Molly and Will were settling into a new chapter of their lives together now, finding a new rhythm to their days. With Will no longer travelling overseas, they needed to create an office and studio space for him. Working from the lounge room felt cramped. This morning, together they surveyed the house to find the perfect spot. First they sat in the lounge room and tried to imagine this as just as a work space. That didn’t feel right, it was definitely best suited for a living room. And then they went into the spare bedroom – the only two obvious options, and neither did this feel right. Will had been using the far end of the large lounge room, but he needed his own space too. To Molly the house began to feel too confined. Staring out the French doors of the spare bedroom, she felt the garden enticing her. With a twinkle in her eye, Molly took his hand and led him outside, through the gardens….to the barn! In the barn was a mezzanine floor, an area which they had not yet explored. The rustic ladder provided the only accessible way up into the loft where sacks of grain and hay had once been stored. The only other entrance to this space was via the two small wooden doors which opened outwards. Outside of these the original beam and pulley remained in place, from where the sacks of grain would have been winched up for storage.
Will’s face lit up with excitement, inspirational ideas flooded his mind. Loving the idea of a new project, he was ready to do a little building and renovating. With the house seemingly taking care of itself (neither of them ever mentioned this, of the mysterious changes in the house, almost like it was renewing itself), the idea of a loft studio was more than appealing. After breakfast, they climbed up the ladder and sat in the dusty loft. Sunlight filtering through the cracks between the rough sawn external weatherboards, the dust particles suspended in the shafts of light sparkled like fairy dust. They both felt the magic in the air. With a large sketch pad and pencil, Will began to draw as he talked, placing the ideas which flowed easily onto paper for Molly to see a clearer picture of what he was envisioning in his mind.
“Oh Molly this is brilliant! I think a large skylight about here would bring in the natural light over my desk,” Will said pointing at the sloping gabled roof. “And a large stained glass window in that far end wall. And maybe we could create a window using those two wooden doors as outside shutters….” The ideas effortlessly tumbled out of his mouth. “And I have got the time to do this now,” he added excitedly. Will spent the rest of the day drawing up plans for the loft conversion, leaving Molly to go back upstairs to The Attic and start rewriting Grace’s journal.
Molly sat at the bureau with the journal in front of her, not really knowing what or how she was to work with this, to create it into a book for Grace. She closed her eyes and felt the texture of the paper gently with her fingers. She could actually feel the ink lines of Grace’s hand writing. How could this be, this bizarre connection with a ghost that had transcended the concept of Time and Space to communicate with her? She let her mind wander, her fingers playing with the grain in the pages of the journal, guiding her, allowing the information she required, some guidance or inspired thought, to come to her. Reality seemed to dissolve around her, and she began to sense what it must have been like for Grace sitting here in the captain’s chair writing all of those years ago. The date on the first page of the journal was 25th October, 1881…exactly 135 years ago! Looking around the room, it appeared slightly different, somewhat brighter. Molly realised that what she was witnessing was Grace sitting in the captain’s chair all of those years ago, in that moment completely unaware of Molly’s presence, writing in the journal…
When Grace had received that three worded message from Callum, she began to write a journal dedicated to him. She told him of the goings on in the house and village. Day after day, sleeping in the daybed upstairs in the attic room, she would write. Lucy would bring her meals and remind her to come down for a break, to walk in the gardens and visit her hens, or take a hot bath. Patrick continued his good work maintaining the beautiful gardens and the house, taking care of the production in the extensive vegetable gardens and orchards. The abundant quantities of food enabled them to share the produce with the village through the local market where Lucy would take the excess of eggs, fruit and vegetables to sell or exchange for other necessities. Occasionally Grace would ask Lucy to make up a hamper and deliver it to a family in need in the village. And there was always at least one of those at any given time.
However, this day that Molly was now witnessing, back in Time, was the day Grace prayed for assistance with her writing. She wanted to do something with a greater purpose. Lying down on the daybed to rest, she quickly fell into a deep sleep and a vivid dream. In the dream she saw magic happening in her little office in The Attic. In the night faery-like creatures as tiny as fireflies danced about the room. Then someone else came to visit. Grace named her My Angel, not knowing what else to call her. She was the answer to her prayer, her writing muse. The Angel would come and sit with her, smiling at her knowingly, would not say a word but impressed her mind with inspirational thoughts. That is when it began, this extraordinary journey through these visions or ‘daydreams’ as Grace called them. And her fingers would write and write and write, through the night and into the next day. In her dreams she was shown a machine, one that produces letters into words, and was guided to a workshop in the larger outlying town where she discovered her first typewriter. Somewhat difficult and awkward at first, she managed through repetition to train her fingers. Once they memorised the layout of the keys, she was able to reproduce her thoughts, which came to her so quickly, much faster than she could write them with an ink pen. It was liberating! And so the journal grew rapidly as she wedged each loose page into the bindings of the book she began writing in originally.
