by Bess McBride
Annie stared at the sink. She had never peeled ten potatoes at one time in her entire life!
“Is everything all right? Do you know how to peel potatoes?”
“Oh, sure,” Annie said. “I just wasn’t sure how you wanted them peeled.”
Belinda, cutting carrots and cabbage, laughed. “With the skin off?”
Despite her worries, Annie chuckled. “Yes, of course. I meant, do you peel directly into the garbage or into the sink?”
“The garbage is fine, dear. It’s just under that curtain there.”
Annie pulled a metal can out from behind a navy-blue curtain hiding the plumbing under the sink. She unbuttoned the sleeves of her impossibly puffy-shouldered blouse and rolled them up.
“Let me get you an apron,” Belinda said, crossing the room to pull one off a hook. She handed it to Annie, who gratefully dropped the loop over her head and tied it at the back. For the next few minutes, she peeled all the potatoes while watching Belinda out of the corner of her eye.
“Hello!” a male voice called out from the parlor. “I’m home!”
Annie drew in a sharp breath. Her second great-grandfather, Monroe Sellers! She could hear chairs pushing back in the dining room as the children scrambled to greet their father.
“What’s this on your face? Is that chocolate?” He sounded jovial.
“Yes, Papa! Cousin Annie is here!” one of the boys said—Annie guessed the outgoing Harry.
“Monroe is home,” Belinda said unnecessarily. She wiped her hands on her apron again and turned as Monroe entered the kitchen, holding the hand of each boy, the girls following.
No wonder the children were small. Belinda was petite for a woman, but Monroe was truly short for a man. Annie had no doubt where her mother’s five-foot frame came from.
Monroe couldn’t have been more than five foot four inches. His thick brown mustache covered most of his mouth, though she thought he was smiling. Blue eyes behind round glasses studied her with seeming interest. He wore a conservative dark-gray charcoal suit, high-collared white shirt and a rather festive red-and-green-plaid bow tie. Well-shined black shoes were consistently small. He wore a black felt derby hat.
“Hello!” he said. “Who’s this?”
“Monroe, dear, this is Cousin Annie Warner. Her mother is a distant cousin of my mother’s. Annie, this is my husband, Monroe Sellers.”
“Is that so?” he asked.
Annie, her hands soiled from peeling potatoes, didn’t know what to do. She was on the verge of bobbing a curtsey for some odd reason, when she found her voice. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hat, dear,” Belinda said, moving to Monroe’s side to kiss him on the cheek before returning to her preparations. Monroe extricated himself from the children’s grasp and removed his hat.
“Annie came to visit Lancaster and lost all her luggage and things, so she will be staying with us for a few days,” Belinda said.
“Is that right?” Monroe asked again. “Well, that’s too bad.”
Annie looked up in surprise. “Too bad?”
“That you lost your things.”
Belinda laughed. “I am sure Annie thought you meant something else. Monroe, dear, would you take the children out of the kitchen? Girls, I’m sure the babies are awake. Could you go get them, please?”
Belinda organized the troops, and Monroe complied in an easygoing manner. Annie didn’t doubt that his mother would have needed to come help raise the children when his wife died. She swallowed hard at the thought that the vibrant woman stirring things in a pot on the stove would be or could be gone soon.
“Could you cut up the potatoes, Annie? I’m going to throw them into this stew.”
“Yes, of course,” Annie said, her voice husky. She turned her face away from Belinda to hide the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Annie!” Belinda said, setting down a large wooden spoon. She approached Annie and put an arm around her shoulder. “Please do not worry. We will fix this. I’ll send Monroe out to the train station first thing tomorrow to ask about your luggage. I think the station is probably closed for the day.”
Annie wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. “You don’t need to do that, Belinda. My things are long gone. I think they were stolen. I left my compartment and went to the restroom. When I came back, everything was gone.”
Belinda shook her head and gave Annie’s shoulders another squeeze. “Well, I hope you reported it to the conductor! How awful for you!”
