Words for Wednesday Peter's Time Travel ~ Part 7 and Last

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
    When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
    Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to our mind.

This month the words are supplied by River and are to be found on her blog.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today, Wednesday 25, we were given
Concoction 
Premises 
Smoky 
Genuine 
Stronger 
Grease

I used only strong, sorry maybe I should have worked in some of the other words, but I did not have the time. I am ending my dream-story of Peter's Time Travel here. If you want to read it in its entirety or just from one end to another without searching. it is here.

In the autumn I planted the two last eaves in the dry end of the field. Winter was spent mostly indoors, making tools and surviving the cold. In the end of winter, news from abroad told of Napoleon. I of course remembered having heard of him from my history lessons, but I had a hard time remembering more than general outline, and furthermore I had to take care not to know things, I could not know.

I wondered where the grandparents were, and I one day got up the courage to ask Elizabeth. She told a woeful story of diseases, accidents, and childbirth deaths.  I soon learned that life on a farm in the early 1800's was not without dangers, as the coming spring saw more accidents. In March one of the sows bit Hans in the hand, and it grew infected. He turned very ill and Lars and Anna discussed getting the doctor. He came and ordered poultices to pull out the infection. After this I asked Elizabeth to allow me to help her treat the wound. She accepted, and soon I had us both wash our hands, boil the rags and in general take hygienic measures. His condition did not improve, neither did it worsen, but he was getting weaker by trying to fend off the infection. Desperate measures were needed. I asked Elizabeth if her father could let us have a small measure of distilled spirits. He gave it to us, and I meticulously cleaned out the wounds, liberally pouring in spirits to the intense discomfort of poor Hans. Then we covered the wounded hand tightly with boiled rags, and repeated morning and evening.  After a few days the infected hand grew less red and swollen. and slowly, slowly he improved.

Some weeks later I fell off a wagon when the brakes suddenly failed, and broke my leg. It hurt a great deal, but thank God the skin was unharmed. The bone knit, and the swelling went down, but the bone was not set right, so from then on I needed a sturdy staff for walking. This was to my luck later on, when the Napoleonic wars swept through Europe and first Hans, and later young Christen was drafted, and I was rejected. Hans never returned, having been killed while saving the life of a well known general, and Christen returned, broken of body and mind, when finally the war ended.

One pretty August evening in 1807 we heard far off thunder in the air.  It repeated next evening, and rumours were afoot that it was not thunder, but the English bombing Copenhagen.  Next Tuesday the paper told us that this was in fact what had happened, and furthermore that the Danish king had decided to side with Napoleon against the English as a result. I knew from my earlier life that this would lead to no good end, but when, how much, and indeed if it would affect our small hamlet I had no idea.

Life went on mostly as it used to, but Elizabeth was not happy. I tried to discern why, but never quite succeeded. I had slowly fallen in love with the gentle yet strong girl. but my knowing that she was in fact a distant cousin or something like that kept me quiet. After remembering that my grandfather once told me that his family had "always" lived on that farm, I figured out that Lars and Anna had to be my ancestors. With the help of the slate, I found that they probably were my 6 times grandparents. It was a daunting thought.

One evening I found Elizabeth crying at the loom. I took her by the shoulders and held her sobbing form close to me. Quietly she told me that Lars would have her marry Mads, the young schoolteacher who taught me the lettering. He was not a bad one, but she did not want to.
"I don't want you to marry Mads either!" I said, a bit more vehemently than intended.
"Why not?" she asked, looking up at me with tears still flowing.
"Because I want to marry you, dang it," I said, throwing all caution to the winds. "But I'm a joke of a husband, lame, inept and no good for nothing."
"You are smart, clever and willing to learn."she replied, sobbing. "And what more is, I love you!"
"And I you," I said quietly, kissing her forehead.
The door opened and Lars came in. Elizabeth grasped my hand, and I held it tight. Lars looked at us, first in anger, then with a growing understanding.
"Do you want to marry that ... stranger?" he asked Elizabeth, "He is not a good farmer, being lame and ..."
"That's exactly what he said too," Elizabeth replied. "But yes, I would like to marry him, and he me!" I nodded vehemently, at a loss for words.
"But what am I going to say to Mads and his parents?" Lars said, looking for all the world just as my granddad looked when he had to scold me and did not mean it.
"Well," I risked, "Maybe ask them if they'd like to have an unhappy bride and if that's not enough you could tell them what you though had happened here tonight. How do you think they'd like to not be certain that Mads' offspring was really his own?" It was a statement at high stakes, I had learned the punishments for adultery during my work at the church registers, I had also learned that the monetary punishment was halved if the guilty parts married, which I had found a very wise solution.

"I have seen what you think of my 'It's not done'. And I'm sure you mean it now, but what about in the years to come, when war and diseases will graze the lands?" Lars asked.

"We will survive, and even prosper, just as my outlandish grains did,"  I replied, the certainty from knowing that I was destined to become my own several times great-granddad, colouring my voice.

Form then on it went smoothly. That same evening w stood in the gate, my arm around Elizabeth's slender waist, looking out over the lands and the view I had always loved as a child, 200 years in the future. I would never return to my old life. My destiny was to stay here, to become my own ancestor - how was this even possible? My head spun. But the view was as great as ever,  clear and bright in the pre-industrial air, Elizabeth was sweet as honey, perfect in every way, and my wheat was thriving in the small field I had made for it.

I was in the unique position of knowing beyond any doubt that my great-great-great-great-grandchildren would some day play in these very fields.

Life was, if not perfect, then at least very good.


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Notes:
I dreamt this in the night from Sunday 15th to Monday 16th. It was a very vivid dream, and I woke up still feeling the semi-coarse fabric of Elizabeth's dress under my fingers and the worn timbers from the gate along my other arm. The dream stayed with me all of Monday; whenever I closed my eyes I was transported back to 1800 Riisbye. Tuesday and Wednesday residues still lingered; so much so that when we passed a barber shop Ash Wednesday - the 18th - I thought 'just fine, I do need a haircut!' Only it was my dream-person needing it, not me.

Normally I am not superstitious, or believe in earlier lives, messages from the afterlife or any such.
But ... a hamlet named Riisbye does in fact exist, consisting of four farms, along with a big parish church and an ancient baptismal font. Furthermore my paternal grandparents do come from somewhere around there ... I never succeeded in getting much traction with them, but now I think I'll have to do some genealogical search to see if I have any ancestors back there and then.