The White Bull

Sophie liked to explore. She loved making her way through brush and forest to find new places that remained yet unknown and undiscovered. Her best friend, Abby, had ditched her today in favor of shopping, but Sophie would rather trek through the woods than pick out a new outfit anytime.

From a hill, Sophie spied a house that she’d never spotted during her travels in the woods, situated inside a copse of trees. Perhaps the oaks and pines with their moss had disguised the house from unwanted eyes. It appeared to be abandoned, shutters hanging ajar, doors perched open, and an unhinged screen door. As she drew nearer the house, she noticed that the front door and a window were slightly open. It was possible the home had been abandoned longer than suspected. Knowing her mother would tan her backside if she entered the house, she headed straight for it nonetheless, walking up the porch steps until she stood outside the open door.

“Hello?” Sophie yelled. Only a faint echo replied.

“Anyone home?” she asked again but still no response. There was no doubt the house was abandoned since no one would leave their doors or windows open like this.

Curious, Sophie raised her hand to push the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Using the full force of her twelve-year old body, she pushed harder, but still to no avail. The door wasn’t budging, and it was not open enough for her to squeeze through it.

Turning around, she eyed the window. It was fully open as if someone had previously taken advantage of it to explore the empty house. Looking about and not seeing anyone, Sophie headed down the steps and to the window, searching for anything she could use as a stool. Spying a small stump, she rolled it toward the window. If she stood on the stump and hefted herself up, she’d be able to climb inside easily.

Once the stump was in place, Sophie stood on it and peered inside, ensuring that no one resided in this lonely looking home. She saw the tattered remnants of a bedspread and old, yellowed pillows. Several pictures hung askew upon the walls of the faded wallpaper. The furniture was old and drawers were open, but from what she could see, they were all empty.

Bracing herself, Sophie hoisted herself and lifted a leg over the crumbling ledge. Before she could maneuver her way completely over, a piece of the ledge gave way and she fell inward, flatly landing on the bedroom’s floor.

“Ouch!” she cried, closing her eyes as she hit the hardwood flooring with a thud. Wincing, she immediately checked her elbow and knee to make sure there was no substantial damage before viewing her surroundings.

Finally looking around, Sophie could only stare in wonder, unsure as to where to settle her gaze for any length of time. The room appeared entirely different than it had from when she had peered into it from outside. It was a beautiful, spacious room, with new bed coverings, fresh pillows, and draperies. Colorful paintings of flowers hung on lovely wallpaper. A beautiful mahogany dressing table gleamed in the sunlight, decorated with a crocheted cloth and porcelain knickknacks. A crystal atomizer filled with amber liquid was nestled on a tray along with a silver comb and brush set.

Gingerly rubbing her eyes in disbelief, Sophie stood. What the devil had just happened? Was she in a some kind of magical world after falling through the window? There seemed to be no other explanation. Being twelve, she was logical enough to know that fairy tales or magic didn’t exist, but logic had been defied because it seemed like she had just entered an unknown, mystical world.

“Hello?” she yelled, but this time her voice was weak from surprise.

Dead silence.

Carefully, lest she make a sound, Sophie made her way to the dressing table and perched on the stool before it. The oval mirror reflected her surprised visage as her fingers trailed lightly over the gleaming wood. Interestingly enough, there was not one speck of dust. She picked up a small, white bull carved from onyx and fingered it before placing it back. On the left, she saw a lovely music box that had ballet dancers carved on its top. As she opened the lid, it began to play Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. It was lined with blue silk and nestled within were pieces of glimmering jewelry, including a pair of earrings made from the clearest, most beautiful blue stones Sophie had ever seen.

She slowly lifted the earrings and pretended they hung from her ears, thinking she looked sophisticated despite being only twelve. Not daring to try them on, she replaced them before pulling out a ring with a large green stone that was encircled with diamonds. Unable to stop herself, Sophie slipped the ornate ring on her finger. As she was admiring its beauty, she looked up at the mirror and gasped. Behind her stood a woman who wore a flowing white dress; she was beautiful.

Quickly, Sophie removed the ring and spun around in the seat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think….” Her voice trailed off as she realized no one was there. Her heart beat rapidly. She knew she’d seen the woman reflected in the mirror, but where was she? She was not about to leave now when this house was so interesting. If anyone was here, they would come back, but chances were, she’d only imagined the woman.

Sophie walked over to the bed. Stepping upon the stool beside it, she sat upon the soft mattress and fell backwards, encompassed in the bed’s softness, silky coverings, and pillows. This was heaven! She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the luxurious bed.

Moments later, she opened her eyes to find the woman standing beside the bed, smiling warmly. “Hello,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you, Sophie.”

Startled, Sophie bolted up and came face to face with her. “Hello,” she croaked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was your home.” It had not even occurred to her that the woman had known her name.

“No, dear, don’t be sorry. I have tea and biscuits for us, and I’m glad you’re here,” she said as she extended her hand toward a table on the other side of the room. The woman’s voice was soft and lyrical, her image ethereal.

