Monday, June 28, 2010

The Amazing Return of the Buffalo






Ashley stood on the corner bidding her Texas posse goodbye.  Felix lingered and the awkwardness of it made her uneasy.

“Let me walk you home.” He said sweetly.

“Oh, that’s okay.  I have to run a quick errand.” She replied.

“I’ll go with.”  He smiled.  They walked to the nearest bodega about a block away.  Ashley filled a basket with some food items: Fresh apples, a few oranges, broccoli, a box of pasta, a bag of rice and two pork chops.

“Dinner?” Felix whispered implying that perhaps she would cook for them both.

“No…not really.” She said as she placed the items on the counter to be rung up.  Felix seemed confused and possibly a little hurt.  “I have to go back to the white columned house.” She admitted.

“What for?” He replied a bit alarmed.

“There are people in there and…well…they’re hungry.”  She said matter-of-factly.

“Ashley.  No one is there.  No one.” He said and she pretended not to hear him.  He took her by the arm gently.  “I’m worried about you.  I mean this weird behavior.  Maybe you should talk to someone.”  He said condescendingly.

“You have no idea what I’m going through.”  She replied coldly.

“I want to understand.”  He added.

“You can’t.” She replied slipping her arm from his grasp.  “I really have to do this.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You’re just feeding the rats—you know that.”  Felix said as he watched her back away with her groceries and turn back down the street to the house. 

“We’ll talk tomorrow.  I really appreciate you coming out to take a look at it.” She said.

“I meant what I said.” He replied calling after her.  She smiled and then turned and walked around to the back as usual and knocked on the door.

“Victoria?...Mrs. Rhys?”  She cooed.  But there was no answer and the smell of the decaying floorboards and walls washed over her and the swells of grief began to roll in.  In the silence she wondered if she really was crazy.  Then she placed the bag of groceries just inside.  At that moment her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“ Hi. It’s Chelsea.”

“Oh, hi!  What are you up to?” She said and her face beamed and the grief vanished.

“I want to come out and see your studio.”  Chelsea said.

“Sure.  But I’m not home.  I mean, I’m not at my studio but I’ll be there in about half an hour.” Ashley replied.

“I have a surprise.”  Chelsea said and the excitement translated through the air.

“Really?  What is it?” Ashley asked giddily.

“It’s a surprise!” Chelsea replied with as much bemusement.

“I can’t wait to see you.”  Ashley said and there was profundity in the silence.

“I’ll meet you at your place---your studio, I mean.” Chelsea stuttered.  “I, I hope you, uh, like the surprise.”  She was awkward and possibly a little overwhelmed and she knew it.

“I’m sure whatever it is I’ll love it.”  Ashley replied and there was a giggle hopping through her words.  She hung up and made a bee line for to the next train station.  She wanted to wash her face and straighten up before her company arrived.  Once in the studio Ashley threw her purse on the couch/daybed at one end and immediately went for a brush to pull through her hair that had been kept in a ponytail for most of the day.  She slapped some lipstick on and then began to put tubes of paint away and rearrange the series of paintings she had been working on for the past several months.  They were large and required a freight elevator to get in and out of the building.  She had climbed a ladder to readjust the lights when the bell rang.  She nervously descended and decided she’d meet her friend downstairs and escort her up since the hallway seemed to be a maze with other artist’s studios carving out their labyrinthine paths willy-nilly.  As she opened the door she found Victoria standing there. A few stray hairs had come undone from her bun and drifted on the wind.  She stood there studying Ashley and to Ashley it felt as if the day had suddenly stopped.  The normal bustle of traffic and radios and sirens and air conditioners had for the moment vanished and all she could hear was a gentle breeze and the faint rustle of leaves.  It seemed like minutes had passed before anything was said.  The two stared directly into each other’s eyes gleaning unspoken information and sensing more than just an epiphany.

“Thank you.” Victoria said and Ashley was dumbstruck.  She could not find the words.  So many emotions seemed to float to the surface she was unable to sort through any of them.  Then as Victoria turned to go the apparition that was there fell away like a sand castle and Ashley found herself gazing into Chelsea’s eyes.  The traffic returned and the hum of present day life bled into her momentary vision.

“Ashley?”  Chelsea said and she stepped close to make sure her friend was all right.  Ashley shook her head and clapped her hands over her face.  She took in a deep breath and she shook with quiet sobs.

