Days passed slowly but the nights even slower. Alicia’s mind was more suited to the fast paced activity and thought patterns of far in the future … and that mind was beginning to struggle and wonder if she liked her current state of affairs. She’d taken to walking the halls of the dark empty house long past midnight and until near dawn when exhaustion would finally wash her clean of all worries. Did she miss television and bars? Swimsuits and pantyhose, hand cream and fresh scented shampoo. Cars and airplanes, ATM machines and computers? Did she miss the freedom to just walk out of her door when she felt like or take an afternoon to just sit near the river and read a good book … she already knew she missed good books. Oh, apparently they existed; just nowhere a fine, wealthy widow such as herself would find them.

She knew most of her limitations were because of the black. She understood that the mourning period would end and this was a time of silent observation … it was all telling her things she wasn’t sure she cared for and questions tugged like a niggling toothache.

Did she have to stay? Could she find a way back to her own time? If not, could she find a way to a life she’d be more suited for, and what, pray tell would that be? Spinster? Prostitute? Eternally lonely widow? Maybe she should go on safari and bring home a few pet lion kittens. In 1905 she could get away with that, right? All confirmed spinsters had cats. But, safari junky aside, there simply were not many career choices available and that made Alicia even more restless.

There was one other alternative she didn’t want to think about; she could go back to the Magnolia Men’s Club. No. No. She couldn’t. She would never return to the Club. Life might be tough and it might be limiting and tiresome but it was far better than the plight of being captive within the walls of the Club. Memories and terrors fluttered her heart and she’d roll over and over on the bed, stifling tears and hoping for sunshine to brighten her mood. When it was at its worse, when she shuddered and cried, felt her heart would burst with fear and loneliness … she would think of Nathan.

Nathan seemed the ultimate safety for her. When had she ever met a man like him? One who could draw out her light and sparkle and at the same time make her terrified that he might not like what he sees? Had she known anyone like Nathan Booker before? Most certainly they didn’t build men like that in the twenty-first century. So, there it was … Nathan Booker … the one and only reason to stick around, if she had a choice that is.

For several days nothing but rain pummeled Farmington and a woman with so few real joys was suddenly fearful of losing a silly picnic. A picnic, how did Nathan describe it? Nothing but badly prepared food, the swatting away of black flies and a very poor brass band. Nothing all that special. But against the gloomy backdrop of her day to day life, the picnic seemed like Christmas and New Years and St. Patrick’s Day all rolled into one.

Alicia sat at the window and hoped beyond hope that the ugly weather would clear; the constant drop of rain, a smooth, whispering curtain between her and the rest of the world, nourishing and limiting at once. A picnic was what she needed, even though she’d need to stand apart, at least she could see other people enjoying themselves; something she wasn’t likely see inside her own house.

The Stedler’s were serious, Irish Catholic working class people. The most human emotion Alicia could catch was an occasional, quiet ripple of a chuckle when they thought she wasn’t present. They weren’t hiding from her or talking behind her back … they were just very private and appropriate employees. It was not a time of friendly camaraderie between the classes just yet, and although she had cultivated a fondness and friendliness with Missy, Mr. and Mrs. Stedler were not interested in blurring the lines they felt most comfortable with. It all added to the sense of emptiness.

What Alicia saw inside her house was her own reflection passing an occasional mirror, what she felt was the weight of unbearable silence. Even on the damp, chilled afternoons she sat on the porch just to catch an occasional glimpse of a passing neighbor; imagine where they were, what they did, who they talked to. Alicia was going nuts. It had been nearly a month and it was time to see how others lived … out in public. Alicia needed a picnic.

She was quite unschooled in 1905 outdoor behavior, since she’d never had any practice at it. Her most formal training took place inside the Magnolia Men’s Club walls … hardly appropriate social behavior for normal people of any century. She did ride on the trains to Farmington alone and was terrified of making a blunder that would make her a mark for scrutiny or criticism. Obviously her real education would take place at a town picnic … complete with female gossip … male machismo … squealing, playing children and a brass band. Seemed a perfect classroom. If only the rain would stop.

