True Privilege: The Unholy Realm

By Dr. Karyn Darnell

"True Privilege" Endorsements

 

"Another epic franchise on the scale of 'Lord of the Rings'

        and 'Narnia' has been born."

-     Authors Digest Daily

"Dr. Da

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Karyn Darnell
• Release date: Jan 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781778390562

Book preview

True Privilege Endorsements

Another epic franchise on the scale of ‘Lord of the Rings’ and ‘Narnia’ has been born.

- Authors Digest Daily

Dr. Darnell writes like a true Protégé of Lewis and Tolkien.

- Franchise Book Weekly

Finally, a woman writes a book that TRULY empowers Women.

- Women Writers Association

Who would have thought one woman could fight slavery with the weapon of her imagination.

- Platinum Books Critics

This work is truly inspired.

- Big Book Magazine

True Privilege is the next ‘Harry Potter’—especially for the faith-based crowd.

- Best Seller Critics Circle

Karyn (Darnell) is filling the void left by J. K. Rowling.

- Fantasy Fiction Magazine

Unholy Realm brings the reader into an epic, daring adventure filled with love, passion, and purpose.

- Best New Authors Magazine

The Comic-Con crowd thinks it’s seen everything when it comes to fantasy—but they’ve seen nothing like ‘True Privilege.’

- The Blue Book Magazine

I can’t put these books down.

- Mamas That Love Books

Darnell is a modern-day abolitionist.

- Anti Trafficking Advocates

Freedom to Captivity

Chapter 1

ARRIVAL TO AMERICA: AUTUMN 1899

ELLIS ISLAND TEAMED with immigrants, tired in body but exhilarated with hope. Majestic sea birds flew above, casting momentary shadows over the crowds. New arrivals disembarked the ship from Europe with sea-weary legs and sleepless eyes.

Naomi clutched the ship’s cold metal rails with a firm hand that steadied her gait.

Come along, she urged as her husband Thomas lagged behind, taking in the crowd.

Thomas held their daughter Purity’s hand. A child of eight years old, she was lovely with piercing green eyes and flowing brown hair.

A misty fog of ocean spray settled on their clothing. Dampness and a chill set in that only a warm fire could ease. The ship’s smokestacks released a final deafening blow, reminding the newcomers that one journey was over and a new one was commencing.

Naomi and Thomas drew close, huddling their daughter Purity between them for warmth and safety. It was a new world with challenges, uncertainty, and adventure ahead.

Thomas, stay close. I can’t afford to lose you in this ocean of people, Naomi begged her husband.

We’re finally here, Purity said, looking up to Papa Thomas as they made their way down the ramp.

Rachel, a stunning teen from Russia, followed the little family. She was on her own and befriended them on the journey across the sea. Naomi was fit; no one took advantage of her curves on the voyage. Plenty of the men gave Rachel that lusty eye as the ship rocked back and forth, reminding them of other things.

Get away! I’ll gut you if you get too close, Naomi had warned the men about Rachel more than a few times along the way. She even batted away a few as they made their way off the ship.

Rachel, you’re like fresh meat, drawing flies. You don’t have an ounce of sense traveling alone, Naomi scolded like a doting mother.

But Roberto’s coming. To be his wife, who would think twice? It’s a new life, she said in broken English. Rachel gave Naomi a loving squeeze.

You’re better than my own Mama. I’ll never forget you, Rachel said with tears welling.

Don’t go soft on me, girl. You’ve been my constant worry. You’d better come with us if you know what’s good for you, Naomi coaxed as they moved on.

In a sea of people, they waited patiently in long lines. The immigrants answered questions through interpreters. Then with sighs of relief, officials stamped their paperwork at each station.

An official looked over their long Croatian last name.

Who could pronounce this? I’ll shorten it to Thomascovich, the official complained. He slashed the last ten syllables from the unpronounceable name.

Thomas nodded in submission, accepting the shortened version. America. A new name. A new life. Same wife, he said, pulling Naomi in close. He landed a light kiss on her neck.

Not the time, man, his wife complained but returned his advances with a gentle hug.

