Loren looked up. Miles Chapeau filled in the doorway. Because of her drugged state earlier, she hadn’t realized how tall or how handsome he was. Probably a couple of inches over six feet, he looked very professional in camel slacks and a herringbone weave jacket. In one hand he held his tan felt hat and some flowers, and in the other a large paper bag.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, please. I’d enjoy some company.”
He came in and handed her the flowers. She brought them to her nose and inhaled their scent. “These came from my garden at the cottage,” she stated, recognizing them as the exact same color as the ones she’d taken to Ethyl.
His left brow raised an inch. “My garden, Mrs. Fairchild.” He shoved the sack at her. “Here are your clothes. My housekeeper laundered them.”
She took the bag and peeked inside. It was tempting to search for those twenty-pound notes, but she decided to wait. She tossed the sack to the end of the bed. “Thank Irene for me.”
Eyes narrowed, he asked, “How did you know her name was Irene?”
Loren sighed deeply. “Pull one of those chairs up closer.”
Not taking his eyes from her face, he did so, then set his hat in his lap. “I’m listening.”
“I told you when you were here before that your wife showed up at my cottage in the year 2007.”
“If you think—”
She held up a hand. “Hear me out here. I know this entire situation is crazy, but your wife walked through the gazebo the night she disappeared, didn’t she?”
He nodded.
“I know you don’t believe me, but your wife walked into the cottage, walked upstairs and hugged Molly from behind. At Molly’s scream, your wife started laughing, jumping up and down like a child. She was dressed in a full-length white gown and was barefooted. Her long blonde hair stuck out from around her head because of the wind.”
His face had whitened under his tan, his mouth was pinched, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Molly called for an ambulance and the constable. I didn’t see your wife, but Constable Sanders had taken a digital picture of her. She resembled a fairy, ethereal and beautiful.”
He leaned back in the chair and put his right ankle on his left knee. His face had regained its color. His back ramrod straight was a sure sign he wasn’t buying her story.
“If it’s any comfort, medicine has progressed greatly in the past sixty years. Since your wife’s condition was caused by a blow to the head, they may be able to correct her problem—cure her.”
He stood and pinched the crease in his hat. “Mrs. Fairchild, that is the biggest pile of rubbish I’ve had the privilege of hearing in my entire thirty-five years on this earth.” He turned to leave.
“Wait, wait. Just think about this a minute.”
She eased from the bed and walked to stand in front of him. “During that same twenty-four hour period that your wife walked through the door, I walked through it too. There is something about that gazebo . . . Lordy, I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d say something like this. I think it causes time travel.”
He just looked down at her with those brown eyes it’d be easy to lose yourself in, and set his hat on his head. “Madam, I do not believe in time travel, nor will I ever. My wife is somewhere out there lost, and you... you are either a good actress or as ill as my wife.”
“You think so?” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Well think about this. In the cottage in 2007, there is a picture taken in 1950 of you with two children, probably five and seven, and you’ve got your arm around a dark-headed woman.” She grabbed his arm, and then quickly let go at the tingles that shot up her arm. “I am the dark headed woman. Whether we like it or not, our futures are intertwined.”
******
Miles sat in his easy chair, eyes closed, thinking.
What had Mrs. Fairchild meant about their futures being intertwined? A picture didn’t prove one thing. And where was this picture? She couldn’t produce it just like she couldn’t prove she was from 2007.
Why did his life have to be so complicated? It was bad enough to have a wife with a child’s mind, but to then have her disappear. If only he’d made sure she’d swallowed the pills. But he’d never dreamed she’d be sly enough to associate them to being sleepy.
And he didn’t want to be around Mrs. Fairchild. He didn’t like the way his body responded to her. He knew that at some point in his life he would meet a woman he could care for, possibly even love, and have a healthy sexual relationship. But, not with Mrs. Fairchild. Not with any woman as long as Miriam was alive. It didn’t seem right. His brain told him that, but his body said otherwise.
He’d explained everything to Irene, even Mrs. Fairchild’s story about being from 2007. She’d been shocked and nervous for some reason. He knew she was superstitious about some things. Maybe he’d told her too much. Of course, he’d not told her about the dream or the picture Mrs. Fairchild mentioned.
He’d bathed the children and tucked them in bed while Irene cleaned up the kitchen. They wanted to hear a story but couldn’t agree on just one. So, he’d read them two.
“Mr. Miles.”
His eyes flew open. Irene stood in the doorway. “Yes, Irene.”
“Could I talk with you a minute?”
He sat up straighter. “Sure, come in and have a seat.”
She settled herself on the sofa. “This is going to sound crazy, but I fear there may be something to Mrs. Fairchild’s story.”
He queried, “What makes you say that?”
“You remember me telling you about the little dog that adopted us when we first moved here from London? Before you came home from the war?”
“Yes, I remember. It was a little terrier. You said the dog ran off or someone picked him up.”
She bit her lip. “This is going to sound irrational, but that dog was digging up the flower beds one day and I chased him out through the gazebo.” Hand over her heart, she stammered. “I laughed as I watched him run toward the pond, and then—I swear, Mr. Chapeau, that dog disappeared into thin air.”
