Darkness entraps me. I wander aimlessly by the light of the stars, trembling at every strange sound in the surrounding woods. Icy fingers of bitter wind tear at my clothing. Wrapping my cloak around my shoulders, I shiver.
The moon shines through the cracks in the silhouetted trees above me. It casts a faint light on the forest’s dark floor. I wince at another howl of a coyote. Biting my lip, I force my feet to keep moving forward.
I need to find somewhere to rest for the night. But a heavy blanket of despair and danger lies over this forest. And although I have stayed nights in many undesirable places, this threatening forest, filled with the howls of coyotes, makes me want to sleep far from here.
Tonight, I want solace. Silence. Peace. A desire for these drives me onward, a wandering vagrant stumbling in the dark. I clutch my cloak with my empty hands.
My eyes ache. My whole body aches.
I want a bed, food. No. I want so much more. More than the life I’ve come to know. Something more than the touch of a stranger, the deceiving smiles of worthless men.
But what do I want?
Tears sting my eyes. I look upward and breathe clouds of fog into the icy air as I stare at the moon. Oh, how do I get out?
I stumble on like a blind beggar, wandering past tree and shrub.
It seems hours later when I come upon a trail, wide enough for a single carriage. Thank you, I breathe, even though I speak to no one. My eyelids are so heavy. My faltering feet tread the easy path and my eyelids droop closed for a moment.
I begin to see visions in my walking slumber. I can see his eyes. Feel the touch of his finger as he strokes my cheek and brushes my long dark hair out of my face. Hear him whisper the words of encouragement and promise.
A cold wind. I shudder and draw my cloak closer.
I hear a rumbling noise. I just want…sleep. The rumbling stops. A voice speaks from behind me.
“Is she lost?”
“I don’t know, m’lady.”
“She looks exhausted.”
“Yes.”
“Get her in the carriage,” the voice whispers. I’m too weak, too tired. Can’t resist. Warm hands lift me. I don’t want the touch of a stranger. No. But what do I want?
The weight of my eyelids is too much. I slip into darkness.
I wake in a strange bed. I’m used to wakening in unfamiliar places. But I can’t remember ever being in this bedroom before. I slip from under the rich covers and find I’m still in my tattered clothes. I hurry into my shoes and walk to the door, which I pull open an inch. I peek through.
Outside, I see a long corridor, gorgeous tapestries, dark carpeting.
Not my usual surroundings for a nighttime stay. I begin to recall the events of the last night. Wandering in the forest. Being found in the dark.
I gather the courage to creep from the room. Tiptoeing on the corridor’s lush carpets, I creep toward a doorway from which a warm light glows. As I draw near, a lady emerges. I gasp, startled. She turns and smiles at me.
“Child, how did you sleep?”
Her eyes are so kind. She’s tall and holds her head high. Yet even with her rich blue dress and fine jewelry, she does not seem assuming or arrogant. And though she calls me child, for some reason it does not bother me as it normally would have.
“I slept well,” I stammer. “Thank you.”
“Come,” she motions toward the room. “There is breakfast set out for you.”
She guides me to a chaise. On the table beside it sits a tray of steaming porridge and rolls, as well as a cup of tea. She sits across from me in companionable silence as I devour the food. I relish the delightful flavors and smells. I have not eaten thus in weeks.
“What is your name, Child?”
“Evangeline,” I murmur, buttering a roll.
“Can you tell me about yourself, Evangeline?”
I finish the roll and wash it down with tea, stalling to choose my words.
“There’s not much to tell, ma’am.”
Her eyebrows rise a tiny bit and I get the feeling she doesn’t believe me. “Who is your family?”
A dull ache of guilt settles over me. I avoid both her gaze and her question. “My mother died when I was three, ma’am.”
We both fall silent. I run my finger along the chaise admiring its beauty.
“I must leave you now for a while,” she says, rising. “But know this—as long as you are in this house, you are welcome.”
“Where are you going, my lady?”
“I have needs to tend to in the village. I will return this afternoon. Amuse yourself in any way you wish. You may explore the rooms, read in the library, or ask a servant to show you to the gardens.”
She turns to go.
“Please, could I come with you?” I implore.
She pauses and shakes her head, her grave eyes smiling gently. “No, child. You must remain here. But do not fear.”
She turns to leave.
