Midsummer Nights’ Dreams
ROMANCE SHORT STORY BY BECCA ROBIN
There was something in the air at the old Folk Museum…
The grandfather clock in the shadowy back of the room struck twelve. Kizzy felt Laura squeeze her arm nervously.
“Midnight. The witching hour.” At least their museum guide Matt’s voice was warm and reassuring.
“Sadly, that brings us nearly to the end of our special midsummer eve tour of Crowfell Folk Museum.”
The remnants of a fire glowed in the large open grate around which a dozen visitors sat warming themselves.
Even though it was June, it had been chilly sitting in the draughty old farmhouse for the past hour.
Crowfell was an open-air museum where ancient dwellings from all around the county had been rebuilt, almost like a small village itself.
Kizzy had visited many times, but she’d never attended one of these special seasonal late-night events.
Guided by torchlight, they had stopped off at a mediaeval barn, a tannery and a mill before settling down around the fire in the Victorian farmhouse.
Matt was a very entertaining tour guide.
He’d held them spellbound all evening with tales of age-old customs and beliefs. Even in the days when every household attended church, a lot of old pagan superstitions had lingered on.
Matt was in costume, dressed as a Victorian farm labourer. The mutton-chop whiskers aged him, because he was probably only in his early thirties.
“Before we go, I wonder if any unmarried person here is willing to take part in a typical midsummer custom, or charm?
“It was performed at midnight by young women hereabouts, who were looking for love.”
There was a pause.
Then, to Kizzy’s horror, Laura gave her a big dig in the ribs which was noticed by all.
“Well, I can’t, I’m spoken for,” Laura whispered loudly, holding up her left hand upon which glittered her engagement ring.
“Ah, a volunteer?” Matt extended his hand towards Kizzy, who felt she had no option but to rise to her feet.
At the same time, she whispered from the corner of her mouth, “I am so going to get you for this!”
Laura merely giggled.
To offer Kizzy some encouragement, the small crowd applauded as she crossed the flagstone floor to where Matt was standing at the large kitchen table.
Before him was a candle, a bowl of water and an assortment of greenery.
“Thanks for volunteering,” Matt said in a low voice.
“It’s always boring when no-one’s brave enough and I have to do it all myself.”
Kizzy smiled at him, although his face was obscured by shadows as well as the bushy whiskers.
She told him her name, then he carried on addressing the audience.
“Remember, in those days there was no internet dating or lonely hearts columns.
“What was a young village girl supposed to do? How would she know if one of the local lads was interested in her?”
Kizzy got into role, shrugging and pouting to make the audience laugh.
Matt paused a moment, clearly relishing being part of this new double act, before carrying on.
“That’s where this charm came in handy. On midsummer eve, the young girl would take a bowl of spring water and scatter on rose petals, vervain, trefoil and rue.
“These plants were thought to have magical properties in midsummer.
“Now, Kizzy, would you do that for me, please?”
As instructed, Kizzy took the leaves and petals and scattered them over the surface of the water.
“Then she would gaze into the bowl, stir the water clockwise with her finger and repeat the following.
“Ready, Kizzy? Repeat after me: roses, vervain, trefoil, rue…”
Kizzy began stirring the water.
“Roses, vervain, trefoil, rue…” she repeated.
Matt completed the chant.
“Let me see my love so true.”
And Kizzy repeated it.
“See anything?” Matt asked, leaning over the bowl so their heads were nearly touching.
Of course, this was a joke because as soon as the water settled, his shadowy reflection appeared beside her own.
Kizzy giggled and the audience, cottoning on to the joke, began laughing, too.
“I’m afraid that was just me taking advantage of the situation,” Matt said, straightening up again.
“It doesn’t have to happen straight away.
“Kizzy, if you get any visions of eligible young men over the next few days, will you let me know, please? I’d like to know who my rivals are!”
Kizzy smiled.
She received another round of applause as she went to sit down, although the tour was over now, and everyone was preparing to leave.
Lighting their torches, they followed Matt back down the path to the museum’s exit gate, where he said goodnight to them, one by one.
“Thanks again for volunteering,” Matt said when Kizzy reached the head of the queue.
“Oh, and if you really do get any visions, will you genuinely give me a ring, here at the museum?
“It would make a fabulous story for our next tour.”
Back in Kizzy’s car, Laura began teasing her.
“Matt’s nice,” she said. “I mean, you couldn’t see him that well, but he has got a lovely voice. I think I did you a favour there.
“Come on, he must be interested, asking you to ring him!”
“Only for the sake of the tour,” Kizzy insisted. “He wants a new anecdote to tell the punters, that’s all.
“And what kind of ‘vision’ am I supposed to get anyway? He wasn’t very specific.”
