Timeless Moments

by Michelle Kidd

  Months ago, Jewel had told him that the United States would join the war. The details were in the letters written to her—that and much more. His suspicions had been correct all along—she was a witch, and Jack was her demon lover.

  God have mercy on his soul. Each day he tried to strike her from his memory, but the bonds held him like bands of steel. He wondered if he had killed her, would it exorcise her from his mind. If it wasn’t for Addie’s interference, or could it have been Divine intervention? Jewel couldn’t have been mere seconds from death—and out of the blue, the Lord interceded. Hunsdon preferred to look at it as God’s final attempt to save her.

  His head fell back, his eyes closed recalling intimate details of that afternoon. The blood, the beating of her pulse beneath his hand, he couldn’t recall taking up the scissors, or even the sounds of her screams. Oddly, it was Addie’s pounding against the door that had awakened him from his trance.

  The quiet, sunny room fell away, as he transported himself back three months:

  Bam, bam, bam.

  “Miss, Miss, are you okay. Please, let me in.” Addie’s frantic voice cut through his thoughts.

  He blinked, trying to clear his mind. Looking down, he saw Jewel’s body beneath him, bloody, broken, and pale. Cast to the side were mountains of dark curls. He picked one up and pressed it to his lips.

  She lay so still. He extended a shaky hand, feeling for a pulse. Feeble, but there. Good. The pounding and pleading continued. He pulled himself up, laboring toward the door on wooden feet, and opened it. Addie’s pallid face peered around him, giving a small scream when she eyed the carnage.

  “Dr. Wiltshire, what have you done?” Her hands pressed against her rosy cheeks as she shuffled to Jewel’s crumpled figure. She fell to her knees, clutching the lifeless hand to her chest. “Why?”

  He shook his head slowly—he needed time to think. How could he win her trust and confidence? Hunsdon held no illusions regarding how the servants felt about him. No doubt they’d go straight to the authorities. Unless . . . unless he used their affections to his advantage, and they had a reason not to report him.

  “Is she . . .” Addie’s chin trembled, unable to finish.

  “No, thank God. But Mrs. Wilshire is quite sick. She needs our help. Will you stay with her while I run for my medicine bag? I won’t be but a moment.”

  Hunsdon sprinted to his room, the details taking shape in his mind as he picked up his black leather satchel and dashed back to his wife’s side. He withdrew medical supplies, placing them within arm’s reach. “Bring me that basin of water, so I can clean her wounds.”

  Addie gave the briefest hesitation, as if trying to decide whether to help him, but the dire situation won out. She pulled herself up, retrieving the pitcher and bowl, but she hovered near watching his every movement.

  “I know how bad this must look . . . I must confess, Mrs. Wiltshire’s been showing signs of a breakdown for months. It was wrong to keep it from you and Culpeper, but I wanted to spare you. You’re both so fond of her.”

  Addie’s eyes narrowed. The woman was having none of his account—he’d have to try harder.

  “You have to believe me when I tell you she’s done this to herself. It’s what’s called in the medical profession a psychotic fit. I came in her room right after church to accompany her to lunch. I found her at the mirror cutting off her hair. When I tried to stop her, she turned on me and attacked me with shears.”

  He held out his hands. “See.”

  In his struggle with Jewel over the scissors, he had received several gashes in his palms and forearms. He’d use every circumstance to his advantage.

  “Dr. Wiltshire, she was fine when she came in from church. Why would she try to harm herself? I saw her with my own eyes.”

  “Yes, yes, she can appear that way. But it’s this room. She’s reluctant to leave it . . . she’s become obsessed with it. Would you believe she was ranting about a man from the future? We must take her up to the tower room. Please, I need you. I don’t want to institutionalize her. Trust me, those places are no place for anyone. She should be surrounded by the people who love her. If you’ll go up and prepare the room, I’ll bring her up as soon as I take care of these wounds.”

  Addie straightened her aged back and jerked her chin upward. “With all due respect, sir, I will not leave her alone with you.”

  “Addie, do you think I’m capable of harming Mrs. Wiltshire?”