“What is it?” Chelsea said as she put her arm about her.  Ashley leaned in and the embrace was magnetic. She wrapped her arms fully around Chelsea and Chelsea returned the fervor.  She felt like a child clinging to something familiar that had been gone for a long time and had just now returned.  There was a profound sense of foundation and security and peace. 

“I’ve missed you.”  Ashley whispered and she felt a little self-conscious but her need to reveal the truth was overpowering.  “It feels like it’s been so long.”  She could feel Chelsea’s heart against hers and it brought her back to the present.  She peeled away slowly and wiped her eyes. “I feel really silly right about now.  You must think I’ve lost a marble or two.”

“I think…you’re…precious.”  Chelsea replied quietly and her smile seemed to turn the day around.  It was exactly what Ashley needed.  She took Chelsea’s hand and led her up through the stairwell and into the maze-like hallway.  “I, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to take some pictures of your paintings.  I want to show them to my editor at the magazine---“ Chelsea began.

“Well, of course.”  Ashley replied and she swung the door open to reveal four extraordinary paintings dark and moody, murky and yet positively breathtaking.  They were so big, at least six feet by nine feet, that the viewer felt engulfed by the sea. 

“Wow.  These are intense.  Even though there isn’t anything in them, you know people or marine life---they’re seascapes.  But I get this heavy feeling that someone has drowned…It’s a bit frightening.  You’ve really captured the fury…and the deep sadness of something.”  Chelsea said and her words trailed off as her mind began to process her observations and her heart began to really feel the work.  She stood there for a few minutes in complete silence as Ashley moved to her small kitchen area and poured a couple of glasses of iced tea garnished with a sprig of mint. Chelsea began to snap pictures with her elf digital camera.  Ashley sat on her daybed and watched as Chelsea became consumed with her task.  She watched her move and though she was of a bigger build than Ashley she was agile and graceful and moved exactly like Victoria.  There was a sensuality to her motion and a sexiness to her single-minded objective.  She was Victoria.  Ashley knew this as sure as she breathed.  There was a mystery within herself that she must unlock and reveal but she did not know how.  If she could only grasp some kind of understanding deep inside she might be able to comprehend her new, or even renewed feelings that seemed to carve out a new path for the future.

“Do you have a computer here?” Chelsea asked.  Ashley pointed to the small worktable in the corner.  An apple laptop rested there.

“Internet access?” She added.  Ashley nodded yes. 

“May I?”  Chelsea continued.  “This has to do with the really cool surprise I have for you.”  She sat down and began to transfer the photos to the desktop and then one by one format them as email attachments. 

As Chelsea finished she turned and took in the eclectic décor of Ashley’s art studio.  On the back wall were taxidermied deer heads and an antelope head.  A few Mose Tolliver naïve art paintings and Lonnie Holly pieces as well as paintings done by friends and mentors.  There were mundane found objects and antiques aesthetically affixed to the wall including nineteenth century saws and pitchforks and planes all made with exceptional craftsmanship and aged to perfection.  But one thing stood out above all the rest.  Covering the day bed was a hide of some kind.  Although Chelsea was a fervent animal rights lover she could not resist the luscious thick fur.  She sat down next to Ashley.

“What is this?” She asked as she swept her hands though the thick pile.

“It’s a bison hide.”  Ashley replied.  Chelsea’s hands tingled and something from the base of her spine rose up and spiraled within her. 

“I got it at an estate sale…It’s an authentic Indian Buffalo Robe.” Ashley added.  “I used to have it hanging on the wall but then one winter I got really sick and when it’s cold out I sleep under it.”

“I bet it’s warm.”  Chelsea whispered.

“Very.”  Ashley said.

“When I was a kid my parents would drive us to Omaha to visit the Jocelyn Art Museum and they had a wonderful collection of American Indian artifacts and this reminds me so much of my childhood.  It’s…beautiful.” She said and she seemed lost for a moment in nostalgia, but there was something deeper, something beyond a pleasant childhood memory, something that hinted at birth. Intense butterflies welled up in Chelsea’s stomach.  She was so excited to tell Ashley about he tickets but then what if Ashley didn’t want to go. Crazy thoughts raced through her mind.  What if she had been terribly presumptuous?