Move forward, the official said, trying to make progress.

A Jewish family they had befriended on board trailed behind. Natasha Weinstein, their seven-year-old daughter, adored Purity and followed her everywhere. Her father wore a Kippah that covered a balding head. At times he wore a prayer shawl and rocked back and forth in prayer.

As God leads, this is our home. Mr. Weinstein was full of hope as he stared into his wife’s eyes.

Purity took Natasha’s hand in hers. Thanks for being my friend.

When can we play dolls again? Natasha asked. Soon, I promise, Purity replied.

An official waved his hand for the group to stand in the observation line. Doctors wearing white medical coats scanned each one for disease and infection.

Over here, a doctor motioned for Naomi, Thomas, and Purity to come.

One at a time. Open your mouths, stick out your tongues, the doctor ordered.

They opened wide without hesitation as children obeying a staunch parent.

Looks good. The doctor then examined their skin, scalps, and ears for diseases. He pressed a cold metal stethoscope to their lungs, and they breathed deep.

Lungs’ clear, move ahead, he announced and moved down the line.

Welcome to America! Next, the official bellowed, blindly stamping their documents while others stood by waiting their turn.

Mesmerized, the two families huddled together a distance away from the Statue of Liberty. As one, they stared at her majesty, and the fiery torch held high. The gravity of the venture hit each heart differently, from staggering anxiety to the overwhelming feeling of an uncertain future. The sum worth of their possessions weighed heavy in small suitcases.

We made it Thomas, but we left everything and everyone behind. Naomi squeezed his arm even tighter as though somehow it eased the stress.

Thomas kissed her cheek.

There’s nothing to go back to, my love. And you can write the folks back home.

Natasha’s father recited a Jewish prayer, Blessed are you, Ha Shem, our God, King of the Universe, the Good and Doer of good.

Rachel made the sign of the Cross over her chest and looked up to the sky. Natasha and Purity remained silent spectators, like little lambs among a giant crowd.

Thank you for the prayer, good man, Thomas said with appreciation.

He sang an upbeat song, America from his heart to anyone who would listen.

Why look back when our future is waiting

No second-guessing, we made it, let’s embrace it

The future is waiting, let’s make it something grand

We’ll arise from despair to declare

We made it in America, we made it in America

There’s no turning back

Hope for today, building our tomorrows

It’s time to let go of every sorrow

Step-by-step, moving forward

We’ll arise from despair to declare

We made it in America, we made it in America

Papa Thomas ended on a high note, greeted with applause from those who stopped to listen. Other travelers shared their own hopes. Unaware, black crows landed on lamp posts and fence tops nearby, appearing to glare at the newcomers. The sky darkened as clouds dimmed the light of the sun. Evil lurked, despite so much good happening around them.

Mave Murdock, a beauty in her day, looked about with sinister shifting eyes. She made her way through the throngs of poor European immigrants, searching for a specific target. Shrouded in an elegant hooded blue velvet cape, she pushed her way through the crowd. The hood covered lackluster dark hair whose glory faded long ago. Her darting eyes, light in color but dark in spirit, searched for what seemed a treasure. They landed on Natasha—the intended prey finally found.

Adrenalin pumped through Mave. With focused intention, she pulled a handful of wrapped candies from a deep pocket—tiny presents of temptation. It was alluring bait for any child used to having nothing. Like a fisherman casting a net, she tossed the bait to the intended target, hoping for a bite. The shiny wrapping caught the girl’s attention. Natasha slipped from her father’s grasp.

What luck. It’s all mine, Natasha thought. She picked up one deliciously wrapped treat after the other. Her homemade doll lost all appeal and dropped from distracted hands in pursuit of a more tangible pleasure.

Natasha unwrapped the first piece, pushing it in her mouth. The chocolate, caramel, and peanut crunch saturated her taste buds. She hungrily scoured the ground in search of more delicious treats. Led along the path of Mave’s making, she wove through the crowd of new immigrants as if nothing were more important. Mave continued the seduction, waiting for Natasha to turn a blind corner.

Natasha’s parents were distracted with hugs, tearful farewells, and good wishes.