*****
It felt wonderful to be out of that hospital and in her own clothes. The only way she’d gotten out was to pretend she’d temporarily lost her memory and accept the date as 1947. Dr. Forbes bought her lie—that she was visiting her cousin who lived not far from the Chapeau’s cottage. When she’d explained she didn’t have the money to pay him, he’d patted her hand and said, “You let me worry about that. Just show up at my office in two weeks.” He handed her a card with a date and time on the back.
Fearing she’d truly stepped through a time warp, Loren walked slowly noticing things around her. Her knees shook just considering the possibility. She found a bench and watched the vintage cars go by—some highly collectable now. Men and women went about their business in clothes right out of a World War II newsreel without the devastation. All the men wore hats, of one kind or another, as did the women. Theirs were pretty creations with feathers, bows, flowers and veils. One hat resembled a Chinaman’s with the crown missing. Their shoes varied from high heels with ankle straps to wedges. As people walked by, some cast curious glances her way. She looked down at her jeans, sweater, and tennis shoes. She was definitely dressed for the wrong time period.
She picked up the newspaper lying on the bench beside her, read the date—September 21, 1947—and could read no farther, her vision hazy from the tears pooled in her eyes. Tightness squeezed her chest and, for a moment, she feared she was having a heart attack. It was true. She’d traveled back in time. Molly would be frantic and call Daddy. Oh, God. She didn’t want to worry Daddy. At the thought of never seeing her father again, her tears turned into sobs.
A policeman stopped. “You all right, Miss?”
Great! That’s all Loren needed was to be noticed by the law. She swiped at the tears and shook her head between sniffs.
He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re sure now? Be glad to help you.”
She search
ed her brain furiously for an excuse. He’d haul her back to the hospital if she expressed the real reason for her tears. Then an excuse dawned on her. “Thank you, sir, but it’s just my boyfriend. He broke up with me.”
“Aww, now, Miss. You are too pretty to cry over some bloke.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Cheer up now.”
“Thank you officer. I will”
He tipped his hat. “Good day to you then,” and strolled on down the street.
Loren breathed deeply of the fresh air. A good cry was just what she needed to clear her head. She couldn’t sit here all day and feel sorry for herself.
Inside her jeans pocket, she found the two twenty-pound notes. They’d been washed with her clothes so weren’t fresh and new. The day she’d visited the pub the cashier had given her change for a US hundred dollar bill. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she wasn’t totally broke. Not that this piddly amount would pay for a room for long, but it would buy her a meal. She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. What was she thinking? The money was from 2007. The notes had Queen Elizabeth II on them. Her coronation wasn’t until 1953.
She had to get back to the cottage. It had to be the key. What had she done that day? Gone through the doors of the gazebo, just as Miriam had. That meant the veil, or whatever, worked both ways. Was there a window for when it worked? It’s possible it was a one-time deal. Yeah, like she knew a lot about transporting through time. She’d go through that door a hundred times a day if that’s what it took to get home.
Rising from the bench, she looked around trying to find something familiar to her. There—the library. It was the same building she’d visited in 2007. And the pub where she’d stopped was a block down. She knew how to reach the cottage from there. It had taken forty-five minutes on the bicycle so she’d be walking at least an hour and a half, she figured.
As she strolled down the road, she couldn’t help but be impressed with all she saw. She was actually seeing another way of life, another era. If she didn’t have Daddy to worry about, she’d probably enjoy the adventure. But she knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he found her, would most likely kill himself in the process. That’s what worried her the most.
She had no choice, no say in the matter. It was possible she was stuck in this time period forever. The idea terrified her. How would she live? I’ll get a job, earn a living. I know how to take care of myself. The notion bolstered her courage.
The walk on the hilly road took a toll on her energy. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, and her heart jumped when she recognized the plaid flag in front of the next house. It held the same insignia, as did the one in front of Ethyl Rafferty’s cottage in 2007. She studied the structure. Yes, it was the same cottage. It was older, of course and the landscaping wasn’t fully established. For a moment, hope that she might have a friend in this time period sprang alive in her chest. But no, if living Ethyl would be just a baby. She glanced at the flag again and chuckled. Seems Ethyl’s Scottish flag tradition started with her parents or earlier generations. It was nice to be proud of your heritage and keep traditions going.
It was late afternoon by the time she reached the cottage. The building was newer, the trees and flowers not as dense, but the colors were the same. Instead of a paved drive, there was one made of packed dirt. She stood on the stoop, stomach churning with tension, trying to make up her mind. Finally, she lifted the knocker and struck three times.
An older woman, dressed in a cotton dress and lace up shoes, answered the door. “May I help you, Miss?”
Loren struggled to speak. She finally managed, “Irene?”
“Yes?” The older woman looked Loren up and down. “Oh, it’s you, child. Come in, come in.” Irene ushered her to the sofa. “I’m so glad you’ve come. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I’d love one if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. Could use a cup myself after getting the children down for a nap.”
Loren looked around the room. The furniture was different, but the wood floors were the same and polished to a beautiful shine. Vintage wallpaper with scenes of houses, people, and sailboats in the water covered the downstairs as well as the wall going up the steps. It reminded Loren of the Toile patterns so popular in early 2000.
