by Dana Roquet
“Oh, what did I do…” I began aloud and then it dawned on me—the camcorder!
I ran down the hall to the bedroom and saw that the camcorder had turned off. Okay, so it was ten hours, at least. I glanced at the digital clock at my bedside, 11:00 a.m. I had slept for twelve hours. I went to my computer and switched it on, checking the time and date at the lower right of the monitor screen. That added up and at least, thank God, I hadn’t lost any days.
I took the camera off of the tripod and hurried downstairs and using the adapter, linked the camcorder to my television, pressed play, and clicked on the flat screen. As this was going to be ten hours of me sleeping, I decided that I could afford to let it run unobserved for a minute while I went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and pop a bagel into the toaster oven.
With a nice warm cup of coffee and bagel in hand, I headed back to the front room and placed my breakfast on the table, sitting back on the sofa and sipping at my coffee while I watched the grainy greenish night vision me tossing and turning and then finally settling in for a night’s sleep on the screen before me. The picture didn’t change significantly for several minutes. I could watch the time pass by, by watching the digital alarm clock on the night stand. By 10:47 p.m. I could hear my breathing had slowed and I was sound asleep, lying totally still on my back with my hands folded over my waist.
I continued to watch myself sleep, enjoying my coffee, looking for any signs of change or movement and seeing none as the minutes ticked by, 10:52, 10:59, 11:06, 11:17 and then soon my thoughts strayed, wandering back to the night that I had just shared as Jennie Andersen Mills with her new husband Wyatt.
I felt myself start to react physically as glimpses of that wedding night ran through my mind. I’ve never been worshipped by a man, not like Wyatt had worshipped Jennie as he had made love to her for the first time in both of their lives. It had been a little awkward and it had been unsatisfyingly quick for Jennie because Wyatt, bless him, had tried his best but he had been a young man of nineteen so… But it wasn’t the act so much as it was the total adoration that he had shown her that is amazing to me now and is something that I have never experienced in my own life. Maybe it’s just that in this day and age when casual sex is the norm and people don’t connect on all levels or any level except one before they have sex—but as Wyatt had undressed me slowly; unhurried and relishing every moment, it had been as if he were savoring the last taste of a decadent piece of fine chocolate or the last sip of a very expensive wine.
Wyatt loved the process, first letting my hair down as he loosed my long blonde curls and set the hair pins aside on a nearby dresser top. His hands were buried in my hair as he kissed me deeply and then he cupped my face, lightly running his thumbs along my chin as he looked into my eyes and held my gaze for a moment before his eyes and his hands moved to my throat and he started to carefully work each tiny pearl button open that ran from the modest high neck, to the waist of my gown. He glanced down into my eyes often, with his warm brown gaze, as he worked.
My breath hitched as I anticipated and he watched my face, gaging my reaction while he slipped his hand inside the open blouse to hesitantly cup his hand over one of my breasts, then growing bolder, he gently moved the fabric off of my shoulder, kissed the curve of my neck, and licked lightly with his tongue while sliding my arms out of the sleeves. I provided no assistance and he didn’t want or need any help, as he carefully pulled the blouse from the waistband and slipped it from my body. He paused to lightly run his hands over my shoulders and upper arms as if settling a skittish horse before, with adept fingers he reached around my waist to unfasten the several buttons running down the back of my skirt and then he allowed the garment to drop to the floor. The ribbon at the neck of my lacey chemise was loosed next and it slipped off of my shoulders and his eyes slid down over my body, clothed in only white silk stockings and my shoes.
“Dear lord, Jennie you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, awestruck. “Lovely—so soft, like satin,” he marveled as his fingertips lightly moved over my chest just above my full breasts.
I found my pulse increasing and a flush of desire suddenly blazed through me for this man who was in truth a perfect stranger but at the same time, someone who had been known to me in several other time travels and in varying roles, but as I gazed up into his eyes, I had a definite sense that the feelings that he was stirring in me now were not my own but, in fact, were Jennie’s feelings, her love and desire for him being transmitted through me and affecting me.
I boldly reached up and pulled on his tie until it loosened and unbuttoned his collar, gently kissing his neck. He released his breath, smoothing his hands down my back while lifting his head to give me more access to the tender spot and I couldn’t help but oblige, kissing and running a light tongue over the slightly salty tasting jut of his strong jawline. I unbuttoned his shirt, stripped off his suit coat, and then wrestled just a bit with the toggle closures of his cufflinks.
Seeming to be at the end of his ability to wait longer, Wyatt stopped me there, lifting me into his arms and laying me across the bed, resting my head upon a soft down-filled feather pillow. I lay languid on the cool fresh linen sheets, watching as he quickly removed his shirt and slipped out of his trousers and underclothes. I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift down along the lines of his form, admiring his body that was lean and muscular from farm work, as he slowly crawled onto the bed.
***
I returned abruptly from my remembering, set my coffee cup down soundly and jumped up from the sofa in a panic as I paced back and forth before the television and glanced at myself totally still and slumbering peacefully on the screen before me.
