Sage Woman Chronicles

Circle of Ideas

“Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it.” ~ M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled

“We cannot control what emotions or circumstances we will experience next, but we can choose how we will respond to them.” ~ Gary Zukav

“There is a divine purpose behind everything – and therefore a divine presence in everything.” ~ Neale Donald Walsch

“Non-attachment is about not being attached to anything – including non-attachment itself.” ~ Peter Merry

I must apologize if there are mistakes in this post. Shortly after I wrote this rough draft I had to go to the ER with severe abdominal pain which turned out to be gall stones. Needless to say, my preparation for this week’s post was delayed. Thanks for reading anyway.

Ideas fascinate me. I’m kind of an idea collector. I pay attention to the ideas in books, movies, TV shows, what my acquaintances, family and friends say. When a new idea comes my way, I love to pick it apart and examine the many layers that it expresses. Throughout the years, I’ve made connections from one idea to the next and sometimes the pattern blesses me with a deeper understanding of one or more of those ideas.

Last week I posted a quote, “There are no victims only volunteers” that our friend John Berger stated years ago in a small group meeting. One of my readers didn’t agree with the quote. I completely understand why she didn’t. We’re taught that the world happens TO us and all we can do is react or respond. On one level that is true on another level I believe that we have a hand in what happens to us, kind of like the sacred contract that Caroline Myss writes about in her book of the same title. Our soul knows that what is written in the contract is there to help us grow, if we choose to do so. However, our ego selves sometimes balks at this.

See what I mean about ideas? Since that last paragraph may be baffling to you, let me make it more personal.

In the ‘90s my husband and I were restless and felt constrained by the church we’d grown up in. The story is rather long and involved, but it ended with our seeking a deeper spiritual connection elsewhere. There were several of us in our home congregation on the same journey. John Berger was one of them. We were all reading the same authors, M. Scott Peck, Deepak Chopra, Gary Zukav, Marianne Williamson, Gregg Braden, and many more. We even attended a new thought church together for a time. That’s where I came across the notion that what we call reality isn’t reality at all. It’s more like the quote from Shakespeare about all the world being a stage and all the men and women merely players. The idea was that if we can understand that there is a much larger plan for humanity throughout the ages than just being born, living and dying, then we might be able to see that we volunteer to participate in events so our soul can help us gain wisdom.

I have to admit this idea that I volunteered for all the things that happen to me was disconcerting. That meant I would have to take responsibility for my life on all levels. On the one hand it was nice to believe that I had volunteered for the good thing that happened, but not so much the bad. I mean, who deserves for bad things to happen to them right?
Yet I contemplated that idea, and one related to it, “nothing matters.” How could nothing matter? What was the purpose of being then? What was the purpose of going through the motions of living?

As I approached my fortieth birthday I got the answer in an unusual way. Every month I went to my naturopathic doctor for chiropractic treatments. During the one right before my birthday he and I were talking about what it was like to turn forty. He was only three months older than I. He told me about the skiing trip his friend had gifted him. They had gone up to Mt. Hood where they used to ski when they were both younger and had fewer responsibilities. The experience could have been a disaster. Their equipment was old and kept breaking making skiing impossible. When he told me how they had laughed in spite of the fact that their ski trip had been ruined, I got it. In fact that’s exactly what I said. “Oh, I get it now!” He asked me what I was referring to and I told him that his story helped me see that no matter what happens to us, it is neither good nor bad. It’s just what happened and we are the ones who put a value on the event. He got it too when I said, “You and your friend could have been bummed about the broken equipment but you weren’t you both decided to have a great time being together not matter what.”

From that moment on it was as if I could see the dividing line between our ego reality and our soul reality. Not long after my epiphany, there was a terrible earthquake in India. Many hundreds of people died and I could see that all those people had volunteered to be a part of that event. Something about their suffering and deaths affected all of humanity in some way. I couldn’t say exactly what we could learn from it, except perhaps to have empathy and care more for each other, but I was sure there was a much larger purpose to the event than I could see with my ego eyes.

Of course, there were some people who thought I was the complete opposite of empathetic because I wasn’t wallowing in tears and sorrow. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad about what had happened, it was that I saw an eternal plan at work.

