Lust in Time

by Amarinda Jones

  The second vision was wildly different. It was so real that she woke up shaking from the intensity of it each time she had it. It was about a man. The sexiest most glorious man she had ever locked eyes on. He was so real that Arabella felt she could almost reach out and touch him. And his voice. It was deep and delicious as he spoke so lovingly to her. Though she was damned if she could remember what he actually said. It was more the tone he used that told her he wanted her. And always as he spoke to her Arabella had an overwhelming urge to give in to him. It was totally insane to feel this about any stranger let alone one from a dream. Crazy. Yet each time he came to her Arabella wanted to fling herself into his arms and let him take her any way he wanted to, because in her heart she felt it was the right thing to do. So why was she dreaming about this particular man? Who was he and why did Arabella feel like she knew him? The sexy, knowing way the blond-haired man with the storm grey eyes looked at her made her shiver with a strange sense of anticipation. But of what? The man was a dream. A damn good looking dream but still a dream. You could neither fall in love nor have real sex with a fantasy so it was frustrating the hell out of her to keep thinking about him.

  Arabella had a pretty good idea why she was conjuring up this man. If she wanted to get all Dr. Phil about it, it was because she was lonely and wanted to be loved and to love someone back. There was no man in her life, her family was dead or disinterested and here she was burning with the capacity to love but no takers. Even though she could never remember what her fantasy man said to her, she still knew two things. First, he loved her and second, she knew she was in falling in love with someone who did not exist. Excellent. Reservation for Miss Smith in rubber room sixty-seven. Add the fact that Arabella had not had sex in the longest time, that her libido was screaming out in lust and she needed an imaginary man to fuck her until she could not stand, and she was traveling fairly pathetically down life's highway at the moment. She was a love-starved and sex-crazed, unemployed woman wanting to jump the bones of a man that did not exist. She would probably start collecting stray cats next like a spinster did to compensate for the inadequacies in her life.

  "Yep and you can knit little cat outfits for them and call them your babies,” Arabella muttered to herself. “Get a grip, Smith!” She shook her head as if to dispel the dream and the man from her mind and she looked down at the next book in her collection. A Border Shepherdess . Hmmm. Bloodthirsty adventure? Not unless this particular shepherdess was pillaging for profit, threatening said border or ravishing the local lads. She had bought the book as a job lot three weeks ago when she was employed and had some vague idea where her life was going, as opposed to where it was currently headed—and that was going to hell in a handbag.

  "I don't think this is the novel for a cranky, horny bitch.” Arabella absently opened the aged hard cover of the old volume. As she flicked past the first couple of yellowed blank pages, Arabella could feel by the texture of the paper that she held an antiquity in her hands. Her interest was piqued despite herself. She loved books of any description or genre. Her home was lined with shelves that had novels stacked to near toppling. Arabella was quite incapable of passing a bookshop or second-hand store without buying at least one book. It did not matter what it was about. If it looked interesting, Arabella would buy it.

  "Published 1887,” Arabella murmured, suddenly feeling the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She told herself she felt no significance other than a cold neck. It was the middle of winter in Brisbane. Granted, winter in sub-tropical Brisbane was not the coldest of places on the planet but to Brisbanites accustomed to the steam of humidity it was downright chilly. Arabella pushed her toes deeper into her bright purple slippers and was glad of the warmth of baggy old flannelette pajamas as she turned another yellowed page. This book was a first edition. That in itself made it special. She stopped and stared down at the signature before her. Amy Louisa Robillard, July 23rd 1888. The words were neatly written in ink with a nib pen. A sudden shiver ran down Arabella's spine and it was not the cold this time. The fact that today's date was 23rd July 2008 made it all the more spooky and yet exciting as this was a really old book with a history. Just seeing the carefully inked signature gave Arabella a feeling of great excitement. It was starting to overcome the generally cranky disposition that had permeated her being since she had been made redundant from her job and thus far had not been able to find another.

  "Amy Louisa Robillard, who were you?” Arabella asked out loud as she stared at the neat, old-fashioned writing. She was pretty sure that whoever Amy Louisa had been, she had not been a cranky, unemployed, single woman. No doubt Amy Louisa would have had problems that were relevant in her own time but at that moment Arabella wondered if life would not have been so damned complicated as it now was in 2008? What had 1888 been like? Would Amy Louisa have been married and had children since most women were expected to have conformed to this norm in 1888? Or was she some spinster aunt or relative who had to rely on her family to keep her housed and fed as her marital prospects were few and far between? How hard would that have been to be reliant on someone else especially if you were a woman of spirit? A minute ago this unknown woman meant nothing to her but now she wondered if Amy Louisa Robillard had bucked the system or been a good girl? Arabella, independent, cranky woman that she was, knew she would never have fitted into 1888 society. There were times she barely fit into 2008. True, women did not have to marry but those who chose to remain single were still viewed as odd or possibly ‘lesbian’ in the enlightened world of today.