“Oh, my God I must be losing my mind,” I stammered aloud, crossing my arms over my chest and clutching my elbows, trying to hold myself together and halt the trembling that was rippling through my entire body. “What in God’s name is happening to me?”
Chapter 22
“Well, good day, Miss Mills,” Dave answered with a tone to his voice that made me feel sure that he was smiling on the other end of the line.
Just by hearing Dave’s warm and welcoming voice, I felt a little more balanced and a little less insane. After the extreme time travel that I’d experienced last night, I have decided that I really need to get some normal time with someone to get a handle on my mental state, and the most normal down-to-earth person that I know in Fremont, Iowa is, hands down, Dave Cameron.
“Hey, Dave, I’ve been thinking about you a lot since I saw you yesterday at the store—realizing that I’ve been missing your company, and I thought to myself, what the heck, so I’m calling to see if you might be free tonight, and if so, to see if you’d like to get together?”
With a mixture of hope and dread at what seemed like such a huge leap I was taking and just praying that Dave would catch me and not let me fall; I screwed up my face, cringing with embarrassment and covering my eyes with my hand, as I waited for him to accept my invitation or shoot me down. After a moment I went on to clarify further “I was thinking that maybe we could have dinner at the diner or drinks and a few games of pool at Stevie’s.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Dave said right away. “How about you come over to my house, and let me fix dinner for you?”
“No—” I began to automatically argue against the idea but then as the thought of an evening with his undivided company sounded so inviting I said “—Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”
“Are you kidding me, Torie? I would love to have you over and to fix you a nice steak dinner. Besides, you’ve never even met my dog or seen my house,” he said wryly, as if slightly offended about these truths.
“You know—I don’t even know for sure where you live,” I admitted.
“I’m just north of the cemetery about two-thirds of a mile and on the left side of the road. You can’t miss it. How does seven o’clock sound?” he suggested and I had to admit that he really did sound stoked about the idea
.
I looked at the clock and saw that it was just now 12:15.
“I’ll be there. Should I make something—maybe bring a dish of some kind?” I offered.
“Nope, just bring yourself. I’ve got it handled.”
“Okay,” I paused realizing that it was all settled and that there was nothing else to discuss.
“Well—I’ll see you tonight then.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’m so glad that you called, Torie.”
“So am I. I’ll see you then.”
After I hung up the phone, I decided to get cleaned up and go into Des Moines. I felt so relieved at having an excuse to get out of the house for a while that I called and scheduled an appointment at Roslin’s. After the appointment I would still have enough time do some shopping at the mall for a new outfit to wear to my dinner date. This seemed like a much better plan than just sitting in my house the rest of the day, wallowing in the majorly disturbing memories of last night and all of the nights that were starting to add up to the only plausible conclusion—that I am going stark raving mad.
***
As I passed by the cemetery and headed on up the gravel road toward Dave’s home, the first look I had of the place caused me to slow to a stop as glimpses of it flashed between the screen of trees and unkempt weeds that dotted the fence-line and the ditches along the road. The house was huge and imposing was my first impression but as I started along the road again and the obstructions came to an end, I saw that it had the fanciful look of a gingerbread house with elaborate wood details and half timbers. Scalloped shingles in rich dark-red covered the turrets and the steep roofline which had gabled dormer windows jutting out in different directions and that were decorated with fretwork that looked as if the gables were covered by delicate old-fashioned lace.
“Wow,” I breathed in awe as I realized that Dave Cameron had made his home an absolute study of Victorian architecture and an eye-popping showplace.
I pulled into the driveway and parked, looking into my rearview mirror as I ran my manicured fingertips through my hair to arrange my freshly trimmed bangs and to check my makeup for the tenth time since I’d applied it. I was more than a little nervous about this dinner, although it really shouldn’t be a big deal because, honestly, I know Dave Cameron practically better than any man I’ve known in my lifetime. Still, it took me a couple of moments of internal motivational pep talking to calm my nerves and bolster my wavering courage, after turning off the engine.
I knew that I looked presentable in a new pair of blue jean capri pants, strappy sandals, and a burnt-orange blouse that didn’t clash with my dark auburn hair. The sleeveless top sat just at my waist with a neckline that attractively showed a little cleavage but was not overly revealing. I was also wearing a new set of midnight-blue lace bra and panties that were very sheer and revealing although I, of course, do not anticipate this being a night when that should be of any concern. It’s just that nice lingerie makes me feel good—more feminine, even if no one but me will ever see it.
With one final check of my appearance I shored up my courage, took up my purse and climbed out, following the stonework sidewalk edged by shrubberies and flowers, and walked underneath an English ivy-covered arbor to enter the manicured front yard—it was like stepping into the past. The work that he’d done on my house had been exquisite, but this—it was obvious to me that he had lovingly restored every single detail—from the whimsical second story turreted room that looked like something out of a medieval fairytale, to the ornate Victorian wrap-around porches and all the way down to the ornamental flower beds, stone walkways and scalloped picket fencing.