  She folded her arms across her wide body refusing to answer, but her eyes flashed fire.

  “Surely you’ve noticed strange behavior—her unwillingness to leave the room. I’ve made so many excuses. She’s convinced she can communicate with some man from the future—that he’s been hanging around our house.”

  Her expression wavered, eyes darting from his as something in her memory seemed to click. She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut.

  “What? What is it?”

  She cast her eyes to the floor, but not before he noticed the first signs of resolve flicker. “Come, come, Addie . . . if you know something that could help Mrs. Wiltshire, you can tell me.”

  The housekeeper twisted her apron. “Well . . . a few months back,” she began. “Mrs. Wilshire came running into the kitchen . . . she’d been wandering about the garden with that thin gown on. I told her she’d catch her death . . . She looked frightened . . . and told me a homeless man had startled her. Then she turned around and asked if I’d send out a plate of food to him.”

  “Did you?”

  Addie pressed her lips together, and shook her head, causing the white ringlets to sway around her ruddy cheeks. “No, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “There was no one, sir.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

  “I see.” He paused to give her a sympathetic look. “Addie, don’t trouble yourself. You couldn’t have known. I blame myself for not being forthright from the start. I should have trusted you enough to tell you the truth. Obviously, she isn’t well.” He took her silence as a concession. “But we love her, don’t we? We want to make sure she gets the best care. I can’t do this without you. We must protect her.”

  “Yes.” She bowed her head as if ashamed to agree with him.

  “Good girl. Now can you hurry up and get the tower room ready? She seems to think the man can communicate with her in this room. Perhaps if we move her to another part of the house . . . in time . . . with the proper medication . . .”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t be long."

  Addie departed, leaving him alone to patch Jewel’s wounds. When she returned thirty minutes later, together they’d taken Jewel to the tower room. They’d worked to right the room, and Hunsdon locked the door and kept the key with him to ensure no one could enter without his knowledge. Over the following week, he’d monitored the room, astonished as letters continued to appear. The devil’s work. Each missive carried pleas from her lover, begging for assurance of Jewel’s well-being. Their words also issuing dire warnings to Jewel, cautioning her against him! No wonder Jewel had been frightened of him. The letters were poisoning her mind. He’d wanted to burn them . . . tear apart the whole window seat, yet it held a strange fascination. Instead, he’d taken a letter opener to the initials and replied with a message of his own.

  The letters continued for a time but gradually, as the months passed, they dwindled in number. It had been over a month since anything had appeared. A satisfied smiled curled his mouth. He’d outwitted the devil and kept Jewel safe. She remained locked away in the tower. He imagined the Lord would be proud now. He had saved his soiled dove and driven the fiend from her.

  *****

  Sweet winds blew away the remnants of decay and gave way to new birth while the once bare branches swelled with life and color. Outside Jewel’s window, the earth yawned and came awake from its slumber as winter relinquished its harsh grip to the gentle persuasions of spring. Locked away inside the room, Jewel remained lethargic. Heavy doses of sedatives given to her three
times a day kept her placid.

  Brushing aside a sheer curtain, Jewel gazed below into the garden. A pair of red-breasted robins flew in and out countless times to feed their young. Both parents darted back and forth like the pendulum of a clock to keep up with the hungry cries of the chicks. The efforts of the avian mates brought a lump to her throat. Tears refused to come—she had long passed crying.

  She saw Culpeper walking to the flowerbed. On instinct, she raised a hand to tap on the window, only to let it fall back in her lap. Several times she had seen him trimming shrubbery or tending something in the yard and tried to catch his attention. He looked at her and turned his head. It was the same when Addie brought her medicine or meals. She didn’t know what Hunsdon had told them, but he had turned them against her. How foolish to think they’d stand up to Hunsdon on her behalf.

  The key rattled in the lock. The door swung open, but she didn’t turn. She listened as Addie struggled with the tray before setting it on a table. “Time for your medicine, miss.” Addie shook the bottle and brought it over to where she sat. “Dr. Wiltshire says you’re getting better. Maybe we can cut back on the dose. Won’t that be good?”