The picnic was scheduled for the very next day. Did the grey skies look brighter today? Would the storms finally pass over the hills? Mrs. Stedler had few concerns about the weather. It would be what it would. She had already set out the wicker baskets and purchased many items to prepare for the outing. She was on a constant alert to instruct Missy at every turn, as the girl would be accompanying the Window Hopkins to the picnic. Even Mrs. Stedler had to admit, it was time for Mrs. Hopkins to leave the house more often.

“In those trunks? Was there much in those trunks of hers, Missy?”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” Missy scraped fabric over the washboard and sighed. “Such beautiful things, and most brand new! Dresses and skirts and blouses, delicate petticoats, shoes and hats! So many beautiful hats!”

“Hats? Huh.” Mrs. Stedler continued her own task of shaving lye soap with a knife and adding steaming water from the kettle to the washtub. “Hats,” her tongue tisk-tisked. “So frivolous. Confirms it for me, now doesn’t it.”

“What’s that ma’am?” Missy hissed and quickly pulled her hand from the too hot water.

“Well, I been thinking about how strange our lady is at times and I believe I got it all figured out. Poor dear, raised rich and all; was probably pampered by her parents, no doubt got the same from her loving, elderly husband. Missy, I think we need to watch over Mrs. Hopkins. Now don’t you go telling her I say so, but she’s quite an innocent and I wouldn’t be pleased to see her shunned for some small social infraction. That’s going to be your responsibility at the picnic tomorrow, young lady.”

“Oh, dear,” her eyes widened. Missy had seen the outing as a pleasurable opportunity to escape the drudgery of her day. To be responsible for a grown woman was beyond her expectations or her abilities as far as she was concerned. “Oh, Mrs. Stedler! Perhaps it’s you who should be going, not me.”

“No, no, she asked for you and it will be you. You will do fine, just be careful not to leave her side. You’ve got a good sense about you, Missy. You know when someone is trying to be mean and unkind. You will keep Mrs. Hopkins from such situations. It shouldn’t be hard,” the old woman dropped more clothes into the washtub. “She’s wearing black, now isn’t she? Few will approach her, few will be disrespectful and few will be expecting her to approach them. You’ll do fine. Now finish with the washing, girl, there’s lots to do.”

***

Saturday morning broke clear and blue, vibrant with sunshine and perfect warm breezes, a massive difference from the oppressive heat or five day chilly rain. The only thing the same as usual was Alicia’s ugly black gown, but her smile was brilliant as she left the carriage, Missy at her side, helping with baskets of food and Mr. Stedler calling behind them that he would return at six sharp to take them back.

Noon but not too hot, not too cool. They joined Mrs. Booker at a shaded table. Two couples were also invited to picnic with the Bookers; Mr. and Mrs. Manchester were elderly, self-righteous and very quiet, Mrs. Manchester especially careful to point her scowl of disapproval regarding Alicia’s presence only when Helen Booker was not watching. Young Dr. Louis Freedman and his lovely wife Genevieve were far less unkind, but still very appropriate and during the entire meal, through conversations of local politics and the strangeness of the oppressive summer, Nathan had said fewer than ten words to Alicia.

She sighed and stood from the bench, opened her hideous black parasol and turned to stroll. “Do not hurry, Missy. I’ll be very near,” Alicia discouraged the girl from abruptly stopping play with Miranda. Besides, to walk even thirty feet away all alone seemed like heaven. Traveling alone was frightful, but Alicia felt safe and protected so close to Nathan, in the town that was her home, even among the gossiping harpies he’d warned her about.

Missy and Miranda were playing a card game of their own invention and swiftly returned all attention to it. All the better. Alicia walked to the gazebo and stood, enjoying the brass band, glancing back often to assure that her keepers were still in sight. But the guests at the table were dissolving. Missy and young Miranda remained at the far edge and Helen Booker sat, peacefully reading at the other edge, but the Freedman’s were strolling arm in arm and the Manchester’s were nowhere in sight. Nathan had fully disappeared, perhaps called to an emergency. Alicia sighed disappointment.

