Chapter 15 & 16 - The Child in the Museum

Chapter 15

Amelia gave up trying to reach the boy at this time. He seemed to be with someone at all times, and she was unable to catch him alone. She also got the feeling that perhaps he didn’t want her to catch him alone. He hadn’t offered her so much as a wave, a smile, longer eye contact – anything. She felt exhausted, down to her very bones. She wasn’t sure what was going on in her very body, much less the space and people around her. Amelia figured that this was a good time to go to her bedroom, relax, and take some time to pull herself together. She hoped that no one would be gawking at her room today, that no visitors were hanging around that area as much at this time, so that she could get some peace. She could often get lucky with long stretches in the middle of a weekday that were fairly quiet. She could just imagine collapsing onto her silky covers and stiff, but comfortingly solid, mattress.

She speculated about what could be going on with Arthur. She wondered if he was angry with her for getting him in trouble. She hoped that he had at least realized she had tried to take the blame, even at the risk of her entire lifestyle. It was also possible that he wanted to keep his distance as he had realized she was...different. With a pang of terror, Amelia imagined what it would feel like if Arthur stopped seeing her too – if everyone did. She had spent what seemed like her whole life wanting to be invisible, and now it was the last thing she wished for. On the way to her hallway, she noticed that the workers were beginning to bring in the various parts of the giant Christmas tree that was put up every year. She had often used that tree as part of her own personal tradition, sitting at the foot of it, imagining what it would be like to be with a family. She had never considered before how many times she had seen the tree go up, and down. And how many times had she felt the same age that she does now? Amelia shuddered to think. The mental image of the portrait entered her mind's eye. She walked more quickly, determined to shake the image and the thoughts from her head. As she turned the corner of the French interiors exhibit, a completely different sight than usual met her gaze.

Sitting in the corner, startlingly right next to her bed – or at least, the bed that she had claimed for herself – was the figure of a woman. This immediately took Amelia aback as no guests of the museum ever crossed, or could cross, the velvet ropes that blocked off the rooms. She would occasionally see museum staff in her room, mostly there to dust and clean, but this woman seemed drastically different. She sat on a small stool, looking at a mirror on the old ornate dresser. She had a large silk dress on, a light pink color that matched her powdery cheeks. She was carefully patting her hair, which seemed equally powdery as well, large and gray, in an updo of swirls that were reminiscent of the furniture itself.

Amelia was frozen in her tracks. She had never seen anything quite like her. The woman slowly turned around, the fabric of her dress showing new elegant swoops and tucks at every angle, and Amelia averted her eyes to the floor. The woman turned back to the mirror and continued, as if nothing was amiss.

Stunned, Amelia inched forward a bit. Clearly, the woman had noticed her enter the empty exhibit area, and nothing about Amelia’s presence surprised her. This was incredibly shocking because this woman was the first adult who had acknowledged Amelia’s existence during the entire episode. Or even, as Amelia thought about it, as long as she could remember.

She wasn’t sure what to do next. She didn’t feel she could enter the space, what felt like her space, as the woman was currently occupying it. Plus, the woman had positioned herself near the very place that Amelia always entered in order to avoid cameras. But did Amelia even need to avoid cameras anymore?

Amelia realized why the woman’s outfit and hair had such a strange, dreamlike effect on her. The woman looked like she could have stepped out of many of the paintings that were centered in the rooms of this exhibit, paintings that Amelia has passed by every day.

The woman turned around once again, and at this point, Amelia didn’t move. She wanted to see if the woman would make eye contact with her. Unsure whether to be surprised or not, she did. The woman maintained eye contact and slowly set down her porcelain hairbrush.

She turned herself gracefully until she was facing Amelia, full-bodied. Amelia was taken aback once again by the sheer extravagance of this woman, the full experience of her hair, her clothing, her makeup.

“Hello,” the woman said gently, a hint of a question in her voice.

“Hi,” Amelia said, her breath somewhat caught in her throat.

“My name is Claudette.”

“I’m Amelia.” Amelia’s throat felt stuck in the brief moment of silence, and she asked the first thing that came to her mind. “Where did you come from?”

“Well,” she said, still softly, “I actually frequent this room. You see, this was once my dresser. This is my hairbrush, and this is my mirror. I know that you like to come here at night, and I do try not to disturb your sleep, however…” she trailed off for a second, seeming to examine Amelia’s reactions as she spoke, “this is the first time you’ve acknowledged me, dear. Has something changed?”

Amelia’s mouth hung open, she didn’t know what to say and didn’t answer.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Claudette said sweetly, “You can sit right here on your bed, it will be much more comfortable, and much better for conversation. There is no reason to be afraid, and I am very happy to be speaking with you.”