From that moment on when disturbing things happen, I see them from that dual vision. When I lost my beloved job teaching drama, I knew I was meant to go down different path than one I had been on. Was I hurt, angry and vengeful? Oh you bet. I was encouraged to sue the school district for age discrimination because I had just turned fifty years old. But what I’d learned on my fortieth birthday stuck. To bring a lawsuit would be trying to stay stuck instead of moving forward to the future my soul was trying to get me to see. Deep down I didn’t want that. I have never wanted that. I’ve always wanted to evolve, so I gritted my teeth and found a new teaching job to put food on the table until I could heal enough to be able to be open to the messages about what I was supposed to learn. Losing that job led me to a job teaching English, which led me to realize that my true purpose was to be a writer. And here I am today writing about important life lessons.

I know some of you won’t understand the concept of what the Buddhists call non-attachment, which is what “nothing matters” and “there are no victims only volunteers” has to do with. To me non-attachment to events leaves me open to hear the voice of God leading me ever closer to my purpose.

Trying to practice non-attachment isn’t easy and doesn’t take the pain out of the bad things that happen to me. It just gives me hope that there is a larger purpose to it all.

Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment or share with a friend.

What We Leave Behind.

“There are no victims, only volunteers.” ~ John Berger

“But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.” ~ George Eliot, Middlemarch

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.” ~ William Shakespeare

“I hear my father-in-law’s response: ‘Oho, fine, Whiggish sentiments, Adam. … He who would do battle with the many-headed hydra of human nature must pay a world of pain & his family must pay it along with him! & only as you grasp your dying breath shall you understand your life amounted to no more than one drop in the limitless ocean!’ Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?” ~ David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

“All the world’s at stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.” ~ William Shakespeare

It’s Monday morning as I write this and as usual my mind is a jumble of ideas all fighting for a way out of my head. Normally, my morning routine is to get my husband off to work, then meditate, write in my journal and do tai chi, or yoga before starting my writing day. This morning I had to get these ideas down before they flitted away.

Sometimes I have felt like my little life is extremely insignificant. I guess as a teacher, I have the opportunity to influence more people than most, but still I will probably never have a large range of influence. When I was younger and felt extremely inadequate, that bothered me. I wanted to be famous and adored by millions. But as I’ve grown older and learned to love myself, I have come to see that my job was to be as loving to others as possible. That’s it. That means learning to love myself so I can be authentic when I interact with others.

Since I graduated with a religious studies degree, I’ve read lots of spirituality books. Many of the authors state that we are actually made of energy. Most of us don’t even think about the energy we are sending out into the world. We think our bodies are the container that holds us, but that is not true.

In the novel series His Dark Materials of which The Golden Compass is the first, Philip Pullman uses the device of having a character’s, daemon, or soul, outside their body. Characters have conversations with their daemons, and get advice from them. I believe it’s much the same with us and our energy. Just think about it. Haven’t you noticed situations when someone entered a room and everyone stopped for a heartbeat because they felt the energy change? They may not have known, consciously that’s why they stopped talking to look, but they did. Or haven’t you come into a room where two or more people were arguing, and it was almost as if you were slapped in the face with their anger? Aren’t there people you want to be around and others you can’t stand? It’s their energy which is either compatible with yours or not and on some level you know it.

So, we’re all here on this planet playing our parts for some reason beyond our human understanding. And every single life affects many other lives down through the ages. I see this played out on shows like Who Do You Think You Are, and Finding Your Roots. Both shows use genealogy to trace the celebrity guest’s family tree. It’s amazing the emotions that are brought up when a person discovers something about their ancestors and how what their ancestor went through has influenced their outlook on life even though they knew nothing of them before the show. Time and again I saw that no one is ever completely anonymous. The lives of those in the past have tremendous influence on people and events now.

So, if everything I’ve written above is true, we each contribute to wherever humanity is headed be it awakening or destruction. Things look pretty dismal right now if you’re only looking at the mainstream media. But I don’t think the human race is on a path over the cliff. I don’t think once we’ve expanded, we can force our larger selves back into that smaller shell. One thing I say often is that we can find the good and positive things that are happening in the world if we look for them or if we choose to look at events with new eyes. Instead of looking at horrific events and seeing only evil, look for what good came out of that event.

It feels to me like the human race is learning to walk. At first we learned to roll over and only a few people tried to make the world a better place. Then we learned to crawl and people like Jesus and Buddha came along and taught us how to truly love ourselves and others. More people understood that to defend another person is to defend yourself. Now we’re learning to walk. Many more people see through the lies that oppress groups of people.