I rang the doorbell and heard a dog barking from somewhere inside the house and then the barking came closer and closer until it was just on the other side of the door, and then the door opened and Dave stood there in a nice chocolate-brown button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up about mid-forearm and blue jeans. He had a welcoming grin on his clean-shaven face and his straight, dark hair was falling over his forehead, the sexy way that it always does, just perfect. The dog sat quietly a few feet back—very well-mannered, but his tail was swishing back and forth happily in anticipation of a new human to adore.
“Hi,” Dave said simply and swept his arm in a gesture ushering me into the front foyer.
I reached down to pet the German shepherd, who rose to all fours and stood quietly next to Dave as I entered.
“Shadow, this pretty lady is Torie. Torie, this is my boy, Shadow.”
“Very nice to meet you, Shadow,” I greeted him and he sat briefly again in order to offer me a paw which I accepted and politely shook.
“My goodness what a big boy you are,” I observed noting that the dog was very large and not only as in his impressive height.
“Yeah, we’re working on that. He’s on a diet, but so far it’s not working,” Dave said with a shrug, shooting a disgruntled look at his dog.
I stepped on into the main space of the foyer as Dave closed the door and I couldn’t help but whisper a little breathy “ooh” at first sight of the space which was open and airy, with a sprawling curved staircase. The first few stairs of the case were rounded and fanned out to draw the eye and then one’s gaze couldn’t help but move upward, following the shining oak banisters until reaching a landing halfway up the flight, where the waning rays of sunshine were lighting a huge brilliantly colored stained-glass window.
“Oh Dave, this is just lovely,” I sighed. “Did you install the stained-glass yourself?”
It was composed of hundreds of leaded diamond-shaped panes with the glass stained in blues, yellows, greens and reds which combined, created a whimsical garden scene of brilliant flowers and had the effect of casting a warm glow across the entire foyer.
“No it was added at the time that the house was built back in the 1880’s. I just have to keep it up but it’s pretty durable. I think it’s only needed to be worked on a couple of times in 130 years, including one misadventure involving, a golf ball, my brother Adam and the loss of car privilege’s for a month,” he gave me a lopsided smile. “Enough said.”
“Well it’s beautiful,” I repeated and only then noticed the framed photographs of ancestors that were lovingly displayed on the wall leading up the stairs, just as I had in my own house and I smiled at him, knowingly. Great minds think alike.
“Let me show you around,” Dave said and extended a hand toward me. I took it without demure, falling back into the comfort I had shared with him during our months of working together on my house. He had often taken my hand to drag me around the floor of a salvage shop or to keep tabs on me as we had wandered through the yard of an estate sale; “to keep me on task”, he’d always say, because I had tended to get carried away with browsing if he didn’t keep up the momentum.
We took a tour of some of the lower rooms beginning with a large front room dominated by an impressive fireplace made from natural stone and with a hearth that was head high to me. Off to the far side of this room, a smaller sitting room likely used by ladies to entertain or do their sewing back at the turn of the century. Next was the library slash den slash man cave which was lined with shelves full of memorabilia and books, and a desk that held the impedimenta of Dave’s trade, his computer and a stack of design books. Near a leaded pane-glassed window on the far wall, stood an architect’s drafting table covered by a sheet of draft paper.
I paused here to take a peek at the detailed particulars of what was obviously an old-fashioned carriage house. I looked over at him with a questioning lifted brow.
“It’s out on the edge of New Sharon,” he explained. “The owner wants the carriage house converted into a guest house. They want it to maintain the look but the inside will be a nice little two bedroom apartment.”
I nodded, leaning over to inspect the details and decided that it looked as though it was going to be a pretty nice place.
“Come on,” he said, turning and gently tugging at my hand.
Next
up on the tour was the formal dining room with a mammoth crystal chandelier that hung over a large antique table and Dave flipped on and adjusted up a dimmer light briefly to give me the full effect of the sparkling crystal-droplet antique chandelier before we moved on; to an expansive family room with yet another fireplace and a wall of windows facing the back of the house with an uninhibited view for miles.
All the while as we strolled, we were accompanied by Shadow calmly walking along with us, his tail wagging intermittently in response to the tone of his master’s voice as Dave described this and that feature of the rooms, giving me a brief overview of the history of the house. The home was full of so many family heirlooms and vintage touches that it put all of my efforts at my house to shame.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Dave asked as we entered the large country kitchen. I have some Miller Light or…”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, putting my purse down on the center island and gazing out the matching two-thirds-view custom cherry-wood doors to the deck out back. The gas grill was already smoking, and after Dave pressed a chilled glass of beer into my hand, he took his own drink and excused himself with a light and completely innocent touch of his hand across my back in a slight caress as he went out to check on the steaks. The touch was innocent on his part but I’d noticed and it gave me a warm feeling as I followed him outside and stood enjoying the spectacular view of the gently rolling fields as the sun, lowering in the west, began casting long shadows over the scene.
“This is all your land?” I asked looking out over soybeans as far as the eye could see.
