She walked calmly beside Mr. Fulton Meyers, a bit more tired than she would have expected but still exhilarated by it all. Inside her mind, she was spinning with questions, but she knew spouting away at him was not going to fly. Many things about her were still in her original twenty-first century mindset and that included her rapid fire thoughts and speech pattern. She had to slow it all down or she’d scare the poor young man to death. She sighed softly as she settled beside him in the carriage and he elegantly patted her gloved hand.

“There, there, Mrs. Hopkins. This has surely been a harrowing experience for you and I commend you for following through, coming to the pleasant house your late husband had purchased for you and beginning your life anew. Many would have shied away, preferred to remain with family and those things most familiar and … I do confess, I truly expected you to do the same.”

“Dear Stephan would have been disappointed, Mr. Meyers,” she stated softly.

“Indeed. Indeed.” A bright smile turned to her and she at first startled that he was not watching the road. But, the reigns in his hands were not the same as a steering wheel and accelerating gas pedal pressing their speed at sixty-five miles per hour. Horses, unlike the engine of a sports car, had brains. They seemed to understand their job and pull the wheeled conveyance competently. His eyes lingered long on her and she felt herself blush. “Your husband had done much to prepare the lovely house for you. Of course, I never actually met Mr. Hopkins; all of our dealings were done through the post, but I knew of his desire to create a beautiful home for you. He had dictated all the special details with loving care and I have done my best to accommodate. I do hope you are pleased with the results. Here, we are not far now.”

The horses, snorted and Alicia glanced up. The sunset was glowing, kissing the tops of rolling green hills and painting the landscape with a gold and copper sheen. The carriage had turned onto a wide street, the large, fine houses far apart and this less than a mile from the city. He turned the hired carriage into a lane and stopped, leapt from his seat to come around and help her to the ground and Alicia’s mouth dropped. “This is the house?” she gasped.

“It is. I do hope you are pleased. Come, I want you to meet your staff.”

The structure was much like her grandmother’s old house, the crumbling Victorian she’d been living in for years back in 2008 Washington, County. But this house was sparking with vitality and newness. There were no houses so close one could talk casually from one to the other without raising a voice. The sparkling white painted porch spanned the front and around both sides. It dripped with subtle gingerbread, nothing too garish but just enough to speak its pride. The exterior walls were painted a muted yellow and Alicia’s eyes slid up and down the street. Every house was just as lovely, just as restrained in its color palette. This was a wealthy area of Farmington she would have never known existed in the future. It was not overly garish, had no boastful structures but whispered old money with taste and she was instantly curious about her neighbors. The platform of the porch was dressed with lovely blooming flowers as had been the boarders of the flagstone walkway to the steps. Cushioned white whicker chairs and a swing furnished the bright space and she smiled.

Taking her elbow, the young lawyer led Alicia inside. Her only true experience of the accurate interiors of such homes was the Magnolia Men’s Club and she actually feared facing the inside. But with a gasp of pleasure she gawked and looked around.

The entry foyer was bright and airy; the walls painted a pearly, silvery grey accented with magnificent white molding that hugged the high ceilings. At the end of the entry, a lovely curving stairway, the steps lined with a lively runner of rose carpeting designed with muted tones of greens and blues. To the right, a beautiful sitting room, to the left a formal parlor.

“I’ll see to your things,” Mr. Meyers said and left her in the hall.

She stepped into the parlor and sighed; so elegant, with its gorgeous pale pink marble fireplace, appointed with delicate furniture and far fewer plants and ferns than she’d seen in the Club’s parlor. No magnolia decorated ottomans to force her over and into submissiveness here, only elegance and grace and comfort. She felt herself lighten, raised on her toes, her arms slowly flowed out from her body like angel wings and bliss grew from her very center. Her head dropped back and her eyes closed as she spun a joyful circle. Suddenly, the sound of a clearing throat. She opened her eyes to the confused expression on Meyers’ face.

“I … I am sorry,” she said carefully. “Forgive my foolishness, but for a moment … I had permitted myself to believe that my dear husband was here with me.”

His head tilted and his eyes shone a deep emotion of compassion and sympathy. “I do understand, my dear Mrs. Hopkins. Ah,” he turned to a line of people standing behind him. Good lord, how long had they been standing there? Had they all seen her abandon? “I would like to introduce you to your very able staff. Mrs. Hopkins, this is Mr. William Stedler. He is your grounds keeper; he also handles your stable and your animals. You have two horses, a fine surrey and a sled for winter. Mr. Stedler will be pleased to take you anywhere in town you wish to go.”

