Kirk gradually became aware of Emma’s thoughts. He was “riding around” inside like he did with Marlene. He felt Emma touch and bump into things, lifted her skirts over the mud and thanked our creator for the chance to work inside during the winter. His fingers sewed the rips and tried not to get burned on the hot irons!

TWINS by Marie
Part 6 - Emma.1
by Marie C.

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“Well, look at the sleeping beauty! It’s about time you moved into my room. And now that you’re here it’ll be easier for me to tell you what to do.” She raised an eybrow and said “And you were busy today, weren’t you?”

I groaned and peeked out from under the bed covers. Marlene was back worse than ever and it was the middle of the night. What happened to those few moments of nice-nice the other day when she wanted my help? Yeesh.

She stood at the mirror holding up a peasant blouse and full yellow skirt with precise, businesslike movements. I noticed that the funny light seemed to come from everywhere.

“ Today I watched mom cut your hair and make you up. You teased old Bill, didn’t you (giggle).” She put down the clothes and turned to me. “Come on. You have to get ready and meet some friends of mine.” Peeling off her play dress she snatched away the nightie and moved into me with that buzzing noise. I protested somewhere down inside her, wherever that was, but she paid no attention.

Rummaging through chests and closet she found a tiered nylon petticoat, underwear and sandals. A wide belt, handicraft beads and dangly earrings completed the night’s ensemble. “You have to start wearing a bra. Ask mom if you don’t know what to do.” She twirled back and forth, hands on hips, very much a gypsy tonight.

At the vanity she brushed this, plucked that and flipped away a loose hair. “And my room! Clean it up. I don’t want a boy’s trash heap.” I couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise.

We stared briefly at the other me lying in fetching disarray, then strode out into the hall and up those strange stairs to the tower. She just turned the door handle and walked in. No key needed. Why was I not surprised?

Seated around a wooden table were twenty or so girls, ages about seven to nineteen. Most held an embroidery hoop or a quilt. Each wore a different costume and looked like the cast for an old movie. Actually for a bunch of old movies! I couldn’t remember them all because Marlene breezed through introductions like a New York tour guide. A few I would definitely remember.

One was named Ana Maria and looked Spanish like Leticia. Another wore a long-sleeved old-timey blouse with a high ruffled collar, ankle-length dark skirt and lace up shoes - Emma. An older girl sported a boyish haircut, short thin dress and a long string of pearls. A small, dark skinned girl who looked Indian (Native American, that is) was dressed in animal skins and a handmade necklace. Unlike the others she held a partially assembled basket.

Some were real scary. I saw light and furniture when I looked through them. With a few I couldn’t tell anybody was there until their outlines moved against the light. Most were solid-appearing. The table was a large, heavy oval with carved legs covered in a coarse white cloth. Odds and ends of sewing or crafts projects lay scattered across its surface.

At the other end of the chamber was a second door made out of heavy hand-chipped planks. It had an iron latch instead of a door knob and huge iron hinges. Its frame and panels were decorated with carved leaves and flowers the way they did it a long time ago. At one side of the room there was a cheerful blaze in a large stone fireplace.

I tried hard to remember what the tower looked like from the outside. When José and I worked in the yard I never saw any chimneys or doors, just a fancy glass window in a weathered oval frame. How could there possibly be a place like this?

The big door stood open and through it I could see another bannister and stairs going down. That same strange light showed through the opening. If anything it was stronger than in the bedroom. Nowhere did I see any lamps. Other than the weird light the room was lit by candles of various sizes, mostly large. As I watched two girls tiptoed in like they were late and quietly took seats. Another soon followed carrying an armload of wood which she put down next to the fire.

Years later I climbed up to the tower with Linda and found an enclosed viewing porch that hadn’t been cleaned in decades. As we were sweeping I found scraps of cloth and pieces of thread mixed with cobwebs and droppings. Linda said they were abandoned mice nests. A tattered basket lay in one corner.

The girl with the pearls was called Clara. “Marlene you look trés chic as always. I see you brought your twin, Kirk. Is that his name?”

How could she see me? I was still inside. Yeesh.

“He’s the first one for a long time,” chirped another. “Boys don’t usually like it here.” A chorus of giggles followed.

Marlene stood at the head of the table obviously well-known to all. She spoke to them in a chipper upbeat voice. “Right now he’s kind of mixed up but you should have seen mom doing his hair and putting him in my clothes. He really likes it more than he’ll say. I got a lot of energy from him the other day and he made mom feel better. Someday he’ll take my place because he’s my twin.”

If you can roll up in a fetal position with your thumb in your mouth inside someone’s mind, that was me.

“Twin, step out and meet the girls.” Marlene moved aside and there I was buck naked. Embarrassed in my bangs and angel wings I moved my hands down to cover my privates.

“He’s not much of a boy,” a girl in a prairie dress tittered.

