious assets. Who knows what other investments and foundations she is involved in throughout Europe---the world.” Chelsea said.

“It’s not really ours, though.” Ashley replied.

“What do you mean?” Chelsea asked.

“Well…she made us managers…in a sense. I mean, sure we have inherited a living wage but the majority of the wealth is earmarked for the people.” Ashley said.

“We’re obviously stewards.” Chelsea added. “No question…I just wonder how she felt so confident that we could fulfill her wishes. We only met once. How could she tell?” Chelsea wondered.

“I have a feeling she knew.” Was all that Ashley was willing to give up at that moment.

There was a soft tap on the door to the suites.

“Yes?” Ashley answered in her full voice.

“I’m sorry to disturb you but Mr. Wilkins requested that I ask you to meet with him in the dining room in a few minutes. He has some developing news to share.” A female voice said from the other side.

“Thank you, Erin. We’ll be down in a minute.” Ashley responded.

“What do you think it is?” Chelsea asked. “More assets?”

“Who knows.” Ashley shrugged and she pulled on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She slipped her sandals on as Chelsea opted for a pretty lime green satin robe.

Mr. Wilkins seemed agitated at the changing developments occurring minute by minute. He paced in the vast dining room still wearing his suit from the workday. He was groomed immaculately, not a hair out of place. Ashley sat in a large puffy chair and Chelsea moved to a Victorian chaise lounge.

“I am terribly sorry to bother you both at such a late hour. But I have just been informed by Buckingham Palace that her Majesty, the Queen will be in attendance at the memorial service set for two days from now to be performed at Westminster Abbey.” Wilkins said fidgeting. “The Dame had been a friend to the monarchy since World War II and so there is a closeness and respect.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Chelsea asked. Wilkins seemed shocked.

“It has everything to do with you. You will be in attendance since you are the Dame’s heirs and you will have to be tutored on the etiquette and propriety of engagement with the Royal family. The proper way to bow, curtsy, speak, etc, etc.” He explained.

“I have nothing at all appropriate to wear.” Ashley said standing and she began to pace nervously.

“That has all been arranged. Valets, if you will, have been assigned to you both and so tomorrow morning at 7:00AM you will be whisked to various shops and designers to find appropriate mourning outfits for the funeral. Also…Her Majesty’s secretary requested a half hour interview with you both at Buckingham Palace and you should be dressed appropriately for your private audience with the Queen.” Wilkins said and he dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.

“The Queen?” Chelsea reiterated in disbelief.

“Yes, Queen Elizabeth II.” Wilkins clarified.

“I ---I don’t know what to say.” Ashley uttered. “I mean, I have no idea what to talk about.”

“Her Majesty will be asking you questions. Simply answer them to the best of your ability.” Wilkins advised and his face flushed from nervous anxiety. “Mr. Smoot has set up an account that will be a temporary holding of a small amount of the assets for this particular situation until the estate can be settled.”

“I don’t even know what to wear to go shopping.” Chelsea said growing anxious.

“Dungarees are certainly acceptable.” Wilkins said. “One word of warning. When the news breaks as it will any moment now, the paparazzi may find you both easy prey. Don’t be at all surprised to find a herd of photographers camped outside the door in the morning. Good night.” Wilkins said and he gracefully glided out of the room.

“Oh, my God. The day keeps getting stranger by the moment.” Chelsea said and she got up and started pacing.

“It’s all falling into place.” Ashley said stoically.

“What? What are you talking about?” Chelsea replied.

“All of my dreams, all of your dreams, they are conspiring to manifest.” Ashley answered.

“I had a strange out-of-body kind of experience today.” Chelsea began. “ I could see London as it was several centuries ago…and there was…a curious…wanting.”

“Wanting?” Ashley echoed.

“I wanted you there. I wanted you to feel the same sublime experience.” Chelsea added.

Suddenly Ashley’s cell phone rang. She frowned for a moment and then looked at Chelsea.

