by C J M Naylor
My dream had been so vivid. I could not remember the last time I had had a dream that vivid. What had happened to Mrs. Baxter? Why was she there anyway? Did it mean something?
I relaxed my body and closed my eyes. I let myself be consumed by thoughts and questions. What did anything mean?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tap. Tap. Tap.
What was that sound?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My eyes popped open and I veered them in the direction of the noise. A bird was simply tapping on the window, awakening me to the day. My thoughts turned to the dream I had had the night before. What had it meant? A knock sounded throughout my room suddenly, and my attention turned toward the bedroom door.
The door opened and my mother stepped into the room. She was dressed for work. I wondered vaguely what time it was.
"Abby," she said, "I need to be leaving for work. But Ian is here. He's downstairs. I told him I would have you get ready, but do it quickly. He really wants to speak with you."
Ian was here. I wondered if it had anything to do with Mathias, but nevertheless I tore myself from my bed and ran to the bathroom to get ready.
As I walked down the stairs of the house, I could see Ian standing in the living room. He was admiring some photographs of my family, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. I noticed he often leaned forward on the balls of his feet when he was simply waiting around.
"Hello, Ian," I said, entering the living room.
He turned around and smiled at me. His smile was a work of art, painted on his face. It was a grin that would catch the attention of any young lady.
"Abby, I'm sorry to come without notice, but I really wanted to talk to you about Mathias."
I took a seat on the couch and he sat next to me.
"What about Mathias?" I asked rather coldly.
"First off," Ian began, "to make amends, he wants to give you your own key to the lift to the Headquarters." Ian pulled a copy of the same key I had always seen him use out of his pocket. He handed it to me.
"A key to the place," I responded. “And he thinks that will make everything okay."
Ian sighed.
"Mathias is a very disgruntled man. He isn't sociable, he lacks social skills for that matter. He's wasted away his life. The loss of his wife, the loss of you, well, it took a toll on him. He became a recluse. In fact, I think that night he went to dinner with you and Phillip was the first time he had really been out in a long time. I'm usually the one to go out and buy the supplies we might need. I just don't want you to think he's a terrible person, it's just, it's just hard for him."
For a moment, I sat there in silence. I considered what Ian had told me and related it back to Mathias. If I had my husband die and my child taken away, I knew I would be in pieces. I wouldn't have a clue where to go from there. Friends and family would still be there for me, but I would feel lost. I would want to be a recluse. But I knew I was stronger than that. It might be hard for a little while and it might seem okay to become a recluse, but I would save myself. I would get out of it. But it seemed like Mathias had not been able to do that. He had let it take him. But he had still been in a rage that night.
"He was just in such a rage," I finally said, "it just scared me. I can try and overlook that, but I just don't want another confrontation with him like that again. But I feel like it is unavoidable. I mean he never tells me more than I need to know and he doesn't act like a father at all. But the biggest issue of all is that I want to know, I need to know more about my biological mother. I don't know what it is, but I just have this strong desire to know who she was and why she gave me to that orphanage. I want to know what she was running from."
For a brief moment, I wondered if I should confide in Ian about the letter that had been left for my mother. The letter telling me to not go looking—the letter telling me that my biological father was dead.
"Let's go there then," Ian spoke up, "you should find out the name from your mother. And we will go there, me and you. If Mathias doesn't want to help you, then I will."
My eyes had watered up a bit. I looked at him. I could tell he was being honest, but I said it anyway.
"Do you mean that?" I asked.
"Of course," he answered, "I consider you a friend now and friends help each other out."
I smiled at him and then went to phone my mother at work.
The building was St. Agnus' Orphanage, located just a mile away from Trafalgar Square. It was the orphanage that my parents had come to in order to adopt a child. My mum had told me that late one night they got a phone call about a newborn baby who needed a home. That newborn baby was me and they had quickly traveled to the orphanage to complete the adoption.
The building was built in between two other buildings and felt hidden from society. Ian and I traveled side by side down the street. We hadn't talked much since we left Barton street. There was a feeling of excitement in my veins. I felt like I was going to find something out. Really, if I found out anything about my mother here, that would help.
Ian knocked on the door of the orphanage and a nun opened the door. She looked kind and gentle and quickly invited us in.
"You'll find it is rather quiet," the nun said, closing the door behind her. "Most of the children have been evacuated to the country, though a few remain. I'm Sister Margaret, how can I help you? Are you looking to adopt?"
I quickly shook my head, not thinking that the nuns might jump to that conclusion since I was with Ian.
"We were hoping that you could provide us with information about the night a young baby was left here,” Ian said.
"Abigail?" Sister Margaret said.
Sister Margaret looked at me, a look of familiarity coming across her face.
"You look just like her," she said, "your mother."
"Elisabeth," I responded.
Sister Margaret beckoned us to follow her into an office nearby. We did and took seats in front of her desk.
