Neither Present Time

by Caren J. Werlinger

  “I think it went well,” she said. “I met with the Rare Book faculty and staff throughout the morning, then had meetings with a dean and someone from HR in the afternoon. They showed me around campus. Oh, Ridley, you wouldn’t believe the collections they have, and some of the medieval prayer books and manuscripts,” she moaned. “They call me Dr. Gray,” she added with a delighted giggle.

  “Well, of course they do,” he said, and she could picture him shaking his head. “We should all be calling you that.”

  “I’ve just never…”

  No one had called Beryl by that hard-won title – not Claire, not her family. Her family had given her the barest nod of acknowledgement when she completed her degree, and that was the end of it. Claire, when she learned that Beryl had a doctorate, had only talked more about her own master’s and how she might pursue a doctorate one day.

  “You sound like this is something you would like,” Ridley said, snapping Beryl back to the present.

  Beryl bit her bottom lip. “I think I would,” she admitted for the first time, not having wanted to get her hopes up. Echoes of Claire’s old warning, “I don’t want you to be disappointed when you don’t get it,” had played over and over in her head, keeping her from acknowledging, even to herself, how much she wanted to be offered this job.

  “Of course, being offered the position and accepting it are two different things,” she said, but only to herself. She would think about that later.

  Chapter 20

  Beryl woke Saturday morning, determined to make contact with the inhabitants of the Bishop house. Part of her resolve was due to having watched Sleepless in Seattle in her hotel room the night before, thinking how like Meg Ryan she would be if she went back to D.C. without having even said hello.

  “I don’t think Ridley would get it,” she chuckled to her reflection as she dried her hair.

  She decided to drive back to Bexley and have breakfast at a restaurant there before going to the house. She lingered over breakfast, having a third cup of coffee before paying her check and walking out into the bright August morning.

  As she had the last time, she walked the few blocks to the Bishop house. Peering around the corner of the stone wall as she stood on the sidewalk, she saw no traffic in the lane, and no signs of movement in the bit of the yard that she could see. Taking a deep breath, she entered the gravel lane. As she walked, she took in the huge old trees, their canopies providing deep shade for large clumps of rhododendron and hostas and hellebores, the spaces between them filled with an enormous variety of ferns, some of which Beryl had never seen before.

  As she rounded the oak tree she had seen from the sidewalk, she got her first glimpse of the house and stopped dead in her tracks for a moment. It was enormous, made of brick, but as she got closer, she could see that the brickwork around the windows and chimneys was laid out in intricate patterns she doubted any bricklayer could duplicate now. She noted the shiny, new copper gutters and saw some scaffolding set up where it looked as if some roof repairs were on-going. A deep covered porch seemed to wrap all the way around the house.

  A brick walk veered off to the right, heading as if it led to the front door, though its path was obscured by overgrown hedges, while the drive continued around to the back of the house. Beryl decided to follow the drive, and came around to a door on the back porch of the house. Off to one side, she saw a garage, but no car. Stepping nervously up to the screened door there, she raised her hand and knocked.

  * * *

  “What do you mean you had a visitor?” Aggie demanded when she got back from doing some shopping with Shannon. “Who was it? What did they want?”

  Cory smiled a bemused smile and said, “I think we’ll find out tonight. I invited her back for dinner.”

  “You what?” Aggie nearly shouted. “Who did you invite for dinner?” She was totally confused and was worried that Cory had done something foolish. She looked around quickly. “Was this person in the house? Are you sure they didn’t take anything?”

  “Agatha, sit down,” Cory said calmly. “You’re getting all worked up for nothing.”

  Aggie took a deep breath and sat down. “All right,” she said, holding both hands up. “I’m sitting. Now, start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”

  “Well,” Cory smiled, “there was a knock at the back door. I thought it was one of the workmen, but when I answered, it was a young woman. She asked if she had the Bishop house, and when I said she had, she looked so happy. She asked me if I was Corinne.”

