All of the men. Lavender only had three constables, which was normally enough in the peaceful little town. He tied his shoes and pulled on a shirt, smoothing his hair back with his hand. “The Clarences,” he said. “They’ve gone missing.”
“How did you know?” Forrest followed him from the room and out to the street where he could see the people of Lavender clustered in small groups as they spread the latest news. Worried glances were directed at him and Forrest.
Then he saw Violet standing there at the end of the front walk, the expression on her face one of relief. His heart dropped as it all came back to him and he knew she was once again dream walking, coming to see If he was all right after leaving her in the abandoned house in London.
She seemed to determine in some unconscious way how she would appear in dreams. Today she was dressed in an old skirt and blouse, obviously items from her limited wardrobe as a servant in London, but her eyes were bright and her mouth set in a determined line. Much as he wanted to be there with her and Maudie, he knew she’d take care of things until he got back. If anybody could keep them safe in 1940 London, it was Violet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. She nodded, but Forrest frowned.
“Sorry about what?” he asked. “Who told you the Clarences are gone and the creek is vanished.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he tried to explain but when he turned, Violet was gone. He tried to concentrate on Forrest. He hadn’t known about the creek and he could hardly admit that he knew something had gone wrong with the Clarence family because he’d come across their youngest daughter while he was dream walking in London.
Well, maybe it had been a dream, but maybe not. The family that had taken them in during the raid had certainly thought him real enough and when Violet came to Lavender in dreams, he was the only one who saw.
“The family is missing,” he repeated, hoping to divert attention from himself.
“The family, the house, some outbuildings and even some of the animals. Doesn’t make a bit of sense. We figure to search the whole community, acre by acre, to find them.”
Warne didn’t think that would do any good. Maudie and her family were no longer in Lavender. But he nodded agreement.
She and Caleb rarely argued, mostly because he was quiet and conciliatory when she got in one of her more outspoken moods. He’d give her a hug or a kiss and she’d calm down. Neither of them liked conflict, but this morning they’d engaged in a heated exchange of words.
A loud enough exchange that little Emilee, in the next room, burst into tears and her parents, who were already downstairs, had to pretend not to have heard the quarrel when they came downstairs together. Papa looked away in embarrassment and Mama said something soothing about hoping everything was ‘all right.’
Betsy wasn’t good at keeping secrets. “Caleb wants me to go back to the farm this morning and I think I should stay here.”
Mama and Papa exchanged that look that said they would never interfere in a quarrel between one of their daughters and her lawful husband.
And Betsy knew, of course, that no matter how fond they were of Caleb, they would always be on her side.
She laughed. “No big deal,” she said. “But I feel I’m needed here. Something strange is going on.”
“You are not responsible for this whole community, Betsy,” Caleb said firmly. “I’ve got to see to our animals and work the crops, but I can’t go off and leave you and the babies here.”
Their small son nodded energetic approval of this point until his father frowned at him and he went back to concentrate on his pancakes.
Baby Emilee looked from her mother to her dad as though for reassurance. Betsy smiled and chucked her under the chin. “Oh, Emmie, you know your papa and me could never be really mad at each other.”
Cynthia drew in a deep breath. “Of course not,” she said comfortably.
Betsy could hardly think it was fair. Her sister Eddie and her husband Zan had a volatile relationship. They could go around arguing loudly and shouting insults and nobody thought anything of it. They’d just say cheerfully, ‘there they go again,’ knowing that the two were silly stupid in love with each other.
But because she was quieter and Caleb devoted, the slightest little thing and they worried. She suspected that they thought she might hurt the feelings of Caleb, who so obviously adored her beyond reason and who had to make such a difficult transition from his own past.
“We will talk about this later,” Caleb said firmly.
She got the message. He didn’t like having the whole family pulled into their affairs.
“Do you think the Clarences are dead?” Sylvie asked, startling them all with what her sister presumed was her attempt at changing the topic of conversation.
“There’s no reason to believe that,” Cynthia countered, sounding distressed.
“Grandpapa is organizing a search,” Papa said. “He’s getting everybody out to look for them and we’re all hoping they’ll be found safe.”
“My theory is that a tornado swept them away,” Sylvie went on, impervious to the seriousness of the situation. At fifteen, she saw more drama than tragedy in a family she barely knew going missing.
“That’s ridiculous,” Mrs. Myers entered the conversation for the first time.
“Maybe not, Gran,” Dottie turned to her. “After all the house didn’t just pick up and move away.”
Betsy had a sense that they were all avoiding looking at her, not wanting to hear what her theory was. She kept quiet, feeling it would do no good to scare them by admitting that she still had the anxious feeling that something was terribly wrong in their little community and that the eastern edge including the Clarence farm had just been loped away from the rest of them. Something was interfering with their unique position in time and who could know what would happen next.
When Violet awoke it was morning and she realized gratefully that the night had passed without a raid. Her dream had come back, the dream where she’d seen Warne was safely in Lavender where the kind of bad things that were happening in London just didn’t occur.
