“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he shouted above the wind. He leaned his top half over to avoid getting his bottom half wet as he reached further for my hand. His firm grasp stung my raw hands as he pulled me up.
“I live just over there,” he pointed to the house next to the lighthouse. “I’m sure Rosemary has something dry you could change into.”
The name Rosemary felt like a curse word on my lips as I spoke her name as a question. “Rosemary?” I couldn’t face the person who was seconds away from busting me out of my hiding spot.
“I know she can be intimidating, but truly she’d only want to help,” he pleaded.
I stayed silent as we walked side by side up the steep hill to the dune stairs, listening to him apologize ten times in a row. I knew Rosemary would be curious about how I got in the lighthouse, and how I knew her name. She would want to know where my clothes came from too, but I didn’t care about any of that. If I wanted a hot shower it was the only option I had.
Six
n
I was standing in front of a white house as beautiful as a bed and breakfast. A massive white porch surrounded the wooden front door and two porch swings hung on either side. A twin balcony sat over top with four rocking chairs scattered across. I imagined the boy sitting at the top watching the ocean rise and fall, with me sitting in the chair next to him.
“This is your house? Like, that you live in?” I asked as we walked inside. A sweet breeze floated over from the ocean filling the homes insides like it belonged there. Inside, everything was set out just so with a sitting room to the left and a dining room to the right.
“What else would it be?” he asked with his eyes crinkled shut, drawing the lines that someday would stay put. He turned from me hopping up the large wooden staircase in the center of the house, skipping steps. As he fumbled around in the hall closet, I stayed at the bottom scanning the open space for another person, or at least a family photo. Preparation was the only option for Rosemary inevitably asking where I came from. I needed to put a face to the voice, and I needed to come up with a story.
The boy stood at the top of the stairs with a towel and a washcloth in his hand. I started to clam up thinking about getting naked in a house with a stranger.
“What’s your name,” I asked, even though he hadn’t asked mine. The distance between us was enough that I could still make a run for it if I needed to.
He rubbed his opposite hand across the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. “Warren.”
“Warren,” I repeated, making sure I got it right.
“I know it’s awful, everyone in school called me The Warden.” With his lips shut, he nodded his head up and down like he was waiting for laughter.
“Warden? As in…” I asked confused, waiting for an explanation.
“As in… the person who is more concerned with the safety of others than making friends with them,” Warren explained, making me shift uncomfortably. He cleared his throat and in quick, broken words added, “not that I don’t like making friends.”
I took a few steps back placing myself in the entrance once again. I wasn’t the type of girl who spoke unless I was spoken to. I never willingly borrowed anything, let alone a stranger’s shower and clothes. Part of me wanted to run, the same way I had from the lighthouse, but I had nowhere to go. I forced myself to breathe, trying to find the confidence to defend myself if I needed to.
He ran back down holding out a towel and a washcloth for me to take. He wiggled them at me like I was an animal he was coaxing to come closer. One step at a time, I moved forward staring him down, trying to see into his soul.
“I didn’t mean for it to come out that way, honest.” Warren said, with his thick eyebrows gathered in.
I nodded as he held the linens out until they were almost touching me. Logic was to be nervous alone in a house with a stranger, but he seemed to be a gentleman. There was no other word to describe him, just like Liza had said of John’s looks. Despite my brain screaming for me to get out, I needed a shower as bad as I needed food. So, I was ready to take the risk.
“And what does Rosemary call you?” I asked, taking the towel from him.
“Warren,” he answered matter-of-factly, with a laugh that only reached the back of his throat. He stuffed his hands into his pockets leaning back on his heels. “You know… come to think of it, she started the nickname at school. Sisters can be cruel.”
Words I would never say flew out of my mouth in an attempt to help the red covering his ears melt away. “You look more like a Wren to me.” He met his eyes to mine letting a smile reach the corners, but his lips stayed firm.
He made a hmm noise in the back of his throat making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. “What’s your name?”
“Vanessa.”
“And does everyone call you Vanessa?” he asked.
I bit my lip, grinning from his attempt at small talk. Nothing about him seemed like a warden; he was more of a warm breeze on an early fall day. “Yep.”
He paused staring at me as if he were trying to figure me out. “You look more like a Nessa to me,” he winked, turning to lead me up the stairs.
My stomach flopped. Time to get up, Nessa, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. I had never heard Nessa spoken on anyone’s lips, except for my mother’s.
“Second door on the left,” Wren said, pointing down the hallway toward Rosemary’s room.
My insides flinched at the thought of her behind the closed door. Having to introduce myself to more than one person a day was too much for me. “I would hate to bother her.”
“Oh, she isn’t home. During the week she goes to our grandparents for lunch. She’ll be there for hours.” He opened the door to Rosemary’s room and pointed to a closed door on the right. “The bathroom is just there. Take all the time you need.”
Wren turned and started down the stairs he’d just led me up, not looking back. I wasn’t sure if he was directing me toward the shower out of kindness or to rid me of my smell. I went into Rosemary’s room timidly, locking the door behind me.
