A Dream of Time Gone By

"'I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal—as we are!'" 

Porcelain rang against porcelain.

"Thank you, Isidora. That is enough. Perhaps you could make Miss Franklin another cup of tea?" 

The child bobbed her head, folding Jane Eyre shut. Her fingers delicately clasped what Miss Franklin had dubbed "Aladdin's lamp." Carmine liquid descended from its spout, wafting the bittersweet fragrance of bergamot into the air. 

"Thank you, Isidora," Miss Franklin smiled, bringing the tea to her lips. "I thought your reading of Jane Eyre was lovely. You capture her voice so well."

"Adamantine does not think so," Edith Hall sliced from across the table. The eldest Hall sister daintily cleared her throat. 

"Edith, your words are most coarse. And false," she admonished, passing a saucer to Miss Franklin. "Isidora did wonderfully. It is the choice of literature with which I take issue. Heaven knows how this 'Currer Bell' believes their content is fit for publishing."

Miss Franklin shifted her gaze, making a point to study the saucer in her hand. Edith noticed immediately.

"Miss Franklin," she grinned like a cat. "Do tell us what posterity thinks of Jane Eyre."

***

Millie Franklin had no idea how much time had passed since these dreams of finery and tea parties began.

That's all they could be, dreams. Yet each one felt as vivid as waking up. 

It all began when the sweet scent of citrus tickled her nose. Millie opened—opened?—her eyes. Green overwhelmed her. Shamrock grass swayed as far as the eye could see. Two columns of robust ash trees stood sentry, sporting their emerald leaves like esteemed medals. Nature itself seemed to coax Millie towards the grand structure that stood before her in this fantasy countryside.

The "grand structure" was obviously a home, but it didn't feel right to call it a house. With its sweeping oak veranda, stalwart chimneys, and ornate bay windows, Millie felt as if she were in the presence of architectural royalty.

Knowing herself, nothing could be more absurd. 

Yet the pomp and wealth seemed to take notice of her. The manor's gilded doors glided open, revealing a very concerned woman in its place.

"Goodness gracious child," Adamantine Hall lamented, scurrying forward. Millie was far from a child, but she had no time to refute the statement. The woman's hands enclosed her own, studying every knuckle with a scientific eye.

"My dear, you must be frozen," Adamantine lamented, "please, come inside. We have decent clothes you may wear." 

Ah, Millie processed, looking down. I'm certainly not dressed for the occasion. The woman leading her into the manor, on the other hand, practically floated in a violet taffeta dress. It was like Millie had fallen into another time.

"It's beautiful," Millie breathed. And by it, she meant everything.

Adamantine humbly dipped her head as she led Millie up the veranda stairs. "You are too kind Miss..."

"Franklin. Millie Franklin." Her name felt odd in her mouth, but Adamantine only smiled encouragingly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Franklin. I am Adamantine Hall. You may think of me as the sort of...matriarch of this home." Millie furrowed her eyebrows, but any concern was forgotten as she stepped inside the Hall home.

If the home's exterior was fit for kings and queens, its interior was for gods. A mahogany staircase twirled upwards as if to heaven. Plush velvet carpet dipped like clouds beneath her feet. Flickering oil lamps flourished against floral wallpaper like constellations in the night sky. Millie was dumbstruck.

"This—how on Earth did I dream th—"

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

"—is up?" The regality of Adamantine Hall's home was replaced by the dull reality of Millie's abode. 

"Too good to be true," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. Existence continued for her as it always had: barely tolerable.

Yet the citrus fragrance eventually beckoned to Millie once more. This time, she dreamed of sharp Edith and kindly Isidora.

***

There was no way to predict when Millie would have these dreams. She had never been so eager to fall asleep: wishful for the scent of angel's trumpet, the texture of floral wallpaper.

She began to call her dreams "visits". And during each visit, Millie learned something new about the Halls. Adamantine was twenty-six, Edith fifteen, and Isidora twelve. The manor had been in their family for several generations. Consumption had stolen their parents four years prior—thus Adamantine's resentment for her "promotion" to head of the household. Yet against the odds, Adamantine was still the perfect embodiment of a Victorian gentlewoman. The only thing she did not have was a husband, a subject even Edith knew not to mention.

Edith was the fiercest of the Hall sisters. An amateur scientist herself, she was as intelligent as she was pretty. She never failed to say what was on her mind; a fact Millie was positive drove Adamantine into despair. 

Isidora was the lamb of the family. Blond curls, big blue eyes, all smiles and innocent joy. Isidora would walk to the ends of the Earth if it gave someone a fleeting moment of joy.

The sisters were all so different, but Millie knew they loved each other dearly.

Could she say the same about her childhood?

The question always ushered a throbbing pain at the back of her neck.

***

"Jane Eyre? A beloved classic?"