Alicia looked at the man. Mr. Stedler was a vigorous, full-bodied man, he had one broad, wild dark eyebrow that crawled across his entire face but his brown eyes twinkled with honesty and kindness. She put out her hand and he blinked, shifted his gaze to Meyers who nodded and he gripped Alicia’s hand firmly with a humble grunt. Meyers continued.

“This is Mrs. Stedler. She is your cook and a very good one I might say. She and her husband live on the property in the small cottage not more than twenty yards from the back door … so you will never be alone, Mrs. Hopkins.”

Mrs. Stedler was also a robust sort, only her bulk was soft and matronly, her pudgy cheeks rosy and her eyes as friendly as her husband’s. Before Alicia could offer to shake the woman’s hand, probably something she shouldn’t be doing anyway, Mrs. Stedler spoke in a thick Irish brogue. “Dinner will be ready at eight, ma’am. Mr. Meyers, you will be staying, won’t you?”

“Ah … no, no. I am sorry to miss a meal prepared by you, sweet Mrs. Stedler, but I must catch a train for Chicago this evening. Perhaps next time I am in Farmington, Mrs. Hopkins will be so kind as to invite me.”

“Of course,” Alicia said before noticing the strange interest in his eyes as they scanned her black clad body. “You are my lawyer and are most welcome any time, sir.” That sufficiently put a damper on his obvious lusty ideas.

“Ah … yes …” Meyers face had grown red and he cleared his throat several times. “Oh, and this young woman is your maid, Missy. She is young and this is her first post, but I assure you that under Mrs. Stedler’s able tutelage, she is learning her duties quickly and sufficiently. She will serve well, Mrs. Hopkins.”

It was obvious Meyers feared Alicia might not approve his choice of maid for her and playing her role carefully, she eyed the nervous young Missy for several long moments. She was a strong, healthy darling of a girl, most likely no more than sixteen and Alicia wondered what circumstances would force a young girl into such servitude. Whatever it was, she knew that working in her home would be safer than some of the alternatives. “Missy is most perfect, I am sure.”

Then everything stilled. Alicia blinked, noticed that everyone was looking to her. “Oh,” she said to the servants. “Thank you,” and they quickly left the parlor.

“Mrs. Hopkins, I know you are anxious to look through the entire house, but unfortunately we have much to discuss before I must leave.” Meyers waved to a chair and Alicia sat, ramrod straight as her corset demanded. While he shuffled through papers he’d drawn from his bulky, brown leather briefcase, she struggled with discomfort.

When she had raised her arms, the chain linking the two intimate rings pierced through her nipple and the lip of her sex, had slipped down into the brief looseness beneath her corset. Now trapped, that chain tugged painfully, her nipple throbbed and thrilled and raised a multitude of urges that raced her heart and she wondered what, if anything, she could do to relieve the stimulation. Most regrettably … nothing. It wouldn’t do for her to simply reach into her clothing and pull the chain looser. So she blinked tears that threatened. It was an odd few moments of pain/pleasure … and the reality of her new environment twisted along the chain connected to her old existence as the property of the Magnolia Men’s Club. But as the lawyer spoke, she was amazed at how intensely she was able to focus on his words. They were damn interesting words too.

“Mrs. Hopkins, the house is fully paid and yours … leaving you a wealth of over one million dollars. The household expenses … let’s see … staff, seventy dollars per month, utilities and supplies for the buildings and grounds, forty dollars per month … food, well I’ve have allotted a generous one hundred dollars per month, far more than you will usually need, but it was Mr. Hopkins’ intent to entertain … and when you have shed your widow’s weeds, perhaps your heart will lighten and you will follow his intent … when you are ready, of course … I only planned to assure that it would be easy for you to do so. Your monthly personal expenses for purchases or travel if you like, are several hundred dollars. Should you wish more, do just inform me and I will make it immediately available.

“Now, as for other requirements you might have. As I have said, you have Mr. Stedler to take you into town. It is a most pleasant town. Not a large city, but comfortable and thriving. I know that Mr. Hopkins was looking forward to living here and fully expected that you too would enjoy Farmington. There is a symphony, not an excellent one, but a symphony all the same. Two churches, a Catholic Church on Roland Street and a Presbyterian Church on Pike Street.” He grunted and turned toward the window, pointing down the street. “There … three houses down and across … that is where Doctor Booker lives with his mother and his … most unfortunately addled younger sister … very sad, very, very sad but as I understand, the girl took a terrible fall as a child and had sustained damage to her brain. They say,” he lowered his voice to a whisper as he conveyed the gossip as good as any woman she’d ever seen. “They say she did not even speak until three years ago when the good doctor took her to Philadelphia and performed a dangerous brain operation. He is a gifted doctor and surgeon, you know. Perhaps you’ve heard of Dr. Nathan Booker?”