  Jewel raised her eyes but remained silent. She opened her mouth like a baby bird when Addie poured the bitter liquid into the spoon. The taste wasn’t as bad as it had been; it helped relieve the anxiety, the loneliness. She thought of Jack, wondering for a moment if he might have questioned what had happened to her. She wished she knew how to let him know she was okay. Not that it mattered, he’d long ago forgotten her, by now. What did it matter, what did anything mean anymore?

  Addie brought the tray over and tried to entice her. “Miss, please try to eat a little for me.”

  Jewel tilted her chin and continued to stare out the window.

  The spoon plunked down, splashing soup as the frustrated housekeeper dropped the silverware back into the bowl. “Maybe later.” With a rustle of skirts, she moved the tray out of the way and retrieved a brush from her pocket. “Let’s take care of you, then.” She circled around behind Jewel’s chair, working the bristles through the waves, talking more at Jewel than to her. “It’s coming back so thick and wavy. Who would have thought it would grow so fast? Why, it’s almost at your collar, already.” Addie pulled a ribbon from her apron and secured it away from Jewel’s face. “Lovely as ever.”

  Jewel caught the woman’s wrist and held it. “What did he tell you?”

  There was silence. Jewel couldn’t see the housekeeper’s expression, but she sensed the tension in the body. She twisted to look at the woman. She’d gone pale and refused to meet her gaze.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do.” Jewel accused. “How did he convince you to help him?”

  “Now, Miss Jewel, we’ve been through this. You were sick that day—confused. You’ve been much better. Don’t you remember, you tried to attack Dr. Wiltshire with the scissors?”

  “No! I . . . well, yes, but that isn’t the way it—”

  “It’s okay, miss. We’re here to help you. Dr. Wiltshire knows you didn’t mean to hurt him.”

  “No!” The protest came out louder than she meant. Why was she always so confused? The room spun, her cheeks felt suddenly flush. The fog that enveloped her crept around her brain taking control of her tongue. She wanted to tell Addie what Hunsdon had tried to do to her . . . at least she thought she did. The words wouldn’t come. “Please . . . help me . . . get a letter to my friend, Jack.”

  Addie’s blue eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no, miss . . . please not again.” The last thing Jewel saw was the sight of Addie scurrying from the room.

  Chapter 22

  May 1967

  The air beyond Greyson Manor felt exhilarating after being cooped up for weeks. Downtown Lynchburg, though not a large metropolis, provided a distraction from the confines of my room. The damp, cement-scented air, told of recent rains, and the heavy April clouds promised more to come. The sky swirled with a mass of dark colors that rolled and tumbled over each other.

  I stepped from the store, holding the strap of my purse close to my shoulder as I wove between milling pedestrians. No one seemed in a rush, despite the threat of more rain. I hesitated several times, checking the overhanging signs to see if I’d reached my destination.

  My mouth tasted of peppermint, from an impromptu purchase of candies from The Sweet Shop. The brown paper bag rattled in my pocket as I dug in and popped another round red and white striped candy between my lips.

  Independence. The word resonated through my mind as I moved along the sidewalk. What a wonderful afternoon to be alive walking through the city without a soul watching over my shoulder. Today, I wasn’t some lost woman with no past. At the moment I blended in, a rather small part of a bigger crowd. I was one of many enjoying the surge of energy the storms brought to the spring afternoon. It felt good.

  Despite the kindness I’d received from most of the residents of Greyson Manor, I sensed their scrutiny. It was not from malice—just the opposite. Everyone was a little too caring. They were all eager to see the girl without a memory discover who she was, but the pressure for me proved taxing.

  My nose detected the scent of food. My mouth watered. No doubt I was nearing the café where I was to meet Boomer. I spied four small, wrought iron tables on the left, lining the narrow sidewalk. A small easel with chalkboard sat outside the door displaying the day’s specials. There weren’t many patrons eating. I guess the threat of rain discouraged outside dining.

