Timeless Moments

by Michelle Kidd

  “I wondered what kept you. Did you get everything?” Miss Jewel stepped back and allowed her to enter.

  “Yes, but you’re going to need a lot of padding for these to fit.” She thrust the array of garments into her mistress’s waiting arms.

  “Not to worry, I’ve considered that. I’ll wear several of my dresses beneath your clothes. That should help me fill them out as well as save on packing.”

  “You might be uncomfortable, miss—not to mention hot?”

  The young woman regarded her with a sad smile. “I’ve endured worse. This isn’t a pleasure outing.”

  “No, ma’am. I guess not. The most important thing is that no one notices you. It will be much easier to travel if people believe we are two elderly ladies traveling alone. We can’t stand out if someone should come asking questions about us.”

  “Did you take care of the quilt?”

  “Yes, miss. I folded it and placed it in the trunk that you left in the attic, along with the other items you requested. Are you positive about leaving it behind? You’ve worked so hard on it.”

  “Quite sure. I haven’t room for it in my bag, although I did save space for several scrap pieces. When we get where we are going, I can always make another. I want Jack to have it. If I never see him again, he should have it to remember me by. What about the letter? I wrote everything down for him, where to find the quilt, how we plan to make our escape. I wish I could figure out a way to let him know when we arrive.”

  “If it’s meant to be, it will work out. And yes, I took care of that earlier. It’s on my desk. I’ll put it in the bookshelf right before I retire for the evening.”

  “You left it in your room?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s in a safe place. Now I must hurry. The doctor is due any second, and we don’t want to upset him.”

  “Addie . . .” Miss Jewel reached a tentative hand to stop her. “We will make it out, won’t we?”

  “I hope so, Miss.” She clasped the thin fingers in her own, wishing it was possible to erase the tight expression from her mistress’s face. Then, with a last reassuring pat, she headed downstairs.

  Her tread sounded heavy on the back steps that led to the kitchen. No sense taking a chance running into Dr. Wiltshire when he returned home. She seldom used this stairwell as it was too narrow and made her claustrophobic.

  The strong odor of beans stung her nose long before she reached the bottom. With a start, she noticed the rolling kettle was close to bubbling over.

  “What in the world . . .” Her thighs brushed together in her haste to get to the frothy pot.

  Now who would turn the gas on high? She always simmered things on low or else they’d be tough as shoe leather. An unexplained tremor tumbled down her spine. She snatched the spoon, turned down the heat, and stirred, hoping the beans had not stuck to the bottom. Despite the warmth from the oven, her insides chilled. She knew she’d left it simmering. As she bustled about the kitchen, she heard the front door open and close.

  She bit her tongue to hold back a word she didn’t usually use, when she dropped the ladle into the creamed corn—she was all thumbs. Thankfully, she had the foresight to set the table earlier saving her the effort now.

  This is crazy! Her heart beat double-time. Other women her age sat knitting socks for their grandchildren, baking chocolate chip cookies, not carrying out covert missions all while trying to get dinner ready by seven o’clock sharp.

  After much commotion, she deposited several dishes on the dining room table and turned to head back to the kitchen for the main entree. The doctor entered looking more pleased with himself than usual.

  “Are those beans I smell, Addie dear?” He stretched the last word out, pausing before he continued. “I ask because you know my abhorrence of them. They are my least favorite legume.”

  “Yes, sir. I do, but I’m also aware how you detest wasted food. I had a jar of the green beans and didn’t want them to spoil. There wasn’t time today to shell fresh pea—” Uh-oh, too late. She realized her mistake.

  “Oh?” His brow rose. She could almost see the question mark forming over his head. “What, prey, has monopolized so much of your time?”

  As she scrambled for a response, Miss Jewel answered for her. “I’m afraid she spent a big part of the day with me. I haven’t been feeling well.” She glided into the room, looking beautiful in a pink gown. The color accentuated her creamy complexion and set a rosy blush to her flushed cheeks. Her appearance repudiated her claim.

  “Why, my dear, you look ravishing. I don’t believe a word.”