She continued her walk and the luxury of breathing in the freedom nearly overwhelmed her. She drifted along the river. Many of those passing either offered her a kind smile or a disapproving scowl and she discovered that age had little to do with the responses she received. Some rather youthful women were as harsh or harsher than the old crones. Most men simply did not see that there was a living, breathing woman beneath the black volumes of taffeta, and the women who did notice her were doing what most women do … sizing up the competition, even though Alicia was no competition that day as a mourning widow, or any day in the future as a pinned and initiated possession of the Magnolia Men’s Club. The most she could hope for was a worrisome glance from a young lady clutching her beau a little tighter; it was nice to know she was still attractive enough to strike fear in the hearts of pretty girls.

Along her walk she spoke not one word, seldom even nodded in response to a comment of welcome or a smile. It was as though she really wasn’t there, like she was watching a movie, apart, perhaps in the back of the theatre eating popcorn. More than an hour later, Alicia had followed the path and was again in the crowd; the band was louder and the people thicker, children ran circles around her and the sun was making long shadows. She spied Nathan sitting at a picnic table beside a woman who had been earlier introduced as the prettier half of Mr. and Mrs. Williams. No one moved close to Nathan and Mrs. Williams, and to any passerby, it seemed obvious that a serious conversation, probably of a medical nature was indeed taking place. Nathan’s brow was curled and his head close to hers.

Then Alicia noticed something no one else would have even thought to look for. It was subtle, smooth, an almost invisible move but as Alicia slowly walked closer, she could clearly see Nathan’s hand buried deep beneath the folds of pretty Mrs. William’s stripped skirts.

Alicia hid her grin, stood still and sighed. Men were men and always will be, or in this case, always had been. But again Alicia’s eye slid to yet another important event and she found herself making a critical decision. She carefully lowered on the bench beside Nathan and leaned close, her eyes lowered. “Doctor Booker,” she whispered and he slowly slid his hand free to straighten and turn a rather embarrassed expression to her.

“Ah … yes, Widow Hopkins.”

“Perhaps,” she began, fighting a wicked grin and cleared her throat then spoke so quietly he had to press his ear closer to hear. “Perhaps when you have completed Mrs. Williams’ gynecological examination, you can assist Mr. Williams with his chronic constipation?” She raised her eyes and pointed her chin to the bristling man talking in a crowd not far away. At that moment, Mr. Williams swung his head about, obviously seeking his wife who bolted from the table and to his side. Alicia stood with a grin and turned to leave.

My work here is done, she inwardly chuckled.

“Mrs. Hopkins?” She slowed for Nathan to reach her then continued her easy pace. “I supposed I should … ah … thank you.”

“My pleasure. I did it because I like you, Dr. Booker.”

“And … why is that?”

Alicia turned a grin. “You’re entertaining, Nathan.” And she walked away, swaying her monstrously black bustled hips and laughing to herself.

Nathan watched, could not help but smile even though the mere looking at Alicia Hopkins was becoming painful. Many words came forward when he thought of her. Mysterious. Tolerant. Intelligent. And now … outrageously desirable. Oh yes, he looked forward to the day he could entertain Alicia Hopkins.

But as he watched her stroll, he saw her turn to greet a man running toward her and Nathan was suddenly alerted. This might not be a good turn of events.

***

“Mrs. Hopkins! Mrs. Hopkins!”

It wasn’t Nathan’s voice like she wished it to be but it was urgent enough to make her stop and turn.

“Mrs. Hopkins!” Mr. Fulton Meyers was running to reach her and she stepped toward him. He was gasping for breath, a moist handkerchief at his face mopping a deluge of sweat. His blue eyes were bright with concern and his yellow hair, nearly stuck to his wet face. “Mrs. Hopkins! I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Meyers? Is everything alright?” Nathan stepped close, noting that all eyes were on Alicia and wishing to deter the attention to himself. He took the lawyer’s arm and tugged him a few steps away, then he hissed. “Surely you know what a scene you’re making here, man. Ill advised, Meyers, most ill advised. I suggest you meet the lady at her house to discuss whatever has you in such an uproar.”