We’ll catch up soon, this isn’t goodbye. We’ll be opening the deli soon. Come in for a sandwich, Mr. Weinstein said, shaking Thomas’ hand.

Sounds delicious. Yes, we’ll be in touch, Thomas replied.

I think we’re missing some papers. Naomi shuffled their papers with anxiety. A few pages escaped her shaking hands and scattered on the wind. Thomas rushed after the floating pages.

Woman let me handle this, Thomas said aggravated.

What time is the train to Bristol coming? Natasha’s father called after Thomas.

Within the hour, Thomas answered, gathering the crumpled documents.

Unlike her distracted parents, Purity saw Natasha leave and followed behind. Natasha rounded a corner that led down a corridor of small buildings. Purity ran after her ‘forever friend’ and stopped cold when she saw Natasha kicking and screaming before being overpowered. Mave’s bony fingers covered the child’s mouth, preventing blood-curdling screams as she was dragged off.

Let her go. Help! Help! Purity screamed in a fit of anxiety.

The noise from the large crowd muffled any protests. Purity looked about, realizing the futility, and pulled a slingshot from her belt. She placed a shiny stone from her jacket pocket in the launcher. Squinting one eye, she aimed and fired the stone with precision. It sliced the side of Mave’s head, leaving a bloody gash. Purity ran with intention and lunged for Natasha’s staggering oppressor.

You, monster! Let my friend go, Purity shouted, pounding Mave’s staggering body with her fists.

The dark-haired beast, Mave, fought back with angry slaps, refusing to release the child. Like a pit-bull, Purity bit the soft flesh of the woman’s hand.

Ouch. You little dog. You’re mine too, Mave threatened. But her hand throbbed, and blood dripped down her face, blinding her view. She released Natasha and pulled a handkerchief from her cape to wipe the blood.

Bloody mess, Mave complained.

Purity yanked at Natasha’s clothing to pull her friend from danger. They raced down several corridors in search of a place to hide. The girls glanced over their shoulders at the sound of a chase. Mave’s face contorted like a witch, and she resembled an old, winded horse, grunting and panting. Purity dumped over a nearby mop and bucket.

You spilled the water. We’re in trouble, Natasha protested. Purity grabbed her friend’s collar and pulled her onward.

Mave raced after them. As she hit the water, her feet hydroplaned and slipped from beneath her. She crashed with a tremendous thud against the wall.

Around the corner, Natasha stumbled. I can’t go any further, she complained.

Purity eyed a possible hiding place—an open door to a janitor’s closet. She helped her friend hobble to the hideout.

Don’t make a sound. I’m going for help, Purity warned and closed the door.

Unseen evil lurked as Mave watched from the shadows. Like a rabid dog licking infected wounds, she wiped the blood from her head with her sleeve.

Once Purity was out of sight, Mave made her move.

Natasha cowered in fear as the closet door slowly opened. Mave’s long bony fingers reached in to take her captive.

Get away from me, Natasha yelled, throwing kicks and punches that caused no harm.

Purity raced through a long corridor, looking for help. A bright fiery ball of light appeared in front of her. It morphed into an illuminated child angel with fluffy wings and a golden gown.

What are you? Who are you? Purity asked in fear. The angel pulsated with golden rainbow colors.

My name is Ora. Go back. Natasha needs you. Purity’s eyes widened, and she turned around.

Moments later, something hit the back of Mave’s head with the force of a hammer. Waves of nausea and pain radiated down her spine to the depths of her toes. Her body crashed to the floor like a tree falling with a violent thud. She was rendered unconscious.

What took you so long? Natasha asked Purity, who stood beside Mave.

Sorry, my friend. I shouldn’t have left. I was told to come back. Purity slid the slingshot into her jacket pocket.

Who would know such a thing? Natasha wondered. A light that speaks.

Purity pulled Natasha over Mave’s motionless body.

Was it scary? I’ve never heard of such a thing, Natasha said, limping along.

The two girls made their way through the mob of immigrants frantically looking for their parents. Natasha saw her doll crumpled on the ground. It was crushed, dirtied, and trampled. With one swoop, she rescued the mangled toy with as much vigor as her own rescuer.