“The tea okay?”  Ashley asked.  Chelsea hadn’t tasted it yet.  So she sipped a little and her butterflies grew.

“Are you alright?”  Ashley asked.

“Mmm hmmm.”  Chelsea said quietly and she couldn’t help smiling to herself.  She let her hands sweep through the buffalo fur again and the sensation was electric.  The hide had some sort of charm to it.  Then she forced herself to look Ashley in the eye.  Even though Ashley seemed the epitome of Southern femininity there was a masculine air to her being.  Sensually she was strong and virile and alluring.  Chelsea even thought Ashley could be dangerous.  Not so much in an active way but because Chelsea’s attraction to her was so potent that she could be hurt easily.  Therein lay the danger. 

“What’s the surprise?” Ashley asked and she moved close.  Chelsea’s heart raced and her words seemed to jumble.  Her face flushed and she felt like she needed to hide for a minute to collect herself. Then Ashley leaned in and said, “I’m flattered that you have something for me.” And she smiled and it was heartwarming and still Chelsea could not form her words.  Ashley was aware of her friend’s butterflies because she had them, too.  She let her finger trace the outline of Chelsea’s lip and then slowly leaned in and kissed her.  It was soft and sweet and she lingered there for a moment, perhaps several moments.  And it took Chelsea’s breath away and at the same time filled her with power and passion and revelation.  The paintings and Mr. Rhys and the sea all had their source in this gamin woman.  Wordless and inexpressible epiphanies moved through her and she took in Ashley’s countenance and the yearning to know Mr. Rhys was right there before her.  Ashley and Mr. Rhys were the beginning and end of the same spirit and appealed to her emotions in almost the same way.  It confounded her since one was male and the other female.  In some ways it did not make sense.  In other ways it revealed an absolute truth. 

“I think I got carried away.”  Ashley whispered.

“No---no, no.  You didn’t…I, I was…hoping.”  Chelsea began but couldn’t find the words to finish.  Then she whispered, “please”.  Ashley seemed confused for a moment and then leaned in again and this time Chelsea met her there in that space.  Somewhere in the middle and the sounds of the city faded into the distance.  They were flying.  And for the first time impossibilities became possible.  Challenges didn’t seem that hard and the most unimaginable ideas were within reach.  Chelsea pulled away for a moment and she gazed steadfast into Ashley’s eyes.

“I love you.”  She said simply but with the punctuation of bold vulnerability.

“I love you, too…I feel like…I’ve rediscovered something.”  Ashley whispered.  Then Chelsea pulled the two Virgin Atlantic tickets from her bag.

“We’re going to London.” Chelsea whispered.  Ashley was speechless.  She looked at the tickets for a long time and Chelsea thought maybe she had made a mistake.  She didn’t seem excited but pensive as if deciding if she really wanted to go.

“Next week.”  Chelsea said.

“I’m going to be honest.  I’m a little scared.”  Ashley said smiling but her eyes revealed the intense possibilities of exploration, internal and external.  Her desire to merge was palpable.

“I’m a little apprehensive, too.”  Chelsea admitted.  “I’ve been there before, though.  It is incredibly familiar.  I feel like I’ve lived there.”

Ashley continued to look at the tickets.

“I think you’re going to like it or at least find it fascinating.”  Chelsea said and she waited for Ashley to respond.  “We’ll be there five days.  You’ll get to meet Damien Hirst.  We’ll get to see things at the Tate that the public doesn’t get to see. We’ll go to the National Portrait and the British museum, the Queen’s Museum.”

“Oh, I look forward to all of that.” Ashley said.

“And Mr. Rhys.  You’ll get to see Mr. Rhys’s paintings in person.” Chelsea added.

“I’m a little nervous about that.  I’m not sure how I’m going to feel.  His work is so…personal.” Ashley confided.

“I’ll be there.  If you’re overwhelmed, I’ll be there.  We can go slow.  Little bits at a time.”  Chelsea explained.

“I’ve had several opportunities to visit London before and I always found a reason not to go.  I don’t know why.  It seems so exciting and metropolitan---not much different from New York.”  Ashley said.

“What brought you to New York?”  Chelsea asked.

“Oh, I felt like I couldn’t get ahead in North Carolina.  I wasn’t born into the Southern society life and so I always felt second class to almost everyone else there.  A lot of people put on airs even though they’re no better than anyone else. In New York it doesn’t matter where you come from.  It is the ultimate place of opportunity.”  Ashley explained.

