Guardian of Time

by Linda Hawley

  I nodded, then walked out of the storage room as quick as possible.

  He followed me. “Of course, you can use it as long as I’m alive, as well,” he said, joking with me.

  I smacked him in the arm in response.

  “I don’t spend much time here,” he said as we walked to the kitchen, redirecting our conversation away from death.

  “I can understand that. I love the monochromatic design, with the main color coming from your art collection. It gives the space life.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he began to brew water on his high-tech induction stove.

  “I bet when it’s not foggy, it’s extraordinary with all the light pouring in through the windows,” I said, sitting down at the kitchen bar.

  “I bought the place for the light.”

  “I still can’t believe it’s in Gastown.”

  He smiled.

  As he set out the cups, he said, “In the next few days, I’ll be arranging our next passage. We’ll be flying from Vancouver to Brittany, France.”

  “Wait. I thought GOG was sending us to India?”

  “Yes. But we will go via Brittany.”

  “Brittany—my son-in-law’s family is from there,” I remarked.

  “I know.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “We need to bring Lulu there to stay while we travel to India.”

  As Chow said her name, she trotted into the room from my bedroom and sat down beside me, paying attention.

  “I have to leave her in France? Can’t we take her to India with us?” I pleaded.

  “Ann, Eliott’s family’s lives on a farm—a huge farm. Lulu will be filled with joy, being there.”

  “But she’s never been on a farm,” I protested.

  “Maybe they can teach her to herd chickens,” Chow said, deadpan.

  I laughed hysterically while Lulu wagged her bottom excitedly.

  Chapter 26

  EUROPE

  The Year 2015

  Within two days, Chow arranged for my fake Canadian passport and identification showing me as a citizen of the country. In keeping with his love of Juliette Binoche and his sense of humor, he named me Juliette French and had me dye my hair brown. I’d already been growing my hair out of the bob, so after the dye job, I looked quite different than my U.S. passport photo.

  The third day, I was flying out of Vancouver International airport as a brunette, with Chow trailing me. We were able to get seats on Virgin Atlantic’s pet flight, with Lulu by my side.

  We flew from Vancouver to Amsterdam to Paris to Brest, France in West Brittany; thankfully I flew with Tylenol aiding my sleep and a Dan Brown thriller keeping my mind busy in between naps. Chow and I had jogged with Lulu in Vancouver before we left for the airport, to exhaust her for the long flight. I also gave her a light sedative that the Canadian veterinarian gave me when we had Lulu’s international health guarantee written up, ensuring she wouldn’t be held in quarantine when we landed in Amsterdam.

  When Chow and I departed Vancouver, we split up for safety. After our first flight, we cleared customs into the Netherlands separately, and once were released into Europe, we met back up, flying together to Paris and then Brest.

  Fifteen hours and twenty-five minutes after departing Canada, we landed in Brest; it was ten o’clock in the morning. I was exhausted, and it appeared that Lulu was as well.

  Governments can track anything on the earth, but they still can’t cure jet lag. It figures, I thought.

  A driver sent by the Belle farm met us after clearing baggage claim; he certainly didn’t look like a farm worker, dressed in his black suit. Since my French was rusty, Chow took the initiative and talked with our driver in his native tongue as we walked out of the airport to the waiting car. Chow walked near me as I kept an eye on Lulu, who was still groggy from the vet’s sedative. It seemed like every plane landed at the airport at the same time, as it was very crowded with people from all over Europe. My ear was going to need to get accustomed to the rhythm of the French language rather quickly, but in the meanwhile, Chow translated.

  “Paul-Henri says it’s been raining in Brest for two days, but the temperature has been mild,” Chow translated as we reached the exterior doors exiting the airport terminal.

  I nodded.

  It was drizzling as we departed, and immediately Paul-Henri popped an umbrella over my head before I knew he even had one. He seemed to be a magician.

  “Merci,” I said and then smiled into his almond-shaped dark brown eyes. I’ll just start off slow, I thought, regarding my French.

  As we reached the car, Paul-Henri opened the door for me, and I slipped in, with Lulu following. Chow quickly joined us.

  “Did you see how he pulled that umbrella out of nowhere?” I remarked to Chow.