Natasha starred at the doll’s cracked face. Purity, my friend. Don’t ever leave me.

You’re safe now. Hurry along. Purity feared they were lost.

To the girls’ relief, they found their parents chit-chatting with ease, surrounded by thick crowds.

Child, you’re shaking, Naomi rattled when she saw Purity. I’m fine, Mama, Purity said, easing her mother’s worries.

Natasha, we’ve told you about wandering off. We were getting worried, Mr. Weinstein sounded with concern.

A witch hurt me, but Purity rescued me. Natasha pulled a wrapped candy from her pocket.

Never take candy from strangers, foolish child, Mrs. Weinstein warned and hit the candy from Natasha’s hand.

Natasha’s father looked to Purity.

You saved us from disaster. Bless you.

I’m glad she’s safe, Purity said with humility.

Trouble, trouble, and we just got off the boat, Naomi said, clutching her husband’s arm.

Natasha pulled a small music box from her carpet bag and presented it to her friend. Purity opened it, and a small statue of a couple ballroom dancing popped up. Purity admired the couple spinning around and around as music played.

Thank you, Natasha. But you don’t have to.

I’ll never forget how you saved me. Natasha beamed at her friend.

Rachel, who still stood with the two families, frantically looked for her fiancé, Roberto, amidst the crowds.

Come with us, girl. You hardly know the man. Marriage is hard enough for adults, let alone a child. What’s the rush? Naomi insisted.

I’ll never forget you, but I’m in love. I’m getting married. Rachel hugged her new friend’s goodbye.

Are you sure Roberto’s coming? Naomi asked with concern. Roberto’s a man of his word, Rachel boasted.

Rachel. Rachel, my beauty, yelled a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes. He wore a fine suit and carried a bouquet of flowers.

Rachel ran into his arms, relieved to see him. They embraced—two love-starved hearts, finally united.

He actually exists, Thomas said to the others.

I fear for her. Senseless girl, Naomi said, focused on the young man some distance away.

Looks like love to me, Thomas said.

Oh, Papa. She’s a mail-order bride. They’re nothing but strangers, Naomi said in their Croatian language.

‘Papa’ was Thomas’s name of affection, and he responded to it with pride.

Not for long, by the looks of it. Let’s go. The train’s waiting. Shadow Brook Estate, here we come. Papa Thomas glanced at his gold pocket watch.

Rachel, the rare beauty, gave one last wave and never looked back.

Branded

Chapter 2

ROBERTO AND RACHEL made their way through the crowds near the New York seaport. He carried her luggage like a perfect gentleman. Rachel clung to his arm like a princess in love with her prince.

I’ve missed you. I can’t wait for our wedding. My beautiful bride, Roberto exclaimed.

It will be the best day of our lives, Rachel responded.

About a half a mile away, they made it to Roberto’s horse and buggy parked on a busy street.

Rachel stroked the horse’s mane and admired the buggy. You must be rich to afford such a luxury.

You’re easily impressed. My bride deserves the best, and you’ll have it, he said, flattering her.

You’re too generous, Rachel said shyly.

Roberto placed her belongings in the back of the buggy and climbed up. He offered a helping hand, like a doting husband. Rachel reached for him, and with a quick yank, she slid onto the leather seat of the horse- drawn buggy.

Roberto raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. You’re captivating, my love.

He slapped the reins, and they were off through the crowded streets. After a few miles, they stopped in front of a fancy New York hotel. Rachel looked up in awe.

There’s nothing like this back home.

Forget about home. There’s nothing but surprises ahead, Roberto said, avoiding eye contact.

As he helped her down from the buggy, he pressed her close, kissing her in heated passion.

Rachel pushed away.

Stop, we’re not married yet.

Forgive me. It’s hard to wait, Roberto responded, sounding mischievous.

A few black crows landed on the horse-drawn buggy and began squawking. Clouds appeared out of nowhere, dark and misty. Rachel looked up and cringed at what looked to be a large, skeletal-faced entity etched in the clouds.

