No. This couldn’t be real.
A hand rested on her shoulder. Isla didn’t turn. She didn’t want Ella, or anyone, to see her like this. She couldn’t be weak. Weak wasn’t safe. But the scalding in her eyes leaked down her cheeks despite her repulsion.
Ella turned Isla to face her, looking too much like Momma. Isla needed to get out of there. But her feet wouldn’t budge, the tears wouldn’t dry, and her lips couldn’t contain the sob she didn’t want to escape.
Without warning, Ella wrapped her in a hug. She smelled of lavender and wood smoke.
Isla buried her face in the fabric at Ella’s neck as Ella’s melodious voice brushed the words of a forgotten hymn over her crumbling heart.
How weird to feel both at home and out of place all at once. The whole out-of-place thing Isla was used to. She carried that baggage around like a ragged teddy bear. But how could she feel at home with these strangers? Bizarrely dressed people she’d met only an hour before had happily invited her to their table, shared their food, and now excitedly talked about their Christmas plans with her as if she belonged?
The cheery crackle of the fire warming her back gave the room a festive atmosphere, and the plates of food stacked on the sideboard across the room gave off delectable aromas that mingled with lively conversation. She surveyed the Remington family as she chewed on a warm yeast roll.
Westley, Ella’s husband, sat at the head of the long dining room table. He looked the part of the romantic hero, only a slight limp swaying his perfection back toward humanity. She could see why any woman would love a man like that. He’d pulled the chairs out for each of the ladies at his table, Isla included.
Ella’s son had dark hair and eyes the same as Westley’s, but Isla could tell they weren’t related. Or maybe she could only see it because she knew the family’s history. Either way, Lee had more refined features than his father, and his full lips curved into a smile that hadn’t seemed to leave his mouth all evening.
The two daughters appeared radically different. Matilda, who looked a couple of years younger than Isla’s own age, shared her father’s dark hair, which had been artistically piled on the top of her head. Her green eyes must have come from her mother.
The eldest, Ailsa, who sat at Isla’s side, was a striking beauty of about eighteen or so with flaming auburn hair and a set of stormy blue eyes. She’d shown no great surprise by Isla’s presence and had greeted her with a quick smile. Isla found her interesting, not only because of her striking appearance and welcoming attitude, but mostly by the very odd way she dressed. From what Isla could tell, Ailsa’s elaborate dress sported a “bustle.” And a bustle was a weird contraption attached to a girl’s backside.
Isla dropped her gaze before Ailsa could catch her staring and stabbed a chunk of roasted pork with a silver fork. Why would anyone want their bottom to look huge? She cut a glance to her side. How did Ailsa sit in that thing? Her own dress covered her with entirely too much material, but at least she didn’t have to try to sit on—what was that under there? A kind of pillow?—underneath it all.
On the way into the dining room, Isla had made a point to notice the backside of Ella’s dress. It had folds of fabric falling in a waterfall of ruffles but lacked the distinctive plushness of her daughter’s dress.
Matilda seemed less interested in the ridiculous fashion, though her own lavender gown still sported plenty of folds along the rump. The quiet girl hadn’t said much so far, but her open face sprinkled with light freckles held warmth and acceptance.
“Tell us, Miss Laird, how are you related to the family?” Ailsa asked, poking at a pile of cooked carrots.
Isla cut a glance at Ella. “Distantly, I think.”
Westley waved a hand at his daughter and laughed. “I’m sure our guest would rather speak of things more interesting than family lineage.”
Did he just wink at her? She looked back to Ella, who gave her a knowing grin. So she’d informed her husband about Isla’s unusual appearance, had she? And neither of them were freaked out by that? Was something wrong with these people?
Rather than being annoyed with her father, Ailsa only laughed. “Forgive me, Miss Laird. Of course you will wish to speak of other things.” She looked around as if to think what those other things might be, then her eyes sparkled. “Christmas! Of course. We shall speak of Christmas. Will you be joining us for the festivities?”
Before she could form an answer, Lee leaned over the table from where he sat at his father’s side. “You really should join us. Mother makes quite a fuss, and we celebrate for three days! Basil will have more food in this house than all of Greenville could eat!”
“And will your lovely Miss Presley be joining us this year?” Matilda asked, a sly smile bringing and awkward grin from her brother.
“I had thought to ask.” He glanced at Westley. “With your permission, of course.”
What weird people. They were both friendly yet proper, sophisticated but warm. Isla forked a succulent spoonful of creamed potatoes into her mouth and watched the interactions of the people around her. What would it be like to have a family like this?
They continued their conversations, lightly teasing about Lee’s sweetheart and debating whether Ailsa’s beau would ask for her hand this Christmas or wait until the New Year celebration. All very archaic and proper, which Isla found fascinating. No one had their face stuck in a phone, more interested in the virtual than the people in front of them. They all seemed happy to be together.
They included her in their talk, telling her of Scottish traditions and how, since Christmas had been banned in Scotland for, like, forever, Ella made a point to have a lavish affair at Belmont every year. Ella told her all about bannock cakes and black buns and how they kept the Scottish New Year celebration—called Hogmanay—with traditional Scottish food, dancing, and songs.
