by Bess McBride
Upon reaching the top step, she stopped and stared. Four people walked by on a sidewalk in period costume—the men in natty suits and straw boaters and derby hats, the women in large flowered and ribboned hats and long tailored flowing skirts beneath thick coats.
Those coats reminded Annie that she was freezing. The air was crisp and cold, leaves on nearby trees gold and red. The month was June, yet it looked like fall in some sort of city.
Beyond the sidewalk, a horse-drawn wagon lumbered down a graded road. Across the narrow street, an old Model T car parked in front of one of the Victorian-era rowhouses lining the opposite side of the road. The bell clanged again, and Annie looked down the road to see a trolley crossing an intersection.
Annie drew in a deep breath. She didn’t think for one moment that she’d fainted and ended up on the set of a historical film shoot, not from the safety of her office. She suspected that she was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, but when? Either fall or early winter, from the colorful leaves of the maple and oak trees lining the street.
Turning, she surveyed the building behind her. The three-story red brick rowhouse featured six white-framed windows and a maroon door. A brass sign read 320 N. Mulberry St. Annie knew that address all too well from Belinda’s death certificate. She stood in front of her second great-grandparents’ home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and from the looks of things—the horse-drawn wagon, Model T and unpaved road—she guessed the year to be in the early 1900s.
“This can’t be happening,” she breathed. “This just isn’t possible. Maybe I’m dreaming!”
Annie gave herself the prerequisite pinch on her arm, and it hurt. Over her shoulder, she surveyed the street again. Largely residential, most of the buildings were rowhouses, some separated by narrow alleys no wider than four feet.
She swung her head toward the house again. White lace curtains hung in the windows, softening the severity of the red brick and suggesting that happy people lived inside. Should she knock?
“Indecent,” a voice hissed nearby She whirled around to see two women walking by, their dark skirts almost dusting the concrete sidewalk. Long tailored dark coats nipped in at the waist, stopping at about knee level. Festive ribboned and flowered straw hats perched on top of their updos.
The women paused, as if from a safe distance, and turned to stare at her.
Annie looked over her shoulder, but no one stood behind her. The women definitely meant the word “indecent” for her. They spoke to each other in a mist of cold air, shook their heads and continued on down the street.
Annie dropped her eyes to her lightweight knee-length dress, the same one she had worn to dinner with Danny. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and she shivered. Crossing her arms over her chest and tap dancing in her skimpy flat shoes, she contemplated dashing back down into the basement stairwell and hiding out of sight while she waited for the surreal moment to pass.
On the point of doing just that, she paused. Regardless of what was happening to her, dream or otherwise, could she really go hide without trying to meet her second great-grandparents? Was it possible that she had wished so strongly to save Belinda and Ted that she had been thrown back in time to do just that?
No, her logical brain said. Yes, her heart argued. That must have been what happened! Annie climbed the three front steps leading to the door and knocked. Her heart raced, and she thought her wobbly knees would surely give out.
The door opened, and a woman looked down at her on the top step. Cornflower-blue eyes scanned Annie from head to foot with curiosity. Shining golden-brown hair was swept up into a puffy chignon at the top of her head. The woman wore a long-sleeved white blouse with puffed shoulders and a serge dark-gray ankle-length skirt.
A small toddler in an adorable blue one-piece romper suit and thick white tights came up from behind and clung to her skirts.
“Yes?” the woman prompted.
“Are you—” Annie swallowed hard. “Are you—” She couldn’t finish. What was she supposed to ask? Are you my second great-grandmother?
“I’m Mrs. Sellers. Are you selling something?”
Annie shook her head. “Belinda Sellers?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Belinda put a protective hand on the toddler’s tousled head.
A young girl in a simple white below-the-knee sailor suit-style dress came up behind them, carrying a baby in an ecru nightgown that she bounced on her angular hips. Matching tights covered her legs. Her chestnut hair, hanging over her shoulder in a single braid, was in the baby’s possession at that moment. Annie recognized the color of the girl’s eyes—cornflower blue...like Belinda’s, and like Annie’s.
“Claire, take Robbie into the kitchen and get him a bottle,” Belinda said.
“Claire?” Annie gasped at her great-grandmother’s name. “Claire?”
Belinda moved to stand in front of the girl, as if to block her from the crazy lady at the door. “Take Charlie with you,” she told Claire.
Claire grabbed Charlie by the hand and disappeared with both of the children. Annie hadn’t realized either of the small children was a boy by their dress or haircuts.
“How do you know my daughter’s name?” Belinda asked with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”
Annie couldn’t find the words. “I’m family,” she finally murmured.
Belinda looked over Annie’s head toward the street, and Annie turned to follow her eyes. Several people had paused to stare at Annie. She knew the length of her dress was drawing attention. She crossed her arms over her chest again defensively, and because she was cold.
“Can I come in? I know people are staring. And it’s freezing out here!”
“No!” Belinda said sharply. “I don’t know who you are. What family?”
“I’m related to the Burmans,” Annie said quickly. “A distant cousin.”
“Which Burman?” Belinda asked.
Annie racked her brain. “Your mom, Mary...or Maria Elisabeta Moller,” she said.