Do you see it, Roberto? It’s the face of torture, Rachel said with terror.

Looking up, he too noted the strange sight.

It’s nothing. No torture in these parts. Only pleasure, my dear, only pleasure. He took her arm and escorted her inside the luxurious hotel.

You forgot my bags. You’re hurting my arm, she complained as he pulled her along. A wave of fear swept over her.

Sorry, dear. Don’t worry. The bellman will get your bags. He reluctantly released the hold on her arm.

Ornate marble covered the hotel floors. Crystal chandeliers sparkled from the ceilings. In the lobby were lavish furnishings, large oil paintings, and plush area rugs.

Rachel paused to admire them. Magnificent. I’ve never seen such wealth. Roberto stopped as if tolerating the delay.

Only the best for you. But first things first. I have a few friends I want you to meet.

He stole another short kiss.

Anything for you, Rachel said with affection.

They climbed an elegant staircase to the second floor. With each step, Roberto’s countenance became more devilish. A translucent, dark figure overshadowed his being. He knocked at suite number six, and the door opened.

Roberto violently pushed Rachel inside.

A group of men waited for her with hungry eyes. They were obviously wealthy, wearing expensive business suits and puffing on cigars. Some reclined on fine tapestry couches while others sat in well- upholstered leather chairs. Two stained glass oil lamps, ornamented with dangling crystals, lit up the smoke-filled air.

Loathing translucent spirits of greed resided on each man, appearing as smoky black shadows, coiling around their heads and necks.

Roberto shoved Rachel on a couch with a hard push and started the sales pitch.

Name your price. I’ve sampled the merchandise, and you’ll have no disappointments with this one. Just what you ordered.

Shut up. Who asked for your opinion? We do our own inspections, Mr. Wells’ flabby, middle-aged abdomen jiggled as he moved. His receding hairline, deep facial lines, and dull eyes made for haunting expressions. He held a stack of money in his hand.

A wave of terror shook Rachel as his voice vibrated through her body.

You’re a Judas! Let God strike you, Rachel yelled at Roberto. Sorry, change of plans. There won’t be a wedding, but definitely a honeymoon, Roberto boasted with a tone of savage lust as he fettered her hands and feet in chains with angry yanks and pulls.

Liar. You devil! Don’t touch me, she cried.

Roberto retaliated and tore some of her clothing, exposing a firm, trim figure.

How’s that for a soft touch, he mocked.

Get your hands off me. I’m no whore, she howled with embarrassment.

You got your wish. I’ll be the first man you’re going to make happy, Roberto joked.

Not so fast. That privilege goes to the highest bidder, Mr. Wells interrupted, belting Roberto in the mouth.

Pigs, all of you! she cried, holding her torn clothing to cover tender breasts.

She’ll bring in a fortune, one observer said, eyeing her silky skin and curves.

Bidding starts at a hundred dollars firm, Mr. Wells grunted. One hundred fifty, said a man from the shadows.

Another bidder raised a hand. Two hundred.

Two hundred twenty-five, a rough-looking gangster chimed in.

An elderly gentleman wearing a pin-striped gray suit raised a deformed hand full of cash. The hand was foul in texture and form, having only a thumb, pointer, and middle finger. It looked like a claw, unsuitable for humans. An expensive hat was pulled low, hiding his full identity.

Two hundred fifty dollars, plus first rights. Let’s call it a honeymoon, he said as he waved the cash in the air.

The others refused to match that, and the bidding was suddenly over.

A quick sell to the highest bidder, Mr. Wells said, pulling the money from the twisted hand.

I want her branded to prove my ownership, Rachel’s owner demanded.

In a few moments, a man came forward with a small bucket of burning coals. In it sat a hot poker embossed with the letter ‘M.’

Dirty dogs! Rachel shrieked, trying to wrestle loose from the chains.

The hot iron burned red as the man lifted it from the coals. The new slave screamed and wrestled against her captors. Shut her up, Mr. Wells insisted sternly.