Peace filled this place in a way Isla hadn’t been able to enjoy in such a long time. Guilt panged her as soon as the thought crossed her mind. That wasn’t totally true. Jody had offered a warm environment and always tried to make things fun. Isla was the one who had continually shoved those attempts aside.
What was Jody doing now? Worried sick over where Isla had gone?
“So you’ll help us make them, won’t you, Miss Laird?”
Not used to being called by her last name, it took Isla a second to respond to Ella’s question. “Uh, sure.” What were they making?
Dread pummeled her like a linebacker from the blindside. Not something in the kitchen! She didn’t do any sort of cooking. Not since that day in the Yates house.
Invisible flames from the recesses of her mind flared around her, and Isla had to forcefully blink them away. She didn’t want to do anything that would wreck these nice people’s Christmas. Besides, she wouldn’t be here that long. After supper she’d step back through the painting.
But after supper there were card games by the crackling fire in the parlor, stories of Christmases past, and cups of tea with gingerbread cookies. It had grown well past dark by the time Isla slipped away and returned to the music room. But she found the painting as closed as it had been hours before.
“I don’t think it will allow you through again,” Ella said from behind her. “Not until your purpose here is completed.”
Lamplight flickered across the carpeting, giving a merry glow to the room dipped in shadows. Isla sighed. “What purpose?”
“I’m not sure,” Ella responded, “but my guess is that you will know it when the time is right.”
How could she be so calm about something like this? “And you don’t think this entire time-travel thing is just crazy?” Isla threw up her arms. “I mean, I came through a painting on your wall. I don’t belong here.”
Ella wrapped a comforting arm around Isla and held the lantern up toward the painting with the other. “This painting was meant to try to capture a place too beautiful to ever be contained by something made of human hands.” She gave Isla’s shoulder a squeeze. “I admi
t to being rather surprised that you visited a place that only came to me in my dreams. But then, I know God often has a very strange way of doing things.” She laughed. “Well, strange to us, perhaps. I imagine His ways are perfectly sensible to someone who knows everything.”
Isla shifted. “You think God sent me through a painting?”
“I see no one else who possibly could. It is a rather outlandish occurrence and completely outside natural ability.”
God preformed some kind of special miracle for her. But why?
God is the Father of the fatherless and protector of widows.
Bits of scripture floated into her head and warmed her heart. He was doing something special for her because orphans were dear to Him. In that moment love filled her in a way she hadn’t experienced before. It filled her from deep within, as though God opened her heart to pour love inside and then got distracted until it overflowed onto everything else.
The painting had hung flat on the wall in the B&B back in the twenty-first century. Lifeless. Until God himself did something miraculous. For her.
Something Ella had said earlier clicked. “You asked me about a him. You didn’t really see God by that tree, did you?”
Ella gently turned Isla away from the painting and guided her toward the door. “I saw the most beautiful place in my dreams and spoke with someone whom I can only remember as the embodiment of love. I do believe God used those dreams to speak to me and guide me through a difficult time.” They stepped out of the music room and into the hallway. “And after praying about it, I believe you’ve been sent here to me because I have something to teach you.”
“What?”
Ella started up the stairs. “I have no idea.”
Great. Torn between wanting to stay and see what happened and worry over Jody, Isla remained quiet. What could she do about it anyway? On the upper floor, they passed the room Sandra had told her belonged to Ella, where Isla was supposed to be staying, and turned into a room across the hall.
“I took the liberty of having a room prepared for you, as well as some necessities for your stay.”
When had she done that? Isla poked her head into the room, where a bright fire crackled in the fireplace and the warmth chased away the chill that settled on the hallway. Isla shifted her feet. “Uh, thanks.”
Ella guided her through the door. She set the lamp down and then turned a little knob up at the bottom. The light brightened. “A nightdress and dressing gown are there.” She pointed to a chair, where two long garments were draped. Then she pointed to something by the wall that looked like someone had taken five tall shutters and stuck them together. “There is a washbasin and soap behind the dressing screen.”
Isla nodded. Oh. So that’s what that thing was.
“And I provided a couple of dresses in the wardrobe for you to choose from in the morning.”
Remembering the thing Ailsa wore, Isla withheld her grimace and managed a polite, “Thank you,” before Ella closed the door and left her to examine the room on her own.
The same house, two very different times. Though, now that she thought of it, other than the missing ceiling fan and a lamp instead of lights, nothing had really changed. Same old-fashioned furniture and—
Wait. Where was the bathroom?
Isla frowned. Ella had said something about a basin. She stepped over by a large mirror to the wood partition creating a private nook in the corner. Behind the divider, a wooden stand contained a big bowl and a pitcher. Her frown deepened.
History had not been her thing, but she was pretty sure that some people had plumbing in the late eighteen hundreds. Didn’t they?
She made a slow turn until her eyes landed on a box by the side of the bed. She stepped over to it and lifted the lid, revealing a big white pot.
The forgotten term chamber pot slithered into her mind, and she shuddered. No way. Not happening.
