Paradise Hops

by Crowe, Liz

A large, efficient looking woman bustled in with a steaming bucket of water. “Good morning!” She chirped as she made her way to the small closet-like bathroom. “Would you like breakfast before bathing?”

  “I will have some, please. Fräulein Brockton will bathe first. I must get to the brewery.” Garrett never took his eyes from Lori’s, and she dropped into their deep green depths, gasping as she went, unable to stop. He smiled at her, chucked her under the chin, and kept getting dressed.

  Oh my God. Where am I? She put her head in her hands and tried not to faint.

  After about thirty minutes the once piping hot water cooled, then got positively chilly. The housemaid, or whatever she was, kept peeking in, asking if she needed assistance. “No!” Lori stopped her teeth from chattering. “I mean. I’m fine. Where is the soap?” The surprised looking woman brought in a lump of something Lori tried like hell to work into a lather but couldn’t. Finally, she gave up and let the hard rock of whatever it was drop to the bottom of the huge tub.

  “Tsk,” the woman said. “Allow me.” She took a harsh looking cloth, some water and forced a pretty vigorous foam from the thing. “Stand up.” Lori did as she was told. The woman’s hands were as rough as the cloth but she took her cleaning seriously, getting every inch of Lori’s skin bright red and shining clean, including some of her more tender areas.

  “Ouch!” Lori winced as she swept the soapy cloth across and around her sex. The woman smiled up at her as if humoring a recalcitrant three-year-old. Were they supposed to be friends? She decided to make small talk. “So, how long have you worked….”

  “I have served the Hallertau family since I was ten years old.” The pride in her voice precluded Lori’s shock.

  “Oh. Well, then.” She stepped out of the tub and into the giant towel the woman held out. “Now what?” she muttered to herself.

  “Herr Hallertau is expecting you at the brewery at noon.” She bustled around, picking up wet cloths as Lori watched. At the brewery, at noon, for what? How would she get there? Where was it? “The car will be here in a couple of hours. I shall have your warm milk and tea ready shortly.” She shot Lori a smile.

  “Uh. Thanks.” Lori bit back the urge to beg her to stay and help her figure out this whole thing. But more importantly…. “My clothes?”

  “On the bed, ironed and ready.”

  Of course.

  Lori walked back out into the now freezing cold bedroom. An elaborate looking dress, some kind of weird undergarment, thick stockings and ugly boots waited for her. She ran her hand down the rich green velvet bodice. “I am in a nightmare,” she mumbled, “or I’ve finally gone insane once and for all.”

  After a thoroughly awkward moment of staring at the contraption that she apparently had to fasten to her body to make the latest fashionable bustle under the heavy dress, Frau Hessler did her “tsk, tsk” thing and tugged it on. She tied it so tight Lori had to fight for breath, then slid the heavy dress over her head. Lori had gotten steadily dizzier, although the distinct lack of nausea had her worried.

  “You must eat now.” The woman commanded and hustled her out of the room into a small dining area adjacent to a kitchen heated by a giant iron stove. Delicious smells emanated from it. Lori finally identified her dizziness as hunger as she devoured floury pastries—Aus’zogene, her favorite, and two cups of rich milky tea. Frau Hessler stared at her, then turned her eyes away. Lori’s face reddened.

  “Sorry. That was delicious. Thank you.”

  “Certainly.” The woman poured more tea and ducked out, obviously shocked at the amount of food she’d put away in a few minutes. Lori touched the delicate embroidery of the tablecloth, looked closer, and sucked in a breath. The intricate green pattern she’d taken for regular flowers or a random pattern emerged under her hands, searing her brain. The hop flowers and deep brown vines intertwined, looping around each other, the tiny intricate stitches of each one a work of art. Eli. Lori shut her eyes as her ears buzzed loud and the room faded to grey, then black.

  Chapter Six

  A horse’s neighing and a man’s shouted orders in harsh accented German penetrated her consciousness. Struggling to sit and place herself, once again confused by the bright white walls and tidy order of the small room, she took a breath. Putting her hand down to her side she felt him. And somehow that made it better. Garrett. Still sleeping next to her.