“I feel like I should take this.” Chelsea nodded and disappeared through the corridor.

“Hey Felix.” Ashley said,

“Ash. I, uh, I was just checking in, you know. I, um, I hired a restoration expert for the house.” He said.

“Yeah, that’s great.” Ashley replied.

“She’s fantastic! Her name is Antonia and she is amazing at research and finding exactly what was in the house or might have been in the manor at that time.” He continued. And Ashley could hear a woman’s voice in the background.

“That’s great, Felix. I’m glad you like her.” She said.

“We’re planning on flying to London to collect some antiques and wallpaper and stuff and then on to Europe for the more furniture hunting. So…I was wondering if maybe we could meet for lunch or something?” He said and his voice was confident and strong and she could tell that perhaps he needed her permission of sorts to move forward.

“You’re not going to believe this, Felix. But I may need your expertise---your financial expertise. I could even hire you.” She said.

“Hire me? I’m pretty pricey.” He replied.

“Felix. I just inherited 400 million pounds sterling.” She said. She was met with silence on the other end.

“Are you on meds?” He said after a pregnant pause.

“Do me a favor and watch BBC America or PBS news tonight. You’ll see that I am lucid and serious.” She added.

“This is crazy. How is this possible?” He said on the other end.

“If you don’t believe me I’ll put Chelsea on the line and she can tell you that it’s the truth.” Ashley replied. “Oh, and I will be able to pay cash for the house…and everything in it.”

Repairing the World

Tikkun Olam: Hebrew “Repairing the World”

 

Chelsea stood in the Temple Church accompanied by Tammanend still adorned in the great Shaman’s bison robe and Dr. Samuel Pepys wearing a long cloak and his tricorn hat.  Strange arcane symbols embellished the perfectly round church, and effigies of the Knight’s Templar marking their final resting place seemed to create a thickness in the air.  Ghostly mask-like carvings of a man’s face composed of leaves, the ‘green man’ along with strange pillars with a terrestrial globe and astrological globe capping the tops respectively.

“This is how Charles Dickens was able to write ‘A Christmas Carol’”.  Dr. Pepys said matter-of factly.  “He knew how to navigate the Ley.”

Then it dawned on Chelsea that she was seeing some kind of Christmas future...or present, albeit a surreal Christmas ‘present’.

“There is a brilliant young man about the same age as young William Penn who in a few years will change the world with his revolutionary discovery of the laws of Gravity.  Again he is learning how to maneuver the Ley.” Dr. Pepys explained.

“What are these Doric columns?” Chelsea asked as she carefully tiptoed through the sacred sanctuary.

“That, my dear, is Boaz and Jachin.”

“Biblical, I take it.” She replied slightly uninterested.

“Somewhat.  You see, my fair girl, Boaz and Jachin are the two pillars that stood at the entrance of the temple of Solomon.  They represent severity and mercy on the tree of life…alas, Chokmah: Hebrew for wisdom and Binah: Hebrew for understanding…before reaching Kether, the crown…In the east, Samhadi, the height of divine consciousness.  It is the yin/yang, the duality of existence.  Light, dark, good, bad, male, female, sun, moon.” He said and his voice trailed off as he was taken by the grandeur of the Temple himself.

Tammanend followed behind Chelsea as a guide and protector.  He waited for a moment to ensure Chelsea might see him as he touched the pillar and stood between the two sentinels.  The threshold between the pillars became the grassy savannahs of Pennsylvania and Ohio at about the time Tammanend led his people west to ensure their survival.  For as far as the eye could see was vast wild prairie and beautiful stands of trees and woodlands.

“This.  This is how it looked to the Great Spirit before the white men came.”  Tammanend said softly and with longing.  Chelsea was astounded by what she was witnessing.  The Temple Church of London let out into the American plains unspoiled and pure.  She could smell the sweetgrass and the sounds of birds and the faint rustle of verdure in the wind.  It was the absolute authenticity of nature.

“How?” She asked breathless.

