Timeless Moments

by Michelle Kidd

  “I suppose you are glad you are not coming along, it looks as if it will be a cold, miserable trip. I didn’t want to take a chance by driving the new automobile.”

  She wrapped the shawl around herself tighter. “Be safe.”

  He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, placed his hat atop his head, and walked out into the snow. The carriage dipped slightly as he climbed aboard and took off into the snowy morning. She could hardly think of anything other than the envelope that awaited her upstairs.

  She turned, making her way up the stairs when Addie stopped her. “Miss, what will you be wanting for dinner?”

  “Oh, you needn’t fret about anything fancy. I’m sure I’ll enjoy anything you prepare.”

  “Yes’m, as you wish. Still, if you think of something special you’d like, I’d be pleased if you’d tell me. You’re looking flushed if you don’t mind me saying. You need to take care of yourself.”

  Dear Addie, Jewel thought. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind and let you know.” She nodded to let the older woman know she was dismissed. She could hardly wait until she was out of sight before gathering her skirts and running up the stairs in a manner that was far from appropriate.

  Back in her room, she hurried to the window seat and picked up the Bible. The paper shook as she unfolded the letter.

  Dear Jewel,

  This is an awkward letter to write. I’m not sure this will work. It seems we are both living in the house, but we are years apart. I’m not sure I have wrapped my head around this yet, but I thought if I wrote you a letter and brought the yearbook back to the last place I saw you, maybe . . . It is probably a silly idea. I admit I don’t know much about time, space, or whatever this is.

  As bizarre as this whole situation is, I find that it is equally fascinating. Think about it, we are two people that are living close to a century apart, yet something or someone has brought us together. I would like to know more about you. What is your life like? You seemed upset by something when we last spoke. I would like to know you are okay. I hope I haven’t offended you, or overstepped my bounds, but you seemed troubled.

  A little about me, my name is Jack Vines. I am a carpenter, I have my own business, and I recently moved back to Lynchburg. In fact, when I was a boy I dreamed of living in this very house . . . I am forty-six, and I have never married. I am a man that believes there is a purpose for everything, and nothing happens by chance.

  I hope that you will consider writing me back. I’m not sure if this will work, but if you could try to communicate in some way. I will keep my eyes on alert.

  Your Friend from 2014,

  Jack

  2014! It seemed like some fantastic tale that one would read in a novel. Yet she held the proof in her hand. Yes, she would write him and let him know she had received his letter. But they would have to come up with a better place to leave the book. If Hunsdon should discover the yearbook and the letters . . . she shuddered, not wanting to consider the idea. No, there must be another place here in the room she could have him leave it.

  Yes, of course!

  She’d almost forgotten about the hidden compartment, beneath her window seat. She’d discovered it last week when she’d dropped her embroidery scissors. Even with the cushion lifted, it was not readily visible, because of the small hinge. Standing to her feet, she lifted the padding and felt around for the hidden slot. She continued to press with her fingers until the lid popped open. Perfect! She slid the album into the space.

  Yes, it would just fit!

  She dropped the cushion back into place and hurried to her desk to retrieve a pen and paper. Her pen hovered over the paper, poised to write. It twitched in her hand; she was unsure how to begin. Finally, she decided not to stand on formality and began. She wrote several lines before hesitating and then tapped the pen on the end of her chin in deep thought. What could she tell him about herself? She didn’t want to reveal too much. She didn’t know if she liked the idea of him searching for information on her. She started again, listening to the pen scratching against the paper.

  Once she finished, she stopped and looked around her. Now the problem would be where to leave the book in order for him to find it. Did she dare leave it here on the seat? No doubt he would return to the last place he’d left the book expecting to find her answer. Addie was not prone to snooping, and Jewel felt that with Hunsdon out of the house the letter would be safe until Jack Vines could find it. She wondered if perhaps she waited long enough in the room, he might reappear. Was it possible that he was even now wandering around in the house, somewhere in the future?

  Chapter 8

  Jack sat at his desk alternating between drumming his tapered fingers and chewing his cuticles. The latter, he spat across the room in a manner that would horrify his mother. What could be taking so long? Was she going to write him back, or ignore the note entirely? He started up the steps but promptly spun around. It would be the third time he’d started to her room, and something told him it would prove to be as useless as the first two times.

  At least he had managed to salvage breakfast. By adding cheese, onion, green peppers, and whatever else he could find to the eggs, he’d created an impromptu omelet. He’d called Mrs. Christie and explained that he wouldn’t be able to deliver the cabinet until Saturday because of the bad weather. Then he’d spent the next thirty minutes listening to her lecture about the importance of follow through in the younger generation.

  Jack routinely dealt with difficult clients. He knew exactly how to handle sweet little old ladies, and by the end of the conversation, Mrs. Christie had convinced herself the entire idea to reschedule belonged to her. Besides, she confided to Jack, she didn’t want those deliverymen tracking up her floor with their muddy boots.

  Had his life come to this, dealing with little old ladies, and obsessing over a woman that would be well over one hundred? This is sad, he berated himself. He needed to find something that would occupy his mind.