“You know her German name, her maiden name!” Belinda exclaimed, taking Annie’s hand and pulling her inside. “Come in, come in. You are right. People are staring. I don’t know how you are related to my mother, but you seem to know a great deal.”
Annie found herself in a narrow living room with a well-varnished dark hardwood floor. An array of coats and hats hung from hooks just inside the door, and a steep set of stairs to the right led to the second floor. She suspected the open double doors at the end of the rectangular living room led to either a dining room or kitchen or both. The rowhouse was long more than wide, the left wall exposed red brick. A festive little cast-iron Franklin stove blazed cheerily against the brick wall in a corner of the parlor, a pile of wood near it, a hearth screen surrounding it. The stove pipe disappeared into the ceiling.
Claire hovered in the living room, obviously too curious to go much farther. She still had the two children with her.
Belinda caught sight of her daughter. “Claire, go do as I say. Give Charlie a cup of milk too and put the kettle on to boil.”
Annie’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at Belinda. Neither of the boys was Ted. Where was he? And what year was it? Claire looked like she was about ten, but then she had always been tiny in stature.
“Please sit here on the divan,” Belinda said, pointing to a vintage love seat upholstered in a black, gold and red flowered pattern. Two matching easy chairs faced the sofa, and she took one of these. A darkly stained walnut oval coffee table centered the living room, the whole of the furniture resting on a black-and-brown flower-patterned carpet. Several other pieces dotted the elongated living room, all in dark wood tones. A few landscape scenes dotted the white-painted walls.
“What’s the date?” Annie blurted out.
“I beg your pardon?” Belinda asked.
“The date. What’s the date?”
Belinda cocked her head. “It’s November 15, 1913, but I’m sure you know that. What did you say your name was?”
November 15,
1913. Five days before she developed typhoid fever!
“Annie Warner,” she whispered, trying to hold back a sob.
“I have never heard of the Warners. How did you say you were related?”
Annie started babbling. “My mother is a second cousin twice removed of your mother’s. I’m sure she wouldn’t have known about me. I was just doing some family history stuff and wanted to come meet you.”
“Oh, I see!” Belinda’s expression brightened. She was simply beautiful, and Claire looked exactly like her.
“I don’t really understand the connection, but it is so nice to meet you,” Belinda said. “Do you live in Lancaster?”
Annie shook her head, her throat aching with raw emotion. “No. I live in a small town south of Seattle, Washington. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“Goodness! That’s a long way. What brings you to Lancaster? Surely, you didn’t come all this way just to meet me?”
“No, no, I was in the area and thought I would look in.”
Belinda fell silent and glanced over her shoulder before leaning forward to speak in a hushed voice.
“Is that how they dress in Seattle, Annie? We are a bit more...emmm...conservative here. I am very afraid that people here in Lancaster will frown on you.”
“They did.” Annie nodded. She finally managed to conquer the tears that threatened to overflow. “I lost my luggage in the...on the train. This is my...housecoat.” Annie recalled what her grandmother, Evie, had called the loose robe she had worn around the house. “We wear long dresses in Seattle as well.”
“Goodness, that’s terrible! And you have no coat either!”
Annie nodded.
“Yes, I’m afraid that I’ve lost everything—my wallet, my passport, my luggage, my phone—” Annie stopped short.
“Your phone? What is that?”
“Did I say that?” Annie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t even know what that is myself. Just a slip of the tongue, I guess!”
Belinda seemed satisfied.
Claire entered the living room carrying Robbie and leading Charlie. She sat down in one of the easy chairs and settled Robbie on her lap, while Charlie went to stand by his mother. Annie’s eyes misted again at the sight of the children, the sight of her grandmother as a young girl. A tear escaped and rolled down her face. She wiped at it with the back of her hand.
“Annie, you look so distressed!” Belinda cried out. “I am so sorry this has happened to you. We are family. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine,” Annie said. She stopped. She wasn’t fine. She had wanted to save Belinda, but it was she, Annie, who actually needed help. Further, she had lied about losing her possessions and now had to defend that lie. How had she gotten from the train station with no money? What hotel was she staying at?
“Well, actually, I guess I’m not fine,” Annie said, grimacing. “I probably didn’t realize the extent of my losses until I just said so aloud.”
“No?” Belinda asked with an arched eyebrow. “Did you come here directly from the train station? Did you walk?”
Annie thought fast. She hadn’t imagined a scenario in which she did anything other than warn Belinda to avoid ice cream at all costs. Forever! Yet here she was faced with a peculiar reality. She had to lie, and she wasn’t sure what the correct response should be. She had no idea where the train station was and whether it was feasible that she could have walked.
“Yes?” Annie responded with a wince. Was that a plausible answer?
“It is only seven blocks away, and since you had no luggage, that would not have been too difficult...except your clothing. You must be so cold.” Belinda turned her head. “I hear the kettle boiling. Let me get you some tea.”
“Can I help you?” Annie said, rising when Belinda did.
Belinda looked at her with surprise. Maybe they didn’t ask to go into each other’s kitchens in 1913?
“Yes, of course.” She looked at Claire. “Claire, please take the boys upstairs and settle them for their naps.”