Edith scoffed. Isidora beamed. Millie nibbled a cucumber sandwich. Adamantine looked downright horrified.

"Goodness gracious, is mankind beyond all hope?" Adamantine sputtered.

They couldn't help it; Edith, Isidora, and Millie burst out laughing. Adamantine was aghast, which only exasperated their howls.

"Enough," the eldest Hall sister firmly demanded, tapping her spoon against the teapot. "At this rate, your hysterics will end Miss Franklin's visit." That reasoning closed their mouths. 

"I apologize, Miss Hall," Millie relented. "Sometimes I forget myself. I know our lives and times are quite different."

"Oh, but there is so much more that unites us!" Isidora entreated, eyes shining. "We all love our tea parties! And Adamantine's scones! And our home!" 

Adamantine's lips curved upward. "Yes, Isidora. We do."

Edith's head shot up as if she had been struck with an idea by God Himself. "Of course," she breathed. "Miss Franklin, is our home still standing in your time?"

The Hall sisters studied Millie, their eyes filled with cautious hope. Millie swallowed.

"I-I must confess I cannot say for certain," she stammered. Her hands curled beneath the table. This was a dream. As often as Millie tried to forget it, there was no possible way the Hall sisters and their home were real.

Their expressions were crestfallen.

"Why not?" Edith interrogated. "Have you looked? Hasn't your time made progress when it comes to answering these sort of questions?"

"Well, yes but—"

"Then why can you not learn of our home?"

"Edith!" Adamantine rebuked. Edith closed her mouth.

"Miss Franklin, I sincerely apologize on behalf of my sister," Adamantine gushed. But even her Victorian manners could not hide her disappointment. "Our home is dear to us, that is all. You are under no obligation to search for it." 

"Thank you," Millie whispered. Guilt flickered in her stomach. This world—these girls—it was all illusory, she knew that. But confirming that for certain...it would still shatter her.

"I believe tea time is over," Isidora whispered. "Come, Miss Franklin. Let me show you my room."

***

"And this is Victoria! Like the queen!" 

Millie rubbed her thumb over the doll's wooden face. "Victoria is gorgeous, Isidora. Every bit as royal as her majesty."

Isidora nodded in agreement. "Here," she tugged Millie's finger, guiding her to an elaborate dollhouse. "This is where Victoria eats dinner. And this is where she goes to bed." Isidora took the doll from Millie's hands and placed the wooden figurine on the miniature bed.

"That's lovely," Millie hummed. She expected Isidora to show her another toy or game, but the young girl only pondered the doll in the bed.

"What do you think happens when we die, Miss Franklin?"

Millie's neck began to throb.

"I-I do not know." 

"Mama and Papa were in bed," Isidora noted, staring at the prostate doll. "And then they were gone. To heaven?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Where will we go?" Isidora's bottom lip trembled. "Will we go to heaven?"

Millie clasped Isidora's hand. "Yes, yes you will."

"Or will we be spirits?" Isidora's eyes widened. "Spirits cannot tell life from death. Or count time!" Her breathing grew panicked. "And only those who call for them can see them! How terrible!"  

"Isidora, you will not become a ghost," Millie firmly assured. She thought that would comfort the young girl, but Isidora's eyes became wet with tears instead.

"Then who will care for our home?" She whimpered.

Millie's resolve broke. 

"How about," she relented, drawing Isidora close. "I find your home. In my time. I'll take care of it, I promise." 

Isidora's eyes widened. As painful as it would be for her, Millie knew she could search for the Halls' home, if only for Isidora's sake.

"Yes, oh yes!" Isidora clapped. "Oh, thank you Miss Franklin!" She threw her arms around Millie's shoulders. 

Home. Millie had always yearned for a place that felt like home. And these dreams...she could not explain it, but the Halls felt like home. No matter how illusory they were. 

She owed them this.

***

It was real. 

Millie could not believe it, but the manor actually existed. If someone could have seen the look on her face, they would have thought she won the lottery.

The home did not go by Hall Manor, at least anymore. Ash House was its name, a moniker Millie could only attribute to its magnificent ash trees. 

The Hall sisters could barely contain themselves during Millie's next visit. Even Adamantine whooped with joy in the most unladylike manner.

"You must be proud," Millie told her, squeezing her hand. "Running a home all by yourself and for it to still stand so many years later."

Adamantine gripped her handkerchief. "Yes," she whispered, voice full of emotion. "I am."

Edith practically instructed Millie to go to their home and read the books on her shelves.

"Isidora only reads romances, and Adamantine barely reads at all," she reasoned. "I need someone with whom I can discuss the works of William Crookes."

Isidora wrote down her cucumber sandwich recipe and hid it under the floorboards in her room. 

