Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

  “As soon-to-be in-laws,” he finished.

  Just like that, my heart sank into my toes. What had I expected? That he wanted us to continue on as . . . what? Pals? Good friends? A couple? I think his beauty constantly distracted me from remembering that I was only a means to an end for him. That I didn’t matter and he didn’t care about me.

  That while I was wondering what it would feel like to have his strong, gorgeous lips pressed against mine, the feelings were definitely not mutual.

  I let out a shaky breath and nodded at him. “No worries. All’s forgiven. We’re fine.”

  “My deepest gratitude for your magnanimous and kind spirit,” he said, bowing ever so slightly.

  I didn’t return the gesture as I shut the door without even saying good night. I leaned against it and could feel him on the other side. What was wrong with me? I had a job to do. Keep the Portwood family happy while finding my way home. I wasn’t staying. There wasn’t a future for me with James or with Hartley. A little physical attraction didn’t mean anything.

  I knew better. I understood the facts and the reality of this situation.

  Then why, when he finally left, his boots heavy on the hallway floor, did I feel so broken up?

  * * *

  The next day I sat with Charles at writing desks that had been set up in the library for our use. It was something else we did besides visiting people, shopping, and eating dinner with Hartley. She wrote a lot of letters, probably as part of her “get Emma accepted by society” plan. I didn’t write any. Because who would I write them to? I pretended to write to my “father” and “friends back home” but never let anyone mail them off. I always said they weren’t done yet. But still I sat there pretending to write while she went through her mountain of correspondence and invitations.

  Well, “write” was probably too strong of a word. Mostly I continued to spill ink and add to my ever-growing Rorschach blot collection.

  And feel frustrated that I was again prevented from checking out the library. I kept doing random spot checks periodically, but either it was locked or Hartley was in there working, and I was not ready yet to face him alone. I was so embarrassed by the things I thought and felt that I was sure it was written all over my face.

  And as he’d told me, Hartley enjoyed reading. I didn’t want him to read the truth on me. It would make things even awkward-er.

  Sighing, I leaned back in my tiny chair. “Posture,” Charles reminded me, and I sat up, shaking my hands. She stopped to study me. “Is something the matter?”

  “My wrists hurt,” I told her. “I don’t think this chair or this quill are ergonomically correct. I’m worried I’m getting carpal tunnel syndrome.”

  She blinked at me a few times. “Did you just say you were getting some sort of fish syndrome?”

  Before I could explain that I’d said “carpal,” and not “carp,” Stephens appeared out of nowhere like the butler wraith that he was. My heart slammed into my throat before settling back down. He was seriously going to give me a heart attack, and then I was going to die because there were no cardiothoracic surgeons.

  “Mrs. Meriweather, Lady Penmere is here to see you.”

  That name sounded familiar. As a pretty blonde, brown-eyed woman entered the room, I recognized the resemblance and remembered as I stood up. She was Hartley’s older sister. The married one. She greeted Charles and then nodded to me, removing her gloves. She took both of my hands in hers. I felt a slight shock, like static electricity. And it was such a sweet and open gesture that I wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Blythe.”

  Her face was full of happiness and delight. It was probably what Hartley would look like if he ever stopped doing his Oscar the Grouch impersonation. “Me too. Charles has told me so much about you.”

  In a perfect impression of her younger brother, Lady Penmere raised one eyebrow in question.

  “Yes, I call her Charles, and she calls me Emma.” Why was this such a thing? “And yes, it makes your brother insane.”

  I was a little disconcerted by the mischief in her eyes. “Excellent. Then I must insist you call me Jane.”

  I noticed the little girl hiding behind Lady Penmere, er, I meant Jane’s, skirts, and the governess or nanny (I had forgotten the correct term) carrying a baby boy. “These are my children, Lady Jemima, and the current Viscount Stratholme, whom for now we call Jacob.”

  More J names. It reminded me that I still needed to find out Hartley’s.