“More than you know.”  Chelsea replied enigmatically.

“I need some air.  You want to take a walk?” Ashley asked and she stood up and took Chelsea’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Chelsea said.

“Up the street a ways.  You’ll see.”  Ashley said and she broke into a sly smile.

“I think you could get me into a lot of trouble.”  Chelsea giggled.

“It’s my middle name.”  Ashley replied as she closed the door behind them and they were off into the bustling streets of Brooklyn.

 

 

Monday, June 21, 2010

The Quest for Singularity





It took Mr. Watkins several hours to find a livery for hire. The snow had been partially cleared but mounded up onto the curbs of the street into one and a half story high ice walls. Thankfully the wind had stopped and the weather was crisp and the sky an azure blue. Most of the horses and wagons had been procured by the city to shovel and dump the snow into the East River on the Brooklyn side and Hudson River on the west side. The trains across the bridge were not running due to track blockage by snow. However, an enterprising group of Russian/Jewish emigrants felt compelled to shovel the entire span of the Brooklyn Bridge. The Sabbath was fast approaching and the people needed to cross the bridge to reach their respective synagogues for their holy services. Carriages could pass but they had to take turns. Bottlenecks occurred every few feet but it did not hinder the desire for passage. The snow piled up on the ice sheets that were slowly breaking up and flowing lazily downstream to the convergence of the rivers and the Atlantic. It was a sight to see and people wondered in awe at nature’s fury and beauty.

Mrs. Hopkins found herself almost overwhelmed by gathering food and warm, clean clothes and blankets and fresh water for Victoria and Richard. So detailed and committed to her tasks was she that she often found herself close to tears. She told herself that she would find her charge and Mr. Rhys safe and alive within the walls of the great white house. She could not sleep since the storm first began a few days before and her anxiety bloomed across her face as a woman tired and worn down by the rigors of a life in crisis. As she moved through the parlor into the room where Richard’s desk stood she spied the decanter of fine bourbon and decided a nip couldn’t hurt. It just might calm her and bring about that warm feeling that a toddy often does. The small crystal glass filled with superb liquor slipped down her throat with such ease that she thought she might have another pull and elongate that warm fuzzy sensation. It would be the first and only time that she would be lured by temptation. Drinking the liquor without permission was like stealing and she was a woman of high moral standards. But the historic event that was unfolding skewed her understanding of her own restrictive nature and as she breathed there was ease and a decision that came naturally.

“Mrs. Hopkins?” She heard Henry say as he entered the parlor. It would be most embarrassing for her to be caught with a drink in hand, but the sound of his voice rendered her inactive. Should she leave the liquor in the glass and answer his call or swig it quickly and straighten the cabinet? She decided her constitution needed the added warmth and she downed the shot just as Mr. Watkins wandered in catching her in the middle of quenching her thirst.

“Mrs. Hopkins.” He said softly. She felt her face flush immediately and she was absolutely mortified. When she finally looked up Mr. Watkins smiled broadly and seemed to stifle a giggle. She smoothed her dress and her face remained dour.

“’Tis nice to see you take a moment for yourself.” Watkins said softly.

“Not a word --- if you do I’ll deny it.” She replied pointing her finger like a school marm. She was so ridiculous that even she broke into a small grin. It made Mr. Watkins appreciate her all the more.

“I’m quite sure Mr. Rhys would not mind. Come. I’ve procured transportation.” Mr. Watkins said and he offered his hand. She stood there a moment and took in the room and the silence.

“It’s odd to leave the house empty with no one to watch over it.” Mrs. Hopkins admitted. But her mission was unmistakable. She took his hand and as they closed the front door behind them she wondered what had become of Mr. Jones and his horse Michelangelo. Hopefully they would find him well and tending to Victoria and Richard in the Flatlands. Mrs. McBride remained in the kitchen keeping the fire stoked and that in turn kept the house relatively temperate. Mrs. McBride was an industrious woman. She’d pay her Irish lads for scraps of coal from the coal wagon just like she had done back in Dublin. The lads were not of her blood but an Irishman is an Irishman and she took many under her protective wing when she could. She was a jolly robust woman with a motherly nature. Mrs. Hopkins left her by the fire with her rosaries and Bible saying prayers for Nellie’s soul.