“No, he isn’t. I wonder how long he will be?” sneered one girl in a tight skirt and sweater which emphasized ample mammaries. “So you wear dresses and makeup,” she jeered. “I bet you really want a pair of these, don’t you?” She lifted the hooters and gave them a jiggle. They really were big, I thought. “Old Bill would give them a workout if you had any.” Light snickering prevailed.

”Billie, stop! That’s not proper language! I thought we were going to be more refined at these meetings.” It was the girl in the long skirt and shirtwaist.

“You’re such a prude, Emma,” was the jeering reply.

“Emma used to work here when she was a girl,” Marlene said to me wherever I was. “It was a long, long time ago.” She ignored white trash girl.“Emma, step into my twin. Maybe he’ll give you some of his energy.”

Emma stared at us with a puzzled look. “What do I do?”

“Watch me.” Marlene stepped in and out again.

I was getting tired of standing there freezing my butt off with icy hands over my thingies. I didn’t want to get mixed up with Emma or anybody for that matter. It was bad enough with Marlene. I was about to say something in protest but Emma moved faster than I expected.

“Emma, don’t be late this morning. You’ll get switched for sure.” It was 5:00 a.m. and dark and wet from a rain that came down in buckets all night. I took a chance, dashed across the yard and up the steps. The oak trees around the house don’t give much cover, so you can get wet even if you’re wrapped in a shawl. Thank heaven it let up.

Andy, our stable hand, put down rough planks for us to walk on. They aren’t all that steady or clean so I have to pay attention and keep my skirts above the mud. Even then I nearly slipped! Mrs. Blair wouldn’t like it if I came in looking like a drowned mouse and would be furious if I dirtied her floor with muddy skirts and shoes. The cottage in back is where I live with Mrs. Silva, the cook, and Mrs. Blair, senior housemaid, my boss and purveyor of punishments.

The ranch owner, Mr. McDougal, lets us eat in the kitchen before we start the day. My job is the washing, ironing and mending of household linen including Mrs. Brown’s and Mrs. Blair’s personal items. If I don’t get each piece done properly and in time I get a switching with my petticoats hiked up. I don’t recommend that at all!

Before I do all of that I have to clean the ashes out of the fireplace and kitchen stove and lay fires for cooking and heating. Then I clean myself off and do the rest of the day’s work! Since Mr. McD. put in a new water closet upstairs and the outhouse next to the servants’ quarters I don’t have to empty chamber pots like some girls I know. Thank heaven.

The hardest part always is washing Andy’s overalls. It takes forever on the washboard and three changes of water to get the horse smell out. Doing the women’s private cloths is another awful job, even my own now that I have my monthly visitor. The new hand crank wringer makes most of the work easier, but I still have to hang wet laundry in the basement and back porch when it rains. It’s a job, believe me, and it never lets up.

Today I had two basketfuls of clean washing, an easier task than most days. Usually I have to pull each item out of the hamper one by one and check carefully for tears and worn spots. It takes all morning, especially if I have to do any mending. Then I carry it all down again to the back porch where we do the ironing. The irons are heated on the kitchen stove and if they’re too hot they scorch the fabric. So I have to be very, very careful or you know what happens. Fancy mending like Miss Abigail’s waists and frocks are sent out. Something else to be thankful for.

During breakfast I listened to Mr. McDougal in the main room reading out loud to Mrs. Silva from the newspaper. The subject was who might be our new President. He thinks Mr. Taft is the best choice. Teddy Roosevelt is backing the man and that’s good enough for our lord and master.

I looked up at the feed store calendar. “January 1908. Thank gosh Christmas is over. They should ban the holidays. Too much work for girls like me. Oh, what am I thinking.” I gobbled my last forkful of potato and brought my plate to the sink for rinsing.

Mr. McDougal continued. “A committee has formed to start a world’s fair in San Francisco. Remarkable. The earthquake and fire were less than two years ago. Several of the big downtown stores have been restored. Hmmm, I’ll have to take Abby to shop for her trousseau.” By this time he was mumbling to no one in particular. I thought about that earthquake. Everything shook for ages. My poor little sister was tumbled right out of bed and cried all day.

Times are good here. Mr. McDougal has the largest dairy in western Marin County and the demand for milk and butter is so big he can’t fill the orders. He says people are moving back to San Francisco by the droves. The house was built by Mr. McD’s father nearly thirty years ago after he made a fortune with an imported herd, whatever that is. Our Mr. McDougal took over when the old man died twenty five years ago.

Unlike the house in Linda’s time the 1908 version had a polished, cared for look. The parlor featured a grand piano and the dining room was dominated by a beautifully inlaid five-leaf mahogany table. There were chairs, Tiffany lamps and stands that would bring a fortune from antique auctions ten decades later. The outside walls and gingerbread were in good repair and freshly painted. It was a cheerful family setting and the house bustled with energy from early morning to late evening.

