Some of you have asked are these reincarnation stories true .

My answer is that I am not sure. Perhaps a part of my brain has made it all up. But another part of my brain thinks they are true .
 

The Eloise story is particularly vivid and powerful in my mind.
 
I remember lying there in that little room with my legs apart as the mid-wife probed my private parts, utterly horrified at what they were doing, not understanding what they were doing.

I remember the mid-wife raising her finger up with blood on it and nodding her head slowly and turning to show the others.

I still don’t know what it meant to them and at the same time don’t remember what it meant to Eloise but I know the horror of it remains with me in this life.

They told me after to get dressed and I felt dirty. I felt like this must be what sin felt like and it seemed to mean, to my young girl mind, that indeed my body had been defiled by the devil and my own horrified feelings were the proof.

They walked me back to my step-family’s house and I was told to start to pack my things because I had to go away some where else given my shame.

I had no idea that I would have to leave the only home outside the orphanage I had ever known.

I went upstairs, my foster mother following me, trying to comfort me but not wanting the others to see her doing that because that would mean she condoned my sin and it would bad for her if she appeared to be doing that.

She whispered to me as we walked up and was out of ear-shot of the others that “God would forgive me,“and that I had to do penance and once I had been forgiven by God it would all be alright.

I was crying and sobbing as I packed, not sure of where I was going, worried that I would never see Hans again, praying silently to God to forgive me, confused and scared.

They brought the cart around and I looked out my upstairs window to see the neighbors starting to gather to watch what was transpiring. I realized that they all must know about what happened.
 

I looked into the crowd to see if I could see Hans face, but he was no where to be seen.

I could see my father below placing some of my things into the cart and could feel my mother squeeze my elbow telling me that it was time to go.

I descended the stairs feeling like I was descending into hell, afraid to go out and face the shame of everyone seeing me being taken off in the cart.

The whole village was there-parents as was the custom, forcing their children to come and watch what was happening to one who had been shamed. The rector wanted every one of the children to see.

I had been taken to these public shames before and even hangings, in my short time there in that village and now I was the one being shamed.

My mother gave me a tiny cross, showing it to me and then putting it  into my dress pocket as I lifted my self onto the back of the cart as Mr. Houser the blacksmith held the reins ready to snap them launching me toward the next step of my life.

I saw the town recede with all of the village people staring at me, my little bag at my side, creaking and bumping along until they all disappeared as we crested the hill just below the meadow where Hans and I used to meet.

To be continued