She’s a fighter. Not good in this business, an onlooker said. There’s no getting out of hell, sneered the man holding the poker as he pressed the hot branding iron firmly into Rachel’s right shoulder. Her flesh sizzled like raw meat frying, leaving a bright red impression of the letter ‘M’ burned deep into exposed tissue. Rachel screamed in agony, now rightfully marked as a commodity to be sold.

Strands of Rachel’s luscious wavy dark hair matted as tears saturated her flawless skin. She clutched her shredded clothing even tighter as though trying to cling to her last moments of sanity. The life she had known had been swept away in a moment. Finally, shock set in, and a catatonic gaze clouded her once clear blue eyes.

The chains hanging from her wrists clanged with the slightest movement. The smell of burning flesh lingered in the room.

There was another knock on the door.

Once again, a young woman was pushed in and landed on the floor in front of the well-entertained audience.

Start the bidding, Mr. Wells insisted.

Get her ready for me, Rachel’s owner demanded, pointing his deformed hand to the adjacent bedroom.

Another man pulled on Rachel’s chains, dragging her past co-conspirators who refused to intervene.

They left her alone, closing the door.

Her heart broke with no escape in sight. She sang, Freedom Cries like a lonely dove.

Ahh, ahh, chh, woo, woo

Freedom, freedom, who’s keeping me from you

My captors don’t care, I’m sold for abuse and despair

Will I survive this dark night of the soul

Oh, freedom cries, freedom cries for me

Is it possible to die but still be alive

My eyes can see, my lungs can breathe

But my soul, my soul has died

Oh, freedom cries, freedom cries

I can only imagine what I’m forced to do

Day and night to earn my bread

She looks and wonders why

Oh, freedom cries, freedom cries for me

There’s no one to find me as I die

God in heaven send an angel

To rescue me from these chains

Ahh, ahh, woo, woo, ahh, ahh, woo, woo

Freedom cries, oh freedom cries

Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Rachel’s owner stepped in, still disguised by his large hat. The door closed behind him with an eerie squeak.

He moved to the bed. Softly, his deformed hand stroked her cheeks then moved down her neck.

Freedom, find me as I die! Rachel yelled, only to be silenced by a vicious slap.

A loud banging sounded on the hotel door in the other room. Mr. Wells checked the gun in his suit jacket, and with a heavy hand, turned the knob. He sucked in a breath at the gory sight. Mave stood before him—a bloody mess panting in pain.

What the hell happened to you? And where’s Natasha? Her father owes me for fronting the deli expenses, and she’s the final payment, Mr. Wells’ questioned.

She had a little bodyguard. Next time I’ll get ’em both. You may have blown our cover. Did anyone see you?

I can’t say. The port was crowded. Let’s sit on this till the girl gets some curves, Mave said, afraid of punishment.

Good idea. Just remember you’re working for me, and I expect results, he threatened with a hand lifted, ready to strike.

Shadow Brook Estate

Chapter 3

TEN YEARS LATER: SHADOW BROOK ESTATE,

BRISTOL, RHODE ISLAND, 1909

NARRAGANSETT BAY SPARKLED like diamonds dancing in the sun. Sailboats skirted across the gentle waves with precision. Seagulls hovered above, eclipsing deep blue skies, as a refreshing wind blew over the rocky beaches of Bristol, Rhode Island.

Shadow Brook Estate held captivating views of the bay, surrounded by landscapes of manicured gardens and picturesque fountains. Trees, neatly trimmed shrubs, and scattered bursts of floral delights lined the long drive leading from Ferry Avenue to the mansion.

The Wisedor family owned the property and relished in the opulence of their success. They were entrepreneurs who owned businesses in town—one manufactured fine china dinnerware, and the other was a shipbuilding company. The enterprises were established over a hundred and fifty years ago.

A shiny luxury car pulled off Ferry Avenue and made its way to the house.

The Wisedor’s have arrived! Start lining up, yelled a gardener trimming a bush.

The call reached the ears of a young maid who was sweeping the grand porch. In turn, she scampered inside, reporting, The Wisedor’s have arrived. Prepare to meet them.

Alexis, a young maid with an African complexion, stopped scrubbing the marble floor in the grand garden sanctuary.