After I washed my plate I brought my basket upstairs to the room on the left side. That’s where I keep the cap and work pinafore I wear over my winter frock. In summer I wear a thin blouse with three-quarter sleeves and cotton skirt. When it’s really hot I try to sneak by with two petticoats. Last year Mrs. Blair caught me and insisted I wear four “as befits a proper lady.” Miss Abigail has to wear a corset (she’s Mr. McDougal’s daughter) and I don’t, so I give thanks for a few other things. Too many silly rules. Someday girls will get to vote, then you’ll see.

I’m a healthy thirteen year old and developed beyond my years. I look and act more like sixteen or seventeen according to Mrs. Blair.

Kirk gradually became aware of Emma’s thoughts. He was “riding around” inside like he did with Marlene. He felt Emma touch and bump into things, lifted her skirts over the mud and thanked our creator for the chance to work inside during the winter. His fingers sewed the rips and tried not to get burned on the hot irons!

He watched transfixed as Emma did something naughty. As she brought the finished work upstairs she saw one of Miss McDougal’s delicate formal dresses waiting for repair. Emma never had a fancy dress of her own so temptation overcame her better judgment, especially since Miss McDougal was out for the day. She quickly stripped off her work clothes and camisole, struggled into the garment and stood at the mirror. It was a lovely mauve tight-figured, sleeveless low cut evening gown. The train must have been three feet long. Kirk had never seen anything so lavish even in Marlene’s closet. He felt giddy as Emma wrapped herself in the very adult-looking frock.

For the first time he saw a smiling, attractive, physically mature girl in the mirror with a face not much different than Marlene’s except for blond hair and blue eyes. As Emma turned from side to side he saw they were in Marlene’s bedroom. It was even more extravagant than his cousin’s with silk bed covers, lace curtains and white and gold lacquered chests of drawers. The bed had an immense lace canopy with sheer silk drapes that could be drawn all the way around.

Emma was extra careful that day and Miss McDougal’s frock resumed its place without incident. Kirk thought about how grown up he looked in the dress, just like Aunt Linda might have looked. Then he became alarmed at what he was thinking but for the time being could do nothing but bask in Emma’s secret pleasure.

After her chores Emma was surprised when Mrs. Blair called her back downstairs. “Not a moment’s rest,” Emma thought.

She found Mr. McDougal enthroned next to the fire. Strong cigar smoke clouded the air. His thick gray mustache, cravat, vest and heavy watch chain made him look like an English lord, or as close to one as Emma could imagine. Mrs. Blair stood there stiffly hands clasped in front of her apron and watched Emma with a steely eye. Her lips were tightly drawn. Emma thought she looked angry.

Emma curtsied in place, eyes downcast waiting for one or the other to say something. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach and she needed to pee. Had she missed some repair or scorched a shirt? Oh my, they found out about Miss Abigail’s dress! She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath and crossed her fingers.

After a lifetime McDougal looked up and cleared his throat. “Emma, I hear good things about you. Mrs. Blair gives you an outstanding report.”

“Thank you, sir.” Surprise and relief flooded over Emma like a cool waterfall. She curtsied again. When she looked up Mrs. Blair was beaming.

“My Abigail is at an age where she needs to travel about and meet eligible young men. Her brothers are away and cannot help and my Lillian has been gone for four years.” He paused, pinched his eyes and looked out the window.

Emma nodded sympathetically and played with the seams of her skirt, still clueless as to why she had been summoned.

“She will need a companion. We think you can be that girl. Your character is good and you have been unstintingly reliable. You were especially helpful over the holidays. I have talked to Abby and she is willing to test this arrangement if it is suitable to you.”

Emma never expected this.

“If you agree you would live in the house instead of the cottage and be at Miss McDougal’s beck and call as her personal consort. Your salary would increase to seven dollars a week. If things work out it will rise to ten dollars after a year. Emma, would you like to do this?”

Her heart was thumping. “Yes, Mr. McDougal sir, very much so.” She didn’t know whether to faint or shriek. Kirk shared Emma’s excitement. He found that he was liking Emma very much. Better than Marlene!

“Very well. Mrs. Blair will relieve you of your current duties when she finds a replacement. However, you will require special training in deportment to accompany Abigail to better homes in the county and in San Francisco. Your instructor will be a Miss Carradine who was headmistress in an Eastern school. She is very strict. If she does not approve you will go back to your old job. Is that understood? You will not be alone as Abigail requires a certain amount of instruction as well. ”

“Yes, Mr. McDougal.” Emma curtsied and backed out floating on air. When Mrs. Blair saw Emma afterward she gave her a hug with tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad for you. You’ve been like the daughter I never had.”

“At least no more switchings,” Emma thought. She lifted her skirts and dashed for the outhouse.

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To Be Continued...