Excerpts from the journal of Millay QuatrevierAurora Skies, Autumn, 17—Maman summoned me to her antechamber early this morning. She calls it a secret room because its entrance is a false bookshelf. It is not really secret, of course, because Papa and I have always known that something is there, but we do not want to contradict her.
“It is time to discuss with you our family’s future – and its past,” she said. “Has your father told you anything about your future duties?”
“I know that I will have to complete a job,” I answered, “and become accomplished in some skills. I will have to make friends and take advantage of four opportunities. Once I have performed these tasks, I may marry and have children. And my children will have to perform the same tasks, unto the fourth generation. Papa said he would write down the rest of my instructions for me.”
“Did he explain why you and your heirs will have to do these things?” Maman asked.
I was forced to confess that I did not know.
“He used to have wings,” she said. “He used to be a powerful being. Doing these tasks will enable him and I and you and the rest of your heirs to fly again.”
“What did Papa do to lose his wings?” I asked.
Maman put her finger to her lips, warning me not to ask. “I still possess my powers,” she continued, “although I do not practice my arts in front of your father lest he be reminded of his troubles. I observed when you were a child that you had inherited them. I do not know whether they will diminish over time.”
“What powers?” I inquired.
Maman chose to demonstrate rather than explain.
Suddenly I felt very fortunate.
Maman showed me her research materials, her alembic and burner. It was time for me to learn how to use them, she said.
Aurora Skies, Winter, 17—I went to the Winter Cotillion last night. I was fearful at first that no one would dance with me or that I would mistake my steps during the quadrille, but instead I acquitted myself admirably. I returned home with a tinsel crown and a portrait of me in my ballgown. More than that, I deepened my tie to my childhood companion, Scot Olivia. He came to the house to see me the next day. Papa was a very assiduous chaperone, even though Master Olivia and I confined our conversation to the subjects of art and cooking.
Later, Papa talked further with Scot (he asked me to call him by his first name and blushing, I agreed), but I do not know what they talked about.
Aurora Skies, Winter (again), 17—I am a grown woman now, able to marry, except that I have decided to wait until I have completed my tasks before entering the state of matrimony. Indeed, I intend to further my education at a nearby Ladies’ Seminary. Maman will accompany me. Apparently I can go nowhere alone until I am married, but Maman says she has work to do in order to ensure that her transfer vessel will be complete.
The celebration of my birthday was a true initiation by fire.
Fortunately, Papa is used to working with fire, for he has been making glass receptacles since the weather became too cold for his garden.
Or so we thought until the unthinkable happened – a stray spark re-ignited the furniture, even setting Papa’s clothing alight. For several panic-stricken moments, Maman and I feared that we would lose him forever, but a firefighter came to our rescue. Did I not consider myself betrothed in spirit to Scot Olivia, I would have fallen upon his neck in gratitude.
After we had calmed ourselves somewhat, we celebrated my birthday again.
I am not as beautiful as Maman, but I am reconciled to that. My future awaits.
