Fade to Grey

by Ilena Holder

  “Oh, please don’t make a fuss over a guest and her odd habits,” Lilly said. “Come on, do your best to stay out of trouble. We have plenty of work to do anyway with cleanup.”

  Donna padded quietly down the hall to the library. She attempted to tread lightly, remembering the Bradentons were probably still deeply asleep after the previous nights’ drinking. No matter, the library should probably give her some clues as to the time period she was in. The curtains in the library were closed, so she opened them up to let the morning sun stream in. These people sure liked everything dark and gloomy for some reason. The furniture was heavy and of indeterminate origin. Donna was no antiques expert and couldn’t tell American made from European. Seat cushions were either embroidered or colorful velvet. She sat on the sofa and almost slid off.

  “Hmm, probably horsehair.”

  She had always read that it was slick and uncomfortable. She walked around the room and went to the piano, hoping to see something useful there. Peering inside the instrument she saw a sticker that said, 1800 – St. John’s Emporium, Boston.

  Well, that’s just wonderful. But how long ago was 1800? She did not know and the piano was in mint condition. It could have been recently purchased or simply lightly used. Flipping up the piano seat, she found the insides bare. Nothing but a coating of light dust and a dead silverfish.

  “Nothing of use here,” she said ruefully, shutting the lid with a creak. Walking around the room, she picked up and fingered the cups, plates and drinking glasses. Peering into them, she hoped to see something, anything. There was nothing but the dregs of alcohol, coffee and some loose tea leaves.

  Checking the ashtrays, she found cigar stubs and abandoned pipes. Truthfully, it didn’t look much different to the remnants of a cocktail party in Cicero or Skokie. The cigar bands offered no information.

  “Huh, some things never change.”

  She found a four-wheeled serving cart next to the wall, filled with liquor bottles. She checked the labels and found the brewery or distillery names on labels, but that was all. Moving now to the side of the room, she investigated the beautiful leather-bound books lining the shelves. She plucked three out and took them over to the window. Opening the first, Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery, she was thrilled to see a print date on the inside of 1848.

  “Now I’m getting somewhere!” She placed Thackery’s novel on the couch and opened the second book, Jayne Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. At first she was disappointed to see the first page printed, First edition, eighteen-forty-seven. This one apparently had been a gift, since it was inscribed in a thick black penmanship. To Elizabeth, on your wedding day. Aunt Marcelle, 1865.

  “Fantastic! Elizabeth was my great-great-great-great-grandmother Bradenton!” Donna wasn’t exactly certain of the day and month of the wedding, but it seems from the family tree her Gran maintained, it was in the mid-eighteen hundreds, eighteen-fifty perhaps. She placed that book on the couch next to Ivanhoe. The third book was of no help to her, being published in England in 1810.

  She took them back to their shelf and replaced them. Then she sat on a cushion in the window seat. She sighed and felt a little relieved, but still scared. How would she explain her presence when the Bradentons finally got up? She could improvise it with the staff for a while, and she figured they would be too polite or scared to say anything to their employer about her odd appearance and actions. Perhaps for a while that would work, but how long? How would she get back to her time? Once again, her head started to ache with worry. She gazed outside at October’s dying grass and semi-naked trees. There was really no front lawn; it was more or less just an overgrown field that came up to the front of the house. Weeds and grass that were too high had probably been cut down by the help with a scythe, judging by large clumps of cuttings. What you would have called the lawn was packed dirt, with stone pathways leading to each of the entrance doors. She figured landscaping had not quite caught on yet from the looks of things.

  Then she heard the maids coming down the hall. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had forgotten their cleaning mission.

  Annabelle and Rose glanced her way and said nothing, but began bustling around the room, cleaning and wiping. They had brought a cart which helped with the glass and bottle removal. Annabelle had a small bucket and rag, which she carefully wrung the water out of and began wiping down the wooden furniture. Rose skirted around the outskirts of the room with a broom and dustpan, shooing dust and tobacco crumbs into it. They both smiled at Donna but made no attempt at conversation. Soon they were on their way back to the kitchen to wash and dry the glassware.