Alicia shook her head.

“Ah, well, I only tell you of him because he is the best in town and you should only have the best. He is aware that you have come to Farmington and will happily take you as a patient should you become ill. His offices are on Peak Street. Very well appointed offices I hear; very modern and well equipped. He has a partner, a young doctor by the name of Louis Freedman. I urge you to obtain the services of Dr. Booker and avoid this untried associate.”

“Thank you,” Alicia was amused. Her lawyer seemed rather obsessed with her health, wasn’t he?

“This,” he handed her a neatly typed sheet of paper, “is the list of businesses and homes equipped with telephones … as you are of course. There are only thirty homes and twenty-two businesses, but soon there will be more. Your bank is the Western Avenue branch of the Pennsylvania Bank. I have arranged deposits for your monthly expenses. The remainder of your money will be in my care. It will be invested for growth and I assure you, it will take care of you for the remainder of your days.”

“Do I need such diligent monitoring?” She was just curious. She could care less about it all right now. They were just numbers, small numbers by her understanding but obviously the value of a buck was a lot more in 1900.

Mr. Meyers again blushed. “Please understand … as a wealthy widow, it is my biggest concern that you will be taken advantage of, that someone will be unscrupulous in their attempts to separate you from the wealth Mr. Hopkins worked so diligently to provide for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”  His eyes were regaining that hungry glow and she felt the need to put him again in his place. Getting naked with any man right now was not her interest. Odd, it would have been in her own time. Young Mr. Meyers was a randy sort; she could see it in his mere energy. But anything that might threaten her current position or bring undo or disapproving attention to her was out of the question. She sighed gazed ahead, carefully ignoring his further, longing looks. This could have been fun if she wasn’t so afraid … or so sexually stimulated by the irritation at her aching nipple.

“Well, then. I shall be off. Do write with any concerns,” he packed his briefcase, leaving a substantial stack of papers on the table. “Send a telegram with any emergencies and I assure you, I will be at your side.” He walked to the front door and she followed him. There he turned and put out his hand. She reluctantly took it, knowing he was starving for the heat of her flesh against his palm, but the handshake was weak and quick and she carefully formed a perfectly practiced smile.

“I thank you again, Mr. Meyers. And do have a safe trip to Chicago. Good night, sir.” She left him there outside the screen door and standing on the charming front porch. Returning to the parlor, she stood a fair distance from the window and watched him finally leave. As he walked to the carriage, Mr. Stedler lit the gas lamppost and waved farewell.

***

Alicia ate her lovely meal alone in the beautiful dining room then finally retired to her bedroom. The house was equipped with electric lights but she had no desire for the harsh brightness and carried a candle up the stairs for illumination. In her room, two of her trunks had been unpacked by the maid and her curiosity flared. What was in all those trunks? One remained unopened, sitting in the corner as it may have become too dark for Missy to adequately identify items and put them away in drawers or closet.

On the large, comfortable bed, already turned down to fine white sheets and goose feather pillows, lay a modest cotton night gown. As much as Alicia feared falling asleep and losing what she had found in this new reality, her body was drained. She removed her clothing and slid into the soft cotton, snuggled beneath the blankets and was almost instantly dropped into an exhausted slumber.

Her dreams were soft, swishing and swaying images and sounds and the dignified touch representing everything she’d experienced since leaving the Club. Then, as she rolled over to find comfort against the mattress and pillow, her body had trapped the chain, begun to tug on the rings and flared a dream she did not wish to have. It was a memory of her last night at the Magnolia Men’s Club and she shuddered.

She was blindfolded and the dream was as it was, dark beneath the black cloth covering her eyes. They had brutally stripped her to all but her corset and stockings; she felt the dangle of the silk laces at her thighs, the strangeness of chill and erotic heat on her flesh. They had removed her corset and replaced it beneath the chain, tightening the stays to nearly unbearable and she found it hard to draw in a full, deep breath. They were leading her around by the chain, at times harshly, pulling abruptly at her nipple and there was a rawness growing at the lip of her sex.

Her wrists were then bound tight and the rope extended to the decorative hooks in the center of the parlor ceiling. She was lifted, suspended, her thighs over one man’s shoulders as he pressed his mouth to her opened thighs and sucked obstinately. Another hand gripped and pulled at her painful nipple then another mouth also sucked. This part of the dream was pleasant as for some reason, the members always found great pleasure in bringing her to excruciating climax repeatedly before taking her.