  On the surface, his comment sounded flattering, but beneath it, lay something laced with a razor-sharp edge. Addie’s arms pimpled with apprehension. She didn’t care for the crackle of tension in the air. She swallowed hard against her flight instinct. Stay calm, old gal. He couldn’t possibly know . . .

  The letter!

  It seemed as if her blood flow came to a sudden, burning stop. The letter was in a safe place—wasn’t it?

  She had to find out. “I’ll be just a moment. I forgot the chicken,” she announced. Had she said it too loudly? Or had it been too soft? She wasn’t sure for the pounding of blood inside her head. Why, oh why hadn’t she hidden it in the bookcase! If she had, it might be in Jack’s hands instead of . . . No—it was too horrible to imagine.

  She stumbled into the kitchen, down the back hallway, and into her room. The door stood ajar. All her blood felt as if it had dropped to her feet. Limbs weighted like a stone, she edged to the small writing desk and pulled out the middle drawer. Empty!

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there dumbstruck, but Dr. Wiltshire’s footsteps sent her heart into a frenzy. She ogled the space where the letter should be. Ran her hand along the bare bottom. Nothing!

  The sound of shoes against wood resounded her way. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. He was coming down the hall.

  “Addie?”

  She slammed the drawer, eyes searching . . . searching, before she snatched up her book. “I’m in here, Dr. Wiltshire.”

  He appeared in the door, arms crossed, and leaned against the frame.

  The two stared at each other.

  A puzzled expression knitted his brows. “What are you doing? You said you were going to the kitchen for chicken.”

  Addie gave a nervous laugh, holding up her book. “Just getting this for Miss Jewel.” Her pulse played leapfrog as the seconds dragged out.

  He eyed her. “Well . . .”

  “Of course, the chicken. My apologies.” She hugged the book to her chest, afraid he’d notice her heart pounding beneath her dress. Her legs were like spaghetti. She wasn’t sure they’d hold her up much longer.

  Just go back to the dining room, Dr. Wiltshire! She needed to check to be sure the letter hadn’t slid behind something. Here he waited on that blasted bird. But her instincts told her it wasn’t his appetite for food, rather his need to create devilment.

  Reluctantly, she sidled past him and walked down the hall. She imagined his eyes like daggers stabbing into her back. Her head spun, the room swayed . . . she couldn’t think. He had the letter. She knew it. It was the only explanation. They were dead women. Unless . . . was it possible it transported from the desk to the future already? Dear Lord, they needed a miracle.

  Once in the kitchen, she reached for the cooling rack where the roasted poultry rested. Its savory brown skin reminded her that life was but a breath. One minute you were running around with your chicken buddies, not a care in the world. The next, someone was stuffing you full of cornbread dressing. An absurd image with Dr. Wiltshire standing at her back watching her every move. She wanted to laugh . . . to cry. She must be near her breaking point.

  Behind her, the carving knife made a metal zing as he pulled it from the butcher block. Despite herself, Addie cringed and lifted a hand in expectation. She watched his eyes glitter with amusement.

  “Goodness, dear. You’re even jumpier than usual. I was simply going to ask if you’d li
ke me to carve it here so you wouldn’t have to carry the whole bird to the dining room.”

  Speechless and as weak as water, she nodded. Although the sight of him with the butcher knife was more unnerving than she cared to admit. She pushed against the countertop and took several steps away from him. How long would it take to run to the other room, grab Miss Jewel by the hand, and flee this house? Too long. They’d never make it.

  The zing, zing, zing of the knife being sharpened was too much. He set out to torture her—she knew it. “I’m going to check on Miss Jewel.” She was out the door before he might protest.

  She found the young woman pacing before the window. Her rosy cheeks drained of color. She was white-lipped and her eyes displayed fear. “He knows,” she mouthed.

  Addie edged closer, tossed a glance over her shoulder, and caught her mistress by the sleeve. “How?”

  “I’m not sure, but he does. I’ve seen that look. What do we do?”

  “I—”

  “Ladies . . . what’s with the gloomy faces?”