The problems we face are so overwhelming. Maybe you’re like me and you think, what can I, just one person, do to help solve them. What I decided to do was to pick just one or two problems and put my energy into solving them. I’ve chosen education and hunger. If my money and time can influence a handful of people, the ripple effect can be enormous.

A former student of mine sent me a message the other day, reminding me of just how powerful the ripple effect one person can be. He wrote, “…you have always inspired me, both for the type of teacher you were and the type of person you are. This year I will be starting at ___ as the new Freshman English teacher and I don’t think I would have found the drive or willingness to pursue it if it wasn’t for your caring heart and inspiring work ethic. Thank you.” I’m humbled by his words and find great hope in the influence he will have on his students. He is passing on the legacy I inherited from my parents, friends and teachers, which they got from their parents, friends and teachers and on back through the ages.

You have that kind of influence on the future too.

Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment or share with a friend.

Life Lessons

“It is a universal principle that you get more of what you think about, talk about, and feel strongly about.” ~ Jack Canfield

“I am an ordinary man who worked hard to develop the talent I was given. I believed in myself, and I believe in the goodness of others.” ~ Muhammad Ali

The other day I had an encounter that woke me up to the fact that I’m a helper, and not always in a good way.

Being a helper is a good skill to have if you’re a teacher but not so good if you’re in a group of business owners and creatives. One of my strengths is helping people make connections. Connections between disparate bits of information, or connections between people and resources. But the other day, I overstepped my bounds and made someone angry, understandably so. This person rankled when I made suggestions about connections she could make for her business. She then turned the tables on me telling me about a course she had taken that I might need. When I responded that I didn’t really need the class, she asked me if I was teachable. Baffled by her question, I said yes. The encounter stayed with me and I went home to examine what I had done that made our interaction go south. After several days of thinking and meditating, it came to me that I had tried to be a helper, when what she needed was a listener.

This encounter came at a time when I’m actively working on discovering my true self. That means shedding old behaviors and allowing myself to become more open to others. For that reason, I’m grateful that this incident happened because I needed to face a part of myself that I must release. I love the way the universe works, because this morning as I was getting ready to finish this article, I read a post that applies to the above incident.

I follow Elizabeth Gilbert on Facebook. Today her post was titled THE ALPHA MARE. She wrote it in response to an online conversation she was having with a woman who wants to lead with an open heart but who has been hurt because of that. To help the woman, Elizabeth cited this information she got from Martha Beck about the psychology of horse herds. Herds of horses are lead by an alpha mare who keeps the herd together. (Apparently the stallions come and go.) The skill the alpha mare exhibits best is boundaries. “She knows exactly who she is, and nobody messes with it. … The alpha mare never lets herself be influenced by another horse’s fears or anxieties or aggression.” When I read that I understood that, as an empathetic person, I often take on other people’s emotions. I haven’t completely mastered setting up good boundaries. So, sometimes I absorb the emotions of others instead of blocking them. Today it hit me that’s part of what I’ve been working on is cleaning up and sweeping out all the cobwebs of other people’s stuff that I’ve been holding onto for years. I’m learning who I really am. I’m learning to set my boundaries so I can be calm in any situation.

And thanks to the above encounter, I realized that I no longer need to be a helper. I can follow my father’s advice and let people figure stuff out for themselves. That’s really the only way we can learn anything valuable anyway. We may meet people along the way who point us in the right direction, but what works for me may not necessarily work for you. That’s as it should be. We’re all trying to figure out what it means to be a human being in our own unique way. I hope I can maintain my empathy, while not taking on the fears and anxieties of others and at the same time be supportive and a good listener. I no longer want to be so arrogant as to think I have the answers for someone else.

Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a comment or share this post with a friend.

Keeping Characters in Hot Water

Before I go on with this post, I must say something about the latest shootings in Orlando and New Mexico. Each time something like this happens, I’d deeply affected by the horrific events. This is what I can do. I have and will continue to petition my legislators to vote on gun control and I will vote for people who support such legislation. I also send out love to the entire planet when I meditate. Some people say that’s a wimpy way to try to change the world, but since science has proven that what we think creates our reality, I believe that envisioning a loving world is a powerful tool to facilitate the change we want to see. Each individual that turns away from hate and fear toward love send ripples of love out into the universe. When we heal ourselves, we help heal the world. That’s what I hope my readers get from my novel and the journeys of my two main characters.