Amelia hesitated, but couldn’t deny that the woman’s voice was soothing, and it would do her some good to sit down. As she walked toward the bed, Amelia asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Claudette. I…” she paused for a moment, waiting for Amelia to take her seat, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable first? I must say, I bet we have much to talk about. I wish I could make us a cup of tea.”

Amelia had heard many different languages and accents in the museum. She would be willing to bet that she had seen people from every corner of the world come to visit. She recognized Claudette’s accent as French, although her English seemed to be impeccable, flowing very easily in her speech.

After a moment, Amelia let her bed fully take her weight.

“What is it that you would like to know first, dear?”

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“I’m a ghost, you see. I passed on quite some time ago. But I just can’t seem to...well, let’s just say, I like being here with my things. I am very pleased that they have such a beautiful home, and that I can spend time here in front of the mirror, getting ready, as I am used to doing every day.”

At this, she turned toward the large mirror again, lovingly held up the handheld mirror, and checked on her hair once more, as if to demonstrate. Amelia noticed that it was as if the woman was picking up a shadow of the mirror, and not the actual mirror itself. She set it down, looking thoughtfully for a moment.

“I suspect,” Claudette said, turning back to Amelia, “that if you are seeing me now, you must have had some sort of realization about your own existence, am I right?”

Before Amelia could realize it, the words seemed to be pouring out of her mouth. “I saw a painting, a portrait. It looked just like me. But the date...it couldn’t be right. And how have I been living in the museum for so long and have never noticed it? I’ve seen everything in the museum. Why do some people see me, and others…”

“Ahh, yes. A beautiful portrait. I recognized you as soon as I saw it.” Claudette smiled, “I don’t normally go to other parts of the museum, but I was following a smell of fresh baked bread that was just so delightful.” Claudette seemed to melt in the memory.

“The only things that will pull me away from this section of the museum are glorious dishes of food and the magnificent ball gowns that some of the women wear here on special occasions. I do look forward to watching the fashions change year to year. The true art pieces are on the people themselves. You see, I love beauty. It might sound simple, but I truly take delight in being in this place, surrounded by so much beauty.”

Claudette pulled herself back to her point. “As soon as I saw the portrait, I realized what was going on. I had wondered so much about you, making this room your home. I always knew you weren’t quite in this world, not quite in the next, and not quite in mine either. When I saw your portrait, I knew why you were living in the museum. I am sure that on some level, you knew to avoid seeing the portrait. It is a great loss, to realize your life is gone, no matter how long it has been.”

Amelia watched her intently, absorbing her words, and also sensing her great sadness, and murmured, “I’ve always known myself to be an orphan. To be surviving here. I don’t remember anything from before.”

Claudette was solemn, “I would suspect that something took your parents’ life, perhaps at the same time as yours. I don’t believe you were ready to die. And I understand it – you are lovely, you had barely started, you were looking forward to a life of love and adventure. The memories may return to you, and they may not.”

This was a lot to process. Amelia slumped over, filled with many emotions, and feeling overwhelmed.

“Dear, it is alright to grieve. I have spent my whole existence grieving, it feels like. I wonder if it would help you to hear my story?”

Amelia nodded, as she wouldn’t be able to speak anyway.

“I think I spent my whole life looking for love, true love. I thought I had found it. But just before my untimely death, the man I loved broke my heart. I don’t remember how I died, but I know that I died with a deep desire still in my heart to find true love. I think that is what still haunts me today. It is curious that people may think of ghosts as the ones doing the haunting, I think instead that we are the ones that are haunted. My heartbreak haunts me, and my wish for the experience of true love haunts me. Sometimes I feel despair, wondering how I can ever heal and move on. Yet in a way, remaining here is what feels most natural to me. I feel at home.”

For a moment, Claudette was overcome with emotion. Tears had welled up in her eyes and she had stifled a cry. She pulled a small embroidered cloth handkerchief out of the folds of her skirt and dabbed her face. “I spent so many nights crying in this very spot, and I always wondered if there might come a time that you would hear me and it would wake you from your slumber. I never wanted to do that, but some days it was just too difficult to hold it all in.”

Claudette studied her for a moment. “When I look at you, though, I see a girl who has experienced even far less than what I have. If I feel like so much of my life experience has been stolen from me, I can’t imagine what you must feel. I would understand not wanting to face the truth. Tell me, how is it that you came across your portrait?”

Amelia proceeded to describe the entire event with the flickering lights, as best she could, as it was difficult for her to keep grasp on reality after the past couple of days. As she spoke, Claudette looked very curious, leaning in closer. When Amelia mentioned that the other guests could see the lights too, Claudette looked especially interested, “Ahhh!” she interrupted, “That must be the poltergeist from the Medieval section. A real Fool, that one. At least in this instance it seems he was trying to be helpful. That, or he was bored and wanted to be a part of some drama.”

