Nan's novel and "we ran a river through it!"

I did some traveling yesterday along the Illinois River. Road Trips help me to think; my husband, and two of our closest friends came along. There we were, two women, and two men “of a certain age” having more fun than little kids. We hit an old fashioned candy store where Lincoln once shopped, and ate at a historic restaurant that was once a bank. We went rock hounding and came back with boxes of petrified wood and agate, and all sorts of knick knacks, and some lovely small sculptures from the Sandra McKenzie Sculpture studio. There were 32 artists represented, and apparently, many of the sculptures were made by gifted high school kids. Others were made of river clay. Many were figural, and glazed in different colors. There were also Noah’s Arks, and many nativities. The faces were charming and doll like, and some were life-sized. We fell in love with an oversized head sitting in the garden; it was strategically cracked, but we were told this was an accident, and thus the head was not for sale. We want to track down the artist to see if she would sell her! I think all of us wanted her head!

Friday, I went to a quick sale of Native American Art, and came away with a tiny storyteller sculpture variation in white, and two good Kachina books. Thursday, I went to an estate sale by my friend, Dick, and found a great Victoria by Mme. Alexander for $1.00, and some doll house/doll mouse boxes by F.A.O. Schwarz, along with various other figurines and ethnic artifacts. There were some Shirleys and bisque dolls as well, some very old.

Below is a brief excerpt from the Anne Boleyn novel for those who are fans, or who like Renaissance history, dolls, women, you name it. Enjoy:

From: Anne’s Journey Through Time, Copyright Ellen Tsagaris, 2010.

….Her blonde hair peaked out from under the scarf, her one luxury thus far on her English sabbatical. She paused in front of the flotsam and jetsam that made up the various stalls, pitying more than desiring the merchandise, optimistically labeled “collectible” and “antique.” Really, though, they were the detritus of past generations, the memorabilia no one wanted to remember, the doll without eyes, the teddy bear with its plush worn off, the punch bowl set short one cup. She liked to wander among the once wanted, no longer loved objects and liked to think about who might have owned them.


Prudence stopped in front of a costume or paste jewelry stall. The rhinestones and pot metal jewels picked up the cold sunlight and shone. Her eyes were as dazzled as if they were the eyes of a starving child in front of a candy shop. She held one piece of Rhinestone finery after another against her navy coat. There were pieces of Victorian coral, cameos featuring enigmatic, Mona Lisa-like profiles of enigmatic ladies, the occasional gold plated leaf, complete with enamel ladybug, and then her eyes rested on a ring. It was older, and very tarnished, she was aware of the elderly woman who kept the stall urging her to “take in the patina.” “It’s just more dirt, “ thought Prudence, and her mind briefly drifted to the clowns in Hamlet and their musing that the dust at their feet might be the dust of Alexander.
“Could I see that please,” Prudence asked.
The stall keeper handed her the ring. “It’s a locket, madam, as you can tell.” There is a small spring underneath, you can flip it with your thumbnail.”
Prudence dutifully flipped the tiny lever, rearing she might disturb the encrusted patina and utterly destroy the piece of ancient junk in her hand. She hadn’t even asked about the price, and she wondered if she had remembered to tuck her credit card in her jeans’ pocket. The various “you break, you buy” signs around her were spooking her.
She didn’t have to worry, though. The lever gave easily, and the two haves of engraved metal, which appeared to have designs of some type of bird of prey, maybe a falcon, opened in her hands. Inside were two miniature paintings, both of women. One, Prudence was sure was Queen Elizabeth, the other, she was familiar, “Let me see, she thought, it’s, It’s Anne Boleyn, it’s Elizabeth I’s mother, What an extraordinary reproduction “ she was about to exclaim to the shopkeeper, but when she looked up, an entirely different scene met her eyes.
She was no longer in Portobello. She was standing on some type of grassy hill, and an ancient home stood behind her. She could tell it was a manor house, maybe a small castle. Directly in front of her was a pebbled walkway. The oak trees surrounding the stone path were large, a little crooked, and very old.
A woman stood before her. Prudence knew her. Or rather, she knew of her. The woman was tiny, not much taller than a fourteen-year-old girl, and looked as if she weighed under 100 pounds. She bore herself regally, but carefully. She wore a dark silk dress, pearls around her neck, and the old French Hood headdress surrounded her face. What she could see of her hair was dark, almost black, but with reddish highlights that glinted in the sun. The woman’s eyes were laughing.
At first Prudence thought she had seen a ghost, but the apparition was looking straight at her.
“Welcome to Hever. My name is Mistress Anne Boleyn, but most call me Nan.”
Prudence looked at the locket ring in her hand and nearly fainted. It was the sick feeling in her stomach and slight nausea that made her realize she was not dreaming, that and the cold, damp air. Also, the woman was near her, so close that her skirts rustled.
Prudence didn’t know if she should curtsy or not, so she gave a slight bow.
“My name is Prudence, Your Grace, and I don’t wish to intrude, I believe I have something that belongs to you.”
With that, Prudence held out the ring, the two halves open. As Anne reached for it, their hands touched. Absentmindedly, Prudence looked at Anne’s hand and thought, “Why she doesn’t have six fingers at all!” and felt the cool, but very solid and human touch of the other woman’s fingers brushing hers. The sunlight then disappeared, Prudence closed her eyes, sure she was having a stroke of some kind, and then opened them.
She and Anne were now standing together at the stall in Portobello. Anne wore a dark cloak wrapped around her, but the headdress and period silk dress were gone. They looked at each other, both in disbelief, but sensing the urgency and importance of the moment. Silent understanding passed between them.
“How much for the Ring” both of them said together.