My Life in the Georgian Era

What a day! I'm exhausted. If I look at one more number I will scream! After finally finishing the books of 5 clients my boss expects me to finish 6 more. I don't know if I have it in me. My brain is fried. I'm only working at 65%...70 on a good day. Sometimes I feel like this isn't my life. Sometimes I feel like I don't belong in this 'rat race'. All I do is wake up, go to work and come home exhausted and pass out only to wake up the next morning to do it all over again. I'm not living. I'm existing.

Sometimes I have enough energy to drink...but that also makes me pass out...only to wake up - this time with a hangover - and do the motions of my sad existence add a headache.

This particular day, I'm sitting at my desk recollecting the day. Not really doing anything. I can't think and numbers look like scribbles to me. The morning was a blur. I don't remember what I had for lunch, but it made me fall asleep at my desk. I'm not getting fired so I didn't get caught. Thank God. Am I really thankful? Maybe I should just get fired.

At the end of the day I find myself stretched out on my couch reading a book. A rarity, but I didn't pass out as soon as I got home. As I read, my mind wanders to a quieter time where women didn't work so hard...they giggled and played games all day, or played on their pianofortes. And played with needlepoint and walked 5 miles in mud to see their best friend.

Oh what a life...

"Evelina." I hear it whispered.

"Evelina." I feel a tug.

"Evelina" I hear it again. This time I feel it in my ear. A warm delicate breath that tickles the tiny hairs on my ears.

"Evelina, wake up." She's a little louder this time. Did the neighbors kid get into my apartment again? I really need to remember to lock my door. Wait. I thought he was a boy...

"Evelina. Father has requested your company. Make haste." My younger sister was talking to me...how did I know that?

I'm not in my apartment. What apartment?

As my eyes flutter open I realize I am not laying on my couch or looking at my ceiling. The furniture is early 1800's maybe Regency/Georgian era...the ceiling is a powder blue with white trim and there are roses everywhere.

"Come now Evie, stop moping and go to Father." A different voice speaks.

"Wh-where is he?" I ask. That is not my voice. I gasp...these are not my clothes!

"Where else would he be? He's in his study." The frazzled mid life woman retorts. Ah...she must be my mother.

She quickly walks to the door and motions me to follow her. She's in a hurry so I quickly get up. Not a good idea but I recover and follow her down the hall to the last door.

Before she opens it she gives me a wry smile and says, "He's not very happy with you for turning down Mr. Bishop." I don't think she likes me very much.

Oh no.

"Shut the door Evie." A stern voice bellows.

"Father." Did that just come out of my mouth?

He puts his finger up to my lips and quietly shushes me.

"I'm glad you told him no, of course. Insufferable waste of a man." He smiles. "What happened to Mr. Culpepper?" His countenance completely changes.

I shrug. Is that acceptable? Who's Mr. Culpepper?

He shrugs in response. "He was quite attentive to you at the Enfield's ball two nights past." This guy, my father, has a warm, gentle, loving smile. "I do have it on good authority that he will be coming by to pay you a visit as he did a few days past. It would be a shame that we would have to turn him away on account of Mr. Bishops hasty proposal. He thinks you have no prospects. How destitute and desperate does he think we are?" He huffs.

I like this guy.

"To give our eldest daughter to him in matrimony because he's worth ten thousand a year. Perish the thought." He hugs me warmly before continuing. "I see the spark Mr. Culpepper sets in your eyes and I wholeheartedly consent if he asks."

Yes...I remember now. I love Mr. Culpepper. My tall, goofy, giggly, happy adorable Mr. Culpepper of whom Mother does not approve. Did I just think like that? He's a little older, and not very skinny but has gorgeous twinkling eyes that shine whenever he looks at me. And all I want to be is Mrs. Culpepper.

"But Mother..."

"You shall leave her to me. Don't fret at all my darling love. She will be appeased."

I suppose now all I have to do is wait for his proposal. He didn't come by the end of that day. And with the help of my little sister Rusudani or Rusi, because she was born in the middle of the day, I know where my bedroom is. She is so precious. She reminded me that she would be ten soon and expected me to make her an elegant dress for the occassion

Three days pass and he still doesn't call upon me. I'm getting anxious. I nervously walk about the house trying to keep myself busy with needlepoint, reading and attempting to play the pianoforte...apparently I'm not very good at it. I even asked the cook to teach me how to make boiled potatoes!

Where is he? I thought he loved me. This is awful. I have little to occupy my time. I can't leave the house just in case he calls, clean, wash my own clothes, watch TV, surf the internet, eat a snickers bar...I can't even go call upon him. That would be very unlady like. Sadly my brain keeps searching for, 'What's an internet?'