“These are doorways in the wrinkles of time.  Tiny little holes in the fabric of space.” Dr. Pepys replied.

“I’m dreaming---I, I must be dreaming.”  She said and she grew nervous and wanted very much to wake up.  Dr. Pepys shook his head ‘no’ then he smiled kindly.

“You are separating the subtle from the gross, my dear.  ‘as above, so below’. A very important step in recognizing the gifts of the laws of nature and achieving, well, a kind of ‘nirvana’, if you will.  You have asked from the subtlest parts of your heart and now you shall receive.” Pepys explained. “However, I must ask:  What is it you hope to achieve from this most extraordinary request?”

“Achieve?” Chelsea asked confused and a bit disoriented.

“Besides your own personal gain?” He continued.  Then he patiently waited for Chelsea to gather her thoughts and to truly put words to the things that affected her deeply.  But more importantly to articulate what it is she truly believed.

“I…um…I never really…wanted to have children.” She began slowly the words trickling in gradually at first.  “But something happened…and I don’t know exactly when or exactly what it was but I…I fell for her, for this woman.” Chelsea began.

“Fell?” Dr. Pepys asked confused.

“Yes…head over heels.  I never expected it. Not in a million years.  But…She sends me…She has extraordinary talent and her paintings are very much like the Rhys paintings.”  She said veering off point.

“I see.” Dr. Pepys replied patiently.

“She makes me want…to be…better…to…be a better person…to combine…knowing a part of her would be growing inside.” Chelsea said softly.  “I mean, the idea of creating another life with her makes me feel like there is hope.”

“Hope for…you?” Pepys prodded.

“For me, for everyone---for the world.” Chelsea said and her words surprised her.  Before, her focus seemed to be on the pertinent things of life as she knew it, a job, security, a place to live and a hobby or two—the distractions of pleasure and entertainment.  Now the world became a nest that must be feathered and cleaned and sometimes torn down and rebuilt. 

“The word Jachin is replaced with a ‘y’ in the Semitic pronunciations.” Dr. Pepys began and his eyes sparkled.   “’Yak’ means ‘one’ and the suffix, if you will, ‘hin’ means ‘only’.  Here we have the great mystery revealed.  It is ‘unity’, the ‘only one’”.

Tammanend stood near the pillar ‘Jachin’ as Dr. Pepys continued.

“The story of Boaz can be found in the book of Ruth.  He redeems the estate through traditional and legal means all in his love for Ruth. The thing you have that is separate from yourself can only be redeemed through the perfectness of love.  ‘Jachin’ becomes the unity of being – something that a family member cannot divest.  And ‘Boaz’ becomes the unity of thought through the ‘act’ of love.” Dr. Pepys said softly then he turned and gazed at Tammanend who was leaning on the pillar Jachin gazing out at the breathtaking vistas of early America.

“It is in the Upanishads.” Tammanend said. “’Brahman’ is ‘Jachin’.  ‘Atman’ is ‘Boaz’. This is what she taught me”.

“Who is ‘she’?” Chelsea asked.

“She is Ansa.” Tammanend said and the sound of her name brought glimmering light into the temple.  The rays sparkled and flickered and infused the entire church with a kind of magical mist.  As Chelsea watched the light fill the church it took her breath away.

“Come.  It is time to learn the calls.” Dr. Pepys said and he gently took Chelsea by her arm and led her to the altar of the small church.  Chelsea kept gazing backward at Tammanend standing on the threshold, his sanguine countenance taking in the wonder of the wilds only a few steps before him.  Then suddenly the great chief crossed the threshold of the sacred pillars and Chelsea watched him as he moved further and further away half obscured by the high grass and the distance.