She longed to be in such a safe place, but dismissing the thought crept from bed, leaving Maudie sleeping soundly and tiptoed from the room and downstairs to the kitchen. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the tall, thin woman with the granite face who sat at the kitchen table.
“Mrs. Rolfe,” she said. “I thought you were dead.”
Shock showed only in the older woman’s eyes as she stared at Violet. “It was mutual I’m sure, dearie,” she said, only one note off her usual assurance. “You don’t happen to have our Margaret and Lady Laura with you, do ye? The family’s gone right out of their minds with her being missing.”
Her mouth too dry for speech, Violet seated herself while the cook poured her a cup of tea, brewed she couldn’t guess how.
She took a gulp of the scalding liquid which seemed to spread warmth through her veins. “Bad news,” she finally managed to say. “Lady Laura’s gone, though Margaret is safe and with friends.”
The iron-gray hair stayed firmly in its tight knot as the older woman nodded. “Not unexpected,” she said, “though I must say I’m pleased that two of the three I thought to be dead are still walking the earth. But where’s the body. The family will want to know. It’s a matter of inheritance, you see.”
And most of the family money and property had belonged to Lady Laura. She wasn’t sure any of them had much fondness for their relative, but they would be concerned with what she’d left them.
“Buried,” she said. “Long way off.”
Mrs. Rolfe frowned. “How did that happen?”
Violet shrugged. She wasn’t about to try to explain the unexplainable. “By kind people. None of my doing.”
“And Margaret?”
“She left London to stay with friends.”
Mrs. Rolfe nodded acceptance of that. It was wartime and many people were displaced. “I’m surprised she didn’t go to her sister in
Yorkshire.”
Violet shrugged again and was glad enough to be saved the trouble of making up an appropriate reply when Maudie, tousled-haired and yawning, appeared in the doorway. “I want Mama,” she said.
Mrs. Rolfe regarded the girl with open disapproval. She didn’t much care for urchins such as the one Violet had once been. They caused her too much trouble. “Now who’s this?”
“Maudie Clarence,” Violet answered honestly. “Lost her family.”
She knew Mrs. Rolfe would take this to mean that the child had been orphaned in the raids as had so many.
“Poor thing,” Mrs. Rolfe said more out of form than from genuine concern. She was not soft-hearted was Mrs. Rolfe. Her own life had been hard and she believed others could stand what she’d stood if they’d only pluck up their stomachs and keep going.
“There’s bread and marge for breakfast to go with the tea,” she told Violet, getting to her feet. “I must get to my work or Mrs. Downing will find it undone.”
Even as she sliced bread and spread the slices with a thin coating of margarine, Violet tried to figure out what was going on. “Mrs. Downing is here?”
“Her and the girl. They’re staying over at Claridges, but coming over to see to things by day.” She grinned wickedly. “They’ll strike back to the country soon as they can. Scared to death of the bombing. I’m going too. Not much left to stay here for and, of course, you being a longtime member of the household, they’ll take you along.” She looked at Maudie doubtfully, as though wondering how she would complicate things.
Maudie ate hungrily even though the bread tasted old and dry, barely alleviated by the scraping of margarine. She asked for milk and when told there wasn’t any, barely sipped the tea, making a face at its taste.
After eating, they were allotted a small amount of rainwater, caught in the tubs placed in the damaged part of the house, and soap with which to groom themselves. She dressed in worn but clean clothes from her own closet and managed to find a few garments from Lady Laura’s closet for Maudie, Mrs. Rolfe protesting that Mrs. Downing would never approve giving her cousin’s garments to a street urchin.
Violet ignored her so that by the time Mrs. Downing and her daughter Pamela arrived, they were at least respectable, if hardly attractive.
She felt Maudie shrink into nothing at her side at the sight of the two elegantly dressed women, though their clothing wasn’t up to the standards of pre-war days. Mrs. Downing wore white linen, amazingly white considering the state of London these days, with a light black and white jacket that seemed to gently float around her slim form. Her shiny black pumps looked as though they could have hardly walked the dirty streets of the city and her small hat and veil and white gloves were the ultimate in finishing touches to her appearance.
Mrs. Downing, who was in her middle years, had never been pretty, but she carried herself with an air that made eyes turn to her and gazes linger.
Pamela was another matter. Violet had watched her grow up, a distant figure of style and beauty with her fair hair and English rose skin. They were about the same age and Violet had wasted occasional moments wondering how one girl could have so much while another had so little. It hardly seemed fair.
They stared at her with eyes that were a matching shade of blue. “That girl was killed,” Mrs. Downing complained aloud as though Violet played a dirty trick on her. “Don’t tell me Cousin Laura survived the bombing as well?”
She didn’t sound pleased at the possibility. Violet almost wished she could announce that Lady Laura was alive and well and would be returning home today.
Still she had to say, “Lady Laura was badly injured when the bomb fell. We found a doctor, doctors, but they couldn’t save her.”
“How sad,” Pamela said with perfect manners. “Tragic,” Lady Downing echoed her daughter. “We’ll need you to talk to our solicitor, so that the will can be administered, Viola. So far they have been dragging their feet and we need matters settled.”