  She climbed from the bed and stared at herself in the small mirror over the heavy wooden chest of drawers. Her hair—she pulled her fingers through the curly brown strands. Since when was it this long and this dark? She usually had it lightened at least every other month. Stretching, and enjoying the forgotten sensation of having had a truly decent night’s sleep, she padded over to the small closet, found a little ceramic bowl with a lid and without a second thought, peed in it. She sat it back on the floor of the small bathroom, stood, and nearly fell over at the realization that she’d just used an early nineteenth century bathroom as if she did it every day.

  After calming herself, she crept back into the bedroom and looked in one of the closets. Several dresses, each more luxurious than that last, hung there. Along with a set of clothes that were identical to the ones hanging nearby. Brown trousers, a cream colored shirt, suspenders, and man-like boots in her size. She touched them, trying to force her brain to make sense of this. The twining hop vine with deep green flowers shot across her brain. She gasped and pulled her hand back.

  Strong arms held her. She turned, and let Garrett soothe her out her funk.

  Later, he laid back and held her to his chest. “So my darling. Today you get your wish. I had the clothes made for you. Let’s get dressed and get to the brewery shall we?” Lori stared at him. His green eyes twinkled. “You wanted this my beautiful, stubborn woman. Allow me to make you happy with this, most unorthodox request.” He bounded up, spent a few moments in the small bathroom, then emerged. Tugging the strange clothes from the closet, he handed them to her. “Use the hat for your hair.”

  Lori dressed, her body slow, lethargic after the shattering orgasm he’d coaxed from her—twice. The pants were itchy, the shirt soft, and too large for her. She put a hand to her stomach again. Wasn’t there something she needed to worry about? It hovered, just out of her reach then flitted away like a butterfly on a windowsill. She smiled as Garrett helped her tuck her newly long hair under the cap and followed him outside to the waiting car.

  He hustled her in the back door of the brewery. “Stay with me,” he hissed. The place was ancient. And glorious. She sucked in deep breaths of yeast, raw wood, dark malts and bitter hops. Garrett narrowed his eyes at her, then smiled. “You are so sexy when you do that.” She pushed him away.

  “I’m supposed to be a new brew boy, no? Better treat me like one.”

  After several sweltering, back-breaking hours shifting malt bags, moving giant, scorching hot boulders from fire pit to underneath the mash tun Lori’s back and hands screamed for mercy. But it was exhilarating, such an extreme relief to be doing this, without questioning why or how or what she forced her mind to shut down and merely used her body. Finally, a hand settled on her shoulders as she rested between tasks.

  “And how does my new brew boy like his work?” Garrett leaned into her. She stepped out of his reach.

  “I’m exhausted. And I stink.” She wiped a shaking across her forehead. His eyes darkened with concern. “No. Don’t. I’m just a brew boy today, remember? But I will tell you, that concoction over there,” she pointed to a huge vat of boiling wort. The dark sugar water that resulted from malt and water combined smelled great, but it needed something. “Throw about five buckets of the hop flowers you’re collecting in the corner in it.” Garrett stepped back from her.

  “Are you crazy? Never. That would ruin a perfectly balanced blend.”

  “Try it. Trust me.” He frowned and walked away. Lori shrugged and climbed up the tall wooden platform surrounding the mash tun where another batch had begun. Jesus, they must crank out a lot of b
arrels here. She grabbed the large wooden paddle-like contraption used to stir the mash and keep the water moving through it evenly.

  Within minutes she knew they had a problem. “Um, sir?” She called down to the second brewer standing around barking orders. “Stuck mash.” She pointed to the thick, dry mess inside the giant vessel. He frowned and made his way up the steps.

  “What? Did you not sparge?” She nodded. She had re-introduced the water over the top of the grains. “Sparging” allowed the mash to stay wet. But if the grains you started with were too dense, no amount of extra water would help. It was a common error. The man grabbed the wooden paddle from her, jammed it into the sticky mess and cursed. As he yanked it out, his arm hit Lori’s cheek. Pain blind her. He grabbed her arm to keep her from tumbling ass over elbow down the steps.