It wasn’t until she was unkindly dropped to the floor with a thud that her mind began to rebel against the dream, it refused to remember the callousness with which several men took her, how they pulled at her hair and drove deep and hard, bounced her body and fucked her relentlessly. Refusing the dream she forced herself awake, trembling with fear and damp with perspiration. “No!” she hissed. “No more!”

She stood and turned the switch to brighten the room. The light bulb was brilliant and she squinted against it, stumbled to the unopened trunk and shuffled around the items there until she found what she was seeking. A sewing box was tucked in the bottom, something every woman would own and apparently she did too, thanks to Thornton Gallows, A.K.A. Stephan Hopkins. She dug into the whicker box and retrieved a pair of small sewing scissors. Pulling the nightgown from her body, she sat on the floor and took the delicate chain in hand.

She tried cutting as one would shear a piece of fabric, but the scissors were not strong enough. She then took the sharp pointed tip and drove it into one of the links and this seemed to be working. She slowly rotated the blade, pressing it deeper and deeper until the gold link moved at its joint. Sweat glazed her skin as she worked at the chain and when finally she knew she could free herself of it she stopped. What would they do to her if they found it removed? Her hands froze and for a brief moment she thought to tighten the link rather than face the fear she felt.

Alicia blinked, drew in a deep breath and finished the job. Releasing the single link, she carefully slid the chain from the rings and nearly cried with the freedom that soared through her. The rings? Could she break the rings too?

She slid the blade through the ring at her nipple and it was of no effect, except that of hurting even more. Pressing harder with the widening part of the blade, she realized she was more likely to cause herself injury than eliminate the ring with the small sewing scissors and gave up. Perhaps she could find something else in the house that could more efficiently do the job? A gardener would have stronger tools, right? She’d make it her priority to find a way to explore Mr. Stedler’s domain soon. After all, it was her house, her property. She could certainly take a look around.

She dropped the offensive chain into the trunk for now and return to the bed. At least she would avoid such dreams now that the binding chain was gone.

Fighting the need to touch herself, relive the need created by the only pleasurable part of the dream, she finally dozed off fitfully, feeling suddenly naked without the chain she had worn for three long years.

***

Days passed and Alicia became weary of the loneliness. The books on the second floor library shelves were boring by her standards. The garden, although lovely was not so delightful all alone. The late summer heat was unbearable at times and she came to love lemonade. She ate lightly and longed for a jog; for the comfort of sweats and running shoes. She sighed and sat on the big front porch, watching neighbors come and go and respectfully hold their distance from the window living alone. She became agitated with the silence, annoyed by the simplest sounds; the lawn mower’s shushing nearly made her jump out of her skin. Oh, for the drone of a radio, a television; a good newspaper to read, anything to break the monotony of her solitary existence.

She intended to ask Mr. Stedler to take her into town, but that day, the relentless heat burst into a rousing thunderstorm that pounded all day and long into the night. At least it was a change and she found herself listening for the melodies in the water sloshing over her eaves and down the drainpipes. Expecting the next day to bring cool freshness, she was only to be disappointed. This was to be the summer from hell. Period. Her widow blacks only added to the intense discomfort of heat and separation.

“She’s a nice one,” Missy was saying in the kitchen to Mrs. Stedler as Alicia stood outside the door and listened.

Damn, I’m reduced to eavesdropping for my meager amusement; she thought with disgust but didn’t move away. After all, they were talking about her, it might be interesting. 

“So sad,” the cook groaned. “So, so sad. Such a young window. And so lonely.”

“Why doesn’t anyone come to visit?” Missy sighed dreamily.

“Hush now, you foolish girl. Now wouldn’t that be inappropriate? A widow? Receiving visitors? Entertaining? Scandalous! Next you’ll be suggesting she go off to the teahouses!”

Or the bars, Alicia thought with a raised brow. A drink would be wonderful, and she remembered the well stocked sidebar in the parlor.

“How long does a widow have to be like that, ma’am?” Missy asked. “I mean, it was her husband that died, not her.”

“Enough of this gossiping. Missy, you like working in Mrs. Hopkin’s house, you must respect her mourning, girl.”

“It’s alright,” Alicia chose to step through the swinging door. “I am lonely, and it is difficult.”

Both women turned terrified eyes toward her. “Ma’am!” Mrs. Stedler brusquely wiped her hands on her apron. “Please forgive us; we had no right, talking about you like that.”

Alicia sat at the wooden table and shrugged. “Why not? I must be an amazing curiosity to you. I’m an amazing curiosity to myself,” she grinned and Missy grinned back.

The cook slapped a quick crack against the young maid’s shoulder. “Back to work with you!”