Oh, dear, she said. Hopping up, she wiped wet hands on her apron.

Other maids, hearing the news, abandoned their tasks in the kitchen, dining room, and grand parlor. They joined the others who scurried to the entrance and formed a greeting line in front of the mansion. Each stood at attention with backs straight and hands clasped in their proper place.

Naomi Thomascovich was fit to be tied. After ten years of hard- earned service, she finally worked her way up to the position of head maid. She poked her head out the kitchen door of the mansion. Her countenance appeared disturbed and impatient. There was still a hint of her accent from the old country of Croatia.

Purity, where are you? her mother called. There was no response.

Purity, now eighteen years old, with flowing, brown, sun-glistened hair and blazing eyes, sported a shapely trim figure. In the mansion, she slid down the ornate banister from upstairs and rushed into the ballroom.

Natasha, seventeen years old, was dust mopping the wooden floor with a few other maids.

Purity pulled a towel from a cleaning basket and tied it in knots like a ball for sport. Then grabbing a mop, she made a wide swing and hit the rag ball over to Natasha, interrupting her work.

The two batted the rag in wild competition, smacking it back and forth with great fun. The other maids joined in for the game. Then the mood shifted into a dance.

Purity turned her mop upside down on its handle and bowing before it, pretended it was a handsome gentleman. The music of a fine orchestra played in her mind.

I’d be honored to dance with you, fine sir. You’re my dream come true, Purity flirted, batting her long thick eyelashes.

One of the maids began whistling a little ditty they all began to dance about and sing, A Call to the Ball.

It’s a call to the ball, it’s time for romance

My prince is asking for a dance

With a touch of his hand, I’ll melt in his arms

It’s a call to the ball, let’s dance and romance

Hear the music and song, come along to the ball

It’s a great time for all, a dream come true

He’s the best, and yes, I won’t settle for less

For my prince is asking me to dance

We’ll dance and twirl and give a shout

When my prince is here, there is no doubt

We’ll dance on air, to the clouds and stars

Hitting every beat with ready feet

It’s a call to the ball, let’s dance and romance

He’s handsome and strong, doing no wrong

When I look into his eyes, my life comes alive

It’s love at first sight, where there is no fright

Take my hand, twirl, and give a shout

Let’s dance, my prince, till we’re sore and tired

Living out our days, till we’re old and gray

It’s a call to the ball, one and all

It’s our turn to live and laugh some, too

Working our fingers to the bone

Breaking our backs and nails, too

With my prince, we’ll escape

Riding on the stars to forever and back

Oh, the tales we’ll tell, where there is no lack

I’ll dance with my prince and give a shout

It’s our turn to live and laugh some, too

It’s a call to the ball, let’s dance and romance

The maids danced around and around the grand ballroom. With mop heads up and love-struck eyes, each envisioned their prince. They dreamed of attending a fine gala and wearing elegant gowns.

Purity danced on with a mop in hand, swaying back and forth in awkward rhythms, a real klutz. She tried her best to glide with style around the other maids but stumbled more than once over clumsy feet. Suddenly, she snapped from the fantasy and returned to the rolled-up towel. And smacking it back and forth again, she gave it a final whack to the other maids. The dusty ball sailed through the air, and thinking fast, Natasha ducked, avoiding a swift hit.

Naomi entered the ballroom in frustration, looking for the rest of the staff. In regretful horror, the dusty ball smacked the head maid’s nose like a punch. A cloud of dust sprayed in more than a few directions before she dropped to her feet.

All the maids stopped dancing.

Enough of this. Take your positions. The Wisedor’s have arrived, Naomi said as she wiped the dust from her face.

The fantasy was over, and the maids fluttered past Naomi.

I’ll be right there, mother. Let me pick up this mess, Purity said reassuringly and started picking up mops and dust towels.

I’ll believe it when I see it. Time’s wasting. No more excuses, Naomi muttered and left the ballroom.

Purity stayed behind, humming and dancing as she cleaned. Her steps were awkward and uncoordinated, but that didn’t stop her from trying. She sang, The Wisedor’s Have Arrived.