  “Ow!” She clutched the railing, tried to keep her feet steady and in the process her hat fell off, and her long hair tumbled around her face. The brewery noises ramped up in her ears. A sudden horrific surge of nausea made her gulp as her feet slipped free of the top railing, and she fell downward, hitting the hard floor with a thud even she heard.

  The last voice she heard was Garrett’s. “My God! Move away! Call the doctor. Lorelei, my darling!” He gathered her up as a scowling group of men stood around them in a circle muttering about “women in the brewery” and “unacceptable.” She closed her eyes, and let Garrett hold her as the room faded once again. This whole girlie fainting thing was getting old, her last thought as she slumped against his chest.

  Once again, Lori opened her eyes to noises from the street and the bright white walls of Garrett’s bedroom. She rolled over, and snuggled against him, trying to go back to sleep. His skin was suffused with brewery smells. She let it calm her. He took the hand she had draped over his waist, kissed it and held it close. She slid it down until it made contact with solid evidence of aroused man. She smiled and curved her body closer to his.

  He moaned as she fisted him, ran her hand up and down his length. “You want me again? After last night?” The words surprised her. She didn’t remember anything after hitting the brewery floor, but the gaps in her memory were becoming so commonplace she no longer sweated them. She occupied this weird, dreamlike state, with this amazingly gorgeous man, so much like Garrett with his fussing and attention to detail, his gentle caresses that brought slow, delicious heat to her whole body. Yet he was impulsive, and creative like Eli. She squealed as he rolled over , pinning her hands by her sides.

  His lips covered hers, his rough bearded jaw made her squirm with memory and need. He shifted his hips and slid into her body slowly, as she tilted her hips to meet him, as if they’d been doing this forever. She arched up, as he captured a nipple and sucked, bit down, growling and thrusting, bringing simultaneous pain and pleasure. “Ah, God! Garrett!” She cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, grinding her clit against his pubic bone. “Yes!” She came in a bright burst of energy that left her breathless, pulsing and gasping. He kept her hands pinned, owned her mouth with his and pounded into her, bringing his own release so intense he shook as he joined her, their breathless cries circling around the room and making her shiver with residual pleasure.

  He collapsed onto her, then rolled off. Twining his long fingers in hers he lifted their hands to his lips. The light caught the gold band on her left hand. Disentangling her fingers, she gasped and held it out in front of her face. Garrett propped himself on an elbow and ran a finger down her face, to her still peaked nipple and across her belly. “My love.” He whispered. “Finally. Mine.” She frowned.

  How could she miss all of this? All the fast forwarding was starting to piss her off. Unfair really. Why couldn’t she enjoy it even if it were a weird, time travelling dream? She sat up, needing some space. The sounds of the ever-efficient Frau Hessler in the kitchen irritated her even more. She glared at Garrett. He kept his face neutral. “I know you want to brew my darling, but I cannot let you. It’s simply too dangerous. And the men, well, they are pigs yes, but I must keep them happy.”

  Lori stared at him. They’d obviously fought, and if the soreness between her legs was any indication, had made up fairly effectively. “But.” He put a hand over her lips, let it trail down her neck, cup a breast then pass once more over her flat stomach.

  “No more. I need your help elsewhere. The bookkeeping is a mess. You are so good with numbers. Please, help me there,” He nuzzled into her waist, then lower, forcing her backwards and diving down to lap at her sex. She started to rise, embarrassed. He’d just come all inside her. She must be a mess. “Mmmm…I love you like this; full of my essence. Let me help you with this, shall I? I think there is yet another orgasm you need. And I want to watch you have it.” His lips and tongue and hands as they roamed her body forced all thought out. Nothing but pure pleasure remained. She moaned and fisted her hands in his thick hair. And he gave as good as he promised.

  Later, Lori stared at the long lines of numbers on the paper, her eyes blurring with fatigue. She’d long abandoned the abacus and had taken to using her mind and pencil, forcing some order onto the chaos that did indeed reign in the brewery’s accounting office.

  She stretched, letting memories of Garrett’s lips and hands make her blush and cross her legs against the heat building between them. Soft beautiful music flowed up from the street. She leaned out, the long skirt hardly an impediment anymore. Somehow, she’d gotten used to it. A violinist played on the corner, something she recognized, but wouldn’t place until much later.