Amelia felt dizzy. It seemed like Claudette could immediately tell, and Amelia wondered if ghosts could especially pick up on the subtleties of energy and feelings.
“Listen dear, why don’t you lie down and take a nap? I will keep watch. You are safe here. I know you only come here at night, but no one will be able to see you. Sometimes children can, but if they can, they are unlikely to notice the strangeness of it. It is when we begin to expect to see what we see that we lose the ability to see, to be open to the other realms. Please, dear, rest assured in this and do rest. It will do you some good.”

Amelia nodded, feeling safety from Claudette that she could only describe as nurturing, motherly. Something she had been greatly lacking. Amelia began to lay down onto the soft, familiar bed, and let her eyes close. The exhaustion hit her like a just wave, and just as the weight of the water would pull down a person, Amelia was pulled down into sleep.

Chapter 16

Arthur had made up his mind. He was going to be as brave as he could be, and he was going to talk to the knight once again. If he could help Amelia, he must. Arthur also had the feeling that he needed to see the knight once more in order to truly verify that it was real. There is something about waking up after having had a strange experience the day before, that by sleeping since, it makes it feel like it must have been a dream. Arthur knew the reality of his experience, but he also wasn’t completely convinced that he could ever possibly experience something quite like it again. Would he be able to see, to speak to, the knight again? How does one even summon a ghost? He felt like the only information on this subject would be in movies, in stories, and not something accepted to be true in daily life. The only thing he could think of doing was going to the spot where he had seen Sir Philip before. He would go and stand before Sir Philip’s suit of armor – the very real, physical suit of armor – and figure it out from there.

As Arthur got closer to the spot, he tried to focus on his breathing to calm his nerves. 

He walked down a hallway of shields and coat-of-arms. As he looked at the colorful designs on the coat-of-arms, he was reminded of his unfinished drawing in his mom’s sketchbook. She had asked him this morning if he would like to finish it today, and he had declined. Yet here he was, back at the very spot. Arthur turned the corner to see the magnificent display of knights on horseback. They were still, lifeless, and frozen in time. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he gulped a few breaths, trying his best to be calm. There was no reason to be afraid of Sir Philip, Arthur told himself over and over in his head. He had seemed to be nothing but kind.

Arthur approached the suits of armor, wondering if he needed to say something, wondering if each suit of armor had a different ghost attached to it. He looked around and saw no one in the vicinity. Just as Arthur was about to open his mouth to ask for the knight, Sir Philip stepped out, a less solid version of the suit of armor, but with the actual being of knight within. Arthur noticed this time that Sir Philip looked to be young – he could very easily be his parents’ age. Arthur wondered if Sir Philip had died in a battle, or on some sort of mission, maybe even the mission that has kept him here at the museum.

“Hello,” Sir Philip said, “It is good to see you again.”

“Hi,” Arthur said, “I guess…” he trailed off, realizing that Sir Philip would now be the second person that he had asked this of in the last hour, “I’ve come to ask for your help and advice. About how to tell Amelia the truth. I’m worried that it will be hard for her to hear, or that she won’t believe me.”

The knight smiled. “Let’s walk together.” He started right off, and Arthur followed.

“Something has transpired since last we spoke. It seems that Amelia has found her portrait, which means that a new door has opened up in her mind to accept the truth about her form. So your job has become, well, probably not easier, but at least a step of it has already been done for you.”

“Her portrait?”
“Yes,” said the knight, “That is what keeps her here. In fact…” they rounded the corner, “It should be right there.”

Arthur stood, amazed, at the large portrait in a gilded frame. It was Amelia, no doubt, and it was impressive. 

Sir Philip let Arthur take it in for a moment, “So I would say that right now, the best thing that you can do for her, is help her through this difficult time. She is distraught, I am sure of it. But as for her whereabouts or recent experiences, I do not know. I only witnessed that she found the portrait here. I believe that the poltergeist led her to it, and I actually wonder if he overheard our conversation. But no matter! What’s important is that you go to her soon. For my part, I have to get back to my own work.”

“What is it that you do?”

“Well, as I said before, I still have a mission to complete. It is what keeps me here. I gave my word in life, and I stand by my word in death.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Arthur was warming up to the experience of talking to a ghost. He figured that he already had done so a lot with the girl, even though he didn’t realize it. And also, he was genuinely curious.