  “Penmere was busy?” Charles asked after she’d cooed over the baby. The nanny left to take him upstairs to the nursery and expected little Jemima to come as well, but Jane said she could stay if the little girl promised to behave. With big, brown eyes Lady Jemima nodded her head. Then she discovered Princess and began following the dog around the room. The corgi was only barely faster. I wondered which one of them would tire first.

  “I mentioned a family visit, and he had plans he had forgotten,” Jane said with an exaggerated sigh and a twinkle in her eye. “Always busy.”

  “I’m sure you have your hands full, too.”

  Hartley’s sister followed my gaze after I spoke and laughed at her daughter still pursuing the corgi while saying, “Come here, chicken, come here.”

  “She talks really well. How old is she?” I asked.

  Jane preened at the compliment to her little girl. “Just past two years. And she does speak very well, although you can see she still tends to confuse her animals.”

  Charles pulled out her sewing bag, which had a bunch of white cloth in it. I suppressed my internal groan. Not sewing. Anything but sewing. I was already so bad at so many things that I hadn’t been able to admit to Charles that, outside of one semester in seventh grade that involved an actual machine, I’d never sewn anything in my life. That’s what factories were for.

  The two women chatted about their family while they each grabbed a piece of cloth. Charles offered one of them to me. It seemed different than what I’d handled before. “What’s this?” I asked.

  “We’re doing some mending while we visit. You can mend one of Hartley’s shirts.” I took his shirt and was surprised by how long it was. With those tight pants, I didn’t know how he managed to tuck it all in.

  The shirt smelled like him, and I only barely refrained from sniffing it. He had this distinct scent, like sunshine mixed with soap and some other masculine thing I didn’t recognize, but which did silly things to the flutters in my belly.

  “Don’t we have people for this?” I asked again, hoping this time I might get a different answer.

  “Yes, we’re the people,” Charles drily reminded me. So I did what I imagined would be best but only managed to sew the collar to the body and leave tiny drops of blood all over his snowy-white shirt. This one was probably beyond saving now, but I was doing what they wanted me to do. Trying to fit in. Even if it was like trying to put a square peg into a dodecahedron hole.

  Maybe some of that geometry was applicable to my real life.

  “Speaking of animals,” Jane said, which was weird. We hadn’t talked about animals in a while. We’d been talking about doing stupid sewing, which made no sense given that we lived in a house full of servants. Who could serve. By sewing. I knew I would sound ungrateful, but I really hated sewing by hand. “Do you happen to know where Sir Reginald is? I would love to see him again.”

  That spooky cat was probably still hanging out somewhere in my room, plotting my demise so that he could eat my toes. But if it meant escaping, I would hog-tie Sir Reginald and drag him downstairs. “I’ll go look for him. Be right back.”

  And by “right back” I meant three hours from now. When everything was mended.

  When I got into the hallway, I realized that I had somehow sewn the arm of Hartley’s shirt to my dress, and it had snagged on something in the wall. A nail? I bent down to investigate, not wanting to do any more damage, when I heard the women speaking in low tones.

  Jan
e spoke first. “Doesn’t she seem . . .”

  “You noticed it as well. I thought I had lost my ability to detect it. Do you think she’s a . . .” What in the world was Charles talking about? What had they noticed about me? How did I seem? What did they think I was? I held my breath, still crouched next to the door. Whatever was happening, it sounded important.

  “No,” Jane quickly responded. “But there is something around her. I felt it when I touched her. I am not certain what.”

  They both fell silent, and my curiosity got the better of me. Straightening up, I walked into the room, ready to confront them, and just in time to see little Jemima levitating Princess toward her. “Chicken!” she called out happily as the dog floated to her outstretched arms.

  “What did Mama tell you about . . .” Jane’s voice died when she saw me.

  That had not just happened. It had not. “Did she . . . what . . . what was that? What’s happening?”