Isla stared at it. Nope. She could wait until morning. There had to be something better somewhere else in the house. With that in mind, she set to work on all the buttons down the front of her dress. No less than a dozen tiny buttons later, she had the front of the thing open and finally got her arms free. She shimmied the rest of the way out of the pool of fabric and draped it across the bed.
Despite losing the dress, she still had another skirt on underneath. She had to reach behind her to untie this one. After she stepped out of that, there was another thing wrapped around her waist. A corset. This proved harder to untie, but thankfully she finally got it unwound from her waist and dropped it on the floor.
She now stood in a very long nightgown with a pair of lacy pants underneath. Why not just wear this dress to bed instead of the other one? Deciding it didn’t make any difference, she gently arranged the dress and its many pieces across the top of the desk and then turned the covers back on the bed.
The mattress was lumpy but soft. After a moment under the quilt, she realized she’d have to do something about the lamp, so she got back up, crossed the room, fetched it, and placed it on her nightstand. She turned the knob down as she’d seen Ella do, but that only dimmed the light. She couldn’t leave even a tiny flame burning while she slept.
Isla cast a glance at the fireplace. That was different. After inspecting the lantern for a moment, she realized the shaped glass could be removed. She gently lifted it, set it aside, and blew out the tiny fire. Pitch black immediately engulfed her.
Fear tingled down her arms, and she squeezed her eyes tight. If she couldn’t see how dark it was in here, then she couldn’t be afraid. Insects loudly buzzed outside—at least she hoped they were all outside—filling the air with nature sounds she hadn’t listened to in years.
Breathing slowly, Isla tried to forget the darkness and asked God to help her through this very weird experience. Here alone in the stillness, the reality of her situation caused her stomach to sour and her heart to pound.
She wanted Jody.
The realization struck her with such force that her eyes popped open. Where had that come from? In the years since her parents’ deaths, each time she’d found herself afraid, she had always longed for her mother. When had that longing been replaced?
Had she betrayed her mother by caring for Jody?
Peace settled over her. No. It wasn’t a betrayal to the mother who couldn’t be with her. Instead, it said something about the relationship she had been developing with Jody. The woman made her feel safe. Accepted.
Isla groaned. She’d been so stupid. Repeatedly pushing Jody away.
Tears pricked and ran down her cheeks as Isla stared into the darkness. She’d hoped to find family here, but what if the family she longed for was the one left worrying about her in the future? Did Jody think she’d run away?
I’m sorry, Lord.
The prayer drifted up to the canopy over her, slipping to the unseen places. If she ever made it back to the right time, she owed Jody an apology as well.
“Good morning!”
The cheery cry ripped Isla from her sleep, and she bolted upright in the bed. It took a second for her eyes to focus on the redheaded woman standing in her doorway. At the sight of Ella looking as chipper as a caffeinated squirrel, the past day’s events sprang forward with sudden clarity.
“I’m still here.”
Ella flounced into the room and closed the door behind her. “So you are. I’d begun to wonder since it’s well past sunrise, so I’ve come to check on you.” She grinned. “But here you are. Still abed.”
Isla blinked at the tightly drawn curtains. “What time is it?”
“Already a half past eight.”
And that was late? She withheld her grumbling and swung the covers off, placing her bare feet on the cold floor. The fire must have gone out sometime in the night, and the room hadn’t held onto any of that warmth. She rubbed her arms down her sleeves.
“I’ll help you dress, and then we can join the rest of the family for a late breakfast.”
Isla pinched her lips together.
“Then we have an entire day of festivities planned.” Ella grinned and walked over to the closet, swinging open the doors with a flourish. “The men will go cut evergreen branches for us, and I spotted the perfect tree this summer that Westley promised to fetch for me.”
She pulled a brown dress covered with small white flowers from the closet. “You’ll help us decorate. It’ll be lovely!”
The prospect of an old-fashioned family Christmas did sound fun. Her heart pinched. Poor Jody had wanted that too. “I’ll have to check the painting first. I need to at least tell Jody where I’ve gone.”
Ella handed her the dress. “Certainly. But if it remains closed, you’ll promise to enjoy this day the Lord has given us.”
She’d given a statement, not asked a question, but Ella waited as though expecting a response from Isla anyway.
“Okay.”
Ella tilted her head. “You have a strange way of speaking, my dear, but may I assume you’ve given your acquiescence?”
“Uh…yes.”
“Good.” She took the dress back out of Isla’s hand. “I’ll help you dress.”
“Why?”
Rather than answer her question, Ella merely stared at her. “Are you unaccustomed to another lady helping you with your dressing?”
“I haven’t had anyone help me get dressed since I was, like, six.” She took a step back. Totally weird.
Ella offered a reassuring smile. “Very well. If you need anything, just call. Someone will come to assist you.”
She stepped out of the room, leaving Isla standing in confusion. It wasn’t until after Ella closed the door, however, that she realized she still didn’t know where to find the bathroom. Isla dashed across the floor and pulled open the door.
“Hey!”
Ella turned at the top of the staircase. “Yes?”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Isla walked out into the hall, and Ella’s eyes widened. She hurried forward and gestured Isla back into the room. “You can’t come out of your chamber without a dressing gown!”
The Hope of Christmas Past Page 4