"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell," Sister Margaret said, "the whole ordeal was rather short. But in the wee hours of December 8th, 1925, a young woman came to our door. She would not reveal her name, you said it was Elisabeth. She was very determined about not revealing herself. But she had you in her arms; you had literally just been born. The poor woman was distraught and she was weak. I tried to get her to stay, I was hoping to find out more information. But she needed to leave as quickly as she had come. She only told us to find you a home as quick as we could and to make sure that your parents were good people. She left you with us, told us your name, left a letter for your adoptive parents, and she was gone. We never heard from her again."
I had not realized until she was finished that I had been crying. My face was wet with hot tears. I quickly wiped them away and spoke.
"She didn't say if she was running from someone? We just, we have a feeling someone was hunting her. I don't think it was a suicide."
"She gave no inclination of such a thing," Sister Margaret said, "but whether that is the case or not, I am deeply sorry. She seemed like a very kind woman, and she was brave in bringing you to us. It must have taken a lot to separate herself from you."
I had no words. I found myself being consumed by my emotions. The only thing I recalled was Ian thanking Sister Agnus and then we were on our way.
Ian and I sat on a bench near the Thames. My thoughts were a tangled mess. I found my eyes veering over to stare at the Tower Bridge near us. The bridge loomed menacingly over the water. It seemed like a giant monster to me as I thought about the horrific events that occurred there that night.
"What are you thinking about?"
Ian's voice was soft, friendly. I looked at him, his expression was one of caring.
"She was trying to protect me. I know she was. I want to know who did this to her, and why. I want justice for her."
The idea that someone could tarnish a woman's life, force her to give up her family, and ultimately take her life away from her disgusted me. I wanted
to see justice for the life my mother never had, for me, the daughter she would never know, and ultimately, even if the two of us could not see eye to eye, for Mathias.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The decision I made was to give Mathias another chance. After we talked by Thames for a while, Ian and I made our way to the familiar Parliament building and through the familiar passages to get to the underground Headquarters. This time around, I used my own key to gain entrance into the Headquarters and did all of the steps from there.
"You got in, all on your own," Ian said, as the lift began to descend far below the building into the Headquarters.
"I learn from the best," I responded.
I thought about Mathias and my reasoning to return. He was still my teacher if not anything else and there were things that I needed to know. I needed to know if my dreams were premonitions too, if something terrible was going to happen to Mrs. Baxter, and if I could prevent it.
Ian walked me into the study area and then disappeared through a door. Mathias sat at his desk—he looked more disheveled than usual. His attention seemed to be entirely on the papers before him. In fact, I didn't think he had even noticed us come in. I cleared my throat and he looked up. He looked at me for a moment and then looked back down again.
"So, why did you decide to return?" he asked, his attention still on the work before him.
"I'm still interested in learning," I said, "and you also gave me a key."
"Listen to me," he said. His eyes were at my level and they appeared menacing. "Did you meet anyone there?"
"Did I meet anyone where?" I asked.
"Where you found the necklace, damn it!" Mathias spat.
"No."
It was a lie. Even if I had felt some sympathy for him earlier, I still didn't trust him and I knew he didn't trust me so why should we share secrets? He owed me more answers than I owed him anyway.
"Are you being followed?"
I looked at him in bewilderment.
"Of course, I'm not being followed. Don't you think I'd know if I was?"
But then I thought about it. I remembered the menacing notes, that would be considered following, but then how would he know about it. Unless he was the writer of the menacing notes, but I shrugged this idea off. It couldn't be him.
"Listen," I said, "I'm fine. I won't go back there again." Another lie.
"Stay away from that place. No good can come of it. Otherwise, I wouldn't have left."
I walked over to the divan and took my usual seat.
"I didn't come back here today just to jump back into things. I want some answers." I hesitated. "I need them."
"Abigail, I am not in a position to speak about your mother right now if this is what you're referring to."
I shook my head in frustration. "Listen, it isn't that. I had a dream—it was disturbing."
"They are called nightmares," Mathias answered, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, "they are common in humans."
"That isn't what I'm talking about," I shot back. "I'd appreciate it if you would give me a moment to explain before you just give me your textbook answer."
Mathias didn't reply to me, so I continued.
"The dream was disturbing, but it wasn't a nightmare. It felt real. It was as if I could feel the intensity of the situation, as if I were there in the moment. When I woke up, it felt like it had actually happened, but it was too horrible to have happened, if that makes sense."
"Premonitions are something that Timekeepers have regularly," Mathias answered, "however it is not uncommon for Timekeepers to have very vivid dreams. While the dreams are usually not exact premonitions of the future, their events may contain messages relevant to things that may happen or have happened. Describe the dream to me."
I recounted the horrible details of the dream, including what had happened to Mrs. Baxter. I described how she had walked into some sort of light at the end.
