Meeting Louise

The Clock Struck 11. I had been sitting there for hours upon hours reading my favorite author, Louisa May Alcott. Even though I knew the ending by heart it still did not help quote the tears.

My sister entered the room and gave a smirky little laugh." I can't believe you are still crying over that silly book."

I picked up the tissue that laid on the table before me and dabbed my eyes. No one really understood how I felt. How could they? I felt I had as I had been born in the wrong time and at the wrong place. I would have loved to have lived in a time that was as romantic as that of the early eighteen hundreds. I could just picture women in their flowing gowns, colorful hats and pointy boots dancing with their husbands to waltzes.

Thinking about the women in that era I also imagined what the men were like when they saw a beautiful woman waiting patiently to fill their dance cards. The books that I had read showed them to be aristocratic, gentlemanly and usually shy when courting a woman.

I said to my sister, " your problem is that you're not romantic at all."  "Its really sad."

With that she rolled her eyes at me and took leave of my room.

I suddenly realized that it was hard for me to keep my eyes open and fell fully asleep in the clothes that I had worn all day; a blue knit cable sweater, blue faded jeans and my keds.

It is said that dreams last only a few second, but when we dream it can feel like an eternity.  That is what I was thinking when I next opened my eyes.

There was a young woman standing over my bed.  She was standing there agape looking over my figure and the odd clothing that I wasn wearing, and wondering how I had gotten in her own space.

I was in a room that was adorned with old furniture; it included large dresser draw with brass rings, a matching clothes hutch with flowing dresses and a desk filled with ink pens and blank white paper neatly stacked in the corner.

The bed that I was lying in was also made of brass and my head was surrounded by puffed up blue pillows.

I knew right away that this was not reality; it couldn't possibly be.

"Hmmm"...came the voice from above me.  Who are you, and why are you dressed so strangely?  What is that cloth upon upon your legs?"

"It is called denim, or also called blue jeans.  I dress in these clothes every day.  Its the style."  It is quite common."

I sat up and turned toward the voice and saw before me a remarkable woman of no older than 20.  She had on a long black dress, with a white apron adornef with yellow lace around the edges.  The top of the dress was the same as the bottom and the sleeves of the dress fit neatly around her small thin wrists.

Her face was smooth and pale, and she had long black hair fashioned in a loose knot.

The only jewlery that adorned her was a simple pair of light coral-colored pearls around her neck.

This must be a dream that you are having, or I am the one having.  I am not quite sure at this point.

 "Where are you from and what is your name, I asked."

"My name is Louise and you are in Boston.  It is the winter of 1843, and apparently you passed out in front of our house; I live here with my parent and three siblings".  

"What is your name and are you ill? I am a nurse and might be able to help you, if you so require such help."

My name is Laura and the last thing I remember is falling asleep after reading a very beautiful but sad story.  My last thought before falling asleep was living in your time.  So apparently it is I who must be dreaming."

Louise smiled and secretly confessed that she often wondered what the future would hold for her.  What would it be like to dress, eat and live many years into the future.

At this point, we both agreed to teach each other about life as each of them knew it.

"Why don't you get out of those clothes. I have a dress in my closet that should fit you rather well."

With that. Louise brought out a light pink dress that flowed to the floor.  It had layered ruffles, with a background of spring flowers.  Than Louise found a pair of laced boots that fit quite comfortably.  The only thing that was missing was a hat to protect my face from the strong sun.

I caught my view in a tall standing mirror and couldn't believe that it was actually my reflection in the mirror.

It was about nine in the morning and we walked down the steps to a large stone kitchen.  There was a large wood burning stove and a large boiling pot with oatmeal.  Upon the table was a fresh loaf of bread and a tall pitcher of milk.  We sat down and ate our meal as louise explained to me about a typical day.

When we finished eating we walked out to a stable that held two black stallions.  She gingerly hooked the horses to a carraige and headed on a dirt road to the closest town.  It took about half an hour before we stopped in front of a dry goods store.

The dry goods store stocked common item that could be found in any supermarket with the exception of cold or frozen foods.  It was Louises responsibility to pick up such items as cereal, rice, sugar and potatoes.

The next few stops in Louise's daily routine included stops at the local butcher shop, and a fruit market.

By the time they got back to the house, it was time for a light lunch of soup, vegetables and muffins.

Louise explained that she and her sisters lived very simply and were not required to participate in any type of laborious tasks and were taught from early childhood to sew, bake or cook and that is how we passed the afternoon.  Louise was in the process of sewing a quilt for the winter.

The last few hours of the day found us singing and dancing in a large garden, under a blanket of bright stars.

Alas, I awoke in the room that I had fallen asleep.  I was no longer dressed in the pink ruffled dress, or the laced boots that fit so comfortably, but was actually back in my blue cable knit sweater, faded blue jeans and keds.  

I would like to think that it was Louisa May Alcottd that I met and I don't know if I will ever relive my dream, but I do know that life in the 1800 era was as I had imagined it...a place of easy living and romantic beauty.