  With jaw set, he strode to the closet door, grabbed his well-worn boots, and pulled them on. After lacing them tightly, he jammed his arms inside his Carharrt jacket and fished out a knit cap and gloves from the coat pocket. Maybe he’d shovel the drive. The cold, fresh air should clear his head and give him a bit of perspective. He would go nuts if he spent all day indoors waiting for a letter that may or may not appear. Pulling his hat over his ears, he shuffled out into the gray, snowy afternoon.

  *****

  The beautiful, hushed voice of snow cast a mesmerizing spell as it fell all around him. How could anyone look at the winter wonderland and not wonder about the existence of a Divine Creator? One of his old memory verses popped into his head. “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.” Few sights could rival winter in all her splendor.

  The snow fell heavy and wet. It was good for snowballs and making snowmen, unlike that dry, powdery stuff that fell in Denver. Not that it couldn’t be done, but it took a different technique to create a man out of snow without a lot of moisture. He drove the shovel deep and hoisted it through the air while recalling the unwanted move to Colorado.

  It hadn’t been the worst thing that ever happened, but the transfer definitely made an impact on his twelve-year-old life. Leaving friends proved tougher than he thought. Jack enjoyed school, if only for the social and competitive aspect. The announcement that his dad decided to take a teaching position in a college near Denver had been like a bomb going off. He never understood why he hadn’t stayed in Lynchburg. There were several local colleges where his father might have taught, but he’d pulled up roots and settled in the community of Lakewood, Colorado. It had been one of the rare times he’d seen his mom upset with his dad.

  Jack paused a moment to catch his breath and drag a gloved hand under his runny nose. He wasn’t halfway through, and already he’d broken out in a sweat. He glanced back over his progress, feeling a little discouraged the snow had already covered his tracks. Good thing he had a four-wheel
drive. If it kept this up, he might not make it to Jeff’s tonight.

  He considered the number of driveways he’d shoveled while trying to earn money for college. It snowed a lot in Lakewood, but those snows were much lighter and easier to push. Here, it felt like trying to lift cement. He took a few more minutes to catch his breath. When he took up the shovel once more, he let his thoughts drift to his mom. He wished she could be here to see the snow. How she loved those wet, heavy snows of Virginia. He dared say, even at her age, she’d be outside today, building a snowman, or challenging him to a snowball fight. Although she never said, he knew she hated living so far away from her native Lynchburg. Home would always be anywhere Dad resided, but if she had her way, Jack knew she’d move back in a second. It would be nice to have them near.

  Thirty minutes later, Jack stood appraising his work. Already, snow covered most of his tracks. At least the drive looked better than when he started. He glanced at his watch: 4:20 p.m. He’d clean off his truck and head back inside. Surely if she thought to write him back, she would have done so by now.

  In the foyer, he peeled off his wet things, stripping down to only his jeans and a T-shirt. The pants were damp and cold, but they would dry. Better to keep them on than risk running into Jewel and embarrassing them both. His heart beat a little faster as he sprinted up the steps to the room. Please be there; please be there, his pulse drummed in a singsong chant.

  His breath caught when he spied it. He could make out a slip of paper protruding from the edge. She had written him back. Like an eager schoolboy, he scampered to the window, picked up the book, and snatched out the letter. His name was written in a beautiful script across a thick, embossed envelope.

  Carefully, he unfolded the paper and read:

  Dear Mr. Vines,

  He chuckled at her formality before continuing.

  I know we have not been formally introduced, but as you say, bizarre circumstances have fashioned a rather unique situation. I am as eager as you to put our heads together and figure out what has caused this amazing phenomenon.

  I think that until we can figure out what has happened to cause this event in time, we should tell no one. Therefore, I propose that we do not leave this book where others may find it. If you will look directly under the cushion, there is a door in the window seat. We can leave the book in there for safe keeping if that is agreeable with you . . .

  You have me at a disadvantage. It is one thing to look back and have an idea of those who have come before you, but it is quite another to look ahead. Imagine if someone popped out of the blue and told you they were from the year 2113. It is a frightening prospect.

  I must wonder if I am even alive in your time . . . Sadly, the chances are I will have already departed, and I’m not quite sure I want you delving into my past. Please don’t take offense—I don’t mean to imply you have any wrong intentions, but I rather fancy myself passing as a little old lady, with my grandchildren about me. I suppose you could warn me if I meet my end next week by stepping out in front of a Trolley. I jest, it is better not to know one’s end, don’t you agree?

  By all means, tell me about yourself. This is such an incredible occurrence, and I would love to hear how the world has changed. There is such growth and modernization at this current time and new inventions. With automobiles and airplanes, I should imagine that things are quite different in your world. Yet my house remains, and this is a comforting thought. I shall look forward to hearing all about the world in 2014.