A black Bentley was parked in the circular drive of the Savoy Hotel.  It was almost the exact model of her Majesty’s, the Queen’s official touring car.  Vacationers and tourists as well as Londoners passing by stopped to study the automobile.  People could be heard whispering things like, “Is the Queen really at the Savoy?  Whatever for?”  They were kindly corrected by the doormen and various hotel personnel that the royal standard was not perched atop the car’s roof, therefore, Her Majesty was not inside nor was this the Royal vehicle.  “Then it must be some other important dignitary.” The whispers continued.  Ashley sat in the back of the car.  She had already gathered Chelsea’s things and tucked them carefully back into her suitcase.  The bellhops had loaded the trunk.  The only thing missing was Chelsea herself.  Ashley fidgeted in the back seat.  The driver, Dillon, waited patiently.

“I’m so sorry.  I asked her to be here by 6:30.  I’ll try again.”  Ashley said apologetically.

“Please don’t apologize, ma’am.  It is my job and my duty to wait.”  He said smiling.  Ashley dialed her cell phone for the umpteenth time and once again it rang and rang until finally on the fifth ring Chelsea answered.

“Chelsea?” Ashley said concerned.

“Hi—I’m so sorry.  I lost track of time and I’m on my way.  I’m only a few streets from the hotel.  I’ll be there in a minute.  I’m so sorry.” Chelsea replied.

“Don’t worry I packed all of our things and I’m waiting in a Black Bentley if you can believe it.” She said chuckling at the absurdity of it. “I’ll see you in a few.”  She said and then she hung up and opened the car door.  She stood on the curb so that Chelsea could see her.  Finally after a few minutes she saw Chelsea ambling along the lane and quickly sprinting towards the car.  Ashley climbed in on her side and Chelsea slid in on the other.  The air conditioning in the car was a cool relief. 

“Wow!  You really pimped the ride!”  Chelsea said giggling and excited.  Dillon pulled the car out of the drive and two were on their way to new digs.

“What happened?  Where were you?” Ashley asked.

“I thought I had a little time and so I stopped at the Globe.  And then I walked over the bridge because it was so nice out---I, I just lost track of time. I’m sorry.”  Chelsea said apologizing yet again.  Then she sat quiet seemingly centering herself.  She reached for Ashley’s hand and clasped it tenderly.

“I want you to know…That I believe in you.  I believe in us, whatever this is…”  She said softly and she could feel her heart race as she peeled away her protective layers.  “I want you to know that I feel deeply…about you.  And sometimes my response time is not…optimal…but I do feel…even though I may not say it…or reciprocate…in a…timely way.  I won’t apologize for that…It’s just the way I’m built.”  She said softly.  Then she gazed at Ashley and Ashley could see that it was the most honest she had ever been with herself since their adventure began.

“I know.”  Was all that Ashley said and she smiled and her copper colored eyes flashed a kind of mysterious knowing as the sun set on olde London Towne. 

 

Chelsea was stunned by the grandeur of the Hyde Park residence.  It almost seemed palatial.  It looked like the townhouses seen in all the Merchant Ivory productions shot in turn-of-the-century London.  In front was the signature wrought iron fencing with the sharpened points guarding the house from the commonness of the street.  They were met by Wilkins in the front parlor.

“Ms. Coleman.”  He said with perfect etiquette.

“Wilkins---this is Chelsea Barrett.” Ashley said.

“A pleasure---“ Wilkins replied and nodded his head in respect.

“I’m sorry we’re late.  We had no time to change our clothes.  We must look like touristy Americans.” Ashley continued.

“We ARE touristy Americans.” Chelsea said.

“Ms. Coleman there is some news. Some rather upsetting news.”  Wilkins said soberly.  Ashley and Chelsea could hear masculine voices murmuring in one of the dining rooms on the ground floor.

“Dame Thornton passed away this afternoon.” Wilkins said and his face was grey and his eyes watered slightly.

“But I just left her this afternoon.  She seemed quite well.” Ashley replied in shock.

“She…fell asleep…and did not wake up.  Natural causes.” Wilkins replied.

“So…are we…should we go back to the hotel?” Chelsea asked.

“We should go so that they can make proper arrangements.”  Ashley added and began to move towards the front door pulling Chelsea’s arm.