  She turned then, and saw him. Blonde hair, deep blue eyes, his nearly perfect handsome face smiling at her. “Oh, my God.” She rose, hand to her throat. He came in, set his case down and shook hands with the men in the room, ignoring her. Garrett strode in, trailing brewery odors like smoke. The two men spoke, shook hands and Garrett turned to her as did Eli or whatever his name was. His eyes were sad, vacant. She reached for him. But he retreated, then was gone. She watched Garrett as he stared after the man, lips pursed in concentration or anger.

  By the time she had summoned enough breath to say anything, she found herself alone in a room, not the accounting office, not Garrett’s– their—bedroom. Just a room, devoid of anything but a strange undulating wallpaper pattern. She stepped closer, tripping over the newly strange heavy skirts. She pulled them up, out of her way and stared hard at the wall. Hops vines were everywhere, moving, growing, covering everything. She screamed and all went black.

  That night she awoke confused by the darkness. Then realized what she heard: Moonlight Sonata, coming from the other room. The soft strains of the beautiful, simple melody caressed her nerves, made her sit, then rise from the warm bed and pad over to the doorway. Most of her brain registered that there was no possibility of a stereo playing this as a recording.

  The other part of her brain that kept denying that it was somehow early nineteenth century Munich held her back. Don’t go. Don’t acknowledge it. It won’t stop then. You won’t be able to wake from this dream—this nightmare.

  But her feet kept moving, propelling her forward as feet do, until she stood, watching Garrett play. His body moved in and back, eyes shut in concentration, the lovely strains from the big mahogany piano filling the small house. Lori’s heart sped up. She walked over, sat next to him, and added her own hands to his and they played until she remembered no more.

  Chapter Seven

  Something hurt. More precisely her bladder felt like it was about to burst. Lori sat too fast and the bright white room spun. The sounds were muted from below and she realized the windows were closed. The room smelled closed in. Gas, soot, and something more cloying invaded her nose. She swung her feet to the floor, grunting in surprise at the pain in her back. She put a hand on the swell of her belly. Something moved, fluttered, then landed what felt like a left hook to her kidneys. “Ow! Damn it!” She groaned and stood, found the chamber pot and used it. She’d never felt more awkward and unwieldy.

  Garrett was immediat
ely at her side, helping her up, handing her a cloth to clean herself up with. He guided her to the bed, his face alight with joy as he pressed his lips to the gigantic swollen mountain of her stomach. Tears sprang to her eyes. Yet more of her life had occurred without her knowing about it. She threaded her hands through his hair. “You need a haircut.” Something sliced through her then, something bright and sharp and deadly. Those words. She’d said them.

  Garrett lifted his face from her stomach and smiled, cupped one heavy breast, then licked at her already sore nipples. She groaned. How, in the hell could she possibly…but he persisted, using soft, gentle caresses with fluttery fingers and tongue, up and down her fullness. Her whole body clenched as he touched her sex, caressed her, slid fingers in and out. The smell of her lust filled the room. Garrett groaned against her neck. She reached down and gripped the hard flesh he pressed against her thigh.

  “Fuck me.” She grunted surprising herself. “I need you inside me, Garrett. Please.” He kept his fingers moving along her clit, his lips back at her nipple, tugging, sucking, dragging the orgasm out into the light, making her yell his name and clamp down on his fingers. “Please!” She begged. She rolled onto her side, braced herself and hissed with satisfaction as he slid into her from behind, cupping a breast, breathing into her ear. “Yes. There.” She moaned at the exquisite sensation of him moving in and out, his fingers pinching her aching nipple.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, my darling.” He whispered, his breathing coming in short gasps.

  “You won’t, my love.” She reached back, clutched his ass, reveling in the pure beauty of the muscles under her hand. “Harder. I need it. I must feel it.” She arched back more, taking him deeper.

  He thrust again, and she sighed with pleasure as the room brightened. If all she got out of this new life was sex like this well, maybe skipping a few significant moments was worth it. “Yes!” She cried out as the orgasm gripped her, and then him.