  Without waiting to be seated, I selected a chair and laid my purse on the table. It didn’t matter if I arrived early; I liked watching people file in and out of shops. Drivers zipped by in their shiny cars, and a few secretaries dashed about running errands on their lunchtime, their high heels clicking on the sidewalk.

  “What can I get for ya, sug?” A reed-thin, middle-aged lady approached, clad in a plain blue uniform that buttoned up the front. She retrieved a yellow pencil from her overly teased hair, and fished a pad from her apron. The name on her tag read: Betty. She stood poised to take my order.

  “I’m actually waiting on someone. Is it okay if I sit here until he comes?”

  “Sure thing, kid. Can I bring you a soda while you wait?” She popped her gum, and somehow avoided smearing her red lipstick.

  “You have Coke?” I’d been hooked on it since the first one Boomer brought me in the hospital.

  “You got it, sugar plum.” She gave me a wink and tossed her head in a way that made her dangling earbobs jiggle. Away she sauntered, tucking the pencil in her mass of hair, leaving me to wonder how many of those things she had stashed up there.

  Several people came and went, but no one paid particular attention to a lone woman. I, on the other hand, was a sponge soaking up all the information around me. Often I speculated what it would be like the moment my memory returned. Would I recognize someone and the memories come surging in as the tide onto the shore, or would flashes of my life return as the intermittent radio static on Boomer’s beloved Lizzie-Bug?

  I looked up in time to catch a lady slowing her pace. She gave me a curious stare before ducking inside the diner. The little bell on the door jangled. She couldn’t have been in the café’ more than a few minutes when she returned, cutting her eyes in my direction. She hurried down the street, but Betty’s return distracted me from seeing which direction she took.

  “Here ya go, sugar. There’s a note for you, too.” She sat the glass bottle down with a straw and handed me a slip of paper.

  “Me?” I asked, surprised.

  “Well, I reck’n it’s for you, butterbean. A woman came in a few minutes ago and said to give it to the little gal sitting outside at the table. You’re the only one sitting out here.”

  I blinked and mumbled a thank you as she hurried back inside. It could be from Boomer to say he’d be running late. I glanced at the watch he’d given me. Fifteen minutes had passed since I sat down to wait. I unfolded it, then froze.
>
  It read: I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I’M WATCHING YOU!

  My blood went cold. Shivers chased each other up my spine. An eerie chill seized me with icy fingers of dread. My eyes darted around the area, sensing someone watching me. I studied the words again.

  I startled when a hand grasped my shoulder, crying out.

  “Janie? You okay?” Boomer knelt beside me. “You’re as white as a sheet.” He picked up the Coke. “Take a sip of this.”

  I swallowed, still shaking and handed him the note.

  “What’s this?” It took a second for him to scan, a scowl forming on his face. “How’d you get this?”

  “The waitress brought it.”

  He looked confused. “The waitress? Doesn’t make any sense. Which one, I’ll go talk to her.”

  But Betty saved him the trouble, picking just that moment to return. “Everything okay out here? I see your fella’ showed up . . . good look’n, too.”

  “Why did you give this to her?”

  She blinked her surprise. “You needn’t be so snippy, darlin’.” She balled up her fist and jammed it onto her protruded hip, causing her bracelets to clank together.

  Boomer looked shamefaced. I know he hadn’t meant to be rude. “Forgive me, ma’am, but it’s important we find out who you are and why you gave this note to her.”

  “Well, now that’s better, sugar, but I’m afraid I can’t help you much. A lady came in and presented it to me. I’d never seen her before. She said someone asked her to deliver it ‘to the girl sitting outside.’”

  “A stranger handed you this and said someone gave it to her?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “What did she look like?”

  She shrugged. “Medium build. Can’t recall anything unusual about her other than she wore ugly nail polish. I appreciate the bright colors myself.” She splayed her fingers out and studied her gleaming nails.

  “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”

  “Absolutely, doll. I seldom forget a face. Like I said, I hadn’t seen her before, but that don’t mean nothing. Could be that she doesn’t eat out. Most of those secretary-types brown bag. You’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”