And this woman I call my mother keeps taunting me, telling me I should have married Mr. Bishop. Every chance she gets she tells me of poor, unfortunate Mr. Bishop who has to wearily travel back to Bath alone. She also reminds me that my newly wedded older brother has started a family of his own and wouldn't be able to help a poor old spinster like me. Jokes on her, I don't even know how old I am here. I'm sure in her ramblings she'll eventually tell me. Hopefully I listen. Perhaps to save me a headache, I can ask Rusi how old I am.

Just when I was at my wits end and comfortably settled into this life there was a ring at the door. My heart jumped as I heard it and to my surprise and pleasure I knew what the ring meant. Visitors! It must be him! Finally we'll be engaged and then married and I'll be with my...

A knock on my door. He wouldn't dare come up here to the sleeping quarters. Another knock.

"Evie?" The sweetest voice I have ever heard sings in my ears. Like tasting chocolate for the first time. "Evie, may I enter?" She speaks again. "It's me, Amelia."

Ah! Sweet Amelia. My best friend. She has come to cheer me up! What have I told her thus far? Stop thinking like that!

As soon as I open the door she grabs me and holds me close. So close. And she smells of honeysuckles and strawberries. Oh my gosh she's beautiful...perfect dirty blonde ringlets frame her face, her lips a natural dark pink, her bosom perfectly exposed as the current fashion would allow, and a cinch above her waist to accentuate her assets as the skirt freely flows showing she had little fat on her bones. How in the world did any man look at me when I was standing next to her? I need to get less attractive friends. Seriously.

"I brought you some flowers to cheer up your room." She walks over and puts them in a vase on my nightstand and then whispers, "and I brought you some wild strawberries I picked from Mr. Meriton's garden on the way here."

"Strawberries!" I hear a giggly yell as Rusi runs into my room.

How did she hear that?

It had only been since the Enfields ball that I last saw Amelia but she had to fill me in on all the gossip circulating about me, Mr. Bishop and Mr. Culpepper and even though I was there...I wasn't there. I have no recollection of the ball. I told her I must have had too much punch to remember and she looked at me oddly.

"I can't wait until I'm old enough to go to the balls. They sound so grand!" Rusi spoke wistfully as she mushed a strawberry in her mouth.

"Evie, it was all so perfect. How do you not remember a thing?"

Why didn't I poof into this existence a few days earlier so I could go to this friggin ball instead of having to hear about it? But, the amazing thing is, as she spoke, the memories flood back. I can smell the roast, and the wine, and the puddings...I can see the men in their fine coats and the ladies in their fashionable light coloured dresses.

Amelia explains to me how Mr. Bishop and I danced and he kept trying to take me out to the gardens alone and some of our acquaintances , including Mr. Culpepper wouldn’t let him. But he somehow abrasively cornered me alone at the family carriage and asked me to marry him. I must have embarrassed him something horrid because he stormed off to his carriage yelling loud enough for everyone hear that I would end up alone and in poverty without him. Huh. Yeah, he loves me. After he left, Mr. Culpepper came up to console me and give me comfort and of course, while his hand was touching my elbow, my mother came up and witnessed our ‘embrace’. She called me many names I didn’t even think she knew and told Mr. Culpepper to leave and never try to call on me again. Even after the whole truth was spoken, she still stood with Mr. Bishop.

Thinking about the memories that swirled around in my head from that night, I decided I was happy that I wasn’t actually there to go through it and it’s all just moments passed.

After a week of waiting, he finally arrives. And of course I'm a mess. I've been a worried, frazzled, not-able-to-sleep mess. And though my mother dislikes me, she helps me tidy up along with my adorable little sister while my father quietly converses with Mr. Culpepper. My Mr. Culpepper.

As I descend on the stairs he looks up at me and we lock glances. I will never forget that smile for as long as I live. He melts my heart.

He starts to speak, but all I hear is a loud alarm. Oh no.

Suddenly I wake up…on my couch…in my apartment, alone. It was all just a dream. You can imagine the gut wrenching sobs that echo through my apartment from that realization. It was only a dream but it felt so real. I was there. I felt it all, smelled it all, lived it all. It had to have been my life. I now know what love feels like.

That dream really sticks with me. During the nights that pass I fall asleep hoping I can get back to it…hoping I can get back to my Mr. Culpepper. He’s so real to me. And the memories I have of him are so vivid.

A few months later, I’m sitting at my desk feeling hopeless. I didn’t have anymore dreams about that life and I’m afraid I never will again. I have to let it go. I have to stop living in my fantasy and find a way to live in my present. I have to…Mr. Culpepper?

My boss approaches me with a tall, man with a warm bright smile on his face. My heart is pounding in my chest as they come closer.

Ms. Baxter, this is Jeremy Salt…