  He chuckled. “I think you are tired, Ann.”

  “I’m not tired, I’m exhausted.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you, but the Belle farm is in Vitre, which is in the middle of Brittany, so we’ve got a four-hour drive ahead of us,” Chow informed me.

  I sighed. “First things first then. We need to find a park—I mean a garden—somewhere Lulu can run around for fifteen minutes, and I can give her food and water. Maybe Paul-Henri can stop at a patisserie before that? Since we’re in France, I believe I’ve just started craving an almond croissant and a hot chocolate for breakfast. I doubt it’ll live up to the hot chocolate l’Africain at Café Angelina in Paris, but it’ll have to do,” I said, with my mouth watering.

  “Chocolate is sure to ease your jet lag, Ann,” Chow teased. “Do you realize how much you dream about food?”

  “Hey—no throwing my dreams in my face—I didn’t give you permission, remember?”

  “Yes. My apologies,” he said, feeling the reprimand.

  “I’m just teasing you…although it’s kinda weird to think of what you know about me.”

  “I know how important it is to feed you,” he said seriously, then smiled.

  “Yes it is. So a patisserie, then a garden, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell Paul-Henri.”

  Our driver joined us after loading up the luggage, and Chow quickly informed him of our needs.

  Within a few minutes of leaving the airport, we arrived at a little shop. As Paul-Henri opened the door of the patisserie, a smell escaped that delighted my nose. As we entered, I inhaled a deep lungful of French pastries and was in smell-memory bliss. As Chow ordered from the woman in French, I observed the little edible masterpieces lined up in the case, fresh and colorful. I was salivating for every one of them.

  I moved close to him. “Please order two chocolate croissants as well,” I said quietly.

  “Instead of the almond croissant?” he asked, looking at me.

  “No. Order three. One almond and two chocolate,” I grinned in clarification.

  He smiled, then chuckled. He told the woman, and she smiled in response.

  “It’s a long drive,” I said, unrepentant.

  As the woman was filling our order, Chow turned to me. “The park’s only around the corner from here.”

  “Why do all the buildings here look like they’re from the 1970s? I expected them all to be made of stone, here since the seventeenth century.”

  “Eighty percent of Brest was bombed in World War Two, Ann.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. So much history lost.”

  “Yes. But Vitre is supposed to be beautiful.”

  Chapter 27

  VITRE, FRANCE

  The Year 2015

  When we arrived in Vitre, Chow had to wake me. I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep. My neck had a kink in it, and my clothes were wrinkly. I sat up and looked out the window as Paul-Henri stopped the car. I brushed my newly brown hair as I looked out the window.

  The overcast skies had cleared, and the sun shone upon a stone, multi-storied French chateau with a tower. Paul-Henri opened my door, and I stepped out. Immediately the smell of the French count
ryside hit my nostrils. As I breathed deeply, it smelled like a mixture of sweet flowers and earth that had just received rain. Paul-Henri started speaking to Chow in French after he was standing beside me, also looking at the structure and garden.

  “Paul-Henri says that the tower is from the Eleventh Century, there is a wing from the Fifteenth Century, and the rest of the chateau is from the Eighteenth Century. There is a formal rose garden to the side, which leads to the swimming pool, built in the old barn courtyard. It is surrounded by twenty-three acres of pasture land, a wood, and streams.”

  “Very beautiful,” I remarked.

  “He says that the garden surrounding the chateau is lush green, with sculpted shrubbery that employs a gardener full-time.”

  As we stood on the graveled drive, a couple came to meet us. Paul-Henri went to meet who I assumed was now my extended French family.

  A woman quickened her step and approached me. “Bonjour et bienvenue, Madame,” she said, taking my hands warmly while reaching to kiss me on both cheeks.

  “Bonjour, Madame,” I said in my rusty French, bending down to return her kisses.

  “I am Aimée Belle, Eliott’s aunt,” she said in perfect English.

  She was about five-foot-three, with dark brown hair pulled back off her chiseled olive face, showing the most adorable dimples on her late-forties face. Her eyes were hazel and round and sparkled. Aimée was clearly a happy woman.

  “I’m Ann Torgeson, Elinor’s mother. Please call me Ann,” I replied with a smile. “My French is out of practice; please forgive me,” I whispered.