Each morning she would sit in the quiet of the rising sun, listening to the crescendo of the morning bird chorus, taking her into meditation, where she would at first acknowledge Callum and then her Angel. The following days revealed to her an ever-growing awareness of a whole new world. At first, she was able to have conversations with Callum, and these she wrote down. He would instruct her with solutions to any of the problems she was experiencing. Then one day he said that he would be away for awhile, and that he would return when it was time to take her Home. He told her that her Angel will take care of her for now, and continue to help with her writing. (This Angel, her Muse was now in this lifetime – Molly!)
Molly watched on as the story unfolded in the vision. Grace decided it was time to return to her bedroom downstairs to sleep, feeling the need to take a break from writing. Being back in her own bed for those first nights gave her a restful, peaceful sleep. And then she began waking at 3am, same time each morning. So she decided to go up to The Attic and write. This first night, she felt a tingle run through her body as she walked up the stairs, slightly less than a shiver, but still noticeable. When she opened the door to The Attic room, her Angel was sitting in one of the arm chairs by the fireplace.
“Good morning Grace,” the Angel greeted her casually as if this was the most natural thing to do (and of course to her it was!) However for Grace, it took her completely by surprise. “Tea?” her Angel offered her, to which all Grace could do was nod her head in agreement. ‘How could this be?’ Grace thought, at first astounded. Then laughing at herself, she thought, ’Oh I must have been dreaming and walking in my sleep.’ But what she thought was a dream continued on. The Angel having poured her a cup of tea, invited Grace to join her, suggesting for her to sit in the other armchair.
Molly continue to watch this story unfold before her as a silent observer, stunned by the appearance of Grace’s Angel – it even looked like her!
The Angel explained to Grace what was happening to her, “Grace, you prayed for assistance, for purpose and help with your writing. And God sent me. Do you wish to block the divine by disbelieving or doubting?” She enquired. Grace pondered this for quite awhile. Feeling more accepting of this concept, she began to be a little more at ease with her new companion.
“Oh we will have such fun, you wait and see! There is Magic in this little room Grace, I know you have seen a glimpse of it. But there are far greater things yet to come for you. Are you ready? You wanted a purpose, you wanted to write with purpose. Well, here it is! I am here to tell you a story of events yet to come, of people you are yet to meet. Through the visions I will take you to places you have never been before, to see things you have never seen before and to meet people you have never met before. They will come from far and wide to visit you here in this room. Others will say it is your imagination, and that is fine. They will brush it off as eccentric, an ‘author thing, you know those creative types’ they love to gossip about! Let them think what they think and say what they say, and you remember the truth I am telling you now.
As you explore these thoughts and ideas, you will experience and understand that the Universe is a very, very big place. And what this room provides is an access between worlds, between Heaven and Earth. Recall the origins of this house, of what the leprechaun told you when you and Callum were married. Do not question the information that comes, just write it down. And at the right Time, in right way, the right people will come to help you create it into a book. For now, let’s get you used to typing the information which will come. Relax and enjoy the experience and write! Write! There may be more than one book, let’s see how we go, yes?” Her Angel ends the conversation and shifts her focus back to sipping her tea. Grace sat in her chair, mouth flapping like a dying fish, trying to grasp what she was experiencing here. She must be dreaming, how else could this be happening? How else indeed! And this was just the beginning!
“I believe you have a book to write my dear!” the Angel encouraged her.
Grace sat at her typewriter, and allowed her fingers to go to work. The vision began to fade and Molly’s awareness brings her back to her body still sitting at the desk, Grace’s journal beneath her hands. Having actually only read the beginning of it, she found where she was up to and got lost in the world of The Life of Grace Forrest, 1881 style. Grace appeared behind her, not wanting her presence to be felt, just watching, pleased with the progress. It was now her turn to help the girls she once knew as My Angel, My Muse, now re-incarnated, unknowingly into the body of Molly Ferguson.