  Two heads whipped around. Hunsdon walked from the kitchen carrying the platter of chicken in one hand and the carving knife in the other. He set them both down, seated himself at the head of the table, and placed his napkin on his lap with a flourish. Blue eyes regarded them a moment before his expression fell to concern. “Why, my dear, you are looking rather pale. Perhaps you overtaxed yourself today with your creative writing.”

  The women cast wary glances at each other. At their puzzled expressions, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a sheet of paper.

  The soft gasp from Miss Jewel’s mouth echoed in the still room. It had the desired effect—clearly she recognized her letter to Jack.

  “Ah . . . yes, the mysterious Mr. Jack. It seems you’ve painted me quite the villain in your little tale. Everything is spelled out in detail. Your imprisonment, your escape plan . . .” He held up the letter, appeared to read through it, and frowned. “Tsk, tsk . . . I’m afraid you left out the ending . . . want to hear my version?”

  Addie had gone too numb to answer. When neither spoke, he smirked, put the paper on the table, and turned to Jewel. “Here’s what I see happening . . . Your account seems rather bland, the two damsels in distress escaping their evil tormentor, blah, blah, blah. What if . . . when they least expect it, he discovers their treachery? I dare say that would change the outcome dramatically. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Hunsdon, I—”

  “Uh, uh, uh. Don’t interrupt, my dear. Now . . . let me see. There are so many possible endings, but I don’t foresee any of them ending well for them.” He reached for the knife, holding the tip so that it rotated on his forefinger. He turned it on its side with slow precision. His gaze fixed on the light glinting off the blade. “What to do . . . what to do . . .”

  “You.” He brandished the instrument in Addie’s direction. “What do you see happening next?”

  Keep your head, old girl. Addie feared whatever she said would make it worse, so she sent up a silent prayer, trying to find her voice. “Dr. Wiltshire, please don’t do this. No one has to get hurt. You—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “That’s where you’re wrong, Addie. You see . . . someone has been injured. I’ve been both violated and betrayed. You two picture yourselves as the victims in this little scenario. But I’m the one who has been trapped in a web of your deception.” He showed the first signs of anger, pushing out his chair, taking the knife and plunging the blade into the table. “I say this should be the part of the story where the villain gets his comeuppance . . . or hers as the case may be.”

  “Hunsdon, you stop this at once.” Miss Jewel’s voice was shrill with fear, but a fire burned in the depths of her eyes. “Leave Addie out of this. It’s between you and me. And don’t forget the baby. You wouldn’t dare harm your own child.”

  “My child! My—” He cut razor eyes at her, crossing the distance between them in three steps. His arms snaked out, crushing her in his steel grip. “How do I know it isn’t that demon spawn you’re trying to pass off as mine?”

  “It’s not—”

  “Shut up!” He slapped her hard across the face. The vibration shattering the silence of the room. “No more of your lies.”

  Despite the vicious blow, she didn’t yield. “These are your lies—your sick, twisted delusions. Go ahead, kill me if you want. I dare you.”

  Addie looked on terrified. She’d never seen her young mistress so determined. The older woman cringed as he drew back once more to hit her, but the crushing blow never landed. Instead, an array of emotions struggled across his face until the rage melted into something she couldn’t name. He lowered his hand to caress her throat. His long fingers nearly encircling it, as he stroked the soft curve with his thumb.

  They seemed to have forgotten Addie was in the room. She eased one step back. Perhaps she could steal away and get help. She was halfway to the door when he spotted her.

  “Where are you going?”

  She shuffled her feet, keeping her gaze on the carpet. She stiffened her backbone and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “For help.” Her chin jerked upward with all the determination she could muster.

  His laughter bounced around the room, reverberating off the walls. “Oh, you are plucky. I’ll give you that. That’s why I always liked you, Addie.” He smiled in a reminiscent way that made her pause for a second . . . As if, perhaps, he might have been someone different . . . if only. But in the next moment that illusion vanished. “You shouldn’t have deceived me. I thought we had an understanding . . . but I tell you what. I’ll let your dear mistress decide your fate.”