“On the contrary.  We require your presence precisely at this time.”  Wilkins said.  “Dillon has taken your trunks to your rooms.  If you would like to change please take a moment to do so.”  Wilkins continued.  “I am quite aware that dinner is supposed to be served at 8:15.  Mrs. O’Halloran has made the required trip to the east side foraging for this elusive Thai Coconut soup.  As for the other guests we will be serving Lancashire hotpot.  However, if you are hungry at the moment I shall have Erin prepare some hors d'oeuvres immediately.

“What does this have to do with us?” Ashley asked.

“Dame Thornton’s accountants and solicitors are in the other room pouring over her estate and will.  Since she had no heirs she has left almost the entire estate to the both of you.”  Wilkins said.  “I do not know the particulars and that is why you are both required presently.”  He nodded leaving the girls gob-smacked.  He had only moved a few yards before turning back. 

“Please follow me.  I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“This is getting more surreal by the moment.”  Chelsea whispered.

 

Erin, the cook, had prepared a wonderful plate of exotic cheeses and crackers along with cru d’etat.  Middle aged men, some in dark suits looking like bankers and others sporting bow ties and tweed jackets reminiscent of literary professors in the states, murmured among themselves as papers and files covered a huge mahogany desk from the Empire period. 

“Gentlemen.  May I introduce you to Ms. Ashley Coleman and Ms. Chelsea Barrett.”  Wilkins said and he smiled at the girls as they seemed to look like deer caught in the proverbial headlights.  There was a gasp and a hush as the recognition of Chelsea’s name was spoken aloud.  A distinguished gentleman stepped forward.

“Ladies.  Permit me to introduce myself.  I am Archibald Smoot, chief legal advisor to Dame Thornton.  You have inherited between the two of you approximately 400 million pounds.”

Chelsea held onto Ashley’s arm to keep from fainting.

“I’m just a poor white child from the woods of North Carolina.” Ashley whispered in her southern drawl, awaiting cameras and a producer to spring out of a hiding place somewhere and tell them it was all a big joke.

“Shhhh.”  Chelsea replied.

“The stipulation is that the two of you be married.” Mr. Smoot added as the other men cleared their throats and looked away. “But…same gender marriage is not recognized as legal in the U.K.” He added.

“Why would the Dame stipulate that if it is not legal?” Ashley asked.  The men looked at each other for a possible answer.

“We do not know.  We were hoping that perhaps she might have given you a clue.” Mr. Smoot replied.

“I have no idea.” Ashley said.  The men scratched their heads. 

“Are either of you British citizens?” He asked.  The girls shook their heads ‘no’ in utter confusion.

“Oh dear.” Smoot uttered. 

“The various charities, museums, trusts and foundations that Dame Thornton supported in her lifetime require the continued stewardship of…well, yourselves.” A non-descript lawyer stated from the back of the crowd.

Smoot stepped forward.

“A fortune of this amount cannot be taken from the country.  It is illegal to remove it all and the good works that Dame Thornton so painstakingly forged would collapse if the support were pulled…It could affect the entire British economy.” 

The Holy Wells of Londinium

Chelsea decided that since there was a little more time to get back to the Savoy that perhaps she might just stroll and bypass the tube altogether. It was a gorgeous summer day and not too hot. People were filling the streets as the work day came to an end. As she exited the building there was an amazing summer breeze coming up off the Thames. To her right was the Globe Theatre and as curiosity overtook her she decided to investigate. It was a replica of the artistic home of, perhaps, the greatest English writer of all time that changed the course of Theatre and the English language still inspiring and vitally important today, William Shakespeare. She stood in front of the building in silent meditation in homage to the great playwright. The glint of the setting sun made the building turn a buttery amber color in the rich summer sunlight. It almost looked as if it were on fire. As she turned to make her way up onto the Millenium Bridge, a pedestrian walk across the Thames, she could see the familiar turban of the Sikh who had left her only a short while ago to tend to a mother in labor. He walked with intention and yet he seemed relaxed and in no hurry. She shadowed him keeping her pace at a good twenty yards behind making sure she did not lose him on the other side. The Millenium Bridge let off somewhere just before Saint Paul’s Cathedral another masterpiece of architecture created by Sir Christopher Wren. As the Sikh descended from view Chelsea grew anxious that she might lose him. She quickened her pace and as he hit terra firma she called out, “Dr. Singh?”

