My Name is Emilia

By Johanne Moyes

In 1859 a rich merchant married his true love. Ten years later she was dead under suspicious circumstances. One hundred years later, her spirit walks the mansion her husband built for her and reaches out to the new owners. Was it to protect the child born to the new homeowners? Was it to unite with the descendants of the child stolen from her in the dead of night?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093405

Book preview

Dedication

The three inspirations in my life: Mom, Dad

and Jeremy.

One

EMILIA SPEAKING: The first time my house went up for sale was in 1966. Baltimore City has seen more prosperous times but currently the city is in a horrible state of decline. Families were no longer calling the city their home, choosing instead the counties, seeking better schools and acquaintances of like thinking. The year is 1977 and the house is seeking a new owner after being vacant for over ten years.

My home was a gift from Nicholas, my husband. He had it built in1859 and it is where I found the love of my life.

Taking you back in time to the year 1860, my husband and I arrived in Baltimore after a transatlantic ocean voyage. As we drove through the streets to our new home, I cherished every moment, contrasting Baltimore to my home town of Glossop, England. The streets were alive with activity, in comparison to the small quiet town of my birth.

As we rode in the carriage, I asked Nicholas to allow plenty of notice prior to arriving at the house so I could savor our intimate neighborhood surroundings. We rode for about thirty minutes from when we arrived at the docks when Nicholas stated, Our home is ahead on the left, just beyond the Tudor style mansion.

The carriage stopped and Nicholas said, Welcome home, my darling. My breath caught in my chest as I looked up and saw a magnificent structure. You see, I come from very humble beginnings. Nicholas told me the townhouse design was called Greek Revival. The façade was unadorned brick with large windows and an ornate cornice at the top of the house and above the doorway. Atop the doorway was a transom with an ornate lead glass window.

The main entrance to the house was elevated by six white marble steps. Behind and beneath those steps was an entrance to the basement for coal and other household deliveries. Flanking the steps were wrought iron banisters adorned with brass accent finials. The doorway was narrow but elegant with its walnut double doors reaching eight feet high. The hardware was brass and polished to a glorious shine. Beside the door was an elegant lamp made of brass.

When we arrived at the house, Nicholas picked me up, and as he carried me over the threshold, he kissed me and said, Welcome home, Mrs. Westernton. He then gently put me down.

Once inside the foyer I could see the rainbows dancing in the hallway from the lead transom window. Then I saw it. Looking down the forty-foot hallway was a spiral walnut staircase. The bottom step was wide with graduated spans going up the stairs. There was a painted chair-rail, wainscoting on the walls, and above the woodworking was elegant maroon and gold wallpaper. My feet were frozen in place.

As I slowly walked down the hallway, I could see that the ceilings were twenty feet high with ornate plaster crown molding. I noticed the doorway on my left as the entrance to the parlor, but my focus was on the staircase. It was breathtaking. I stood at the center base and looked up the four levels of the house. With a walnut banister and painted white balustrades, the curved stairs looked as if they were leading up to heaven. Large beautiful windows were centrally positioned on each landing. The daylight streamed through the windows illuminating the entire house.

Nicholas was anxious to show me the other features of the house, so we backtracked into the parlor. It was a very large room and centered on the wall was an ornately carved white marble fireplace. He was so excited, talking about the evenings we would spend here by the fire, reading, talking and just enjoying each other’s company after having bid the children goodnight. The room was adorned with the furniture we chose in Manchester months before our departure.

On the front wall of the house were huge windows; Nicholas called them parade windows. He went on to explain that the interior shutters fold into ‘pockets’ built into the window jamb.

As we walked to the end of the hallway before entering the dining room, there was an exterior door. Nicholas explained, The house is only attached to our neighbor’s house for the length of the parlor. Between the two houses, beginning where we are standing now, is a shared walkway out to the garden.

As we walked into the garden, Nicholas said, Design your garden and when you are ready, I have landscape architects awaiting your instructions. He had left the garden as a blank palate ready for my creative brush strokes. I shrieked with joy and ran through the open space, imagining what I could create. In my mind’s eye I could see the final creation: a small patio just off the back of the house, which then ventured down a winding path with butterflies, hummingbirds and moon flowers intertwined with morning glories. It was a small intimate garden, and I looked forward to lounging in the afternoon sun with a cup of tea, maybe a new friend or a good book.

Noticing that there was a tiny house at the back of our property, I asked, Who owns that house?

Nicholas explained, We do. The occupants pay no rent. Mr. and Mrs. Bond, Cora and Henry, live in that house. They are our housekeepers, gardeners and full-time assistants. They are here to do whatever you request of them.

Slaves? I asked.

Oh, no, absolutely not, replied Nicholas, they are paid a very fair wage, as well as being provided living accommodations to see to our comfort and your protection while I am at sea.

I looked forward to meeting them.

As we re-entered the house, Cora and Henry were unpacking our trucks. Nicholas introduced us, and requested tea and biscuits be brought to the parlor. Tired from our long journey and the day’s excitement, we relaxed in our beautiful parlor.

My name is Emilia. Welcome to my home.

Two

E milia, your father is waiting in the cart, and he is becoming impatient. What is taking you so long, my dear daughter? Every month we go through these same delays while the entire family waits on you.

Father, I am sorry for delaying our departure, I said, hugging my father from the back of the cart.

