April 10, 1942
By the time I saw him being lowered to the ground, my tears cease falling down my cheeks. Dirt after dirt, they began to bury him, and the longer I stand, the more emotions abandon my heart. I know I'm supposed to be grieving but I could no longer feel it. My sorrow has numbed every inch of me.
The loss of the only parent I have left is overwhelming I could barely process anything. I didn't hear what my Uncle Thomas said before he lead me to the car nor did I remember the sea of people that came to the house to give their respects.
As soon as I found myself in his study, all I see is him, or at least the memory of him, where he would frantically look for a specific book or how quickly his hand scribbles on his journals upon learning something important.
Perhaps the most vivid memory of him is when he would stand by the window as if he was waiting for something, as he held the necklace that now wraps around my neck. I know my father wouldn't have wanted me to feel desolate. He has always found comfort in the knowledge that his library holds.
The thought of me sitting here crying over the person I've lost for days reminded me of how my father would encourage me at times when things get too difficult for me. His determined green orbs looked at me with so much faith that I can do it despite my shaking confidence in myself.
If my father believed in me even when I could not even trust myself, then I must push on in life with raging passion and the belief that I can get through anything. With that in mind, I started to do my father's last wish for me; to learn the secrets of the Preseli Bluestone.
"Emma!" Uncle Thomas screamed from the other side of the door followed by a set of hard knocks. "Emma, open this door!" Unbothered by his command, I decided to continue my research in silence. "That's it. I'm coming in!" After shuffling the key in Uncle Thomas, with his brows creasing in annoyance, walked over to the study table and places his hands on his hips. "You are barely meters away from the door. I expected you not to be rude to your uncle."
Without looking up, I answered nonchalantly. "I don't even understand why must you command me to open it when you have the keys in your hands." I heard him heave an exasperated sigh and so I look up. "Besides, I knew you wouldn't be able to wait for me to open the door for you. You're not a very patient man, Uncle." Giving him a nonchalant shrug, I went back to reading the documents on my hands. "If you don't mind my asking, why are you here?"
Scoffing, he responded. "You do remember that we're supposed to be on our way to America right now."
Right, that was supposed to be today. "Uncle, I'm sorry but I'm not going."
Uncle walks closer to the table and leans his hands on the books atop it. "Emma, I understand that you have to fulfill your father's wishes but right now we must leave. We are at war and I can't leave you alone in England. You may continue your research there."
Shaking my head no, I look up at his green eyes, almost the same color as my father only his is lighter, with resolve. "Uncle, I cannot leave York. I must stay where I am. Please understand that I need to stay."
He held my gaze for a few more seconds before sighing. "Stubborn as ever." He turned around and continued. "Just like your father." As he held the doorknob, he paused and spoke again. "If this is what you want, then so be it. If you ever need my assistance or if you change your mind, you need to only ask." And with that, he left.
It's been weeks and I have isolated myself in my study. Frustration grows despite my continuous research. The only thing I know for certain is that this stone is the same stone used in all of the stone circles around the world. If my father was correct, that this family heirloom will only show its true capabilities in any Sutton who is historically inclined, then I must try to push on.
I'm sure there would be something written here about it. Tired and a little discouraged, I took off the necklace and look at it. "How elusive you are. It would have been easier if you could reveal your secrets." Father must have thought of the same thing. The memory of him holding this stone with the utmost significance makes me miss him even more. He did everything for her. Mother. Another elusive secret I have yet to unravel. Holding the stone in my chest, I close my eyes and said, "I wish I could have met her. Even just for a moment."
The stone suddenly becomes warm in my hands and then I felt a significant difference in my surroundings. I couldn't open my eyes, but I feel weightless. The feeling was so surreal and unfamiliar and yet I could see her in my head. Her portrait.
Father never owned any photographs of her but he showed me her portrait from a page in a book. My body felt as if I'm being pushed and then I suddenly remember Botticelli. Father's favorite painter and also the man who painted her. Slowly I hear voices and what seems like a commotion. When I opened my eyes, I saw a man leaving but my body feels weak and I started to feel dizzy then everything turns to black.
As soon as my eyes opened, I saw the beautiful colour patterns of yellow and red on the wall. Decorative but unfamiliar. The confusion started to seep into my mind. I don't remember drinking alcohol last night nor leaving the house or library and yet here I am, in a strange four-poster bed with maroon sheets. I sit up and noticed that nothing is familiar nor can I recall the events of last night.
When I look down, my green padded shoulder dress is gone and replaced by a sheer white frock. When I reach for the necklace on my neck, it was gone. Panic starts to loom in until I notice the very pendant on the nightstand next to me.
I must have stood up too fast for my head started to ache when I noticed a woman carrying a basin entering the room. She suddenly smiles as soon as she saw me. When she spoke, at first I wasn't able to catch what she said because of the shock of hearing her speak a language I'm sure is not English.
When I focused on her words, I realized that it was in Italian but much older. She placed the basin on a table and walk toward me. "I'm so glad you're awake. My name is Franzia. I'll be attending to your needs in this household." Her sweet voice distracted me from my confusion.
"M-my name's Emma," I said, mind still unable to process what was going on. That's when I heard a bell ring loudly and slowly. I walk towards the window, eager to know where it's coming from. There's something eery about the bell's tolling and I can feel it in my gut. "Is that a funeral toll?" I asked, still looking out. A few moments later, I saw the dome towering over every edifice in the city. Confusion, shock, and downright disbelief. It's all I could think about.
"Yes indeed, Madonna." Franzia finally replied. "Is everything alright?"
I could no longer formulate a response, as only one thing revolves in my mind. Based on her high-waisted dress, the language, the state of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, and the muddy street of Florence, it could only be a dream.
I pinched my arms so hard and yet I still feel awake. Slowly, I have realized something I dare not say. Yesterday, I remember being in my father's house in York in, 1942 and I woke up in medieval Florence.