He turned a bit startled and in his momentary inertia finally recognized who it was that had shouted his name. He smiled broadly.

“That was a fast birth.” Chelsea said as she stepped close trying to bring a little levity to an awkward situation.

“A false alarm.” Dr. Singh replied.

“Walking home then?” Chelsea asked innocently.

“Just walking.” He answered kindly.

“You said you learned of these paintings from another place…a tavern.” She continued.

“Yes, yes.” He said. “It’s this way. We will pass by it. Would you like for me to show you?”

“Absolutely!” She smiled. The two quickened their pace in anticipation.

“London is a very old city, a prehistoric city, you see.” He began. “It was a powerfully spiritual place to the megalithic peoples and then to the Celts and Picts. The Romans called it Londinium, What people do not know is that there are holy wells still evident that the ancient people revered. And on these wells were built churches, Christianity’s way to quash paganism. What they did not know is that the sacred geometry of medieval and renaissance architecture only increased the power of these reflective holy pools. And these wells formed on ancient ley lines.” He said and he intentionally broke off any more explanation to let Chelsea digest the information.

“Isn’t that just superstition?” Chelsea replied.

“Superstition? You think it is superstition?” he said astounded.

“That’s what I hear.” She replied sheepishly.

“Aw, but what do you really hear?” He asked. She was silent. They stopped walking and stood before the grand edifice of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Dr. Singh pulled out his moleskin diary and opened it to a miniature size map of London that unfolded and bloomed like a flower.

“Down that way you can see the Spire of St. Bride’s Church. Further down is the Temple Church and even further is St. Clement Danes Church and then St. Mary le Strand. They are all aligned on the Strand Ley Line.” He explained and he laid his pen down and every point on the map perched like crows on a clothes line and they were indeed aligned. Chelsea tried to seem impressed but Dr. Singh remained observant and in tuned.

“And yet you believe in the magic of the Rhys paintings.” He huffed. Chelsea remained silent and a bit self-conscious.

“Very well. I shall have to show it to you. Take my hand, please.” He instructed and stretched out his arm. She was apprehensive but his warm eyes seemed to foment trust. As she touched his hand the entire street changed. Horses and carriages wheeled by at rapid speeds. Where there once were well crafted cement sidewalks and asphalt for the roads there was now cobblestones and mud. Men wore periwigs, tricorn hats, waistcoats and breeches. Women were attired in long bodiced dresses and capes. Immediately the sky turned gray with smoke and filth. The stench from the river was like that of an open sewer. The streets were a mix of human shit, rotten food, animal bones, horse droppings, vermin and mud. Dr. Singh’s appearance changed as well. As Chelsea turned her gaze from the English Renaissance cityscape she was met by the regal visage of an American Indian. He was tall and muscular and he wore a bison robe along with his leather leggings and moccasins.

“There are ley lines in America, too. But these are powerful.” He said and his copper colored eyes beamed with knowing. Chelsea was speechless. She was not sure if she was hallucinating or losing her mind or having a truly ecstatic experience.

“Dr. Singh?” She said in a fearful voice. The great chief gazed at her and smiled.

“I am Tamanend, Chief of the Lenni Lenapi tribe. You are safe with me…because…I am you.” He replied. He took her by the hand and they glided effortlessly only inches above the soggy cesspools of the London streets.

“Ley lines are the entrances to the space time continuum.” He explained and the words did not seem to match the Indian’s appearance.

“Water is a conductor and that is why the holy wells have become portals.”