“Wait.” I bite my lip, searching for the right words. “Why did you help me?”
She smiles. “You’ll understand soon.” Before I can think of a response, she disappears through the doorway.
An hour passes as I remain in the sitting room, enjoying the peace and quiet, drinking in the beautiful surroundings. I stand before the fireplace, relishing the warmth.
But soon, boredom and curiosity settles upon me. I wander aimlessly from room to room, gazing at the paintings. I inspect the massive collection of books in the library. I don’t recognize any of the titles. But I pull volume after volume from the shelf and flip through the leaves, inhaling the wonderful musty smell that drifts from the pages. I take a fancy to a pretty blue one and carry it with me. I crawl behind rich tapestries to sit on a cushioned window seat that looks down on the garden.
I creep back out when the maid brings lunch, after which I betake myself to wandering more rooms, peeking into moth-ball-filled closet and empty bedrooms.
And then I find the door. I almost pass it by, thinking it to be only another closet. But something in the back of my mind urges me to look.
And so I do. To my amazement, I find not moth-balls, but a dark staircase leading upward into the gloom. For some reason, I glance behind me just to make sure no one is watching. I’m struck by the urge to explore the unknown. After all, the Lady told me I could explore. I’ve always been a creature of curiosity and adventure.
So I go.
I slip inside in a hurry and close the door, for there’s still a part of my mind that doesn’t want the servants to see me. I stand in darkness. No, there’s a light shining from the top of the stairs. I grope upward, heart racing, trembling fingers gripping the wall for guidance.
When I reach the top, I stand still, staring at this odd dream I’ve stepped into. A long passageway stretches on before me, brightened only by the daylight streaming through large windows on either side. On both walls doors line the hallway, all shut. The doors aren’t mahogany or oak. They’re all different colors—one white, one gray, pale pink, blue, and the one closest to me is a vibrant yellow. If not for the strange doors, the hallway would be dim and melancholy. Foreboding.
Certainly, no one has been up in this wing of the house in ages. I shiver at the slight dampness in the air and consider returning to the lower rooms. But as I stand gazing at the hallway and the bright, cheerful portals, I am allured away from the stairs.
Just one door. I have to see what’s behind the mysterious doors.
I turn to the yellow one on my left. It swings open without a sound. A warm refreshing light greets me as I step through the entrance. Immediately, I freeze. At first glance, it seems to be a delightful parlor, ensconced in warm firelight. So someone is living up here. Tea is set at the mahogany table. I turn to flee before someone finds me in a private chamber. But a movement across the room arrests my gaze, and I pause once more.
The walls are mirrors.
I stare at my reflection.
But…it isn’t my reflection.
I look down at my dress of faded green, then look back up to face a young girl dressed in my old childhood frocks. I’m staring at the image of my ten-year-old self. She stares shyly back at me, hands pressed tightly together. Then she turns and walks away.
My pulse hammers in my veins and I stumble backward. I can’t take my eyes off the girl.
In the reflection, she keeps walking away from me. On either side of her, I can faintly see her surroundings. She walks through a doorway. I choke down a cry as I recognize my father’s work room. She runs, her small mouth open with happy laughter, straight into my father’s arms. His wrinkled face lights up with joy as he presses his little girl close.
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to scream. As I force myself to breathe deeply, I watch the scene on the mirror shift.
The girl is older. She’s sitting at a window, staring out into the world. A book rests on her lap. But her expression is sad. A little boy appears next to her, eyes wide. He pulls at her arm and tries to make her look at his toy. She only glances at him impatiently and, gently pushing him away, returns to her book. Soon, her gaze wanders back to the window.
The colors mix together as the images on the mirror begin to fade. It clears, showing my reflection as I stand next to the door in the parlor. I smooth my wrinkled green dress and the reflection imitates me perfectly. Of course—it’s just a mirror. I turn, heart still beating fast, and pull open the door to the passageway.
I lean against the dark wood paneling, trying to clear the images from my mind. As my shock fades, the questions surface. What kind of house is this? Who would have an abandoned upper wing with magic mirrors?
I find myself gazing down the hall, at the other colorful portals. Do they all have mirrors? Deep inside, I tell myself that entering the others is a bad idea. But I can’t resist the urge. I tiptoe toward the blue doorway.