The walls were covered in wallpaper scattered with little pink flowers that matched her bedspread. Clothes were laid across the bed and piled on the floor next to a tall oval mirror. Instead of looking at any of the dresses she’d tried on, I went to the closet. Only three were left hanging, each one worn and plain compared to the rainbow of dresses lying around the room.
I reached for the mint green which had buttons from the collar to the bottom, topped with short puff sleeves. I held it up to myself looking into the oval princess mirror, it wasn’t something I’d ever seen anyone wear outside of a 1950s movie.
I moved closer, taking the first real look at myself in two days. My huge blue eyes were bloodshot in the corners and dark circles sat just underneath. My hair was slicked flat down to my ears from grease and ocean water, the rest was in a dark tangle of damp knots. I puffed out my cheeks and let out a deep sigh, realizing that I had nothing to fear. No boy in his right mind would want anything to do with the unkempt girl staring back at me.
I walked over a pile of books, strayed pieces of cut up fabric, and a sewing box full of thread and notions. Next to the bathroom door, I noticed a photo peeking out from the bottom of an unfolded sewing pattern. I held up the brown tissue paper pattern revealing a album covered in taped on black and white photos with scalloped white edges.
There wasn’t a single colored photo in the book. I stopped on an image of a boy like that looked a lot like Wren smiling behind ten glowing candles. Underneath the photo, in perfect cursive, Warren Davenport February 17th, 1941 was written.
I dropped the photo album hard and fast. Believing I time traveled would be outlandish and childish, but nothing else made sense. I had jumped off the Swan Pier and came up for air 70 years in the past.
j
Thirty minutes later, I ventured out of Rosemary’s room wearing her button up mint dress. It was
loose in the chest but soft against my clean skin. My wet hair soaked through the fabric down my back, but I didn’t mind.
I stepped onto a creaky floorboard making Wren jump up from his seat at the bottom of the stairs. He had his finger stuck in the middle of a book to hold his spot, further proof that I was far from reality. Any modern day boy would have been staring at a screen.
“Find everything okay?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I think so.”
He gave me a once over, landing his eyes on my feet. “What about shoes? Yours really don’t look fit for wearing.”
I looked down at my wet high top converse, “Rosemary’s didn’t fit.” My backpack was already heavy enough with my wet clothes inside and would only be heavier with shoes.
He put one finger up asking me to wait as he ran past me. Cologne lingered in the air even after he was gone, a scent I hadn’t smelled before my shower. I was about to call up the stairs in protest when he ran back down holding a pair of white slip on flats.
“How about these?” He asked.
“I’ve already borrowed enough.”
“Oh, Mom won’t mind a bit,” the left side of his lips grinned as he spoke. “My folks are out of town for another two weeks anyway, so she won’t have a chance to miss them.”
He stood on the same stair as me, second to the bottom, meeting me directly in the eye. He was good looking, which I hadn’t noticed amidst the chaos. I shifted, breaking the intense eye contact. His slightly muscular, olive skin peeked out from his folded up sleeve and the white shoes dangled from his two fingers.
I allowed my hand to brush against his as I took them from his hand. I needed to check and see if he was real. The warmth of his skin pulsed into my fingertips and went straight down to my toes.
Seven
n
Wren closed the lighthouse early, taping a sign to the door that read It’s a beautiful day, closed early to enjoy it. -Davenport in small boyish handwriting. He assured me that Rosemary would be furious, which seemed to only make him more eager to get out of work for the day.
“It’s a ‘48,” Wren said with a grin from ear to ear as he opened the passenger door to his shiny red pickup. “Bought it myself.”
I climbed in swallowing back my nerves as I took in the fact that a new truck was from 1948. I thought back to the tenth birthday photo of Wren from 1941 in an attempt to find out when I’d jumped to. “How old are you?”
“18, how ‘bout you?”
Quick math told me it was 1949, so technically I wasn’t even thought of yet. “Almost 18.”
“And what brings you to Port Swan at such a young age.” The seat vibrated in unison with the sound of the roaring engine as he cranked the ignition.
“You can’t be more than a few months older than me.” My cheeks flushed red as I spat back the comeback with a giggle. A tingle swept across my cheeks as they flushed red, I couldn’t remember the last time I had giggled. As the lighthouse grew smaller in the side view mirror, an ache to go back and lock myself away like a princess in a tower filled my stomach, but that wouldn’t be spending my time wisely. My chest tightened at the mental debate, and I knew I wasn’t ready to leave Wren’s company.
“Rosemary’s a year older than me and she’s getting married. She says every year of your life is as different as night and day.” He had one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out in the warm breeze, waving his hand up and down along with the wind.
“So next year you’ll be walking down the aisle?”
He looked over at me with humor hiding behind his serious eyes. “You’re a strange girl you know that? Where did you come from anyway?”
I clenched my teeth, rolling and unrolling the pink envelope in my hand. “Raleigh.”
“Ah, the city, that explains it. Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere yet, I just got here this morning.” I unrolled the envelope once more and began to look over my list.
“What’s that you’ve got?” he asked.