  “We can explain,” Jane said in a tone that one would typically use only with a crazy person. But I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t. I didn’t hallucinate. That had just happened. That girl had some kind of magic. There were no computers, no special effects. That had happened.

  And to my surprise, I didn’t faint.

  Instead, I looked at the women, they looked at me, Jemima squeezed the corgi that was nearly as big as she was, and I said, “I think there’s something I have to explain, too.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816

  Harry Potter. Because magic is real.

  “I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning,” Charles said as she shut the library door. Some part of my brain mentally inserted, “Once upon a time,” as I was more than ready to hear the fairy tale about how a two-year-old was doing magic. Mrs. Farnsworth had been summoned to take Jemima and a very squished Princess to the nursery, and now the three of us sat on the couches. I was by myself, across from the others. “And there is no way to say it except to just say it. We are witches, Emma. The women in our family have always been witches.”

  Obviously, I was kind of expecting something like this because magic and witches went hand in hand. But it was still shocking. What were you supposed to say to, “Hi, my name is Charles, and I’m a witch?” Like we were in our very own chapter of Witches Anonymous?

  “We are aligned with the elements, and our gifts are given randomly. Both Jane and Jemima are wind witches. I am a water witch, and Hartley’s younger sisters manipulate fire and earth. Their mother was a fire witch, as well.” She heaved a deep sigh before continuing. I wondered how she managed it with a corset on. “We work best with our element, and when we’re young, sometimes it is difficult to contain our magic. As you just saw. But when we get married, everything changes.”

  “How does it change?”

  “We lose most of our power.” She exchanged glances with Jane, who nodded. “We can still do spells, some potions, but nothing like before. And strangely enough, our husbands become, for lack of a better word, extremely lucky. They amass incredible fortunes. Defeat their enemies with ease. Successes in whatever they put their hand to.”

  “And it didn’t go unnoticed,” Jane butted in, looking upset. “The women of our family were forced into subjugation first by chieftains and druids and then by kings and noblemen. The daughters were given as gifts to whomever pleased the king. But to everyone’s great consternation, the women in our family didn’t bear sons, leaving the path for succession unclear and causing upheaval and chaos in the kingdom. Every time a king died, the throne was fought over by men who all had the same advantage in war, thanks to the women from our family. The devastation was terrible.”

  “Until a pirate fell in love with one of the king’s daughters, as she did with him,” Charles interrupted, excited by her own story. “Her father obviously forbade the union, so they ran away together and married. The princess had a son, and that was when sons began to be born in our family. Love had been the key to creating male heirs. The women decided to protect their families and future offspring, and all agreed to take herbs to prevent the birth of any more daughters. Then they ran away from their husbands and captors. Until their secret was once again hidden and everyone forgot.”

  Jane leaned forward. “And since then, the women in our family have only ever married for love. Their mothers make certain, so that they know the men are worthy of the gift they will receive from the marriage.”

  It was unbelievable, but a very cool story. I would totally watch this movie. Even if it was a lot to process. “Does your husband know?” Did Hartley?

  At that, both women chuckled. “The men do not know. Not the husbands, sons, brothers, not any of them,” Jane told me. “We learned to keep our secrets to ourselves. I have found it highly necessary to maintain the illusion my husband currently has of me, and I would hope he would do the same.”

  She was joking, but she must have loved her husband, and he must have loved her. Or else Jacob wouldn’t exist. Which made another thought occur to me. I looked at Charles. “Wait, you said you had six sisters. Does that mean your parents didn’t love each other?”

  “My mother wanted to be a duchess more than anything else in the world. And her parents spoiled her and never denied her anything. She found a duke, and her dowry was enough to entice my father, who had a title but thanks to a bad gambling habit, not many funds. The marriage was allowed. And while I think they eventually grew fond of each other, I do not think they were ever in love. Not as I was with my husband,” Charles said with a wistful tone.

  The admiral. Hadn’t she said her element was water? It made sense that she married a man who lived his life at sea. I heard the rain outside, there like always, hitting the windows.