"That way, it will be waiting for you when you arrive in your time," Isidora beamed. Millie did not have the heart to tell her the termites would probably discover it first.

Adamantine insisted on leaving some reward for Millie to gather as well. Millie simply shook her head.

"These dreams and seeing the house still standing are all I need," she assured the sisters. 

The time between her visits had given her time to plan her trip to Ash House. By the time she awoke, Millie was on her way.

***

The journey to the manor was a blur, people and time buzzing past Millie like flies in the summer heat.

She was focused on her goal: there was no stopping her now. 

Millie scarcely dared to breathe until she reached Mendax County, the location of Ash House.

She justified taking a small rest and slipped inside the county's local tourism store, thankful for its air conditioning. The cashier paid her no mind, flipping through a magazine at the register. I guess a lot of people don't frequent here, Millie noted.

She herself had only been able to learn a little about Mendax County and Ash House. Surprisingly, the manor was a fairly obscure historical site. Locals popped by around Christmas time to look at its Victorian decorations, but that was about it. Millie could only imagine the little funding it received. Maybe I should take Adamantine up on her offer so I can afford to upkeep the manor.

"It's haunted, you know." 

Millie whirled around. The cashier was leaning over a man holding a tourism brochure.

"What, this place?" He asked, waving the pamphlet. The woman hummed.

"They say someone died there a while back. Can't remember if it was from an illness or an accident. Apparently, you can still hear them roam the halls." 

The man looked disinterested. "Every old home claims to have a ghost in it." 

The cashier clucked her tongue. "Some claims hold up. How about I make good on a few of mine in the back? It's just us in here, you know."

Millie's face reddened. Thank goodness for the shelves. The man carelessly tossed the brochure aside. "Try not believing in the impossible. It makes you do the stupidest things," he replied and walked out of the store. 

***

Millie waited until the sun began to set to approach Ash House. Even though people rarely frequented the building, she did not want to risk a patron finding her searching the floorboards for a cucumber sandwich recipe. 

Millie's dream visits always occurred in the daytime. The orange sky behind Ash House was a sight she had not seen before. The setting sun made the manor's windows gleam like gold. She could not help but marvel at the preservation of the Halls' home. It looked exactly the same as when she had last visited it. At least Adamantine won't have to worry about its upkeep.

The grass danced, the trees guarded, and the white flowers seemed to coax her inside. Angel's trumpet, Millie smiled, relishing its familiar citrus scent. She had been foolish for being scared to look for Ash House.

Millie pulled its doors open. Sunlight pooled on the carpet, just as plush as it had been in her dreams.

"Oh, Adamantine," Millie whispered to herself. "You should be so, so proud." Her fingers traced the mahogany banister. Perhaps Isidora's recipe did survive the termites after all. She carried herself up the stairs, feeling closer to heaven than she ever had before.

"Second room on the right," Millie murmured to herself. She took note of the doorway. Isidora's doorway. The realization that Isidora had not occupied that room for years squeezed her heart. I shall see them soon, Millie reassured herself.

She stepped inside.

***

Metal coats her tongue.

Heavy black drapes press upon her.

Murmurs.

"—clean break. It was instant—"

There is an excruciating pain in her neck.

"—it worked? I think it—"

Figures and darkness compress and contract and move and move and move.

The smells, the darkness, this feeling—it's all so vivid now—

"What do we do?"

"The candles—"

Ringing silence.

***

"Millie Franklin, we summon you."

"I said, Millie Franklin, we summon you."

"Millie Franklin, are you there?"

Millie's eyes fluttered open. 

Three blurry figures shifted around her.

"Millie Franklin, move something to let us know you hear us." 

She was in a cage. Cold metal burned against her back. Her trembling fingers tapped its bars.

"No freaking way!" A voice pierced. It hit Millie's ears like sickeningly sweet syrup. Nauseating yet familiar.

"E-Edith?" 

"Millie Franklin, tap the bar twice if you are present and aware in this house." 

"Adaman—Ada—" she couldn't breathe. And there was this pain in her neck...

"Millie Franklin, tap the bar twice if your spirit is present and aware in this house." 

Tap. Tap.

Three unearthly squeals.

"Oh my god, we did it!" 

"It's her!"

"We lured a real, freaking ghost..."

"So we don't have to wear those costumes again, right?"

"How did she not realize? This is so unreal..."

A face peered through the cage bars. 

Blond hair. Big blue eyes.

"I wonder if it feels pain?" Isidora murmured, tilting her head curiously.

These weren't the Hall sisters Millie had known. Gone were the smiles and dresses and tea parties…

Spirits cannot tell life from death. Or count time! And only those who call for them can see them!

Some claims hold up.

Try not believing in the impossible. It makes you do the stupidest things.

Ghostly sobs wracked Millie's wraith as the Hall sisters celebrated outside her cage.