  "What about you, Amy Louisa? Was there a Mr. Darcy for you in your time? Were you happy? Did you get what you wanted out of life?” Arabella mused as she carefully turned some of the pages of the book. She stopped when a yellowed newspaper clipping, cut to the size of a bookmark, fell out from between the pages. The clipped article was entitled “Church Social Afternoon".

  'The members of the Plum Street Methodist Church Ladies Guild held a social afternoon. The arched rooms were decorated with baskets of flowers donated by the hostesses, Mesdames Burns, King and Carter.'

  Arabella read on with a wry smile. Imagine being described as part of a Mesdames ensemble. It sounded like a drag act. But of course it wasn't. These were old words from a forgotten era. The cutting went on to describe a 'tasteful musical program with an organ prelude' and ‘vocal solos’ and 'recitals by the Misses Hazelwood, Crimp and Dowd.' What a hoot that would have been. Arabella, in all her glorious impatience, tried to picture herself trapped listening to an organ rendition of a faithful classic or a poetry recital while being caught up by the customs of the era that would not let you get up to escape without drawing much attention to yourself. Not to mention being caught up by a corset. Stuff that. Arabella preferred to let it all hang out as opposed to having it all squashed up against her ribcage. ‘A delightful afternoon tea was served by the hostesses with many declaring great delight at the culinary display.' Arabella wondered if the ladies of the day bellied up to the buffet or if they avoided it in the event that they ate too much and had to loosen their stays or explode.

  "Exploding would have been most unladylike behavior for 1888,” mused Arabella as she looked down at her generous curves knowing there was no way on this planet, regardless of what century it was, that she would have willingly squeezed into a corset for convention or any other reason.

  As Arabella read on she smiled to herself at the quaint old words. ‘Among those present' it was predominantly female with a lot of Misses listed. ‘Misses Johnston, Genrich, Fitzhugh, Turner, Robillard ...’ Robillard? Arabella snapped up straight in her chair. Amy Louisa Robillard had been there. Clearly that was why she must have kept the newspaper clipping in her book. But surely attending a dull church social afternoon was not worthy of cutting the clipping from the paper? Or was it that she liked to see her name in print? Or someone else's name? A man perhaps, thought Arabella fancifully as she began to build up a story in her mind about the woman whom she had never met and knew no
thing of. It was better than thinking about her own life at that moment. Her own life sucked.

  As Arabella scanned the list of the names she came to the section where it noted the male attendance. ‘The Reverend Mr. Lewis, Masters Wade, Tallon, Shaw, Collins and Robillard.' Another Robillard. Brother or father? And could one of theMasters present be the reason Amy Louisa had kept the clipping or was Arabella just bored out of her socks and indulging in daydreams? She turned the cutting over. Nothing interesting on the other side. Just a description of some Labour member's tour amongst his constituents. At least it had taken her mind off her own problems momentarily and that was a good thing. A deviation, if only for a couple of moments to wonder about a woman from 1888, had allowed her to get a vague grip on her own life in 2008.

  Because of Amy Louisa and the newspaper cutting, Arabella decided to read the book A Border Shepherdess . True, the title did not scream out to her as a ripping yarn but who knew? Besides it was just the sort of cold winter's night that was ideal to snuggle down into your blankets and read while the wind howled outside. Arabella wondered why Amy Louisa was so keen to write her name and date in the book. That had to mean something to her surely? Had she been lovelorn or in love or maybe sex-crazed? Had that happened in 1888? Women got horny whatever century. Look at Cleopatra. The woman was a horn bag and powerful to boot.

  As Arabella read on she felt her eyelids droop tiredly as once again the vision of the man came to her. He seemed to be beckoning her to do something but what? Arabella felt hot all over as she clutched the book to her chest as the man came closer and closer to her. The sound of the wind seemed to increase in its ferocity as if it was trying to compete with something happening that was beyond the normal power of nature.

  "Let me come to you, Arabella,” the man said as his hands reached out to hers. “I love you and I want you."

  "I'm scared.” Arabella looked into the man's sexy grey eyes and realized it was of herself she was scared. She wanted him with a desperation that terrified her. It was almost as if she knew the choice she made to reach out and touch him would change her life beyond anything she knew.

  "I will never hurt you, honey."

  Arabella knew by the look in his eyes he meant what he said. She reached out her hand to his and touched him. A wild charge of electricity shot up her arm. She gasped in shock.

  "This is meant to be, Arabella."

  "I know.” Just how Arabella knew she wasn't sure. She just did.

  "So let me be with you, let me love you, honey,” he said as his arms drew her to him.

  "Yes,” Arabella sighed. This man was hers and there was no point fighting it.

  Chapter Two

  Arabella awoke with a start. She was lying on the floor. She could still smell a cake baking and the two women were still there. In fact her head was resting on the soft, muslin-covered lap of one of them. She raised her head to get her bearings and groaned in pain. The front right side of her head throbbed with a dull persistent ache. She lifted her hand gingerly to investigate the large, tender lump that had formed.

  "We couldn't stop you falling as you fainted,” said the other woman who knelt down beside her and offered Arabella a glass of water. Arabella accepted it gingerly, not failing to notice the old-fashioned frosting on the tumbler and the hand-painted rosebuds around the rim. Strangely Arabella vaguely remembered a similar glass as part of a set at an antique fair she had attended. “At least you did not break your nose,” the woman added, her bright blue eyes alight with gentle friendship.