Annie eased out a sigh. She hated lying to her second great-grandmother with every other breath. It was exhausting. Her parents had insisted on honesty, and it had become a lifelong habit. Annie contemplated once again just confessing all and telling Belinda that she must have traveled back in time to stop the pending tragedy, but old black-and-white movies depicting mental hospital inmates wailing and sobbing haunted her.
The best-case scenario was that Belinda would toss her onto the street as a fraud or a danger to her children. At no time did Annie think Belinda and Monroe would accept her explanation that she came from the future to warn them of death.
“Thank you, Gran—” Annie said, catching herself in time. “Thank you, Belinda.”
Belinda returned to cooking, and Annie helped out as needed. She could hear Monroe interacting with the little ones in the living room while Belinda rallied the girls to set the table in the dining room. Once the food was ready, Belinda plated it and Annie helped her carry plain white porcelain platters into the dining room.
The girls had covered the table with an eggshell-white linen tablecloth, upon which they’d placed porcelain plates, unadorned silverware and matching linen napkins. Overall, the setting was simple, in good taste and not fussy. Annie didn’t know if she was getting the star treatment or just everyday family dishes. She remembered reading on a census that Monroe was a fruit dealer. Did he have his own store? If so, that suggested some affluence.
Annie, having set her deliveries onto the table, stood back and watched the activity. Monroe brought the baby into the dining room, while Harry fetched the highchair from the kitchen and placed it next to the dining table. Charlie, the toddler, was lifted up by Claire to sit on a wooden booster seat, and she stood by the chair next to him. Cathy and Teddie stood by other chairs, everyone seeming to wait for Belinda. She emerged from the kitchen with one last plate of biscuits and turned to Annie.
“Sit here, Annie,” she said, pulling a chair away from the wall and setting it next to her at one end of the table. The family then pulled out chairs in unison and sat down in a well-choregraphed ritual. Robbie, ensconced in his highchair, trilled loudly while the family joined hands and Monroe led a prayer.
Annie fought back tears. She couldn’t believe this happy group would soon lose two of its members, never to be replaced. There would be gaps at the table. Would they be able to reach one another’s hands across the empty spaces?
“Annie! Is something wrong? Are you ill?” Monroe asked from across the table.
Annie blinked against the moisture filling her eyes and opened her mouth to speak.
“I think Annie feels the loss of her things,” Belinda said, covering Annie’s hand. “I hope you can go to the station tomorrow to inquire after her luggage, dear. Annie doesn’t think her luggage can be recovered, but we do have to ask.”
“Of course I will go,” Monroe said. “It is on my way to work. If they have found it, I will make arrangements to have it delivered immediately.”
“Thank you, dear,” Belinda said. “Oh goodness, I have forgotten the milk! Girls, will you bring glasses and the pitcher of milk to the table? And get Robbie’s bottle.”
Annie could have died.
Chapter Four
The girls got up and went into the kitchen. Belinda must have seen Annie’s ashen face or the sweat that broke out on her upper brow. Each episode of consuming a dairy product—and there were a lot of them—brought them closer to the brink of death. Annie couldn’
t entirely depend on the family history reporting that the disease was acquired from ice cream. Dairy was fine for some, but not for this family at this time.
“I know you want to share your thoughts on milk and ice cream with Monroe, Annie, but I would appreciate it if we could speak of that when the children are not around.” Belinda eyed her pointedly.
“What’s this?” Monroe asked, his eyes widening behind his equally round glasses. “Why shouldn’t the children be around?”
If Belinda had wanted to forestall Annie from speaking, she probably shouldn’t have raised the issue. Teddie and Charlie watched the adults with interest. The baby chortled.
“Oh dear,” Belinda said. “I should not have said anything.”
“Well, now that you have, what is this about?” Monroe said. “What do you have to say about milk and ice cream, Annie?”
The girls returned then with the pitcher, glasses and bottle, and Annie hoped the question would get lost in the flurry of activity surrounding pouring out milk. She too didn’t want to discuss typhoid fever in front of the children.