"It sounds as if you are being prepared for something." Mathias gave me a questioning look as he said this, and I returned his look with one of curiosity. What was I being prepared for?
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Mathias looked at me for a moment longer and then turned away.
"We must continue. We have something important to discuss today."
For the first time, I decided not to press him. I was tired of pressing people for answers. What good did it do? Perhaps if I listened to what he wanted, he would tell me more later on.
"Abigail, this is what I wanted to discuss today."
He extended his arm and lifted a piece of paper off his desk. He held it out to me. I took it and began reading.
The Council of the Timekeepers is excited to announce the training of a new Timekeeper: Abigail Jordan, daughter of Mathias Benedict (Timekeeper of the United Kingdom). Miss Jordan's training is currently underway. All Timekeepers, as well as the Timekeepers elect, are invited to attend the traditional Timekeepers Ball to be held the twelfth of February, nineteen forty-four, at the Timekeeping Headquarters of the United Kingdom, located in London, in the ballroom. Formal dress is required in order to attend.
I looked up at Mathias in disbelief. "Isn't this something you could have told me about a month ago?" The fifth of February wasn't exactly a year away, it was in a few weeks.
"Time flies by doesn't it," Mathias said. An actual smile crossed his face. I simply frowned in frustration, but he turned away before he saw. "I do, of course, expect you to attend your own ball, Abigail. I will provide you with a gown, but I will need your measurements as soon as possible."
I made a mental note to get him my measurements tomorrow, but I needed to know more about the dream.
"What about that dream I had? The least you could do is tell me what to do. If something is going to happen to Mrs. Baxter, then maybe I could prevent it."
Mathias turned around so fast I was surprised and almost toppled over. I steadied myself, however, and looked into his face. His expression was dark.
"Abigail, there is nothing you can do. Death does not care. When it is time for a person to die, it will take them. And if you stand in its way, then it will take you instead. Even dreams can be considered premonitions and you cannot use them to help someone survive. Whatever happens, will happen. The dream was to prepare you, not to help save anyone."
I remained still—afraid of the future.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bridget had not received much in the way of inheritance when her father had died. As a result, she lived in a neighborhood tarnished by the effects of poverty. The flat she had purchased after the death of her father was run down, but it was still a place to live, and that counted for something.
I traveled down the long narrow alley that made up Bridget's neighborhood. The area always sent chills within me because some of the individuals that lived in the area were involved in crime.
When I was standing in front of the building where Bridget lived, I reached into my handbag and pulled out the spare key she had given me. I quickly made my way into the building and up to Bridget's flat where I would be able to at least lock a door behind me and have a small sense of security.
I stood in front of Bridget's door and quickly unlocked it, making my way into the apartment. I could smell something baking. My mind suspected cookies. I shut the door behind me and locked the latches.
Bridget stood in the kitchen, hovering over an old stove that had not survived the effects of rust and age. She turned her head in my direction and smiled.
"Abby. I wasn't expecting you today. Did you have class earlier?"
I shook my head at her and took a seat on the torn and tattered sofa in the small living area. I began to contemplate what to say. I had come straight from the Headquarters, because I was afraid. When I was afraid, Bridget was the one that I used to talk to, before Phillip. But our relationship was continuing to grow worse, rather than better.
"How was your Christmas?" Bridget asked.
She took a seat across from me in he
r old rocking chair and crossed her legs. Her hair was tied up and she was wearing an old apron. She looked different, like she had aged in such a short span of time. Was I worrying her? Was she worrying about something else?
"It was..." I hesitated, how had my Christmas been? It had not exactly been the Christmas I had planned. I decided and said, "Pleasant."
"Why did you come?" Bridget was gazing at me, expecting some sort of answer.
"Because I was afraid," I responded.
It was not the answer I was planning to give her. In fact, I had no intentions of being that honest. What would I say next? How would she begin to question me?
Bridget focused her attention at something outside of the flat's windows. Her focus seemed to be on a bird that was sitting just outside her windowsill.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be a creature?"
Her question caught me off guard. I looked away from the bird and at her, but she was still watching it.
"What do you mean?"
I turned my attention back to the bird. The bird was a robin—a very small and delicate robin with patches of white and orange. It pecked at something on Bridget's windowsill.
"The robin just lives each day," she said, "it has no worries, and no fears. It lives in the moment of everything that is happening. Don't be afraid,” she said, looking at me with a smile that warmed my heart. "You are going through many things right now, some I hope you have confided in me, but don't be afraid."
A feeling of guilt ran through me. I had not been completely honest with Bridget about myself. If anyone deserved to know that there were things in this world beyond normalcy, it was Bridget. But I couldn't bring myself to mention it. I felt like Bridget was my only way to keep the life I had in intact; otherwise, I would be letting myself go into a life I had always been curious about but had never needed.