As they began to pack the livery with supplies Mrs. Hopkins had an acute epiphany that her life would not be the same again. It was not a matter of life or death but the experience of traveling through the unknown would change her forever and leave her humbled by the vastness of emotion cloaked in the silent strength of splendor.

Richard sat in a chair in the corner of his art studio. Victoria had fallen asleep in the parlor next to the fire and he did not want to disturb her but his thoughts seemed to go round and round in infinite circles. Visions of John Wilkes Booth and President Lincoln seemed to take over his attention and draw him inward and the strange card he had found had produced flashes of insight. He did not know if he dreamed of meeting a woman named Chelsea near his Grove Street home or if he actually did. It had the flavor of a memory and not the wandering of a vision. Even though his mind was fully present and aware of being in the country manor something in his body felt as though he were hovering on the threshold of something ineffable. He was liminal and the infirmity would at times take advantage of his physically weakened state. He wanted to smoke but did not for fear he could not breathe. He was almost out of his hidden stash of tobacco anyway. The onion soup had rendered him pungent. His scent was powerfully changed by the herb’s intense aroma. He coughed a croupy cough and found he needed to spit often in order to clear himself. The onion was working. He sat very still taking in the blue of the sky through the window and the intensity of the sun as it shone through mapping out a brilliant maze across the floor. As his eyes wandered aimlessly framing the light in most certain composition they caught the unmistakable form of a figure. A woman was standing just in front of him gazing at his easel. There was a small painting resting there and he thought for a moment that perhaps one of the servants had escorted a buyer into his studio. He tried to shake away the sleepiness and the confusion and as he gazed upon the woman further he was aware that she was wearing trousers. No woman he ever knew wore trousers unless she had nothing else to wear. Even poor women had frocks. They might be shabby and worn, threadbare and filled with holes. The female reminded him of the girl in the brownstone --- the one who owned a luxurious toilet. She faded in and out of his field of vision. So he tried hard to concentrate and take her in. Then she moved quickly and was out of the room without a word. Perhaps, someone had actually come for them and he was too infirmed to actually know what was happening. He thought it best to confer with Victoria so he got up slowly and steadied himself. He made his way to the hallway and gazed at Tammany for a moment and then slowly, step by step inched his way back downstairs to his sleeping bride. She was so content as she slept that he hated to wake her. She was wrapped in the bison hide and the warm embers of the fire cast an orangey glow across her hibernating form.

“Victoria.” He said softly. She stirred and then settled again into sleep. “Victoria.” He repeated a little louder and touched her shoulder tenderly. Her eyes fluttered for a moment.

“What are you doing up?” She inquired expecting him to be sound asleep also.

“There are people in the house.” He said softly.

“What?” She replied confused. “No one’s in the house.” She said reassuringly.

“There is a woman who came to look at a painting.” He said. She rubbed her eyes and sat up still unable to comprehend what he was trying to say.

“A woman?” She asked almost absent-mindedly.

“In trousers. Very strange. She wandered into the studio.” He whispered. Then suddenly it all clicked and Victoria was awakened to something she had not truly understood until that moment. The woman who had left the cookies the day before had returned. But somehow the woman was real and yet not real. She was part of a dream. A very vivid, poignant dream that seemed perpetual in continuation. Victoria almost felt outside of herself when she experienced the woman’s presence. It had the flavor of a premonition. The truly otherworldly part of the experience was that she could remember clearly what she looked like, how she felt and exactly what was said. It was most certainly a memory that had not yet transpired. Victoria was eager to experience another exchange and she stood and pulled on her skirt and bodice and made her way to the hallway before realizing that she had left her husband in the parlor alone. She turned to see him gazing pensively at the fire and poking at it with the wrought iron wand. Sparks flew up the chimney and the flames sparkled and lit up the hearth.

“Are you alright?” She asked, one foot in the parlor and the other in the hallway. He held her in his sight for some time. She was so lovely. He could never tire of looking at her, of taking in every bit of her. But as the croup lingered it rendered him exhausted so he took his rest on the buffalo robe and stared pensively at the ceiling. The geometric forms of the crown molding caught the light of day and the shadows of his mind. Victoria hesitated momentarily and then began her quest. She climbed the stairs slowly and Ashley’s lithe form appeared with every move upward. Victoria gathered every ounce of energy and cleared her throat. Ashley turned and caught Victoria’s likeness in her sites and a warm smile bloomed across her face. The ebullience of the moment was contagious as Victoria felt herself warm to her visitor.