They stopped just in front of a local public house. A hand crafted sign read ‘Ye Olde Cock Tavern’ and in front of the establishment were dirty vagrants, a few women of ill repute as well as barristers and merchants. To Chelsea it looked like a movie set but the odors in the air and the kinetic psychic energy told her this was the real thing. A heaviness hung in the air and Tamanend pulled Chelsea inside through the throng of merry men and barmaids. The chief stood head and shoulders taller than the patrons and as he moved gracefully through the crowd he made a clear path in his wake. The pungent odor of stale beer and urine infused the cramped, stuffy pub. They moved to a small table in the back of the establishment.

“This is Dr. Samuel Pepys.” Tammanend said.

“And who is this deliciously ripe petit four?” Dr. Pepys replied.

“Chelsea…Barrett” She answered. The bar hushed.

“A strange accent, indeed. From whence do ye hail, my fair girl?” Pepys inquired.

“America.” Tamanend replied for her. His voice was velvety and yet authoritative.

“Ah, a place that shall be quite familiar to my compartriot here. Chief Tamanend, Lady Chelsea Barrett this is William Penn. He is about to embark on a trip to Ireland.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Penn said and then added, “I am not at all familiar with this America nor do I have any desire.”

Dr. Pepys laughed uproariously.

“Oh, my dear boy. If you only knew what lies before you.” He said. Then as an aside, whispering behind his hand he leaned in and said “He does not know this yet, but he is about to trade in his armor for the cloth. A Quaker, no less. A pariah. An outcast in this very city. But he is resourceful and he shall build his own city of Philadelphia all in good time.”

“How does he know this and why am I privy to it?” Chelsea asked.

“A part of your soul is familiar to them and them to you.” Tamanend explained softly.

Chelsea studied the young man, Penn. He was so handsome he almost looked like a woman. He had fine delicate features and yet a strong physique. She found herself a bit attracted to him but not at all to the etiquette of the time, nor to the tradition of regarding women as things.

“And what brings you to our little pocket within this tiny wormhole?” Dr. Pepys asked teasingly.

“She has been studying the Rhys Paintings.” Tammanend explained.

“Alchemy, is it?” Dr. Pepys replied and he stared at Chelsea hard. “Are you worthy?”

“She is undergoing purification.” Tammanend replied.

“Searching for the Philosopher’s Stone?” Young William Penn asked and his gaze was sweet yet electric with sensuality.

“Something more arcane.” Tammanend replied. “A wish that cannot possibly take place on the physical plane. It is of an angelic nature.”

“I see.” Pepys said studying the two.

“What, may I ask, my fair lady, is the desire?” Penn asked innocently and with intense curiosity.

“Um…I’m not sure how…” Chelsea began. She wasn’t sure how to form the words in a succinctly understandable way since the desire seemed so completely unattainable.

“Leave the how to us, my dear, and let us know of your heart’s desire.” Pepys instructed.

“Two of the same shall beget an heir. That is the desire.” Tammanend said matter-of-factly. Dr. Pepys scratched his chin and studied Chelsea intensely for a moment.

“This requires Enochian evocation.” Dr. Pepys murmured. “Dr. John Dee’s work will be of help in this. You see he was able to change his gender merely by contemplation, meditation and evocation. But first we must visit the Temple Church and its archives. I shall escort you.” Dr. Pepys said and he stood up and bid young William Penn adieu.

Richard was pale once again, his energy drained. Even though the night provided some comfort and much needed rest his reserves were low and his being seemed vulnerable to exhaustion and disease. The round of ale and toast most likely added to his discomfort. He sat on the bed waiting for Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Watkins to acquire Michelangelo from the livery. It was Saint Patrick’s Day and so Ned and the other stablemen had joined in on the festivities. They were not to be found since the snow had prevented equine locomotion for many days now.

Victoria studied him closely. She let her hands feel his face and forehead and then she let her palm slip beneath his shirt and touch his chest.

“You’re with fever again.” She said. “We must stay here until you are well enough to travel.” She continued as she wiped her sweaty hands on a cloth.