Since the last two posts from The Space Between Time have included scenes from Morgan’s timeline in the past, this week I thought I’d include one from Jenna’s timeline in the present.

When I started this novel, I wanted to have two intertwining characters who learn from each other and heal themselves along the way. Morgan’s timeline came to me first, and I got stuck there for a while. But through a series of events which are too complicated to write about here, I finally connected with Jenna, a woman in the present who is trying to put her life back together.

In this scene, Jenna is confronted by her ex-fiancé, who broke off the engagement in the first chapter.

* * * * *

That night Jenna slept better than she had in ever so long and when she awoke, she knew what she wanted to do. Writing had always been a solace, so that’s where she would begin. Only this time, she’d take her cue from Morgan and begin by sorting out her feelings in a journal.

Grabbing her purse and keys, she opened the door and ran into Sam.

“Hi Babe.”

Her stomach clenched, “Sam! What in the hell are you doing here?”

Leaning on the door jamb so she couldn’t get out of the house, he said. “You hung up on me, Babe. I needed a chance to explain,” Jenna wasn’t fooled by the look of mock contrition on his face.

“About what? That you were cheating on me? And don’t call me Babe.” She pushed him out of the way. Then shut and locked the door. She brushed past him starting for her car wishing this encounter would soon end. But Sam’s car was parked behind hers. She’d have to deal with him.

Knowing he’d trapped her, he smirked. “I always call you Babe.”

Jenna turned walked up to him and put her face close to his. “I’ve told you time and again I don’t like it when you call me that.”

Surprisingly he took a step back. “I don’t remember that.”

“Of course not, because you never listen.”

“Now, Babe,” The look on Jenna’s face made him amend his approach. “I mean Jenna, aren’t you gonna let me talk to you?”

Oh, if only he’d go away! Keeping her eyes on his face and putting her hands on her hips, she said, “What for? You said it yourself. Neither one of us was happy, so it’s over.”

Pulling himself taller to pretend confidence, he said, “I know I said that, but, I’ve been thinking. I might’ve been wrong.” He had that I’m-innocent-of-whatever-you-think-I’ve-done look on his face she’d learned to hate long before the break-up.

She looked at him, trying to formulate the response that would make him leave. The moments slowed. For the first time she noticed muddy waves emanating from and around his body. Her instinct was to back away from the unwanted onslaught of his murky energy, but before she could do so, it touched her own energy field. She nearly fell over as dark self-doubt swept over her. The image of a wounded wolf flashed through her mind. Somehow she knew exactly what had happened that brought him to her doorstep. “Ah, what happened, Sam? Did she leave you? I know you hate to be alone.”

The dark energy was sucked into Sam’s body and he stuttered “I – I don’t k-know what you’re talking about. There’s never been anybody but you.”

“Oh? But, you know, I heard her in the background when we talked on the phone!” She faced him square on, “Now, please get in your car and go back to L.A.”

Suddenly Sam took Jenna by the arm, and clamped down hard, “It was a one night stand thing. I was hurt that we broke up.” Dark gray and muddy brown energy shot out at her again. This time she thought to shield herself and her own aura in red, orange, and yellow shot out to block what was coming from him.

Gasping from the pain, she tried to get her arm free. “You were hurt? Oh, yeah, I see that now. You’ve been wounded from the very beginning, but I was too dazzled by the bling to notice. Now let me go!” They struggled. Sam grabbed for Jenna’s other arm. She tried to back away, and slid on a mossy patch on the sidewalk forcing her to sit on a porch step.

Just then an unmarked police car drove up. Sam’s back was to it as Detective Spade got out of the car, assessing the situation and putting his hand on his gun.

Walking toward the struggling pair, Detective Spade said, “Let go of her, Sir!”

Sam turned around, still holding onto Jenna’s arm. “Who are you to interfere in a private matter? She’s my fiancée,” Sam said as Jenna continued to struggle to get her arm free.

Advancing on Sam with his hand still on his gun, Detective Spade said, “That’s not what I heard, Sir. Now back away from her.”