“You could invent something, as an excuse to ring him,” Laura suggested.
“Pretend you saw a man’s reflection in the bowl when you were doing the washing up.”
“What’s the point of that?” Kizzy rolled her eyes.
“If I tell him I’ve had a vision of some random bloke, he’s hardly likely to ask me out then, is he?”
They argued and laughed about it until Kizzy dropped Laura back at her flat.
Kizzy was glad the next day was Saturday and she didn’t need to get up early for work, because it was two in the morning before she got to bed, and she tossed and turned for a long while before falling asleep.
When she did drop off, she had the strangest and most vivid dream.
She was back at Crowfell Museum.
Although it was daytime, there were no other visitors around.
She was walking along one of the lanes linking one building to the next.
The high hedgerows were full of wildflowers and herbs, particularly roses, vervain, trefoil and rue, which gave off a heavenly scent each time the flowing skirt of her white muslin dress brushed against them.
Her long, fair hair lay in a heavy plait on her shoulder, in which the same flowers were threaded.
Although her feet were bare, they were not hurt by the little stones along the path.
Sweet birdsong filled the air and soon it was joined by a man’s beautiful, rich tenor voice, singing:
“Roses, vervain, trefoil, rue,
“Join unto mine thy heart so true…”
Kizzy followed the voice until she arrived at a red brick cottage.
Now she could hear the small tap of a hammer, striking in time to the song.
The door was open and as she peered inside, she saw the back of the man bending over his work.
As her eyes grew used to the gloomy interior, she saw that he was making a pair of green shoes.
The man glanced over his shoulder, noticed her and stopped singing.
“Aye, I have just finished,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Come and sit. Try them on.”
Kizzy could see his face clearly now, with its deep brown eyes and sensuously curving mouth.
She did as he asked and sat on the chair.
As he knelt before her and looked up into her face, the man’s smile was an undisguised declaration of love and Kizzy’s heart leapt.
He took one of her feet gently and slid it inside the green shoe, then did the same for the other.
The shoes were made of the softest leather and fitted perfectly.
“They’re like wearing feathers,” she murmured.
His gaze was mesmerising. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and pulled himself up, so his face was very near hers.
Then Kizzy woke up.
All morning, Kizzy replayed parts of the lovely dream in her mind.
If she’d been at all superstitious, she might have thought this was the vision Matt had talked about.
Then again, she’d only just returned from the museum where she’d taken part in a supposedly magical custom.
Her imagination had obviously been chewing away at the idea, so it was little wonder she’d had this dream.
Kizzy might have forgotten the whole thing entirely, except she dreamed something very similar the next night.
It began the same way, with her walking along a lane at the museum, but she was heading in a different direction.
She shivered deliciously when the same voice began singing somewhere close by, across the hedgerows.
“Roses, vervain, trefoil, rue,
“Join unto mine thy heart so true…”
This time she followed the voice to a blacksmith’s forge and, stepping hesitantly inside, she recognised the smith as the same man who had made her the shoes.
The fire of the forge glinted upon the bright metal object he was polishing.
The man ceased singing as soon as he noticed her.
“Aye, I have just finished.” His voice was soft and welcoming and as he extended his hand, she approached.
“May I?” he asked, looking deep into her eyes.
Kizzy nodded, and he wrapped a long piece of green silk around her waist, fastening it with the steel buckle he had made.
The steel had been wrought cleverly into the shapes of the wildflowers which were, by now, so familiar.
He did not take his hands from the buckle once it was fastened, and Kizzy was delighted to feel him pull her gently towards him.
Surely they were about to kiss?
Too soon, she awoke.
The dream followed Kizzy around all day.
When she fell asleep that night, it was no surprise to find herself back at the cottage being presented with the shoes.
Yet again, she awoke just before the kiss she so longed for.
Every night, Kizzy met the same man in her dreams. He either presented her with the shoes or the buckle.
By Thursday, she was so shaken, she felt she must speak to someone.
Although she knew Laura would probably laugh, she still gave her a ring.
“You mean to say you’ve had the same dream every single night since the museum tour?” Laura asked.
“Yes,” Kizzy said. “There are two, which alternate. In one, he’s a shoemaker and in the other, he’s a blacksmith.
“Don’t get me wrong, they’re not unpleasant dreams.” Kizzy’s heart sped up as she remembered how very pleasant they actually were.
“But what do they mean and what should I do?”
“They must be the visions Matt the guide was on about. He might have some advice.
“At the very least, it may put an end to them.”
Kizzy went quiet. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put an end to them.
“Promise you’ll ring,” Laura insisted. “Do it now!”
As soon as Laura rang off, Kizzy did as she’d promised and rang the museum, asking to speak to Matt.
