Shekinah

“I believe he may be suffering from walking pneumonia.” Doctor Philips said. Victoria had pulled the Bison hide over Richard who was now shivering and wheezing. “We must move him to a room with a fireplace. This cock loft is too drafty and will only make him worse.” He added. Victoria nodded in agreement as Mrs. Hopkins clung to Mr. Watkins in the corner.

“The primary residence is in Manhattan. Would he be able to make the trip?” Mr. Watkins inquired.

“No. No. He must stay warm and still. Besides, I do not think the bridge is passable by carriage yet and the train tracks are still packed with snow.” The Doctor replied. “I will see to the Innkeeper for a room with a working fireplace. I shall also procure a remedy from the apothecary on Montague Street and bring it round in the evening.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Philips.” Victoria said softly as she walked him to the door.

“In the meantime I suggest your good lady here speak with the kitchen to see if they have onions in the cellar. A salve would ease his breathing and a hearty soup would help break up the congestion.” The good doctor advised. He tipped his bowler kindly and disappeared down the staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing over the din of the Irish celebrations.

“Mr. Watkins? Would you see to the new room?” Victoria asked. Mr. Watkins nodded and was fast on the heels of the doctor with Mrs. Hopkins in tow pressed into service as a supervising cook.

“I’ve prevented you from going home.” Richard said in a raspy voice.

“Don’t be silly.” She said and she settled in a simple cane chair beside him.

“Did Mrs. Hopkins tell you?” He said softly.

“Tell me what?” She asked.

“About Nell.” He replied.

“About her unfortunate death.” She said and she was overcome momentarily. “She recounted it this morning at breakfast. Don’t you remember? A terrible tragedy.”

Richard nodded and gazed up at the decaying molding near the ceiling’s edge.

“I would very much like for her to have a proper monument.” He added.

“Certainly. Whatever pleases you, dear.” She said.

“Nell was…my relation.” He began and then closed his eyes for a moment.

“You should rest.” She said concerned for him.

“My niece to be exact.” And he wheezed a bit as his own emotions were awakened. “If I had only known.”

“But you did not.” She answered compassionately. “Fretting will only make it worse.”

“Now you have proof of my lineage and my past.” He said and his illness seemed to blow a dark cloud over his temperament. She studied him for a moment and took in the simplicity of the room. It looked like an Irish peasant’s lodging. He had the unmistakable symmetry of an Irishman. Handsome. The tableau of truth unfolded. Victoria fetched her small Bible and opened it to a place that she frequently marked. Then she read aloud:

“And Ruth said, intreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee: for wither thou goest, I will go: and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people and thy God, my God.”

Dillon pulled the Bentley up in front of the Hyde Park Townhouse. 66 happened to be the house address. Everything was happening so fast - at lightning speed that Chelsea had not even noticed the number let alone the front of the Victorian mansion. It was four stories with gabled attic windows that made up the fifth floor. Whitewashed like the rest of the buildings on the block and a fantastically Romanesque front entrance into the Foyer. The drive down the Mall and past St. James Park would be forever burned into her memory. And although she had never in a million years expected to experience such an amazing day, she felt as though she had been down the Mall before, perhaps in a distant dream. Dillon opened the car door and they disembarked dazed and somewhat disoriented by their visit with Her Majesty, the Queen. The day had been eventful and surprising and completely unexpected. Wilkins met the two women as they entered the foyer.

“Good evening Ms. Coleman, Ms. Barrett.” He said.

“Hi Wilkins.” Ashley replied still wearing a dreamy countenance.

“Is it possible for us to go to the fifth floor?” Chelsea asked trying to be discreet. Wilkins nodded and smiled.

“I want to change my shoes first at least.” Ashley said as she pulled off her heels and carried them in her hands. Chelsea took her arm.

“Come to the fifth floor with me.” She said demurely.

“What are you up to?” Ashley asked. Chelsea only smiled and held firmly to her arm.

“Ladies. We have a small elevator back near the servant’s kitchen. Follow me, please.” He said and they snaked through the enchanting house filled with art and antiques the likes of which could rival the Frick Museum in New York. The door looked like a plain wooden pantry entrance. Wilkins pulled it open to reveal a fantastic turn-of-the-century birdcage elevator constructed of pure steel. As they climbed in they could see a magnificent oculus on the top of the building pouring light down the shaft. Tiffany stained glass had been installed to make it a waterproof skylight. The small platform buzzed with the sound of electricity and antique cables slowly pulling them heavenward. Chelsea’s heart raced in anticipation of her surprise. Wilkins opened the accordion wire doorway to the fifth floor landing and pushed another heavy oak door open to the attic area that had been outfitted with several large easels, a huge painter’s table complete with every oil color imaginable, another smaller table filled with every kind of sable haired brush from a single hair to a house brush, buckets, palette knives, rolls of canvas at least eight feet wide and wooden stretchers built to perfection. Ashley was stunned. Chelsea was giddy in her wake. She walked about the room unable to find the words to describe exactly what she was feeling. It was a painter’s studio that only the successful and wealthy could imagine. It had everything and it was blank---poised for creation. Chelsea watched as Ashley turned and melted into tears.