Sam puffed up like a rooster in the ring, but he let go of her arm. Jenna moved away. He turned toward Detective Spade saying, “What you gonna do, shoot me?” Jenna heard the fear underneath the bluster for the first time. With a snarl, Sam said, “We’re having a private conversation. Do you mind?”

Detective Spade had stopped a few feet from Sam. “It didn’t look that way to me, Sir. Is that true Miss Holden?”

“Miss Holden? So, you’ve met before. Who is this? Your new boyfriend? You didn’t waste any time,” Sam said with a sneer.

Detective Spade was surrounded by a clear yellow and green aura. He was relaxed, though cautious. Jenna knew she could trust him, but Sam was getting angry. She saw the wounded wolf image surrounded by dark fog emanating from him again, and knew if she didn’t do something he’d become dangerous. She saw that Detective Spade knew it too.

She took a few steps closer to him. “Sam, are you drunk or something? He’s a police officer, and he’s got a gun. Do you want to get arrested? What’ll that do to your precious career?” Sam’s countenance changed, and the swirls of muddy energy retreated close to his body.

Now that she looked more closely at him, Sam looked a little unsteady on his feet. She hadn’t smelled alcohol on him, though, so it must be drugs.

Taking a deep breath, Sam said. “I’ve been on the road for twenty hours with not much sleep before that. I guess I’m crashing from the wake-up pills,” he said as he sat abruptly onto a porch step.

Taking his hand away from his gun, Detective Spade gently took a hold of Jenna’s arm and moved her behind him. “I’ll need to see those pills, Sir. Are they in your car?”

“Yeah, go ahead. You won’t find any drugs. They’re the over the counter kind,” Sam said as he ran his hands through his hair, then deflated like a balloon and rested his head on his arms.

“Is the car unlocked?”

“Yeah,” came the muffled reply.

Detective Spade looked over at Jenna and indicated with the jerk of his head to follow him as he went to Sam’s car. He kept his eyes on Sam. She opened the driver’s door and moved back so Detective Spade could investigate. He’d put on latex gloves, pulled the trunk release, examined the open briefcase that sat on the passenger seat. The pills were in the briefcase. After searching the car and trunk, he approached Sam. “You’re telling the truth, at least. Did you read the instructions, you’ve got to be careful not to take too many of these things. How many did you take?”

Not lifting his head, Sam said, “I don’t know, one or two whenever I got tired.”

“Just as a precaution, I’m going to take you to emergency to get you checked out.” Detective Spade took Sam by the arm and led him to the police car. Miraculously, Sam didn’t object. Putting Sam in the front seat, he turned to Jenna. “Is it okay if we leave his car here?”

“Sure, I’ll move it. I was on my way out. Does he have his wallet?”

“I got it out of his briefcase. The keys are in the ignition. Do you want me to make sure he doesn’t bother you when he comes back for his car?”

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Jenna was feeling shaky. She tried to lighten the atmosphere by saying, “Feeling protective, Detective?”

“It’s my job, Ma’am,” His handsome face lit up in a big smile.

Smiling back, Jenna said, “I’m much obliged to you, Sir, but I think I’ll be fine.”

* * * * *

Thanks for reading and your comments. Feel free to share with your friends and family.

Writing Emotions

Henri Matisse - Blue Pot and Lemon — Henri Matisse – Blue Pot and Lemon

“I do not literally paint that table, but the emotion it produces upon me.” ~ Henri Matisse

“I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.” ~ James A. Michener

“The best and most beautiful thing in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.” ~ Helen Keller

I love books that move me to tears, or laughter, or foreboding. That’s how I want to write, but often, like this morning, I wake up with the certain knowledge that I’ve failed on a certain scene and must go back to rework it.

When I’m trying to write the physicality of emotions, how my body would feel if I were in the character’s situation, I find myself in a quandary. As an actor/director I know about body language and facial expressions. They convey our inner states of being, but an actor doesn’t necessarily need to experience the bodily reactions when they are supposed to be demonstrating strong emotion.

I’ll tell one short story to illustrate what I mean. The first play I directed as a public school drama teacher was Our Town. The actor playing George Gibbs could not cry in the crucial scene near the end of the play. So, I told him to lay over his wife’s grave on his forearms, head down, and move his shoulders as if he were weeping with the appropriate crying sounds to go with the action. It worked! We cried during rehearsals and the audience did during performances.