“Young lad, I can tell you, but these are very important matters. Not to be taken lightly, and not to be repeated to anyone in the living realm, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course.” Arthur wasn’t used to lying to his mom, but he was sure that she wouldn’t ask him about a mission that a knight was given hundreds of years ago, so he just wouldn’t bring it up. 

“Your word binds you, just as my word bound me. Follow me – we will head back, and I will tell you my history.”

Arthur took one last look at the portrait as they turned away. In his mind, Amelia had to be some sort of princess to have a portrait that grand.

“I was a knight under a great king, the greatest king perhaps there ever was. I feel called to tell you this story, in fact, because you share his name. He also had red hair. He did his duties as a mighty hero while also upholding fairness and honor in every way. I have never declared loyalty to anyone the way I have to his legacy. I was never married, I never had any children, but I dedicated my entire life to his mission. This mission came in various forms, and I went on many adventures. I faced many perils, but all were to make me stronger for the most important task that was before me. In the end, I was given the most important task. The king chose two reliable knights, also two knights that he felt wouldn’t be as easily suspected as his more famous knights, who would be less likely to be followed. I was one of them.”

Arthur once again saw the great sense of pride emanating from Sir Philip. It didn’t seem to come from a place of superiority, though, as some people who feel they are better than everyone else might come across. Rather, it seemed to come from a place of wanting to be the best in order to live up to expectations, or even beyond that — to make a difference in the world. He was courageous and held himself in high esteem, but it all felt like it was for the good of others. Arthur found the knight to be very inspiring. He wanted to be like that someday, and maybe his mission here at the museum was a good way to start.

“We were each charged with protecting great objects, to keep track of their location even after the inevitable time of the king’s death. These were objects of somewhat physical and monetary value, but so much more so in magical and spiritual value. These were the great symbols of our time, and should be protected with the lives of a hundred men. The other knight was charged with protecting a chalice. I, a sword.”

At this point, they had entered the Medieval area again, which led toward the suits of armor. Instead of going straight back to their starting point, however, Sir Philip veered them off into a small room. Arthur looked around at the objects as Sir Philip continued his story.

“I do not know what became of the chalice. The answer to that question lies beyond these museum walls. The sword however, suffered a tragic fate under my watch. It was stolen. I said before that a hundred men would give their lives for such an object, and I did just that. I died trying to protect it, but it was no use. An insider must have told my foes that I was the one who had found the sword, for it wasn’t in my possession for very long. I was overtaken while traveling to a safe location, and before arriving, I was most vulnerable. I never made it to the haven I was headed toward, where I would be assisted by trustworthy people.”

Arthur looked at a wall of swords, and realized where this story might be headed. The swords looked very worn with age, but each had a modest tag with suspected dates on it, no extra information, and no sword seemed to stand out from the others.

“You see, this sword has unimaginable powers. And the most greedy, the most power-hungry, were willing to do anything to get it. Killing me was a small feat, and they were willing to do it in a blink of an eye. I feel that I failed my mission, but to this day I don’t know what I could have done differently. Over the years, the sword changed many hands. It has come and gone from many-a-person’s possession, and many lives have been lost over it.”

Arthur was completely lost in the story. He imagined many stories, many other knights, royalty, even sorcerers who may have had the sword in their hands over the hundreds of years that it had been around.

“I was lurking in the shadows with every person involved. I watched, unable to intervene. Like I explained earlier, I cannot physically manipulate the world: I can only be an observer. Eventually the best method for hiding the sword’s whereabouts was to hide the very information about the power that it holds. You see, if no one knows its name, and if no one knows its power, they cannot do anything with it.”

He gestured at the wall of swords.

“This method happened naturally and worked well, all too well, and in a few generations all connection and all knowledge of the sword’s truth had been lost to time. Except of course, for me. Which is why it became all the more important that I remain at the sword’s side at all costs. And here I still am.”

“Which one is it?” Arthur asked, amazed.

“Let’s save that for another day, shall we?”

“Okay,” Arthur said, wondering if the knight truly trusted him. Perhaps he would have to gain his trust over time.

“Regardless of which of these swords it is, and I will say that it is one of them, you can tell that it has fallen into obscurity. However, luckily for all of us, the museum is preserving it impeccably. It is safe here.”

“What’s next, then?” Arthur asked, “Where should it be? Why can’t it just stay here?”

“Well,” Sir Philip said, “It is a shame for something of such great power to be lost to humanity. At the same time, the last thing we would want is for it to fall into the wrong hands. Here in the museum, it is safe, but its powers are dormant. Here in the museum, it rests, but it is still vulnerable if anyone learned the truth. There is only one place it can be where it is guaranteed that only the most worthy can retrieve it.”

Arthur leaned in closely.

Sir Philip looked toward the wall of swords with resolution and took a breath, “In a stone.”