“When did you do this?” She asked as she sat down on one of the stools.

“Wilkins did it for me.” She said. “While we were out…learning to curtsy.” She chuckled.

“I don’t know what to say except thank you.” Ashley replied and she embraced Chelsea in a long silent grasp. Chelsea moved slightly and gazed at her seriously.

“Paint.” She said. And she could see the potential for greatness standing in that refinished attic. Ashley nodded her head then took Chelsea’s hand and led her back to the elevator.

“Does this elevator stop on the floor where we live?” She asked. And her words echoed with potency. ‘where we live’. “I really do have to change my shoes before dinner.” Ashley added. Wilkins smiled and once again they were floating slowly down to the second floor. Wilkins pulled the door open with a steely clank and the women were set free. They walked down the hallway to their suite of rooms. And Ashley turned the knob and let the large door swing open. The sight took Chelsea’s breath away. As she entered the room the walls were adorned with tiny mirror fragments in the shape of Spanish doubloons. On every surface were lit pillar candles and the room was afire with a kind of holiness. Erin stood in the corner awaiting further instructions.

“Thank you, Erin.” Ashley said. “We’ll be down for dinner in a little while.” Erin nodded and excused herself disappearing through the door and down the corridor. Chelsea took in the sight and for a moment it reminded her of Temple Church and the two strange columns. The shimmering glow of the candles undulated across the small reflected surfaces and she felt as though a large presence had accompanied them in this most sacred space. Alongside each candle were roses, some red, some pale pink and others pure white. She felt herself uncoil almost about to take flight. She moved to the canopied bed that had been covered in peonies and there in the middle was an envelope addressed to ‘My Dear Chelsea’. She could feel her heart move up into her throat and she knew that this ecstatic moment would outlive her own existence. She could see Ashley standing patiently in the center of the room.

“I might possibly faint.” Chelsea warned.

“I’ll catch you.” Ashley replied calmly.

Chelsea opened the note and steadied herself by slowly sitting in one of the large Victorian leather chairs that flanked the huge dormant fireplace. It read:

Sixty Six holds beauty and sits upon rows of windows

Sleek with old and new---harmonious

The fiction of time destroyed

And the exquisite reflection of love weaves through its history

As we pass by on a cold December night

Our breaths solid, clinging to our lips

Visible

Silent

Resplendent

Your arm linked in mine as visions of an ocean of top hats

Move like ripples in a midnight sea.

The clopping of horse hooves on cobblestone echo through the years

And the smell of peat on a hearth as the century dies away.

We know it all too well when the memories are tactile.

Shutter and candlelight battle for sovereignty as day rolls into night

And the night rolls into years and the years roll into now…

And still we walk

Onward

Towards what, we do not know.

A wrought iron gate

Black and permanent, a fixture of the underside, the unknown…

A witness, perhaps…whispering the entrance to Zion

It permits us vague premonitions forever with each breathing

How have I lived

Whom have I loved

You are the answer…the song of every poet

As you hold me in the palms of your hands

Gently guiding me toward the sacred

Cast adrift upon eternity, I am thin and translucent

Like the wings of a dragonfly

Yet sustained by the sensation of your presence

The simplest touch

The barest venture

The deepest gaze

Words drop from lips dangling tenuously from heart strings

Stillness ushers tears standing only a million miles away

Yet within the warmth of an embrace

For this we live a thousand years

Joining full circle at the end of the world

I cannot move, I am trapped in myself

Ever observant, you watch me persevere

How shall I come to you?

By a midnight chamber? In a dream, a thought, the awareness of breath?

When the moon hints of magic and the earth trembles?

I dream I trace your body with my hand as the pole star

Pierces those delicate underpinnings that make us flesh

Our eyes and their slow tears reliving a promise

That ushers us through the corridors of paradise

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world

Equals the grace we are about to encounter

And so the occurrence that is you keeps falling

Delicate as snow…through the gift of silence.

And with you I keep falling life after life, moment by moment

The earth takes it softly exactly as we take each other

And you ask innocently where am I from and who made me

The sun and the moon…the sun and the moon, dearest…

Chelsea knew in the deepest part of herself that she had read these words before, understood the sentiments and lived the emotions as if they had happened yesterday. And they were just as fresh and surprising as the first time. When she finally looked up from the page Ashley had knelt down in front of her.

“I don’t know if I am doing this right.” She said, her head bowed.

“You’re doing just fine.” Chelsea said softly between waves of emotion.

“Would you marry me, Chelsea Barrett?” She said and she held out the exquisite diamond and sapphire ring that had been bequeathed to her for that very moment.

“Where did you get this?” Chelsea asked between tears.

“It was Victoria’s.” She replied and she was overcome in the moment.

“Yes.” Chelsea whispered. Ashley rose up and kissed her again and again. Then she took a breath and said, “Are you sure? We will be in the public eye. Everyone will know. Our union will be the symbol of a movement.”

“Yes, yes, yes---forever yes.” Chelsea replied and she kissed her betrothed until they were both breathless.