  Warmest Regards,

  Jewel Wiltshire

  He sat with the letter in his lap for several seconds, trying to imagine this from her perspective. He supposed it did put her at a disadvantage attempting to picture what wonders the future held. He tried to envision himself, seeing into his future one hundred years. It boggled the mind to think of all the advancements that had been made in the last century, the last decade, even, and with today’s technology, some things a person could not even begin to grasp. Should he tell her about men walking on the moon, television, the Internet, music you could download and carry around in your pocket? The ability to take pictures and send them around the world in minutes? Where would he even begin? He could hardly wait to get a pen and paper and leave her another message, but first he would check for the hidden compartment she had mentioned. He lifted the threadbare cushion, doubting that this could be the same cushion that had belonged to Jewel. Chances were it had been replaced several times throughout the years. He felt along the edges, pushing and pulling, but discovered nothing.

  He stepped back, pulling a small, pocket-size flashlight from the holster on his belt and angled it downward to examine the area. There appeared to be a tiny hinge. He pressed and fumbled with it a second or two until it sprang open.

  “Ah ha!”

  Shining the light into the darkened crevice revealed nothing but dust and spiderwebs. It wasn’t a large hole, and he wondered why anyone would bother building such a small storage container in a window seat. Still, if this is how she wanted to do it, he would follow her lead.

  The lid snapped back in place and he returned the worn cushion. Taking the album, he thumbed through it, looking at the pictures and the advertisements. He read some of the excerpts, studied the small football team, the basketball team. To his surprise, a small, five—member girls’ basketball team graced one of the pages. He hadn’t even known things like that existed back then—at the high school level that is. Maybe there weren’t as many differences in their worlds as he thought. There were ads in the back of the book for local businesses. Some were still in operation today.

  One article he found particularly interesting: a class prophecy of sorts. The author of the fictional tale had traveled into the future twenty years and happened upon each of his classmates. The amusing account told how each classmate had fared in the twenty-year span. Jack wondered if any of the prophecies had come true. Certainly not Jewel, who supposedly preferred to be a spinster nurse and living by herself. He flipped backward in the book until he found the page with Jewel’s picture. Clearly, she had been the prettiest girl in school. Why on earth would someone think she’d be alone? Perhaps the author of the story had been a jilted lover and wanted to get even.

  He shrugged. Guess he’d never know, just a silly prophecy, and yet this yearbook held the key to time travel . . . Or did it? A sobering thought suddenly struck him. What if it had nothing to do with the yearbook, and everything to do with the very house itself? Hadn’t there always been something drawing him to the house . . . a connection he could never quite name?

  He suddenly thought of the handkerchief Jewel dropped in the garden. He’d been able to pick it up and keep it. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before? Some items were the same for both, some were not. What could be the difference? For example, they could both see the fireplace, but only she could see the fire. Could it be that whatever existed in her time, and endured into his became a possible link? Obviously, her fire would have gone out, so he wouldn’t have been able to see it. She had run through the kitchen door but then had disappeared. If she could alter one of the permanent fixtures in the house, say . . . carved her initials on the top of that hidden compartment. Perhaps that could test this theory. He couldn’t wait to write her. He dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time.

  Chapter 9

  Plunged into the murky depths of the unknown, the water swirled and churned. Like a cauldron bubbling, the water tumbled over and over. A far-away light shimmered near the surface, but the tired, lifeless body had no energy to swim toward it. Her limbs were too heavy to move. She had given up. Far better to remain here. It would be over in a moment. Peace.

  But then she remembered . . . There was something greater that she must do. From somewhere she must find the strength. She must protect the one she loved. Instinctively, she flailed her arms, her legs, in an attempt to reach the surface. The light continued to dance above her, mocking her. Too far. She would never make it. Her lungs burned. She choke
d, tasting the foul, brown water. The end was near . . . she was dying . . . Too late.

  I tried . . . I tried . . .

  *****

  1967

  Twenty-four-year-old Boomer and his friends had blown off their college classes. Azure skies and warm weather lured them outside the musty classroom for the first taste of spring. With a cooler packed with ice-cold Coca-Cola, an assortment of sandwiches they had purchased from Red & Dots Grocery, and a bucket of bait, they headed to their favorite fishing spot on the riverbank.

  “Hey Boom, you got the bottle opener?” Carlton Hughes slushed through the Styrofoam cooler and fished out a glass bottle. He flipped his shoulder-length locks out of his eyes while he waited for a reply.

  The lanky young man stood and patted himself down. “Shoot, I think I left it with Lizzy-Bug.” He referred affectionately to his 1957 VW van.

  “I’m on it.” Sam Trent unfolded himself from the chair and stood to his full six-foot-two height. He shuffled across the sand but stopped short. “Boom . . . You see what I see?”

  Boomer followed Sam’s gaze out across the James River where there appeared to be a sheet or something floating on the water. He frowned and raised a hand to shade his eyes. “Yeah, I see it. Just not sure what it is.”

  “Looks like one of those mannequins from Leggett’s Department Store.” Carlton stood up and walked over to where the other two stood. “That’s exactly what it is. I guarantee you those jocks found out we skipped class and tossed one of those dummies off the bridge just to mess with us.”

  Boomer wouldn’t put it past Kevin Storms to pull such a stunt. The pranks had started when they were freshman and continued now into their senior year. He thought to dismiss it and return to his fishing gear when he was startled by an inner voice saying, My son, go out in the water.