But you can’t fake emotions in a novel and describing them is something I struggle with as I’m sure many authors do. I’m going to include a portion of the scene here that I was thinking about this morning. I made a few changes but it will undoubtedly need more work. You can tell me what you think.

* * * * *

Once Jenna had read those words something was pulling her into a vortex of swirling energy. Panic overtook her but no matter how hard she struggled, she could not free herself. Her mind was paralyzed with fear. Though her present life was a mess, it was familiar.

As her vision cleared, the calming voice of the woman came to her, All is well. “Fine for you to say!” She was not prepared for this experience but she was trapped. The one thing that came to her paralyzed mind was something her father used to say, “The only way out iss through.” She would have to trust. That was difficult for her. However it was her only option. She took a deep figurative breath, and allowed the mists to engulf her.

When they cleared, She was standing in an old style kitchen. There were three women working there wearing Civil War era dresses like her apparition’s. Somehow Jenna knew this was Morgan’s home and who these women were. It was the day of Morgan’s father’s funeral. Jenna’s writer’s curiosity supplanted the panic of only moments before. Looking up from her task, Morgan’s best friend Emma said, eyes dancing, “We’re here if you need us.”

Jenna had only a moment to comprehend that her consciousness had merged with Morgan’s as she said, “Thanks.” Emma’s motto was, “Why put off until tomorrow what you can do this minute.” Morgan knew she was right. She couldn’t put off the confrontation any longer. She walked to the door of the small sitting room where her aunt sat fuming.

Looking at Veronica’s stoney face at the funeral, she was glad her father had decided to keep his illness from her. They’d sent the telegram informing Veronica of Thomas’ death the day before the funeral. When she arrived just in time for the service, storm clouds filled her eyes and each word she spoke was covered in ice crystals.

Morgan paused outside the sitting room to gather her thoughts with sweaty palms and a roiling stomach, before facing the ogre. Veronica was nothing like Morgan’s mother Julia who had been loving, open minded, fair and generous. Morgan always thought of her mother as the perfect representation of pink, lavender and green, caring and restful.

Veronica was made of different colors. She was gold, silver and shimmering diamond. Lovely to look at, but cold and hard-hearted. She wanted riches, power and position. That’s what she got when she married into Boston’s highest echelons.

Morgan took a deep breath hoping to regain her ability to think as she opened the sliding doors of the sitting room.

“So, you and your father decided to deceive me,” Veronica said with malice. “How do you think this will look when my friends back in Boston hear that you did not tell me of Thomas illness? Don’t you think I had a right to know? After all, I am family.”

Morgan felt a shiver run down her spine. Jenna understood very well how she felt. It had been the same for her when interacting with Fletcher and Mr. Dayton, but they weren’t family, and she didn’t have to associate with them any longer.

Morgan squared her shoulders. “Father wanted us to be left in peace, to spend what time we had together uninterrupted by fussing nurses, which you no doubt would have insisted upon.”

Veronica sniffed. “Your father never knew what was best for you. I’m sure he did this to spite me because I wanted to take you away and give you every advantage he couldn’t.”

Morgan crossed the room and stood in front of her aunt. “Aunt Veronica, father was a good and kind man who loved me very deeply. He knew that I’d be just another bobble for you to polish and have admired.”

At this statement Veronica bristled and lost control of herself. “Morgan, you are too independent by half. I see now that your father has taught you too much and not had a thought for your future. If he’d cared about you, he never would have raised you to think like a man nor would he have involved you in this underground railroad nonsense.”

Morgan gasped. How had her aunt found out about that?

A malicious smile spread across Veronica’s face. “Ah, you’re surprised I knew about that. Your father exposed you to filthy, shiftless slaves who ran away shirking their duty to their masters. Any number of terrible things could have happened to you because of your father’s thoughtlessness. I intend to change your foolish notions by taking you back to Boston with me and see that you’re properly looked after by marrying the right sort of man. I will brook no refusals. You’re not getting any younger, you know. Go upstairs this instant and pack your things. We’re leaving on the evening train.”

Deep calm swept over Morgan. Ignoring the bait her aunt wanted to distract her with, she spoke softly. “No, Aunt Veronica. I am not going with you.”

* * * * *

Thanks for reading and sharing with friends. Feel free to leave a comment from a reader’s point of view.