  “What?” Aggie asked again. This was so weird. She frowned. “How did she know your name?”

  “I don’t know,” Cory said, looking totally unconcerned. “When I asked her that same question, she said she had something of mine and asked if I would mind if she came back later today to return it to me. So, I invited her for dinner.”

  Aggie sat with her mouth open, staring at her aunt. “You invited a total stranger for dinner? Just like that?”

  Cory nodded happily. “Just like that. I had a good feeling about her. And she’s not a stranger. Her name is Beryl.”

  * * *

  Beryl nearly ran back to her car. She’d found Corinne! Oh, she couldn’t wait until tonight to tell Ridley. She drove back to her hotel, feeling so energized that she changed and headed out for a run around campus.

  I couldn’t have done this two months ago, she thought proudly as she jogged along easily.

  She couldn’t believe she’d been invited back for dinner tonight. Dinner with Corinne. “Please be the woman I’ve believed you to be,” she breathed in rhythm with her footsteps.

  Wine. She would pick up a nice bottle of wine to bring tonight. She wondered who the blonde was that she had seen with Corinne. Smiling to herself, Beryl hoped she’d be there tonight, too.

  By six o’clock that evening, she was back at the Bishop house, freshly showered and refreshed from a much-needed nap. She had dressed carefully, wearing some of the newer, closer-fitting clothes Ridley had helped her pick out. This time, she drove to the house, parking along the curb out front. It seemed impertinent somehow, overly familiar, to drive down the lane to the back door. “Just because you feel like you know her, doesn’t mean you do,” she reminded herself. She paused as she walked up the drive, her backpack hanging from one shoulder, unsure whether to take the brick walk to the front door or continue around back. She finally decided on the front door.

  Pushing her way through the overgrown boxwoods and yews, she followed the brick walk to the ornately carved mahogany door. She raised her hand to knock, but then let it fall back to her side. “What are you doing?” she asked herself.

  “This isn’t you,” she could hear Claire’s voice say mockingly. “You barely talk to people you know, much less going into a stranger’s house.”

  Beryl actually turned and started to walk away when she stopped, picturing herself having to explain to Ridley that she’d finally found Corinne and had left before getting a chance to give her the book or talk to her.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and went back to the front door. Raising the heavy brass knocker, she let it fall once, triggering a series of frantic barks from inside the house. A moment later, the door was opened by the young blond woman she’d seen earlier, holding a struggling terrier mix.

  “It’s you,” said the blonde.

  Beryl nodded stupidly. “It’s me.”

  “Why are you smiling?” asked the blonde self-consciously, glancing down at herself.

  “Nothing,” Beryl said, shaking her head. “I’m Beryl,” she forced herself to say, holding out a hand. “Beryl Gray.

  “Aggie – Agatha Bishop,” Aggie said, taking her hand. “Please, come in.” She stepped back to allow Beryl in, eyeing her curiously as Beryl entered the foyer in open-mouthed delight. She set Percival down.

  “This is incredible,” Beryl murmured admiringly, bending to pet Percival who was dancing on his hind legs. “Just how I imagined.”

&nbs
p; “Sorry?” Aggie said. “Why would you have imagined this house?”

  But just then, Cory came into the foyer. “Good evening, Beryl,” she said warmly, holding out her hand in greeting.

  “Hello, Miss Bishop,” Beryl said.

  Cory smiled at the grudging approval on Aggie’s face at Beryl’s manners.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me into your home,” Beryl continued. “I brought some wine.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you,” Cory said. “I can open this and pour while Agatha gives you a tour.”

  She left the two younger women standing awkwardly in the foyer as Percival sniffed Beryl’s legs curiously.

  “I’m afraid I’m a little confused,” Aggie confessed. “I don’t understand how you know my great-aunt?”

  “I don’t,” Beryl said, stepping forward and looking upward through the oval of the staircase. “Not really. But I feel like I do.”