“Yes, Mother,” Claire said, carrying Robbie and taking Charlie’s hand.
Annie, one of only two children, was surprised at the breadth of Claire’s child-caring responsibilities but imagined it might be normal in large families.
They passed through a small dining room and entered the kitchen, a narrow room flanked on the right with white-painted cabinets, a wonderfully embellished and intricate steel-plate range with a box of coal beside it, a wooden cabinet that appeared to be an icebox and a large porcelain sink centering the counter. The highly varnished wood in the living room had been continued into the kitchen. A small rectangular white-painted table and four chairs took up one corner of the kitchen, the tablecloth a festive red-and-white-check pattern. A wooden highchair perched near the table, a half-full glass baby bottle on the tray. Two small glasses with remnants of milk rested on the tabletop.
Annie, her knees still rubbery from the shock of traveling through time, pulled out one of the chairs and dropped down onto it.
Belinda, busy with the kettle, looked over her shoulder. “Oh, would you like to drink your tea in here then? I thought we would return to the parlor. It’s so much nicer in there.”
“Wherever is best for you,” Annie said. “I just needed to sit down for a moment.”
Belinda, spotting something on the table that made her sigh, crossed the room and collected the glasses and baby bottle.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a smile. “Claire knows to put dishes into the sink. She must have been eager to join us.”
Annie watched her second great-grandmother in bemusement. Until she realized what she was actually looking at.
“Is that milk?” she blurted in a squeaky voice. “Milk? Where do you get it? Do you have ice cream?”
Startled, Belinda whirled around, glass and bottle still in hand. “Ice cream? Do you want ice cream? I’m afraid we don’t have any. We usually get ours at the corner drugstore.”
“Oh, no,” Annie said, shaking her head. Her heart raced for the hundredth time that day. “No, no. I was just wondering, that’s all. So you don’t get your milk...and ice cream from a dairy farm?”
Belinda set the glassware into the sink. “Well, yes, it does come from a dairy farm, but we get our ice cream at Goodie’s Drugstore, and our milk is delivered by the milkman.”
She retrieved quaint little rosebud-patterned teacups and saucers from one of the cabinets and set them on a silver platter. After pouring hot water into a matching teapot, she tossed in some teabags and set that on the tray as well.
“Are you hungry? I have some nice cookies.”
“Not really. Thank you,” Annie said. Her stomach hadn’t stopped doing summersaults since she had awakened on the concrete outside, as if it didn’t know which way was up.
“I’ll put some on a plate anyway,” Belinda said. “Let’s return to the parlor.” She picked up the tray.
Annie followed her and resumed her seat on the divan. Belinda set the tray down on the coffee table and set out the teacups. Claire descended the stairs shyly, as if awaiting Belinda’s permission to join them. Annie struggled to see her outspoken great-grandmother in the docile girl.
“You may join us if you wish, Claire,” Belinda said. “Go get yourself a cup.”
Claire galvanized into action and sped into the kitchen to get a teacup, returning in less than thirty seconds. She set it down on the tray, and her mother poured out the tea.
“Oh dear. I forgot the sugar and cream. Do you take either? Claire, please go get the sugar and cream.”
“Not for me, thanks,” Annie said with a shudder. Cream came from milk, which came from cows, which came from the same place as ice cream, which came from dairy farms.
“I’ve read that cream is bad for you,” Annie offered blithely. “Have you heard that? Something about too much fat or something. I’ve given it up.” Not being a cream drinker anyway, Annie really hadn’t read muc
h about that, but she thought she might as well brainwash Belinda into believing dairy products were bad for her. To save her life.
“Just the sugar then, Claire, if you want some. I don’t take cream in my tea either, and neither does Claire, but she does like sugar. So you’ve read that cream is bad for us? Where did you read that? I had not heard of such.”
“Oh goodness, where did I read that?” Annie pretended to ponder. “Some scientific magazine, I think.”
“Well, I must tell Monroe that. He does like cream with his coffee.”
“Milk products in general,” Annie added, pushing her luck. “They’re all bad for you. Ice cream too. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that.”
Claire had returned with a small porcelain bowl of sugar. She let out a quiet gasp.
“Ice cream?” she repeated.
“I can’t believe that!” Belinda said. “We love ice cream. It is such a treat for us to have ice cream once a month at the drugstore.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said, holding her teacup with a shaking hand. Had she made a difference? Had she actually saved Belinda’s life and that of her son, Ted, apparently playing upstairs? Had it really been that easy?
“Mama!” Claire protested. “Please don’t make us stop eating ice cream! I don’t care if we can’t drink milk, but ice cream...” The corners of her eyes drooped.
Annie hardened her heart against the girl’s pleas. It was for her own good. She shook her head ominously. “Terrible for you,” she voiced in dark tones.
“Exactly how so, Annie?” Belinda asked.
Annie thought fast. “Well, dairy raises your cholesterol. It has enzymes that some people can’t tolerate. It has a natural sugar in it.” Annie racked her brain for negative things she might have read about dairy. Certainly there were positive things, and she had never personally met someone who had died from drinking milk products...except for the woman in front of her.