Belinda spooned out food and passed plates around, no doubt hoping Monroe would forget the conversation as well. But he didn’t. Once everyone was served and the children quieted with their food, he raised the issue again.
“I see you declined milk, Annie,” Monroe asked. “Do you dislike it? Is that what the discussion is?”
Annie shook her head. “No, not really.” In her own time, she drank water more than anything else, but she hoped her brief answer would suffice to ease his curiosity. The white upper lips on most of the children indicated her warnings about milk and ice cream would go poorly...more poorly than they already had.
Annie’s shoulders sagged. She was dispirited and dejected. Belinda had heard her warnings but didn’t take them seriously. Annie felt suddenly too tired to strategize an effective campaign for the entire family.
Further, she worried about her absence from her own time. She wore no watch and didn’t have her phone to tell time, but she guessed she had been gone about five or six hours. She couldn’t know for sure since she didn’t know how long she had sat outside, whether she had been unconscious or opened her eyes the minute she arrived...as it were.
Belinda gave her a surprised look but said nothing.
“As you can see, the children love milk,” Monroe said, almost as if he were about to embark on a chatty dinner table conversation. “And ice cream. Do you like ice cream?”
Annie shot Belinda a look before catching sight of the expectant expressions of the children as they awaited the answer. Claire’s eyes narrowed, and Annie once again saw her potential for crabbiness later in life.
“No, not really,” Annie said with a shrug of her shoulders and an apologetic half smile toward the children, who, with the exception of the two youngest and Claire, all looked a bit taken aback.
“You don’t like ice cream?” outgoing Harry repeated in nothing short of wonderment.
“No, I don’t,” Annie said firmly. That wasn’t entirely true, but she preferred a coconut mixture in her own time.
“Mama, it’s okay if we like ice cream, isn’t it?” Teddie spoke up in a small voice.
Annie drew in a deep breath. No! No, it is not, Teddie, especially for you! I want you to live! I want you to grow up, to live a long life, you beautiful boy! No ice cream for you!
But Annie didn’t say those words aloud.
“Yes, of course, dear,” Belinda said with an exasperated expression, though to her credit, she didn’t turn the look onto Annie directly. Her tight jaw suggested she was tired of the entire subject.
“No one is saying you can’t like ice cream or milk,” Belinda continued. “Cousin Annie just doesn’t prefer them. It is no different than you disliking carrots while Harry dislikes tomatoes.”
Annie swallowed hard. Oh, no, it was a whole lot different.
“No, of course not,” Monroe said firmly, perhaps sensing the children were on the verge of disliking not only carrots but Cousin Annie. At least, that was what Annie was anticipating.
“How are you related to Belinda again, Annie?” he asked.
While Annie appreciated the change in subject, that one was no better. She forgot what she had told Belinda.
“Belinda’s mother was a cousin of my mother.”
“Is a cousin,” Monroe said. “Belinda’s mother is alive and well and living in Baltimore.”
“You did know that my mother was alive, didn’t you, Annie?” Belinda asked, seemingly satisfied with the topic.
Annie was in way over her head. So much for wanting to warn her ancestors. The project was becoming much more complicated than she had ever imagined.
“No, I didn’t,” Annie said, treading lightly. “How wonderful!”
“Goodness, I thought you knew.” Belinda turned to Monroe. “Annie is visiting Lancaster from somewhere near Seattle in Washington State, isn’t that right, Annie? You said you were visiting family?”
“I’m researching family history,” Annie said. “It’s a hobby of mine, genealogy. I knew I had cousins here in Lancaster, and I stopped by to meet you. But I lost my luggage and found myself stranded here for a bit.”
“Yes, family history,” Belinda said. “I remember that now.”
“And what is your mother’s name?” Monroe asked.
Annie tried to remember if she’d said something earlier. Out of the corner of her eye, she scanned Belinda’s face, but she too seemed to await an answer. Annie looked down at her lap to concentrate on a visual of the family tree. Belinda’s parents were John Burman and Mary Moller. Annie’s mother was Barbara McDonald. She raised her head.