She rose to her feet, strode to the kitchen door, and asked Irene, “Do you mind if I join you while you’re preparing the tea?”
“Not at all. Come sit at the table.”
Loren sat down and ran her hand over the wood of the old table. “This table is still in the cottage in 2007.”
Irene stiffened for a moment but didn’t respond as she continued to work, preparing the tea on the same stove that was in the cottage today. The icebox Irene reached into for the cream was completely different, an old GE Monitor Top with two side-by-side doors. The tan wallpaper in this room had a variety of colorful teapots, spoons, vases, candlesticks, and flowers adding cheer to its otherwise drab appearance. There wasn’t nearly the cabinet and counter space as in the future, but a beautiful Hoosier stood on one wall, with a breakfront full of dishes on another.
“Can I help with anything?” Loren asked.
“Yes, you can get cups and saucers from the cupboard and a plate to set the sweets on.” There were a variety of patterns to choose from. Loren picked pieces with a pink rose design and found a small platter to match. She set them on the table.
Five minutes later, they were drinking tea and Irene looked at Loren with sympathy. Tears gathered in her eyes as she said, “Mr. Chapeau told me you said Miriam was in a hospital in 2007. Will they take good care of her?”
“Yes, they will. She’ll get the most modern treatments, and excellent care if they can’t change her condition.”
“Thank, God,” said Irene as she mopped at her eyes with her napkin.
“You believe me then?” asked Loren. Oh, God. Could she talk to Irene about the entire situation? That would be such a relief.
Irene sniffed and worked to regain her composure. “Let’s just say, I don’t totally discredit your story.” She patted Loren’s hand. “We’ll talk about it later. I hear the children stirring so I better get their snacks ready. Then it will be time to start dinner.”
Loren got up. “Oh, I better get out of your hair then. I’ll walk back to town and find a place to stay. Tomorrow I’ll start searching for a job.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Tonight you’ll be staying with us. It will give you time to make plans,” said Irene.
“What about Mr. Chapeau?”
“He’s not an unreasonable man. I think he’d want you to stay.”
*****
Miles came through the back door and smiled at the sound of laughter coming from the parlor. Irene was setting the table.
“It’s nice to hear them laugh again,” he said.
“It’s Mrs. Fairchild. She’s reading them a story. Gets real animated and tickles the children to no end.”
He started to speak, but she raised a hand. “I hope you don’t mind me asking her to stay the night. She walked all the way here and was about to return to town and find a place to stay. I couldn’t let her do that, and didn’t think you’d want to turn her out.”
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, but at Irene’s last words, he released it. She was correct; he’d not want her searching for a place to stay on her own. “You did the right thing, Irene.” Hopefully, if Miriam truly were in 2007 someone would see that she had a safe place with good care. Imagining her fear tore at his heart. He should’ve taken better care of her. If only he could turn back the clock, he’d be more careful. The gazebo should have been boarded up long ago.
When he entered the parlor, both children jumped up and ran to him, squealing, “Father, Father.”
He caught each one with an arm and kissed their cheeks. He nodded at Mrs. Fairchild. “Madam.”
She eased off the sofa. “I hope I’m not imposing.”
“No, not at all.
We need to help you get settled.”
“Father!” said Mary. “Miss Loren reads the best stories. She’s fun.”
“Is that right?” he asked and sat them on their feet. “Why don’t you continue with your story while I change clothes?” He started for the stairs.
“Thank you, Mr. Chapeau.” He stopped and turned toward her. Tears sparkled in her eyes. If the story she told was true, she had every reason to cry. He’d do what he could for her and then get her out of his house and head. Crikey! His body’s reaction to her presence was damned embarrassing.
He cleared his throat. “You are quite welcome.” Before she could say anything further, he took the stairs two at a time.
After dinner, when the children were tucked in bed, he, Irene and Loren sat at the kitchen table. Loren described how she’d come to be at the cottage, and what had taken place the day she’d arrived at their back door instead of her own—the wind, rain, and darkness.
“I know it’s hard to believe.” She sighed. “I wish I could go to sleep and wake in the morning to find I’d been dreaming.” Miles remembered saying the same thing to the inspector yesterday.
She leaned forward, hands clasped on the table and looked directly into Miles’ eyes. “But, I want you to know that Miriam was not hurt when she appeared. She was taken to a hospital. Medicine has come a long way in the past sixty years. I can’t say for sure, but it’s possible they may be able to heal your wife.”
Nothing would make Miles happier. But if they did, how would she manage out in the world.
“I know what you’re thinking. If she regains her mind and memory, she’ll have the best care in the world helping her to re-enter society physically, emotionally, and financially.”
“I’d love to believe you, to believe that medicine in 2007 is so far advanced it could help Miriam. It would make losing her worthwhile.”
“It’s the truth, Mr. Chapeau. Doctors can operate on a baby before it’s born; they’re doing organ transplants—heart, kidneys—even fertilizing a human egg in a test tube and transferring it to the mother’s body.”
Miles couldn’t imagine such advances and wasn’t quite sure he approved of all Loren described.
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