“And,” Meyers hissed back, actually grinning and waving at a potential client across the green lawn, his voice never altering its pointed rasp. “I would most certainly have done so, if it was not this severely important. Now, Dr. Booker, if you don’t mind, I will speak with my client, the Widow Hopkins, alone!”

Nathan swung a look to Alicia and she sighed. He could see the concern drifting beneath her pale blue eyes and his heart clenched.

“It will be fine,” she stepped closer to the men. “It’ll be fine, Nathan.” She repeated softly and turned to Meyers. “How may I help you, sir?”

Fulton Meyers took her elbow. “We must speak. Come, we’ll talk at the house. It is most urgent, I’m afraid.” He’d tugged her toward a waiting carriage. Just before closing her parasol to enter, Missy ran to meet her. The girl had the look of dread in her eyes and Alicia wanted to assure her that all was well, but was it? She suggested that Missy remain at the picnic, that Dr. Booker would gladly return her to the house later and even glanced back at Nathan, standing alone, his brow knotted with distrust and worry.

“I’ll stay with you, ma’am,” Missy sniffled; concerned that already she’d failed to watch over the widow well enough.

The ride was fast and direct; Missy rocking back and forth with the sway of the hired carriage but Alicia was still as stone. What could have occurred? Whatever it was she would not now or ever return to the Club. It was sure in her heart and sure in her mind. Alicia would end her own life before facing that existence again. This decision calmed her even further, nothing could change her resolve and she felt strong in the choice.

Missy sent off to the kitchen and refreshments placed on the sideboard, Alicia sat quietly in the lovely parlor. The windows were shuttered against the harsh evening sun and Meyers was quick to seal the pocket doors closed behind Mrs. Stedler. They were alone.

He paced, pushing back damp clumps of his thick hair. He poured himself whiskey and gulped then finally turned to the beautiful widow. She was amazing. Calm beyond reason. What he now knew of her had shaken him to the bone, but the look of her, the stoic, definite, fully controlled look of her … should he question everything he knew? Perhaps it would be best to just proceed.

Fulton Meyers cleared his throat, finally poured another whiskey and handed it to Mrs. Hopkins who accepted it but set it aside.

“Mrs. Hopkins … ah … Alicia,” he sat next to her on the settee. “I have been notified that an investigation has begun regarding the possible murder of … Thornton Gallows.” He watched her profile; it was perfect, still.

“And what has the death of Thornton Gallows to do with me, sir?”

“Alicia … play no games with me here, woman. I am trying to protect you.” Her eyes turned a blank stare at him and he swallowed hard. “Thornton Gallows … and Stephen Hopkins … are one and the same, Alicia.”

“Oh,” she whispered and the only proof of her distress came with the sudden paleness of her complexion.

“It is obviously my deepest hope that those closest to the Governor Gallows have enough reason to keep the sorted part of his life quiet …. I assure you I will do all I can to keep the investigation away from your door, but you must understand that … under the circumstances … with all he had done for you … and … given that you were his …”

“Possession?”

“Lover,” he corrected. “You must understand that it will take much to divert suspicion from you, Alicia.”

“Why would I kill the man who brought freedom back to me?”

“I do not suspect that you killed him, my dear. I only came to warn you of what may come to light. I will do all I can to hold you clear of all this, but …”

“It will cost money, right? Use what you need,” and finally Alicia turned to him. Her eyes were so powerful and poignant that he was taken aback, drew in a breath and blinked. “Use it all if necessary. I did not kill Thornton Gallows. I had no reason to kill him. But … should any attempt be made to return me to that … place … I will have reason to take my own life. Is that clear Mr. Meyers?”

“That is foolishness!” he gasped, stood to look around the room, push a shutter opened for light and air and the freedom to think.