  Donna wished she had something to occupy herself, but there was nothing except mind games and time riddles. She thought it best to deal with the here and now and figure out the passage through time later.

  “Just as well, I need to have my story straight when I begin telling it.”

  She ran plausible scenarios through her head, backwards and forwards. She could pretend to be sick, addled, or soft-minded, but that might be dangerous. They might try to take her to a doctor or admit her into a sanitarium. Then, they might try to contact her family in Chicago. She could be arrogant and demanding and put them on the defensive. This was another bad idea, since they could insist she leave and decide she was some kind of gypsy, thief or imposter. Why shouldn’t they? She had no identifying papers, no letters of introduction and no clothing. That could turn disastrous and she would end up shoved out on the road with only the clothes on her back. She didn’t have any money to travel with, and besides, where would she go?

  There had always been charlatans and identify thieves since the beginning of time. The Bradentons might be cautious also. She thought it best to be friendly and stay open to clues in their conversation. She could be a distant relative, traveling, who decided just to drop in. Might that not work?

  One time she and her mother played hostess to a distant relative from Poland. All they had was a phone call from the girl’s aunt, who they knew socially, in the suburbs and an initial meeting in a hotel lobby downtown where the girl was staying. They had a pleasant evening, with dining out, and a little sightseeing without any problems, except a slight language barrier which was breeched with laughter and sign language. They could have been easily tricked into accepting her visit, but at least they did know the aunt. People crashed awards shows and parties all the time. All it required was a little chutzpah.

  She felt a little better, and thought it best to play that hand. She would throw herself literally and figuratively at their feet, expecting hospitality and comfort for a short while. Later, she could figure out a way to get back to the year two thousand ten which she had come from. Once again, she heard footsteps. This time it was not the maids. Mr. and Mrs. Bradenton entered the room, a little worse for wear, Donna thought.

  “Good morning, young lady!” Mr. Bradenton said. His wife was on his arm, a little pale but smiling. A good sign, Donna thought.

  She remembered her manners, rose, and went to take his hand. She started shaking it firmly, but then had doubts. Perhaps in this time period, a woman would offer a weaker, more feminine grasp. Unsure of the mannerisms, she split the difference. She offered a medium-strength clasp and hoped it would be acceptable. Mr. Bradenton surprised her and not only shook her hand but grasped her arm halfway to her elbow. He immediately set her at ease with his friendly gesture. He was dressed in a manner that Donna would have thought a bit stuffy and formal in her time, but people were more particular in their way of dressing in this time—whatever time it was. He had on polished black boots, black trousers, a white shirt and jacket, though tie-less. Perhaps that was good enough to greet guests on a weekday in your own house. Donna would have been dressed in a jogging suit and slippers if it was up to her.

  Mrs. Bradenton was dressed in a sort of shirt-waist dress, with her dark hair pulled back into a loose braid. Her hair was very long, with the bottom of the braid hitting low on her hips. She’s probably never cut her
hair, Donna thought. Her shoes were a sort of soft looking leather, almost made as a ballet slipper. They didn’t look durable enough to wear outside; they were probably her house shoes. People in their social class wouldn’t wear bedroom clothing to greet a guest.

  “My dear,” Mrs. Bradenton said. “You must fill us in on your trip. Please, sit down and we’ll have the maids bring some tea and toast.” She looked curiously at Donna’s face, and Donna hoped that nothing was amiss. All her makeup was washed or worn off and she was rather bare faced. Suddenly, she realized Mrs. Bradenton was staring at her cap. Reaching up to touch her white cap, she laughed.

  “I’ve been having a bit of a head cold. The doctor back home told me to wear a hat as much as possible until it passed.” There, that should satisfy them. “Plus, it was cold on the train when I traveled here.”