Sophie eyed the woman, tempted to reach out and touch her. While she appeared real enough, there was something about her that was otherworldly.

“Tea? Biscuits? You’re expecting me?” she asked.

“Yes, shall we?” The woman walked to the table, seeming to float across the flooring.

Sophie followed, intrigued. “Thank you,” she said as she took a seat and watched the woman pour steaming tea into dainty china cups with hand-painted purple violets.

“And so, how is Sophie?” the woman asked, placing a cup of tea before her.

“I’m good,” Sophie answered. “Have we met?”

“Not precisely, but we know one another - in a sense. I’m Genevieve.” The woman smiled. “Biscuit, dear?”

Confused, Sophie accepted biscuit. It was as buttery and scrumptious as it looked. Eagerly, she took another one as Genevieve watched, continuing to smile as she sipped her tea.

Moments later Genevieve went to the dressing table, picking up the onyx bull before she returned to stand in front of Sophie.

“Please keep this little bull to remind you of our time together, Sophie. And take all the biscuits you’d like with you. I have a handkerchief that you may wrap them in.”

Genevieve placed the bull before Sophie and laid down a lace-trimmed handkerchief which she filled with biscuits. As she did so, they magically replenished themselves on the platter.

Sophie’s eyed widened. “Thank you,” she managed to murmur.

“You’re as pretty as your mother, Sophie,” the woman said.

“You know my Mom?” Sophie asked, surprised.

“We met many years ago. She was a very special girl just like you.”

Sophie’s mind raced. Her mom had never mentioned anything about this house or Genevieve. Sophie knew she was awake, but still, it felt like she was dreaming.

Genevieve walked to the window, peering out. “It’s late. Your mother will be worried if you’re not home soon.”

It was nearly five o’clock, and Genevieve was right - her mother would be worried. Besides, she had tons of questions. She stood, brushing crumbs from her lap.

“Don’t forget your biscuits and the little bull, dear,” Genevieve said. “I’m very glad you visited.”

Placing the onyx statue in her pocket, Sophie held the biscuit filled handkerchief in one hand while she stretched out the other. “Thank you, Miss Genevieve.”

The woman smiled as she took Sophie’s hand in both of hers. “The pleasure’s been all mine, Sophie.”

Sophie smiled and walked to the window. Before hoisting herself up, she turned to say goodbye once more, but she found the room empty. Genevieve was gone.

Sophie climbed over the ledge and peered inside the room from the stump. Amazingly, it was again dingy and abandoned. There were no beautiful bed coverings and no Genevieve.

More confused, Sophie hurried home. Once she arrived, she entered and found her mother cooking at the stove. She barely glanced at Sophie as she entered and got a glass of cold water before taking a seat at the table. Sophie quietly emptied her pockets, standing up the bull in front of her beside the cake filled handkerchief.

Sophie’s mother turned around. “So how was……?” her voice trailed off as she saw the bull. Slowly, took a seat at the table, closely watching Sophie.

Sophie raised an eyebrow and stared back at her mother questioningly.

Breaking the silence, her mother spoke. “I see you met Genevieve. She’s very nice, isn’t she? Were the biscuits still delicious?”

Sophie pointed to the handkerchief. “See for yourself,” she said, unwrapping it. But as she did so, the handkerchief fell flat: it was completely empty!

Astonishment filled Sophie’s face, but her mother merely smiled. “Unlike the biscuits, the bull, dear, is very real.”

Her mother rose and left the room, returning moments later with an identical bull in her hand. She laid her bull on the table next to Sophie’s.

“What?!” Sophie’s eyes grew wide. “Who is this Genevieve?”

Her mother retrieved a very old picture from her pocket. It was yellowed, but still a captivating picture of the woman Sophie had encountered. Genevieve was as beautiful in the picture as she had been in person.

“Genevieve is your Great-Great-Grandmother. And she manages to meet every female born into our family. She watches over us,” her mother said.

Sophie picked up the bull statues. As she did so, her mother reached into her other pocket and pulled out two more bulls. “These were my mother’s and grandmother’s. It seems we have a herd of bulls.” It was true. As long as Genevieve watched out for the family, their herd of bulls would grow. How strange!

Her mother grew serious. “You are special, Sophie, and Genevieve knows that. Bulls are a symbol of stability, wealth, courage, and power. Their spirits bind to the earth and give us fierce determination. And the white bull represents purity and wisdom. This is why Genevieve gives us the little bull statues.” Sophie was strangely aware she’d been granted an opportune and magical experience that would remain with her for all her years.

That night as she prepared for bed, Sophie placed the onyx bull on the bedside table where it would be able to watch over her as she slept. She wouldn’t forget Genevieve or the magic. She was hopeful that one day she would have a daughter who would be able to meet Genevieve and claim her own bull.

Feeling immensely privileged and well-loved, Sophie fell asleep with visions of tables laden with tea and biscuits, while statues of beautiful, strong bulls loomed in the background. It was a beautiful dream.