No woman had ever affected him as Alicia Hopkins had; no woman had stolen his heart, twisted it and molded it in his dreams and waking hours to the point of desperation before. The way she spoke to Dr. Booker was not lost to him. The familiarity of it. The subtle promise in her voice as she used the man’s given name. Fulton was not unaware that he would most likely never have Alicia Hopkins as his own, that he had probably already lost her. But to even imagine her dead? At her own hand?  Or … suffering in prison for murder? None of it would sit. None of it was acceptable. He paced in silence, sweat growing in droplets at his temples and upper lip.

He would do all he could to protect her from suspicion … but, should the worst occur, should it take all of her money in diversion and/or defense, there was Nathan Booker. Was Booker a man to understand Alicia’s true history? To love her deeply enough to open his own deep pockets and assist? Meyers did not suspect her, but from what he had learned so far of the life a woman like Alicia had endured, was it unreasonable not to suspect her?

Such wavering of commitment could not hold from that moment forward. Fulton Meyers closed his eyes tight and branded the truth he would stand by, seared deep into his very soul. Alicia Hopkins was innocent. Period. And if the good Dr. Booker ran from her side when she might need him most, Fulton would open his own pockets, see her free and perhaps even win her heart for himself. He blinked and focused on his client.

He sighed and again sat at her side. Formalities pushed aside like stale bread, he took her cold hands in his. “Alicia, no need to talk or even think like this. I intend to do everything in my power to protect you. Should anyone arrive to question you, you must call upon me immediately and say nothing to them. Do you understand? I am only two days away in Chicago. If I am called to your side for such questioning, I will remain nearby in Farmington as long as necessary. Now, do you clearly understand all of my instructions, Alicia?”

She blinked, nodded but Meyers was not convinced.

“Should anyone come to question you, you will not speak to them.”

“Yes.”

“You will immediately send a telegram for me to come to Farmington.”

“Yes.”

“And you understand that I will not leave your side, no matter what, Alicia.”

Finally she turned to face him, her voice that of a child, soft, fearful, young. “Yes.”

***

When the lawyer left, Mrs. Stedler was appalled at the distress Mrs. Hopkins was experiencing. It was not her business to know what had caused such concern, but it was her business to ease it. She gently urged the window to sip the whiskey, failing that, she brought a steaming pot of chamomile tea. She opened all the parlor shutters to the soft twilight and rethought the dinner to be served. Perhaps she should call Doctor Booker for advice, for surely Mrs. Hopkins would become ill should care not be taken after such a fright.

Alicia sat in the parlor, unaware of her cook’s bustling about, of young Missy’s relentless questions and requests that she go upstairs and rest before dinner. Alicia was in a cocoon, a strange safe and dangerous place where she could field through every possibility and eventually see what the best and worse scenarios could be.

She did not need peacefulness to do this, was able to ignore every attempted distraction, even the shrill concern in Mrs. Stedler’s voice. Couldn’t they see she wanted to be alone? Weeks of being forced alone when no one attempted to intrude and entertain her … now that she wished it? One full glare and they were finally gone.

She swallowed hard and breathed deep. She had to think it all through.

Alicia did not know Thornton Gallows, had come awake in this time at the bottom of the Magnolia Men’s Club main stair after the man had died. She was the recipient of an amazing gift and thus far, Alicia had imagined Thornton Gallows to be a good and wonderful man; to have singled her out, arranged for a complete, full and comfortable life even after his death was astounding. Of course, had he lived, she would have been pleased and satisfied to live her life in his arms.

Her understanding was that the life she knew within the Club was exactly as a woman in 1902 would have experienced … with one exception … a pinned and initiated woman of that time could not leave. Ever. She represented the epitome of white slavery and her life was deemed until death as the property of the membership. This was all written history stored within the Club library; and all initiated girls and members were encouraged to know these things verbatim. Nothing in that history spoke of a bequest to a property by the name of Alicia, nor that founding member, Thornton Gallows, had a special arrangement or love for her. For that matter, nothing was noted regarding Mr. Gallows’ political career either.