“It’s quite exciting.” Matt sounded caught off guard by what Kizzy had told him.
“I’ve never known the charm to work before.”
She hadn’t gone into much detail.
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Could we meet up?” he said uncertainly. “You could fill me in. I’m here all day if you’re free? Or tomorrow?
“We could meet at the museum café. They do great cakes.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m making this up?” Kizzy said, alarmed.
“I don’t normally have recurring dreams. I just wonder what’s going on.”
“Of course not!” Matt laughed. “I’m really glad you rang.”
Kizzy wasn’t working that day, so they agreed to meet in the afternoon.
She spent the rest of the morning wondering how much she should divulge.
At the very least, she would have to downplay her deep feelings for the man in her dreams.
The museum café was light and bright and on the first floor of the main building, which visitors passed through on their way to the historical buildings.
All around the walls hung large reproductions of old photographs showing country life in Victorian times.
Kizzy was early so she bought a coffee and sat at a window seat.
She wasn’t sure she’d recognise Matt, not having had that good a view of him during the tour.
There were plenty of visitors that day.
From her grandstand view she watched them stroll the flower-filled lanes and visit the old buildings.
She could also see the red brick cottage and the blacksmith’s forge which appeared in her dreams.
Staring dreamily out of the window, she became aware of someone standing beside her table.
“Kizzy?” the man said.
She nodded.
“Great.” He smiled warmly. “It’s lovely to see you again. Another coffee? What kind of cake can I get you?”
Somehow, she managed to smile back, agree to another coffee and say she’d leave the choice of cake up to him.
Somehow, she managed to disguise her profound shock.
In the light of day, without the fake Victorian whiskers, curly-headed and dark-eyed Matt was the image of the man in her dreams.
For the first time, she realised his voice was the same, too.
Well, this was going to be awkward!
He returned and sat opposite, placing a tray on the table.
He was wearing the standard brown fleece worn by all the guides, with Crowfell Museum embroidered upon it.
“So… from ancient times, visions and prophesies have appeared to people in dreams,” Matt said.
“I’ve done quite a bit of research for the tour and it’s a subject that fascinates me.
“Do you mind telling me about the dreams you’ve been having?”
It was probably best to tell as little of the truth as possible.
“Well, the dream starts with me walking down a country lane and the hedges are full of those wildflowers I put into the bowl the other night.”
“It sounds like the lanes at the museum. They’re loaded with wildflowers because we don’t use pesticides,” Matt said, nodding at the view. “What happens next?”
Little by little, Kizzy was settling down.
She was pleased she could look directly at him and act normally.
“I hear the man singing and go into an old building and there he is. That’s all, really.”
“That’s all? What’s he like?” Matt pressed.
He was insistent, she’d give him that.
Just as insistent as he was in the dream, when holding the floral belt buckle and pulling her gently towards him.
“He’s… nice looking. Dark hair and dark eyes.”
“Does he do anything? Give you a love token, for example?”
At last here was something she needn’t be embarrassed about.
“Well, there are two dreams actually. In the first he’s made me a pair of green shoes and he puts them on my feet.”
“Shoes are significant objects in folklore.” Matt nodded. “People would hide them beneath floorboards and in chimneys as protection against evil.
“What does he give you in the second dream?”
“He’s a blacksmith in the second dream,” Kizzy said.
“He’s made me a beautiful steel buckle, decorated with the same flowers. He fastens a green silk belt around my waist.”
She stopped, fearing she might have revealed too much.
“That might also make sense. Iron, or in this case steel, frightens away the fairy folk, who might wish to do harm,” Matt said.
“So, we have a dark-haired, dark-eyed man who makes you shoes, but is also a smith?”
Kizzy was nodding as her eyes alighted upon Matt’s lanyard, with his museum pass displaying his name: Matt Shoesmith.
Matt’s eyes followed hers, then travelled back to her face.
They were both taken aback.
“I swear, I didn’t know that was your name,” Kizzy said hoarsely.
“I know, I didn’t tell you.” Matt took a deep breath. “Kizzy, this man in your dreams… I’m not sure how to ask, but is it…”
The unfinished question hung in the air as Kizzy nodded meaningfully.
“Then I may as well admit that since last Friday evening I’ve been having dreams of my own.” He said it very softly, and Kizzy’s heart nearly exploded.
“It seems like midsummer still casts its magic,” he added with a smile.
They eventually left the café hand in hand.
Although technically still at work, Matt led her along the lanes between hedgerows filled with roses, vervain, trefoil and rue.
The air was filled with their heavenly scent.
Together, they retraced Kizzy’s dream steps, first to the red brick cottage, then to the blacksmith’s forge.
In each, Matt did what his counterpart had failed to do in her dreams: draw a willing Kizzy towards him to be kissed.
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