“How have you been?” Victoria inquired.

“Very well, thank you. And you?” Ashley said moving closer and wearing an expression of wonder.

“My husband---“ Victoria started.

---Mr. Rhys?” Ashley interrupted almost with excitement.

“Yes. Mr. Rhys has been quite ill but he seems to be getting better and stronger with each day.” Victoria replied.

“I know he will be fine.” Ashley said with a knowing smile. Victoria felt as though Ashley had some sort of secret and the allure was exciting.

“He’s incredibly strong.” Victoria added. Ashley moved ever closer and she threaded her arm through Victoria’s and though Victoria thought it a bit too familiar she felt a rush and her fingers and toes tingled.

“I did some research on this house.” Ashley began.

“Yes it was once a Dutch farm that I bought and remodeled.” Victoria explained.

“It’s been condemned by the city.” Ashley said and there was a deep seriousness that took hold.

“That is impossible. Why it is almost a palace. Why would anyone condemn this house---MY house.” Victoria said and she began to grow upset. “I shall have to speak with Caroline Astor. Oh, Mrs. Astor is not political. I shall speak with Mr. Roosevelt as I think he may prove to be reliable and trustworthy.” She said.

“There’s no need.” Ashley said reassuringly. “I’m going to buy it and restore it so that you will be proud.”

“It needs no restoration and it is not for sale.” Victoria countered. She was trembling and on the verge of tears. “Perhaps I am wrong. The snows may have demolished parts of it. I have not been able to peruse the property because of the weather, you see, and my husband’s condition.”

“Please don’t get yourself all upset. It will be taken care of. I promise.” Ashley said almost purring and somehow Victoria believed her. “The snows?” Ashley asked innocently. Victoria gazed at her dumbfounded. How could this woman not see the extraordinary drifts and did she not have trouble wading through the white stuff to arrive at the house?

“We’ve had a most wicked blizzard.” Victoria said softly.

“Indeed.” Ashley said not giving away her amazing secret. “You need rest.”

“Have you brought provisions?” Victoria asked.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry I should have brought something for you to eat. I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me.” Ashley said. “I feel terrible.”

“No, no, no. It is bad form for me to have asked. Incredibly forward of me. I’m very sorry.” Victoria said as she wanted very much for there to be space between Ashley and she. A personal trait she tried to overcome when she was feeling insecure or embarrassed.

“Nonsense! I arrived at your home empty handed and as a guest I should have brought a little something to nibble on. Bad form on my part. My mother would be mortified.”

“Then…Maybe next time? We have not eaten in two days.” Victoria confided. “Richard needs tending and some kind of beef stock to get him well again.”

“Certainly. I will bring groceries with me next time.” Ashley said and there was a sparkle in her eye. Victoria knew that spark. It was a familiar occurrence. It was the very thing that made Richard so exquisitely charming. And though she felt irrepressible her mind was foggy and confused. Every time Ashley came to visit their exchange left her incredibly excited, yet tired. As she walked Ashley to the back door she found herself interestingly inquisitive.

“May I ask where it is that you live?” She said.

“In Fort Greene. The other side of the park. Very near the Prison Ship Martyr’s monument.” Ashley replied. Victoria was confused, as she had never heard of Fort Greene or the monument. She was aware that some sort of memorial was in the works, but the politician’s at Tammany Hall could not raise the needed funding.

“South Oxford and Lafayette.” Ashley said.

“Oh, yes. I know of the area.” Victoria replied. “Well then. Be careful.”

Ashley nodded and was out the door. The winter wind untethered a few wisps of Victoria's hair and they floated about her weightless and airy. She wandered back into the parlor where Richard was dozing. She lay down beside him and listened to his soft wheeze and shallow breath. There was something so very familiar about Ashley and so similar to Richard that it was uncanny. The deep well of emotion she had for her husband bled over to the new feelings she was developing for her new friend. Then she chocked up the idea of the house being condemned to her extreme fatigue and emotional state. Perhaps she misunderstood or maybe Ashley had been misinformed. It was true she needed rest and so she closed her eyes and the two lovers were intertwined once again in deep slumber.