The Wisedor’s have arrived

Oh, what a surprise

Who cares, big deal

The Wisedor’s have arrived

Backs straight, look alive

Your wish is my command

A little here, a little there

Do as you’re told, or it won’t go well

The Wisedor’s have arrived

Big deal, who cares

Follow their orders, do your chores

Working my fingers to the bone

From dawn to dusk, there is no rest

The Wisedor’s have arrived, big deal

The Wisedor’s have arrived, who cares

Purity was the last to join the line of fortunate ‘help’ working at Shadow Brook Estate.

The Wisedor family took many excursions as their wealth afforded the luxury of frequent vacations. They were returning from a short get away in Newport.

The front passenger door of the luxury car swung open with haste. Generally, Mrs. Wisedor waited for the butler to open it, but not today. She was preoccupied with a mental list of things to do before the dinner party that evening.

The butler opened the driver’s door. Mr. Wisedor crawled from behind the wheel, wincing and stretching the kinks from his back. He was tall, middle-aged, and still handsome, with dark hair.

He liked driving and refused a chauffeur for the family outings. He circled the luxury car inspecting it for any imperfections. With a white handkerchief, he wiped away any road dust like a doting fanatic.

Mr. Wisedor was preoccupied but not with thoughts of the dinner party. It was his business enterprises that demanded constant attention. He dreaded his return to work the next morning and relished in the knowledge that he would be retiring soon. The stacks of paperwork and never-ending problems no longer held any appeal or challenge. Favor, his responsible son, would continue in his footsteps when the time was right.

A fresh wind gently brushed Purity’s sun-bleached strands over her angelic features. Her breathing finally relaxed from the mad dash to welcome Shadow Brook’s royalty. She reached for her mother’s hand and held it gently. Then her attention shifted ever so slightly to Papa’s frail body and ashen color a few feet away.

He coughed in wild fits, trying to suppress a racket of phlegm gurgling in his chest. His lungs wheezed in protest, and his body swayed in weakness.

Don’t worry, I’m fine, Papa said, noticing his daughter’s concern. Papa toiled long hours each day, rotating through the vegetable garden and fruit orchards. He was a man of the earth with the ability to grow lush gardens and produce. Other estates far and wide came and bought the work of Papa’s hands—the excess produce. Papa possessed the secrets to grow the best. He even spoke to the plants, encouraging them to grow and rebuking surrounding weeds with an angry yank.

He cared for the horses and livestock too. The animals came running when they caught a glimpse of Papa coming. Treats of barley and oats flowed from his deep pockets. He fed them little bits while inspecting for sores and ticks. He talked with them too, as though knowing their language.

Purity released her mother’s hand as her heart swelled with anticipation in seeing her friends from childhood—none other than Favor and Victoria Wisedor, the son and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Wisedor. Purity had grown up with Favor and Victoria. They always seemed to find each other on the grounds and instantly fell into cat and mouse adventures as Purity avoided more chores and Favor and Victoria dodged tutoring lessons.

The butler opened the rear passenger door.

The Wisedor’s daughter Victoria, twenty-one years old, bounced off the black leather seat with eagerness as she climbed out. She was an attractive young woman, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes.

Natasha reached for Victoria’s belongings and was ready to grant any command.

Then he stepped out—Favor Wisedor, the most handsome, eligible bachelor in Bristol. At twenty-three years old, he was the epitome of fine breeding. His build was athletic, accentuated with dark curly hair, olive skin, and large brown eyes. Favor was primed for the future responsibility of carrying on the family fortune.

Purity thought of flying kites with Favor a few months before. Their kites flew high and tangled in the air, quickly spiraling out of control. Rushing over, he covered her soft hand with his, and together they pulled the kites from a rocky disaster.

Let me help you, Purity. Our kites are entwined. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, Favor said with sincerity.

Thank you, Favor, she said with admiration.

Favor’s eyes scanned the line of estate help and finally rested on Purity.

It’s good to be back. Thank you for your service, Favor said to the staff with appreciation. He straightened his jacket, and