“I want to go home.” Richard answered.

“And we shall. But net yet.” She advised. “This storm has already taken enough lives. And it shall not take my husband.”

“What if I ride? Would that be too unchivalrous? I could wrap myself in this hide. It kept me warm in the storm and now that it has passed…” His words trailed off as his eyes grew heavy.

“You must lie down for a moment. I shall see to the innkeeper and to Mr. Watkins and Mrs. Hopkins. I shall also make a cup of tea for you, dear. You must rest.” Victoria instructed. Richard slowly lay back down on the flimsy mattress and pulled the bison hide over him. He watched Victoria move almost like an apparition, a faint mist, a remnant of a potent long-ago dream. She vanished leaving him alone on the cramped attic room. As his eyes closed and his mind began to drift he could feel himself undulating on the water as if lying down in a small row boat, the gentle rocking soothing his senses and creating a kind of hypnotic state.

He awoke with a start to find himself in actual water surrounded by the most beautiful lotus blossoms and the smell of sandalwood. As he sat up in the holy well he could see the nave of St. Bride’s church. He had only been there a few times before when he lived in London. It was a place where the poor could be fed. And as a small boy he begged the vicars and congregants for food. Quickly he moved from the well and stepped up onto the floor of the church. With each step towards the door the water was wicked away as if by magic. He stepped out onto Dorset Rise completely dry and in the distance he could see Ansa in her saffron robes turning down Tudor Street. He dashed out into the crowded lane to try and catch up with her. She seemed like a golden orb floating among the mundane. He knew he could find her at the Thai restaurant and so he made his way there down Tudor Street and then to King’s Bench Walk. When he arrived at the establishment it was crowded with a variety of ethnicities. He maneuvered his way through the crowd awaiting sustenance and down the narrow hallway to the back room. There he found Ansa sitting with Ashley at a small square table.

“Welcome.” She said and she bowed her head slightly. “Come. Sit. Eat.” There was a bowl of soup already prepared for him. He sat down as Ansa and Ashley studied him.

“Ms. Coleman, you’re looking well.” He said kindly. Ashley blushed and smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Rhys.” She replied. Then Ansa pulled out the orange thread that Ashley was holding.

“We call you.” Ansa giggled. “We pull on this and we call you.”

Richard nodded as he devoured the coconut soup. It was the exact thing his body needed and he felt immediately revived and restored.

“Now you ask.” Ansa instructed. Ashley seemed completely self conscious. She took a breath and then she began.

“Chelsea and I…” She started slowly.

“Chelsea?” Richard said, his attention immediately taken. “Where is she?” He queried.

“You must combine.” Ansa said. “To make a life…very special life.”

“Combine?” Richard asked unsure of the request.

“When you and her combine you become one --- you become deva, bodhisattva.” She said. “You become how to say…androgynous…In your tradition…an angel.” Ansa stood and then she motioned for Ashley to stand. Then she took Richard by his arm and positioned him just in front of Ashley.

“Step back.” Ansa commanded and a bright flash of light blinded the room. The cooks in the kitchen clapped and cheered. Ashley and Richard were perfectly aligned. Both male and female. Both potent and powerful. Ashley looked down to see a much more muscularly defined physique. And to her surprise as she lifted her arm she could see Richard’s bicep there and just behind it the immense wings that glowed a soft lavender color. It took her breath away.

Ansa gazed at Richard embedded within Ashley. Then she uttered a soft directive.

“If you want to go home this is the way. There is only one chance. Then you will be free. And you will not remember. But you will give life, you will give seed to something new.” She gazed at Ashley and said, “There is only one chance. Only once will you have the ability to create with her. Then it will be gone and you will not remember him. Understand?”

Ashley nodded yes. Then Ansa coiled the string about her finger and Richard stepped out of Ashley and they were themselves again.

“When time is right you pull this.” She said to Ashley. Then she looked over at Richard. “When you feel the pull, you go to her. Understand?”