“Violet,” Mrs. Rolfe inserted politely.
“What’s that?”
“Her name is Violet.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sometimes Betsy thought her disposition had been ruined by marriage and motherhood. As a girl and into her early twenties, she’d been an optimistic person. She and her mom had some hard times considering her dysfunctional dad but she’d always felt confident that together they could manage anything. And then Evan came into their lives, bringing Eddie with him, and they’d been family.
Most of the time she’d felt like the most fortunate girl in the world and even when things weren’t so good, she’d possessed an inner confidence that all would eventually turn out for the best.
Then she’d gone back to civil war days and found that for many, life was never pretty. She’d fallen in love with Caleb, damaged physically and emotionally by the war, lost other dear ones, and absorbed something of the fatalism of those who survived, broken and bleeding, those terrible years.
Caleb came close to dying and how would she have gone on without him, but the real blow came when the twins were born and she realized how much a woman loved her children.
Naughty little Ben, over-sensitive Emilee, what would the world offer them? Her personal hostages to fortune. She’d told Mama once she’d never sleep secure again until they were safely grown.
Mama laughed. “The easiest time is when they’re little and all you have to do is go into the next room to reassure yourself they’re still safe. Wait until they’re grownup and going who knows where and doing who knows what. That’s worry, my love.”
Betsy had been horrified. “Oh, Mama,” she said in dismay.
Cynthia laughed and gave her a warm hug. “There’s joy too, Betsy. The most joy you’ll ever feel is in your own family, the husband you love and the children you share.”
Betsy supposed she could believe Mama. After all she’d given birth to Betsy, adopted Eddie, and still after all the trouble the two of them had given her, had still chosen to have another daughter with Evan.
So it was now that now she felt as though the weight of the whole community rested on her shoulders she was finding it hard to be her usual hopeful self.
At night she endured nightmares where terrible things happened to the members of the Clarence family. The middle girl, Maudie, especially marched through her dreams, calling desperately for help that never came.
Each day she feared to hear that another part of Lavender ground was gone. She felt thankful that those perimeters were sparsely occupied, but she had urged Grandpapa and other council members to convince the few residents to evacuate. But the people of Lavender stood stubbornly independent and refused to abandon their land.
Caleb was insisting they all leave for home, that he couldn’t expect neighbors to continue looking after their stock, but he wouldn’t go this time without her and the children. He wasn’t sure they would be safe here.
“I’m not sure we’ll be safe there,” she countered. “Our farm is near the south edge of Lavender’s territory.”
“The trouble so far has been on the east edge,” he reminded her in his usual gentle manner. Rarely did he try to force her to follow his wishes, but he was awfully good at persuading. “And there’s bound to be a logical solution.”
She closed her eyes. She didn’t like confrontation, particularly not with Caleb. Nothing was so miserable as their being angry with each other.
“One more day,” she said. “Then if everything’s okay, we’ll go home.”
He bent to kiss her. “First thing in the morning,” he said to bind the promise.
The sun shone when Caleb smiled at her. She knew it was the same for him. She watched him go out the front door, straight and tall in spite of the fact that he had to use a cane because of damages to his leg during the war. Ben ran joyfully at his side and Emilee toddled after both of them. He was taking them to the park where they would spend the morning playing.
Good! They were taken care of. She had to
get started on what was bound to be a busy day.
She found Warne and informed Grandpapa that she would need his help today and the city would have to function without him for a few hours. One look at her face and Grandpapa Forrest nodded agreement. “Go with her, Warne,” he said, “and keep her out of trouble.”
She was a little surprised when Warne didn’t protest, but went with her to the stable where they rented two horses. “It’ll be all right,” she heard him say to a blank wall and knew he must be seeing Violet there.
He helped her on board her horse and she asked, “She’s all right?”
“Violet’s as right as she can be with bombing coming into London most nights. Maudie’s doing better, though Violet says she’s like a kid in shock and no wonder.”
This was the first chance they’d had to talk privately since everything happened. “Maudie’s with Violet in London?”
He glanced over to where the stable boy was very consciously not paying attention to their whispered words and motioned her to proceed.
It wasn’t until they were some distance from the stable and any listening ears that he answered her question. “Showed up there wandering the streets all by herself. Violet has her now at the house where she works.”
Betsy hardly knew what to ask first. “But that house was blown up.”
“Not entirely. They’re hiding out in the part that’s still standing. I was there with them for a while, long enough to sit through a raid in a little shelter. But then I woke up here.”
“But you see Violet?”
“Sometimes. She was there at the stable just for a minute, then she was gone.”
“And you were actually in 1940 when London was being bombed?”
“It sure felt real.”
She hardly knew what to say, what comfort to offer. She’d experienced this being separated by an ocean of time from the person you loved and not knowing if you’d ever be together again. “It’ll work out,” she said, not even believing herself that was true. Wartime London was a dangerous place to be and lots of people had died. Would die. Sometimes it was hard to remember just where and when she was. She’d been in the 21st century when 1940 was history, but here in Lavender it still lay ahead.
Lavender Dreaming: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series Book 5) Page 10