  Before Aggie could ask another question, Beryl turned to her and asked, “Did your family build this house?”

  “Um, yes,” Aggie said, distracted from her other questions. “In 1860, I think. My great-great grandparents.”

  “It really is incredible,” Beryl said, forgetting her shyness as she caught sight of the study with its bookshelves. “May I?” she asked, turning back to Aggie.

  “Uh, yes,” Aggie said again, feeling completely off-kilter. “Who are you?” she wanted to blurt, but that seemed incredibly rude. She’d gotten nothing further from Cory about why she felt such a connection to this Beryl person.

  She and Percival followed as Beryl explored the contents of the bookshelves.

  “Who collected all these?” Beryl asked excitedly, pulling book after book off the shelves and then replacing them carefully before moving on.

  “All of us,” Aggie said. “I mean, my great-great grandparents already had an extensive library, but it’s been added to over the years. I think it means more to Aunt Cory than anything. The books were the only things she really insisted on keeping…” Aggie stopped as if realizing she was revealing too much to a stranger.

  Beryl looked around at the nearly empty room. “Oh, yes. The auction. Mrs. Mattingly was right, it is sad that your great-aunt had to let so many things go, but I’m so glad she was able to keep the books, mostly because –”

  “Here you are,” Cory said, bringing two wine glasses into the study and offering them to Aggie and Beryl. She beamed at them. “What do you think?” she asked, gesturing around the room.

  “The house is beautiful, but the books are really fantastic,” Beryl said.

  “Well, dinner is about ready. If you girls would come to the kitchen, I could use some help,” Cory said.

  Beryl and Percival followed Cory, with Aggie bringing up the rear, feeling as if she had stepped through the proverbial looking glass.

  “Oh, it smells good,” Beryl said appreciatively as she stepped into the kitchen, delighting again in the details: the classic marble floor tiles, laid out in a basketweave pattern in black and white, with a large porcelain sink and marble countertops.

  “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen,” Cory said as she opened the oven and pulled out a covered roasting pan and a baking sheet of rolls and setting them on the stovetop. “I always enjoyed eating in here with the staff as a child, but now… there’s no dining room furniture, so we don’t have a choice,” she laughed.

  “I’m definitely more kitchen than dining room,” Beryl smiled. The long wooden table was already laid with three place settings at one end.

  “Agatha,” Cory said, “would you mind carving the roast for us? And, Beryl, could I impose upon you to place these dinner rolls in this basket?”

  Beryl set her backpack down in a corner and did as Cory asked.

  Within a few minutes, they were seated with Cory at the end of the table and Aggie and Beryl on either side while Percival settled under the table, ready to pounce on any dropped bits of food. Throughout, Aggie kept staring at Beryl suspiciously, still completely non-plussed as to what exactly was going on. Cory made small talk, asking Beryl where she was from and what she did.

  “So, what brings you to Columbus from Washington?” Cory asked at last.

  “Well, two things, actually,” Beryl said, taking a sip of her wine. “I had an interview with Ohio State yesterday, but I’ve been looking for you for some time.”

  “Why?” Aggie burst out, unable to contain herself any longer.

  Beryl swallowed and went to her backpack, where she squatted down and retrieved a small paper-wrapped package. She returned to the table and handed it to Cory.

  “I think this may be yours,” she said hopefully.

  She watched Cory’s face carefully as she unwrapped the paper.

  “Oh.” Cory’s hand fluttered to her mouth as her eyes blinked rapidly. Aggie leaned over to see what lay in the tissue paper. “You don’t know…” Cory said in a strangled voice, “I’ve been looking…”

  “Is this the book?” Aggie asked. “The one you were so upset about losing?”

  Cory nodded, her eyes shining with tears.

  Aggie reached over and gently picked it up, opening the front cover. Her eyebrows raised as she read the inscription, blushing a little. “Aunt Cory,” she said in a scandalized tone.

  Cory laughed, looking not the least abashed. “I told you you’d know it by the inscription.”