“A to-do list. Buy clothes, stuff like that.” Quickly adding, “I lost my luggage.”
“We can go pick up Rosemary if you’d like to go shopping. She loves clothes.”
I paused thinking through what a shopping date would be like with someone who already owned as many clothes as a store has in stock. “I’d like to stay with you… if that’s okay?”
“Well, sure it is…” Wren said, giving me a sideways glance filled with intrigue. “Why don’t you read me that list?”
I knew I couldn’t possibly read him everything, so I took in a deep breath altering the words beside each number.
“1. Find a place to call home.
2. Make time to paint.
3. Enjoy the weather.
4. Buy new clothes.
5. Go grocery shopping.
6. Visit the vineyard.
7. Read more.”
I watched him as I read. He kept a straight face except on number six. The crooked, half smile he gave made my heart drop.
“The vineyard huh?”
“I… really like grapes.”
We pulled into downtown distracting me from his question. I was happy to see that it looked the same as it had before I jumped, one less thing I would have to readjust to. Wren exited the truck before me, making his way over to my door. I reached for the handle and pulled, meeting him face to face when I pushed it open.
“I was going to get that for you,” he said with a blank look on his face.
His narrowed eyes told me that I’d just insulted him. Chivalry was a way of life in the past and remembering that vast difference to the present would take some getting used to. “Oh, right. Sorry about that.”
Wren started walking toward the storefront called, Midnight, that he’d parked in front of. The name was painted onto a white swan shaped sign, just like the library and pier.
“Newspaper,” a little boy shouted, standing next a newspaper stand in front of the store. I picked up the top paper holding the thin, cream colored rectangle up to my face to look for the date. Next to the words Swan Times read, Wednesday, September 8th, 1949.
“That’ll be five cent,” the little boy’s voice screamed as he tried to jump up to get the paper from me. Clinking coins jingled in Wren’s hand as he paid him.
“Billy, customers don’t like being shouted at,” a woman demanded as she flew out of the shop door.
“Hello, Ms. Marshall,” Wren said nodding his head at her.
Marshall. I closed my eyes in on her face, serious but beautiful. Her dark hair was pulled back, accentuating her perfect jawline and huge brown eyes. If I had known how to fix my hair like hers, we would have looked undeniably similar with the exception of our eye color.
“Hello Warren,” her icy voice came out as she touched her hand to Billy’s shoulder instructing him to keep quiet. He stopped jumping with a grimace slapped across his face as he grabbed an armful of papers. She turned her attention back to Wren just as Billy started down the street, yelling “newspapers!” once again.
“How’s your father?” She asked.
“My folks are up north visiting John and Cynthia. They’ll be back in a week or so.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.” She said, pursing her lips. “Since your mother isn’t here to take care of you perhaps you’d like to come over for dinner one night. I know Jo would love it.”
Jo. I’d heard that name before, I was sure of it.
“Yes ma’am, that would be very nice. I’ve been living off nothing but pot roast while Rosemary tries to perfect her recipe.”
They continued making small talk as the woman watched me out of the corner of her eye. All of the noises around me hushed as a memory as vivid as if it were yesterday flooded my mind.
I was back at the house in Port Swan with my mother. She stood staring out the window as she told me how it had been her Grandmother Jo’s and her Great-Grandmother Louise’s before that, and
now it was ours. She picked me up and showed me a photo of them hanging on the wall, promising that someday when I was older I would have the chance to meet them. The realization that I had known the family secret all along jabbed my heart like a knife.
The world started to spin and the noises grew louder. My eyes stayed glued on Ms. Marshall until I fell backwards, watching the street turned to the sky and the sky turn to black.
j
I woke up in a new place, lying sideways on a navy blue chaise lounge in a clothing shop that was painted all blue. I looked around frantically, realizing I was inside of the store I had just been standing outside of, Midnight. I didn’t see Wren anywhere. I stood up fast, which only made my head spin faster and forced me back down.
“Don’t get up,” Miss Marshall demanded in a strong woman’s voice. I watched as her navy blue high heels made their way from a floral curtain lined doorway to me.
“Where’s Wren?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. His truck was parked in the same spot, right outside the shop’s door. I needed my backpack to guard the money and journals. My eyes traveled up to her face as she sat down next to me, placing a damp cloth on my forehead. Breathtaking was the only word for her.
“I don’t know anyone named Wren, but Warren just ran across the street to get you a soda. He’ll be right back,” she said with a calm tone and her head held high.
“I’m just ... I need to get my things.” I said, taking the cloth off as I tried to stand up again.
“You need to lay down. Your things aren’t going anywhere.” She put the cloth back on my head, then stood up adjusting her smooth cotton dress that matched her shoes. “Warren referred to you as Nessa is that your name?”
“It’s Vanessa,” I corrected her, mirroring her sharp eye contact.
“Louise,” she said, placing her fingers on her chest. She moved closer as she added, “I must admit, you look awfully familiar.”
Louise Marshall. I was breathing the same air as my great-great grandmother, and she couldn’t have been much older than 30. I swallowed hard trying to steady my breathing.
On Luna Time Page 4