Setting aside the frightening idea that her arrival in 1902 might have somehow changed history, letting it stand as a part of history unnoted in the records of the Magnolia Men’s Club for obvious reasons, Alicia began to focus her mind on Thornton Gallows.

How he must have loved Alicia to break with all protocol … to use his special rights as one of the founding fathers … to assure that alive or dead, his Alicia would have a home and place in society. Such love had driven him to change his own name and identity to give her a good life. She imagined him a gentle and loving man who had simply tolerated the Club activities around him.

She recalled somewhere in all the records she had studied in 2008, that Gallows was a widower. It was all starting to make sense and an idyllic image of a kind man with white whiskers and tender hands came into form for her. Behind closed eyes she could see him, catering to her every whim, loving her gently and whispering apologies for what she had endured within the Club walls.

A smile pulled at her lips and she sighed deeply, slid lower on the settee and with eyes closed and relaxed, imagined the life she would have lived Mr. Hopkins had survived.
Those gentle imaginings flowed and encouraged, made her aware that a future was secured for her and it included Mr. Meyers. The young man would fight with all his might to protect her from suspicion. Thornton Gallows was a saint in her eyes.

Until she opened her eyes.

Slowly it came into focus in the dim evening light. She swallowed hard, at first disbelieving what she saw. Shattered in one breath was the vision of a kind and loving Thornton Gallows and suddenly Alicia was thrilled that the bastard was dead.

Terror and anger collided in her center. She was motionless, slouched on the satin settee in the appropriate 1905 parlor and looking up at something she had never once noticed since the moment she walked into the house.

Not only was she seeing the polished brass hooks circling the pristine center molding of the ceiling, she was seeing what they were used for. She saw swollen, reddened wrists at the end of a rope suspended from the hooks. She saw ankles tied in the same way, men’s cocks protruding as they laughed and cruelly gripped their bound slave to pummel her ruthlessly … to take her … to hurt her.

Alicia was lost, her body uncontrollably shaking, her eyes burning with tears. She was not loved or cared for or even protected! Thornton Gallows had built this house to have her as he did at the Club! To perhaps even share her! She stood, her head swiveling from side to side. Who else knew? Who else?

She ran from the parlor, looked down the hall, pushed out of the front door, gulping air on the porch. Did the Meyers know even before this new murder investigation? Did the Stedler’s know? And Nathan? Oh Lord, did Nathan know?

She thought to run, wild and terrified down the street. Perhaps she could find Clara L’Oreal’s place. She’d be safe there, right? She saw Clara and a few of her refined young ladies at the picnic. No one of any importance spoke to them, but they seemed comfortable and happy, healthy, even somewhat wealthy. They were apart from the general society but Alicia knew there were times that even the upstanding, good Dr. Booker must have paid a visit or two. The town prostitutes were set apart from Farmington but no more so than Alicia. Maybe it was her only chance at happiness.

But what of the suspicions of murder? Even though they had not come to her house, she feared they might. Turning back, she ignored Mrs. Stedler, the older woman attempting to calm her, take her inside. Alicia was crying, sobbing hard. What disappointed her most? That Gallows was a monster? Or that Nathan might already know her dark secret? Or was it that her dark secret was pinned permanently to her nipple and sex and assured her no true life or love outside of a whore house? It was all too much. She jerked her arm free, determined to run, to hide, to go anywhere outside of Farmington.

She ran up the stairs thinking of travel clothes, cash, train schedules. Before reaching the top step she did hear something that stopped her dead.

“I’m calling for the doctor!” Mrs Stedler shouted. “Missy, run and fetch Mr. Stedler to help me.”

Alicia turned sharply, the last thing she wanted was to be restrained by a large man, well meaning as it would be. It was her full intention to take a few calming breaths and go down the stairs, to take the telephone receiver from Mr. Stedler and convince her that all is well. That it was only a momentary bout of fright brought on by some terrible news. Nothing more.