  “Yes, yes, keep the head warm. Grow your hair long and tuck it up into a nightcap also,” Mr. Bradenton agreed. “Sounds like a good doctor, I wish I had him around here. Our town could always use another prudent physician.”

  Lilly appeared.

  “Might I get you anything, ma’am––possibly some hot tea and toast?” Donna got the feeling this partying was a normal routine, with the maid already having a menu to offer.

  “Yes, that might be good,” Mrs. Bradenton said. “I could use some strong Oolong and honey this morning.”

  She gestured weakly for Donna to sit down. Fantastic, they were moderately hung over from last night! Donna figured the conversation would be rather general and probably nothing specific since they didn’t actually know her. Perhaps if she was lucky, they might give her clues as to who she was.

  “We are terribly sorry you didn’t get to join the party last night,” Mr. Bradenton offered. His friendliness was certainly reassuring enough.

  “Oh, I got here too late. Plus I was tired from the trip and the confusion, you know. I thought it best just to have the maids show me to my room and start fresh today,” Donna said.

  “Yes, that’s always the best way,” Mrs. Bradenton agreed. “The party was already winding down when you arrived. It probably wouldn’t have been much fun.”

  Donna studied her, realizing she was looking at her great-great-great-great grandmother. The moment was spooky. Mrs. Bradenton was of average height, pale and a bit plump around the middle. Her hands were delicate and covered with an assortment of large rings. Donna thought back to the eighteen hundreds and remembered women were supposed to stay out of the sun. She probably never exercised in her life, except for some formal dancing. Donna was glad now she had skipped the tanning salon last week and her tan in the bottle product was now worn completely off. She should look just as pale as the rest of them. It would have been difficult to explain a deep tan at the end of October to these people. The only people who were tanned were probably field hands.

  “You’ll need to fill us in on Chicago. It’s been so long since we’ve been,” Mr. Bradenton spoke.

  “Yes, dear, and we’re overdue for a visit. I haven’t been feeling well and have been having some pains in my back. When I get better, I want to go and do some shopping.” Mrs. Bradenton nudged her husband with her elbow.

  “Yes, I promised you.” He winked at Donna. “Matter of fact, I’m taking Elizabeth to the doctor today. We’re leaving in a little bit.”

  Donna noticed the look in his eyes changed to a more concerned demeanor. He continued, “You’re welcome to come with us if you wish. But then a young person might not want to sit around the doctor’s office.”

  Lilly reappeared with a large silver serving tray of toast, jellies, and butters. Rose brought up the rear with another tray holding a tea pot and three cups.

  “I think I’ll sit it out. This place is so soothing after the hustle and bustle of the big city.”

  “All our guests say that!”

  They filled their plates with tea and butter and the delicious toppings. Mrs. Bradenton told Donna all the jellies and butters were made at the farm. Donna nodded her head silently in agreement. Though she had eaten breakfast with the maids, she had to admit the hot tea and toast were scrumptious. Maybe it was this country air.

  “You do so look like someone we know from Chicago. Please fill us in on which relative you favor?” Mrs. Bradenton asked.

  Donna felt a bit uncomfortable. They were asking questions she had no ready answer for. She squirmed in her seat trying to come up with a plausible answer.

  Just then Mrs. Bradenton leaned forward with a look of pain on her pale face.

  “Here, here, Dear.” Mr. Bradenton jumped up, almost spilling his breakfast tea. “Just stay put—I’ll have the maids bring a hot compress.” With this, he dashed down the hall.

  “It’ll pass. It always does,” she managed through clenched teeth.

  “I’m so sorry,” Donna said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Here, sit and hold my hand until George gets back. Get my mind off my pains.”

  Donna stood and went to comfort her relative. Her mental acrobatics were set aside while she tended to another ailing human being. She heard a clattering in the kitchen, as if people were rushing around fetching things.

  “I didn’t used to be this way. It happened when we were riding horses. George and I were courting and we decided to go out for a ride. My horse was startled…” at this point she gasped.