  Arabella looked from one woman to the other. They bore a distinct resemblance. Same neat brown hair, blue eyes and facial features. They had to be in their early fifties, Arabella guessed.

  "That's right, sister, the first one did get a broken nose,” agreed the woman who appeared to be the elder. “You were lucky as there really is nothing worse than a broken nose."

  Muslin, broken nose, dream man, 1888. Was she dead or stoned?

  Arabella shook her head as if the shaking would change the vision of what was before her eyes. But it didn't.

  "Where am I?” This had distinct shades of the trip Dorothy had found herself on in that MGM movie. However this didn't appear to be the fabled land of Oz and this pair was neither made of straw nor tin and there were no munchkins dancing up a storm. And she hadn't landed on an evil witch so this was no musical.

  "I'm Maud Rainey and this is my sister Aggie,” replied the elder in a matter of fact tone. She did not appear to find it at all odd that a complete stranger had wandered into her kitchen and collapsed into a bewildered heap.

  Who were these people and why were they taking it so calmly? She was pretty sure under the same circumstances she wouldn't have been as serene or friendly. Arabella was a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of person.

  "Um Mrs. Rainey...” began Arabella as she was helped to her feet by the woman.

  "No, we're ‘Misses',” explained the younger one called Aggie, who caught Arabella to keep her from staggering.

  "'Misses'...” Arabella repeated as her mind cast back to the newspaper cutting in Amy Louisa's book. The volume was no longer at her feet on the floor where she was sure she had seen it before she had fainted. The fact that she had fainted in itself was weird to Arabella. She was not a swooner by nature. She spied the novel. It had been placed on the room's table. She felt a sense of relief wash through her. Why, she wasn't sure. Arabella just knew somehow that book was important. “Look, I apologize for stumbling into your home unannounced but I was having such a vivid dream and I..."

  "It was no dream,” interrupted Aggie with an excited smile at the bewildered woman before her. “You were meant to come here."

  "I can see the confusion in your face.” Maud Rainey summed up what she saw. “Give her a chance to think, Aggie.” They moved Arabella to a chair and helped her to sit.

  Arabella's eyes swept around the kitchen again. She looked at the date on the calendar. It still said July 1888. So if it wasn't a dream then what was it? That knock to her head had been painful and to her knowledge dreams usually weren't. Was it too much caffeine before bed or the three self-pity glasses of chocolate liqueur that followed it?

  "Okay, this is going to sound dumb but what year is this?” Arabella asked as she took in the jug that was placed on the table. A crocheted cotton doily weighted down with blue beads covered the opening. Not something you saw in 2008 unless you were in a museum.

  "1888,"replied Maud with a smile.

  "1888?” Arabella looked from one woman to the other. They were good. They had fooled her. “Oh I get it now. My friend Jen put you up to this.” Of course. Arabella should have guessed straightaway. This was a practical joke played on her by Jenna. She was always doing stuff like that. Arabella was going to have trouble topping it. She looked at the two women. They did not look like the sort of people who did practical jokes.

  "We don't know a ‘Jen’ and we were not ‘put up to’ anything. What year are you from, dear?"

  The sudden tremor that rippled through Arabella's body was intense and frightening. Either she was losing her mind or this was really 1888.Nah, couldn't be. Could it? She looked at the two women incredulously. They looked like normal, respectable women in their sprigged muslin dresses. Sprigged muslin ? Was that normal? Were they playing dress-up or something? Their expressions held no madness as they looked at her in fascination.

  "Bloody hell, you two are serious, aren't you?” She watched as they nodded their heads in unison. “Um, I am from 2008 ... “Arabella trailed off feeling ridiculous and waiting for someone to jump out and yell fooled you! But no one did.

  Aggie clapped her hands excitedly.

  "Marvelous! So were the others."

  "No dear, one was from 2007,” Maud corrected her sister. “We have been through this before so we are used to it. I have to admit that it brings great excitement into our lives."

  Arabella looked wildly around the room again. Was this a lunatic asylum she had wandere
d into? It looked perfectly respectable as did the Rainey sisters. So that could only mean one of two things. This was an incredibly powerful dream she was having trouble snapping out of or it really was 1888. Her mind told her it was a dream. Her heart told her it was 1888.

  "What did you mean by ‘the others'?” In one way she was relieved to know she was not the only one who had ever found herself in this situation. However the sound of the others bordered on frightening to her already alarmed senses.

  "We had another two arrive just like you. One last year and one last month. You're the third.” Maud was clearly aware that the young woman before them was fighting so many conflicting emotions.

  "Third what?” Arabella asked warily trying to keep her scattered wits together. And did she want to be a part of whatever this was?

  "Why the third traveler, dear."

  Traveler. That didn't sound too bad. Certainly not threatening, thought Arabella.

  "Time traveler,” Maud added as Arabella's green eyes widened in shock and surprise.

  I'm a frigging what?