“My mother’s name was Barbara Moller. I believe she and Mary Moller were second cousins. Belinda and I are something like second cousins once removed.” Annie widened her mouth into a smile, suspecting that she had confused Belinda and Monroe just enough to get by. She had to remember, though, that she had changed her own mother’s name.
“Oh, how interesting! And how did the family come to be in Washington State?” Belinda asked.
The children sipped their milk. Everyone was happy once again.
“She met my father in Baltimore, and they moved out there.” She hoped to avoid particular details that she would have to remember again.
“Your father’s name is Warner?”
Annie nodded. “Jared Warner.” Which was true.
“And what took them out west?” Monroe asked, a repetition of Belinda’s question.
Annie’s father had retired from the military in a small town called Spanaway, Washington, but she didn’t think that would work at all in 1913. She didn’t think the military bases in that area had been there that early in the twentieth century.
“I really don’t know,” Annie said weakly. “I never asked.”
“You study your family history and you never asked your parents why they moved to Washington?” Belinda smiled to soften her words.
“Well, now that you mention it, that is strange. I can’t ask them now though. They have both passed on.”
“What a shame. My condolences,” Monroe said.
“Thank you,” Annie said with a nod. Her parents had both passed away from cancer, her mother when Annie was twenty, her father when she was twenty-eight. Her nineteen-year-old sister had died in a car accident when Annie was fifteen. She hoped Monroe and Belinda didn’t ask for specifics. She truly didn’t want to talk about her parents or sister, not to anyone but a therapist...and Danny. He knew the extent of her loss.
“I am so sorry,” Belinda said.
Annie blinked back moisture and nodded at Belinda.
“Dinner is delicious, my dear,” Monroe said with a look in Annie’s direction.
She appreciated his tact.
“Thank you, dear. Annie helped.”
“Did you lose everything, Annie?” Monroe asked. “Have you any money?”
“Perhaps we can talk about this later, dear, when t
he children have gone to bed,” Belinda said. “Maybe we can help Annie make plans.”
“Right, right,” Monroe said. “Eat up, children, and stop staring at Cousin Annie.”
The children finished, and the four oldest rose and collected plates to take to the kitchen. They obviously had a routine of scheduled chores. Annie remembered fussing when told to make her bed. Her sister, Leigh, had been the responsible and compliant child. Annie admired the children’s willingness to cooperate in family functions.
“Would you like your coffee, dear?” Belinda asked her husband. She rose to take the delightfully docile Robbie from his highchair.
“No, thank you, not tonight, unless Annie would like a cup?”
“No, thank you.”
“Let’s sit in the parlor and chat,” Monroe said. He lowered Charlie from his booster chair and hoisted him into his arms to carry him into the parlor. He and Belinda sat in the easy chairs with the children on their lap, and Annie took the sofa. She hoped they were done grilling her for the day. She knew the term “grilling” implied interrogation, and their questions were kindly meant, but she simply had no more brain power left to construct lies.
Even amid the chaos of the large family and her frustration that she wasn’t making a difference, Annie couldn’t help but obsess about reversing the time travel. She deduced that if she were to prevent Belinda’s and Teddie’s deaths from the tainted ice cream—or milk products—then she should be able to return to her own time. She hoped and prayed that was true.
She could not stay. She didn’t want to stay in 1913. She was madly in love with Danny Douglas, and she wanted to go back to him.
Thankfully, Monroe and Belinda busied themselves with the little ones in the short time it took for the rest of the children to finish dishes and return to the parlor. Claire helped her mother take Robbie and Charlie upstairs to change their diapers, and Monroe entertained the rest of his children by listening to them chatter.
He seemed like a wonderful father and every child’s dream—an adult who listened attentively and with pleasure. Her own father had been a busy man even in retirement, and she had not wanted to bother him with her concerns...or what she had thought were concerns that were unworthy of bothering him with.