  “You don’t have to explain,” Donna said. “I get the picture.”

  George Bradenton came rushing back down the hall with a bowl. Donna noticed he didn’t even have the maids do it, probably figuring he could do it faster himself. He sat the bowl down on the tray, taking out some hot towels. Then he folded up four or five of them into a sort of large pad and placed it behind his wife’s back.

  “There, there, dear. This will help in a minute or two.” Elizabeth Bradenton closed her eyes as the warmth of the towels worked through her cotton dress.

  “Right now, that’s what the doctor says to do. That, and take a good stiff dose of whiskey if the pain gets too unbearable.”

  Donna nodded. She thought to what modern medicine could do, with physical therapy, spinal fusion, and if nothing else, pain patches and acetaminophen. Dosing oneself with whiskey seemed jolting to her, but on the other hand, what did modern drugs do but dull pains and destroy your liver?

  Then as quickly as the pain hit her, Elizabeth Bradenton straightened up. “George, I think the hot towels worked.”

  “Marvelous! If you feel up to it, we’ll head to the doctor.”

  Lilly hovered in the library entrance.

  “Is there anything I can do, Sir?”

  “Go to the stable and tell Royce I need a wagon immediately. Have him harness up the team and bring it to the front entrance.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “We’ll take the smaller of the wagons. It’ll be faster than the hay wagon.”

  Soon, Royce arrived with the team and helped Mr. Bradenton and the maids assist his wife into the wagon and arranged a lap robe over her. Donna thought she had recovered fairly fast for the severity of the spell that she’d had.

  After they had driven off, she again had time on her hands. She thought this was a good time to work on her life story—a background resume, so to speak, if anyone asked about it. After all, she couldn’t go on with the vague introduction of being from Chicago. She could be a college student. Yes, that would be good! She could easily pull that off. No wait; she was a little old at twenty-eight, wasn’t she? Were there professional college students back then as in modern times?

  Young men and women who attended college for ten years? And what colleges were open to women now? Were they only open to men? That might be a little risky using that approach. Could she pass for a governess or tutor? But would a woman from a wealthy family do that? She certainly wouldn’t need the money.

  With her advanced age of twenty-eight, she would probably be considered a spinster in the family household. Yet she didn’t think that actually was a profession, though y
ou could idle away your hours with visiting and stitching and painting. That was a possibility. But even better, she could be a writer! That was a suitable career for a young woman from Chicago. She would give that serious thought.

  Chapter Six

  Selecting a heather colored wrap from the hallway coat rack, Donna thought it a fine time to take a walk around the property. She was curious as to what the place was like, the lay of the property and the buildings. With no one about, she could peek around and check things out in a leisurely manner.

  She went to the kitchen to tell the maids where she was going. Though there was nothing she could imagine happening to her, she thought it best to let them at least know she would be outside in case they started looking for her. Taking a walk was a perfectly respectable thing for her to do and shouldn’t arouse any suspicions. Both of the young women were busy cleaning and cutting up vegetables. The sight of them peeling and washing made her feel certain they would be occupied in case she got caught up in her explorations and wanted to pry a bit deeper than might be considered normal for a guest. They appeared disinterested in her exercise and went back to their work bent over the large metal pans on the floor.

  Pushing open the front door, she squinted into the bright fall sunshine. Since the house was built on a small hill, she saw a great deal of Fallow Field sprawled before her. She thought she would head to the western side of the property first, and continue circling around in a counterclockwise tack until she ended up back at the house. First she would go to where the flower gardens were—or where they were in 2010.

  The path was fairly good. Someone had set in large flat fieldstones to give better footing and ease the discomfort of walking in dirt and mud. The flower garden was now a vegetable garden. Wilted cabbage stalks and twisted, blackened corn filled neat rows. Other root vegetables had been picked and the tops tossed. About a hundred feet from the garden patch was a large grape arbor. The vines were empty of fruit, but the curly brittle stems and thin leaves still hung on for dear life.