  I turned to look at the blurred view. My world had just literally been rocked. Not only had I time traveled, but there were witches. And magic. I had obviously suspected that magic had to be real given my current circumstances, but some part of me hadn’t really believed it. I had resigned myself to staying here and copyrighting the Harry Potter and Star Wars series and making a fortune. Although if I had been stuck in 1816 and had been forced to marry James, I probably never would have to worry about money. The Portwoods were loaded. As were the Meriweathers.

  “And it’s why you’re all rich. That transference of power or whatever happens when you get married.”

  “Yes.” Charles nodded, folding the long piece of linen she had worked on. “But that only lasts for as long as the wife is living.”

  “When my mother died, my father squandered all his fortune. He died penniless not long after. It’s why Hartley had to begin traveling, as he was determined to restore what was lost. And he has,” Jane said, her voice shaking slightly as anger set in. “Even though that lying, despicable, cheating little tart didn’t deserve his devotion or his attempts to give her the lifestyle she believed she deserved.”

  Whoa. Where had that come from? I definitely wanted to explore that more. Was the cheating little tart the elusive Miss Amesbury the Vase Giver who had made him not want to get married ever?

  Charles put her hand on top of Jane’s arm, like she was trying to calm her down, and said, “They say one should not speak ill of the dead.” Jane looked chastened until Charles went on. “But I believe Miss Amesbury warrants an exception.”

  It was Miss Amesbury! But before I could ask questions, Charles spoke to me. “I hope you understand and appreciate that we have taken a great risk in telling you the truth. I have found you to be a very trustworthy woman, one that I hope to make part of my family someday. I want you to know that this trust extends both ways. That whatever you said you would like to explain will obviously be kept between us.”

  Even as my heart glowed with the idea that Charles and Jane trusted me, that they saw me as somebody who could be in their family, my lizard brain was still panicking. It would alleviate so much of my constant anxiety to get this off my chest, to have someone know who I
really was. Even if it was scary.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes. I do have something I need to tell you.” I didn’t even know how to explain that I was from the future. I didn’t think they had any science fiction yet. “I’m not from where you think I’m from.”

  Charles frowned, not taking my meaning. “You’re not American?”

  “Oh no. I’m American. I’m just from the America in 2017. The one that will exist two hundred years from now.”

  Several moments passed in silence until Jane said, “I’m not certain I understand.”

  “I was born in the year 1996. In 2017, I was working here, at Hartley Hall, which in my time is a museum. I went upstairs, put on an old-fashioned dress, read what I now believe was a spell, and wound up here. Hartley thinks I’m some girl named Emily Blythe, and he wants me to marry James. I’m sorry that I lied and went along with it. I didn’t know what else to do. I just want to get back home.” It all came out in one big rush, like the words were fleeing my body, desperate to be shared with the world.

  Both women wore expressions that I was sure mirrored the one I’d been sporting for the last ten minutes. Shock. Disbelief. And was that a tiny smidge of acceptance?

  “You’re saying that you’ve come here from the future?” Jane asked.

  “Yes,” I nodded. The relief was a palpable thing. I had hated lying to everyone, especially Charles. And given what they’d shared with me, I didn’t think they’d try to lock me up. And they probably had a strong aversion to stake burning. “I can prove it to you. I have stuff locked up in my room that can prove it. But it’s why I don’t know how to do anything. Why I don’t know the rules or have any manners.” I pointed at my skirt, which still had Hartley’s shirt attached to it. “I can’t sew. I can’t use a quill, and I can’t dance. I’m trying hard to learn, but this has all been really difficult.”

  To my surprise, there were tears at the edges of my eyes. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how hard everything had been on me. Emotionally and physically. It was why I collapsed into bed every night and immediately fell asleep. My voice went wobbly. “I know it’s a lot to ask that you believe me, but I’m not crazy, and I’m not making it up. And you have a really nice time period and everything, but all I want is to get back.”