“Don’t be that way, Mrs. Stedler. These are the facts,” Alicia sighed. “You and Missy are the only friends I have right now. May I help peel those potatoes?”

“No! Of course not! You are the lady of the house and you should – ”

“I should be able to do as I like … and right now; I would like to peel potatoes with you and Missy.” Alicia blinked, unsure of what to do next. A tear gathered in her eye. “Please?”

Missy seemed to enjoy it all but the poor cook was befuddled. How was she to be correct with Mrs. Hopkins inside her kitchen? Anywhere she’d ever worked, Mrs. Stedler had always had the kitchen for herself; a little piece of the real world tucked quietly behind the façade of those fancy people she was meant to please. It was her domain, her safety, a place to grump and scowl, to whistle if she wanted. Now, the lady of the house had invaded it and the cook felt boiled in her own stew. But Mrs. Hopkins was pleasant, even kind. They talked of simple things and when the carrots were cleaned and cut, the potatoes stripped of their skin and the fine cut of beef seasoned and prepared for the oven that overheated the room, the cook finally decided to take back her empire.

“Appreciate your help, Mrs. Hopkins. But this kitchen is far too hot for you. I’ll be bringing lemonade out to the porch where it’s cooler. Off with you now.”

Alicia had been dismissed but it had surely been the most entertaining afternoon since her arrival. She had unpinned the large, ugly onyx brooch at her neck, letting the stiff black lace collar droop opened in the heat. She walked out the front door and stood, leaned against the pillar and flipped the loose stiff lace, begging cool air down her bodice.

Lemonade on the small table and the cook taking a brisk leave, Alicia was again all alone. She sighed and watched the street.

A carriage rolled by. Children squealed and played in the distance, their voices drifting to her and reminding her that there really was life outside her walls. A young man rode past on a bicycle, never noticing her watching him. There was the distant groaning hoot of the train, the sigh of the hot breeze.

Coming along was a man on horseback. He rode well, dressed in riding attire and casual beyond any man she’d seen so far. His shirt was soft white, opened nearly to his chest. He cut a romantic figure and she let her imagination flow. How did a man like that fit into Farmington society? And what was he doing on her street?

Amazingly, he too was watching her. He slowed the animal’s trot and stopped at her gate. The leather saddle creaked and his long leg swung as he dismounted. He tossed the reigns over the fence and casual as you please, walked along the flower bordered path toward her. There was a glowing sheen of sweat on his brow and as he neared, she was startled by his look. This was one fine-looking man in any century. He was tall with broad shoulders. His hair was longer than was the fashion, dark and wild, falling in waves that caught the late afternoon sun. There was a ruddy, sun kissed color to his face and his teeth shown white as he smiled.

“The Widow Hopkins I presume?” He stopped at the bottom of the steps and she straightened, considered holding her collar appropriately closed at her chin but for some reason, chose not to.

Alicia smiled. “Yes. And you are?”

He chuckled comfortably. “A man of terrible manners. I’m your neighbor, Nathan Booker.”

“The doctor?”

“Guilty.” His eyes were brilliant green and piercing hers and Alicia actually felt herself aroused by his nearness. This was not a man to be fooling with; not she, a widow, in this place and time. “How are you fairing here in Farmington?” he asked.

“I’ve seen none of it, but I’m told it is a quaint and pleasant city.”

He grinned. “It’s a city like any other. Politics. Corruption. A hundred gossiping and pontificating ladies of the churches. We have a mayor with three children, none by his own wife … a growing and grossly late awareness of child labor and its dangers … our fair share of prostitution and everyone likes to say ‘Bully’, just like darling vice-president Teddy.”

“So, I’m not missing much, I assume?” She couldn’t help but smile. His irreverence was entertaining, his face handsome and his eyes … extraordinary.

“No you are not,” he shrugged and chuckled again, playfully slapping his crop against his high riding boots. “I’ve been a bit neglectful, Widow Hopkins. You see, my mother had asked me to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening and I should have done so days ago.”

“You are a busy man, Doctor Booker.”

“But I should have stopped by before. I will fetch you at seven tomorrow evening … if that pleases you.”

Pleases me? Alicia felt absolutely giddy but restrained all evidence of that.

Nathan Booker stepped up two steps and leaned toward her, his voice a low, sultry whisper. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those simpering big city widow ladies concerned about scandal and gossip. They are such bores.”

She watched his eyes uncontrollably slide from her face to the exposed flesh of her neck.

“I am not. I will be most please for you to … fetch … me at seven. Good day, Doctor.” She turned and walked inside.

Nathan Booker grinned; grunted then casually stepped onto the porch, helped himself to a half glass of cold lemonade and gulped it down before leaving.