  Dr. Wiltshire walked over to one of the dining room tables and slid out a chair. “Sit down, Addie.”

  She made no move to obey.

  “I can see how you might not trust me. I assure you I’m not going to hurt you . . . unless . . . Don’t make me force you. It won’t be pleasant . . .”

  She eyed him for several minutes, her gaze flickering to the bloodless face of her mistress. Miss Jewel seemed to nod, but it was so slight, Addie couldn’t be sure. She stepped forward, relieved Dr. Wiltshire had moved away from the chair as she did so. She seated herself next to the table waiting . . .

  “Now, that’s better. It’s so much nicer when we can behave like rational adults. As I was saying, since Jewel is the one that brought you into this by convincing you to side with her, she can decide your destiny.” He turned to face his wife. “I’m so fond of our dear Addie. It would grieve me if I had to . . . shall we say, cause her harm. I’m giving you a choice. Leave with me of your own free will, and I’ll let Addie live.”

  “Leave? You can’t be serious?”

  “I assure you I am.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Come, come, my dear. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

  Jewel stared at him with a blank expression.

  Dr. Wiltshire crossed the distance, yanked at the fragile material of her petticoat, and ripped it into long strips.

  “Hunsdon! What are you doing?”

  “Tie her up,” he shouted. “Secure Addie to the chair. And make those knots tight.”

  The poor girl looked as if she might be sick. “You promised you were going to set her free.”

  “I said if. She’s my assurance you won’t try to bolt.” He shoved several of the strips in her direction. “Secure her hands behind her back and tie her legs to the chair. I won’t have her escaping while we are upstairs.”

  Dark brown eyes grew wide. She reminded Addie of the little mouse she had seen Theodosia corner in the kitchen just this week. “It’s all right, miss. Do as he says.” She attempted a smile to boost the young woman’s spirits. “You won’t get away with this, Dr. Wiltshire. You might have everyone else convinced, but God sees. He’s the righteous judge and you’re not going to escape punishment. ‘May the Lord judge between you and me. And may the Lord avenge the wrongs you have done to me . . .’”


  “1 Samuel 24:12. Excellent, Addie!”

  The two women’s eyes met in silent communication. The Lord would work it out. Addie did her best to communicate that to the young woman. For now, she needed to do what he said. With trembling hands, Miss Jewel took the strips and secured her friend to the chair.

  “Make them nice and tight. I’m going to check behind you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Addie.”

  “It will be all right, miss,” Addie whispered. Perspiration rolled down her face. Her gown clung to her. The clock’s tick-tock marked the minutes.

  “Okay, that’s good enough.” Hunsdon pushed Jewel out the way and tested the knots. “Well done. Now let’s get upstairs.”

  Without a backward glance, he seized his wife by the upper arm and half pushed, half pulled her along, forcing her out of sight.

  Addie listened to the scuffle of feet along the stairs and then above her as they struggled down the hall. Oh Lord, if you’re going to help me, now’s the time. She glanced around the room. Her eyes stopped on the glittering knife still stuck in the table.

  Hallelujah!

  Dr. Wiltshire hadn’t pulled the chair out far. If . . . only . . . she . . . Ugh. Just out of reach. She stretched as much as her seventy-year-old body would permit. It was no use.

  He’s never going to let you live. Try harder.

  From somewhere inside her, the voice wouldn’t allow her to give up. She summoned up the energy and tried again. Pulling and contorting her hands, her sweat-slicked arms strained against the unyielding cloth until she experienced the first inkling of concession. She might not be able to reach the knife, but maybe she could manage to slip her hand free.

  She counted one minute on the clock. Two. Three. Her arms worked with determination, growing raw from twisting and turning them. She felt triumph when the material slipped part-way over her thumb. Then suddenly it gave. Success! The restraint fell away and landed on the floor. Unrestricted, she reached for the knife and heaved with all her strength to dislodge it from the table. Once she had the object in her hand, it was a simple matter to cut away the binding.