My hand rests on the handle. Swallowing, I push the door open a couple of inches and peek inside. The first thing I see is books; the entire opposite wall is lined with shelves. I smile faintly and enter the library. I start across the room to examine the exquisite volumes, when I noticed the mirror-wall to my left mimicking my movements. I stop, feeling trapped in the middle of the room.
In the mirror, she stands—now a young teenager. She’s fastening a cloak around her neck and slipping a book and snatches of food into a worn satchel.
I feel like someone has slapped me in the face. For years, I have striven to forget that day.
I tremble as I watch her creep from the cottage. Her eyes are filled with determination and stubbornness. Even when she enters the dark forest, she doesn’t look back. She wanders long into the night, guided only by the light of the moon and her willful aspiration for adventure.
The image muddles and shifts.
When the colors clear, I see my father. He’s crying. Trying to hide it from my brother, who’s still a little boy. He stands in the open door of the cottage, looking out at the forest. Always watching, always waiting.
The image shifts again. My father’s hair becomes gray, and he leans on a staff. His eyes are still the same. But now they seem sad. As his surroundings come into focus, I see he’s once again standing in the open door of the now-aged cottage. He’s still staring out into the forest.
Tears find their way down my cheeks. I back away, my gaze still glued to the mirror, wildly reaching behind me for a doorknob.
Before I can escape, a new image catches my attention, rendering me motionless, hands clenched.
I see him. His piercing green eyes locked on her, the naïve fool standing in the door of his house. His lips move, close to her ear. The image in the mirror utters no noise. But new tears spring to my eyes. For I remember his words, the soft offerings of love and adventure.
As he draws his young prey close, I shut my eyes, gritting my teeth. With a sob, I back toward the door. My hand closes on the handle, and I push.
I rush from the room. Into darkness.
I panic. Turning, I reach for the doorknob, and turn it. It’s locked from this side. I utter a moan as I realize that I went through the wrong door.
I lean against the wall, breathing hard. I try not to imagine what’s in the darkness before me. As I stand, the images from the mirrors flood back to me. I remember the tears slipping from my father’s eyes.
A sob escapes my lips. All these years I have imagined my family, little Richard, forgetting me. Becoming indifferent to my absence. Moving on.
All these years, I have thought of myself as a strong and noble woman for making such sacrifices to pursue my dreams. And now I have seen the truth.
I’ve seen my now-aged father still watching for me, seen that man enticing me with his words. Remembered his promises of a fulfilling life and how I so easily fell prey to his smooth words.
Now I see the truth. I am a fool.
Oh, what have I done?
I stumble through the darkness. An urge drives me on. To escape this blackness, this house. I have somewhere I need to go. For the first time in years, I feel a purpose motivating me. I stretch out my hands, feeling the emptiness. Reaching for a door. Reaching for light.
A hand grabs my arm and an involuntary shriek escapes my lips. The hand grips my arm hard, pulling me through the darkness, as I stumble, shaking in fear. “Please,” I gasp. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
Light blinds me. I fling my free hand over my eyes, cringing. I’m pulled into the light and the hand releases my arm. Faltering, I lower my hand from my eyes.
The Lady stands locking the door. I am once again in the passageway. She turns, her face full of concern, and she motions for me to follow her. I do, heart still beating fast, hands sweaty. We walk back down the passageway to the stairway. Once we’re downstairs, she leads me to the front of the house
“I am sorry,” I whisper as we walk.
She pauses and turns to face me. “The mirrors were meant for you to find, Child.”
I search her face for an explanation.
“They are a powerful tool,” she continues gently. “They do not lie, but only shows what each person needs to see.”
I glance down in shame, remembering. The Lady places a gentle finger under my chin and raises my face. Her eyes smile gentle at me.
“Whatever you saw in the mirrors, you needed to see. Painful as the experience must have been, the mirrors do not show things needlessly. Do not ignore their warnings.”
“But,” I wonder out loud, “where did you get magic mirrors?”
She laughs. “They are not really magic, dear. They have been part of my father’s house as long as it has stood.”
She turns and motions for me to follow. We walk through a long hall and out the front door. A carriage stands waiting. She helps me in and tucks a warm blanket over my lap.
“I still don’t understand,” I whisper.
She smiles. “The carriage will carry you wherever your true desires lead.”
I swallow hard. “I want to go home.”
Tracing Wonder 