Emilia Anna Chatsford, if I didn’t know better, I would say you are using all your charms on your dear father. We all know tomorrow is your birthday, and you will turn eighteen. But today is still market day and you must delay your celebration, my father replied.

Yes, tomorrow is my birthday, and my hopes and dreams are to marry before my twentieth year. Being born in Glossop makes it hard to dream of adventures beyond Manchester, but I am a dreamer. My family has lived in this part of England for generations and has passed down through those generations the processing of cotton. Glossop is a small quaint town, where everyone knows everyone else.

When I was a child, I would run the hills with my friends and they would ask, Emilia, what is our adventure for the day? I’ve always had a vivid imagination of sailing to far off places and discovering mystical castles with spirits living within.

It wasn’t until I was a little older, maybe my thirteenth year, that my desire to turn these dreams into reality took hold. In the meantime, I was content with my life, my family and my chores, all the time knowing that a girl could dream of her prince and exotic destinations.

I, being the eldest, have two sisters and one brother and we are so very different. They have blond hair and blue eyes; my hair is as dark as a walnut tree and my eyes the same.

While we rode in the cart to market, my sister said, Emilia, you seem to be daydreaming again. What adventures are you visiting in your head? America, the Orient, is he handsome and rich? Laughter broke out from my brother, mocking me. Oh handsome man, I’m so glad you are rich and will take me to the places I have imagined.

Although all in good fun, my mother stepped in. Leave your sister alone... it’s good that she dreams, for one day those dreams may come true. My siblings didn’t understand my love of adventure. They preferred the vast open landscape and calm peaceful lifestyle of northern England. One day I will follow my heart, travel the world and write of my adventures in personal diaries.

Arriving at market, which is always the first Saturday of the month, Father said, Everyone, you know your jobs, so let’s get our goods set up in the first available stall.

It was a gloomy day in Glossop until I heard Nicholas Paul Westernton speak.

Hello, he said to my sister, could you direct me to a merchant who can make custom footwear?

My back was to him and I heard my sister directing him six stalls down to the Glossop cobbler. He spoke slowly, and his voice was deep and melodic, causing me to become distracted and I had to turn around to see this mysterious-sounding creature. For me, it was love at first sight, but not so for Mr. Westernton. He moved on to the cobbler stall without so much as a first, let alone a second, glance in my direction.

My sister was stammering and unable to put two coherent sentences together; obviously she was as taken with him as me.

Why are you two girls standing around? There’s work to be done, said my father. His comments brought both of us back from our dreams. Although that night as we lay in bed, we giggled and shared thoughts and dreams of the stranger. Was he rich, was he already married, was he ready to take a wife, both of us were available... until we finally fell asleep.

THE FOLLOWING MONTH, my sister and I were hoping for a return visit from the handsome stranger. We did some extra clothes washing and we wore the best dresses we could without attracting Mother’s attention. We fixed our hair and waited anxiously at our stall for his arrival.

I asked my sister if she thought he would come to market.

Who? my brother responded.

This is sister talk, now go away, I chided.

On the way home from market, my sister said, I didn’t see him, did you?

No, I didn’t see him either, I responded.

We were so disappointed. Months passed, and the handsome stranger didn’t revisit our stall. So we gave up our special appearance efforts. Our routine fell back into our normal pattern: tattered and smudged work dresses and hair pulled back with a head scarf.

SIX MONTHS LATER, AFTER slipping in the mud on the way to our stall, I said to no one in particular, I look about as appealing as a lamb walking in the rain. Still sitting on the ground, I looked up and the handsome stranger was looking down at me.

Hello, he said in his deep voice, I think you look more appealing than a lamb walking in the rain. All I could manage was a nod of my head. I was here about six months ago, but I don’t remember seeing you. I spoke with a young blonde lady, he said.

Nine, I said, trying to get off the ground without slipping again.

Nine what? he asked.

You were here nine months ago; she is my sister, I stammered. He smiled and then laughed, embarrassing me.

So you do remember me? Why didn’t I have the pleasure of meeting you nine months ago? Those are nine months of my life wasted, he replied with a charming smile. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Nicholas Westernton from Liverpool.

I am Emilia Anna Chatsford from Glossop, I replied.

Just as we finished our introductions, my father stepped from behind the stall and Mr. Westernton promptly introduced himself. From what I could overhear, Mr. Westernton was a ship’s captain with the Liverpool Industrial Shipping Company, making regular voyages between Liverpool and New York.

Mr. Chatsford, if it’s convenient, would you allow me to call on your daughter Emilia? Nicholas asked.

Not waiting for a reply from my father, I shouted Yes.

The look I received from my father was one that I remembered when I would forget my table manners. Then my father smiled and nodded yes.

Mr. Westernton asked, Would next Saturday be convenient?

My father replied, Yes, that would be convenient.

Arrangements were made, and I was full of excitement for the entire following week. My sisters and I have always been close, and we share in each other’s happiness; I knew that if Clara couldn’t capture Mr. Westernton’s heart, she was happy that maybe I could.

Saturday had finally arrived. My mother chose my dress, one she had washed especially for the occasion and my sister fixed my hair. My only job was to just keep breathing and not to faint from nerves. Mother had taken special care to clean the house and prepare an afternoon tea. When we heard the knock on the door, my father