  Beryl was watching her reaction with bated breath. “So you are this Corinne?”

  Cory nodded, wiping her eyes. “I am.”

  “Can you… would you mind telling me a little about Helen?” Beryl asked hesitantly.

  * * *

  Corinne and Terrence wend their way through Union Station, making their way to the train that will take them home to Ohio. The war is finally over in Europe, though not yet in the Pacific. Terrence’s doctors say he will most likely not recover fully. Physically, he is still weak in his left arm and leg, but more critically, he has not recovered mentally.

  “He’s not the same,” Corinne wrote to her parents, trying to prepare them. “He’s easily upset, and cannot bear any yelling or arguments. And he has spells,” – “seizures,” the doctors called them, episodes during which Terrence would stare, muscles rigid, sometimes for several minutes before he would look around blankly, not aware of what had happened.

  Corinne has quit her job and given up her apartment in D.C., knowing that once she is home, she will most likely not be able to leave again.

  “You simply must come home to help me with Mother and Father, especially if Terrence is to live with us,” Candace, who never married, had written. “With the war over, your lark is also over and it is time you accept your responsibilities.”

  This is the bitterest thing of all. “I feel I have no choice but to give up my independence, my life here,” Corinne has written in a letter to Helen, who is still in Europe, helping coordinate post-war efforts.

  “Please, please come to me when you can,” she wrote. “My life will not be complete without you.”

  She has sent trunks on ahead, one of hers and one of Terrence’s. She glances up at him now as they walk arm in arm through the train station. He is very handsome in his uniform, and with his cap pulled low over his right eye, he looks devil-may-care. Only she knows he does it to cover the scars that are still visible. What about the invisible ones? she wonders a short while later as the train chugs slowly out of the station and they head back to a world where she and her brother no longer belong.

  * * *

  Aggie, who spent most of the evening observing Beryl as Cory talked to her, felt somewhat mollified by the time Beryl took her leave late that night.

  She doesn’t seem like a lunatic, she thought as she cleared the dinner dishes.

  Aggie and Cory had both been astonished to hear Beryl’s tale of how she came to have the book in her possession.

  “I’m not sure how much those three boxes of books went for at the original auction,” she said serio
usly. “But if you ever want to sell any more of these, please call me. We should get you in touch with an auction house that specializes in rare books. You have tens of thousands of dollars of books here. And they don’t sell these by the box.”

  “My dear,” Cory said as they got up from the table at last, having exchanged addresses and telephone numbers, “all I can say is you must have been led here somehow. I cannot thank you enough for returning this book to me.”

  “Miss Bishop,” Beryl said, glancing again at the silver-framed photo of Corinne and Helen that Aggie had retrieved from the mantel, “would it be all right… would you mind if I wrote to you?” She carefully folded the piece of paper with Cory’s address and phone number and tucked it into one of the pockets of her backpack. “I would like to know more about you and Helen, as much as you feel you can share.”

  “Why would you care so much about the relationship between two people who were so much ahead of your time?” Cory asked.

  A curious expression passed over Beryl’s features, but she said only, “I feel like you’ve become friends.”

  “I would be delighted to write to you,” Cory said, “but if your interview went well, you may find yourself living nearby and we can continue our correspondence in person.”

  Beryl smiled. “That would be nice.” She picked up her backpack. “Thank you again, Miss Bishop.”

  Cory surprised her by giving her a hug, and left Aggie to walk Beryl to the front door.

  “You must think I’m nuts,” Beryl said sheepishly as they stood in the foyer.

  “Maybe a little,” Aggie admitted with a bewildered smile. “But I have to ask, why did you really feel such a strong need to find my aunt?”

  Beryl looked at her and Aggie could see the sudden hurt, the vulnerability in those eyes. “I just needed to know,” she said, and it sounded as if she were having a hard time speaking. “I needed to know a relationship could last a lifetime and beyond.”