  “It’s okay; my English can use some polish too,” Aimée replied with a wink. “This must be the famous Lulu,” she said, reaching down and putting out her hand for Lulu to smell.

  “Yes. I think she’s worn out from our travels.”

  “Why don’t we let her walk then?” Aimée said, releasing Lulu from her leash as she gave her a pet.

  “Please call me Aimée,” she said, slipping her arm around my waist. “We are family now,” she said carefully, with a smile.

  The six-foot-tall man finished his conversation with Chow and then turned to me. “Welcome, Ann,” he said, foregoing the formality and kissing me on both cheeks. “I am Eliott’s uncle, Jean-Pierre Belle.” He was skinny, and his voice was guttural and strongly accented in French.

  His skin tone was slightly darker than Aimée’s, but their hair color was the same; his eyes were dark blue. Jean-Pierre and Eliott shared the same beautiful wide smile.

  “Pleased to meet you both. Thank you for the kind welcome,” I said. “Oh, excuse me, Aimée. This is my friend, Chow Lai,” I said, introducing him, a little embarrassed that I’d forgotten.

  She released me to greet Chow. “Bonjour et bienvenue, Monsieur,” Aimée said warmly.

  “I’m sure you are both very tired since your journey,” Aimée said, looking at us both. “Shall I give you a house tour before you rest?” she asked, turning to me.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied, as Chow nodded in agreement. “Your chateau is very beautiful,” I said to her as we walked toward it, her arm wrapped around me again.

  “It’s old—everything always having to be repaired,” she said, gesturing expansively before sighing.

  “Chateau de La Rongere has been in my family since the Sixteenth Century,” Jean-Pierre proudly explained. “Things break—it is the way of life,” he said with a shrug.

  I smiled at their exchange, finding it endearing.

  Inside, the stone continued along walls that led to very high ceilings. There were roses from the garden in vases throughout the house, and the air was permeated with its glorious sweetness. Archways framed the passageways. The kitchen held a massive open fireplace, and the rustic dining room table held twenty. The rooms all had excellent light and were welcoming. I was thrilled when Aimée showed me to my room, which already contained my luggage.

  “I planned a late lunch, about four. This will give you time to rest,” she said, giving me a squeeze around my waist. “I hope you will think of this as your home, Ann,” she said gently. She likely knew of the destruction of my own home.

  “Thank you, Aimée,” I said as she left my room, touched by her subtle compassion.

  I went to the window and pushed the shutters outward and was rewarded with the warm sun on my face and a view of the rose garden. You would love this, Armond, I thought, remembering when he and I had discovered Paris together.

  Chapter 28

  VITRE, FRANCE

  The Year 2015

  “We are happy Lulu has settled here so well. She will stay while you two are in India?” Aimée asked at lunch.

  “Only if that’s not a problem for you,” I said.

  “No problem,” Jean-Pierre said, nodding in agreement.

  “Where is she, anyway?” I asked Chow, who was sitting next to me at the table.

  “I have not seen Lulu,” he replied.

  “By the pigs,” Jean-Pierre answered. “With Simon—he is a farm hand.”

  “Simon loves dogs. Lulu and Simon are good friends,” Aimée added, reassuring me.

  “Let us talk about this India trip,” Jean-Pierre said abruptly.

  As lunch began, Jean-Pierre explained to Chow and I how the Belle’s became involved with GOG. He explained that he was the senior GOG contact for this part of France. Jean-Pierre was a no-nonsense man, almost to the point of being gruff. He took some getting used to, especially when his dark blue eyes peered through you.

  “GOG has told us what you can do, Ann…” he began.

  “Well, I’m still developing my skills,” I said carefully.

  “That is not what GOG tells us. You are the greatest weapon in the fight,” Jean-Pierre said emphatically.

  My discomfort with the statement must have shown on my face, for Aimée quickly chimed in. “You will have to forgive my husband, Ann. He does not know how to speak gently.”

  “Ce n’est pas ce que vous avez dit quand je vous courtisé,” Jean-Pierre said to his wife.

  “Ann does not want to know how you courted me, Jean-Pierre. Let us discuss the India trip,” Aimée redirected her husband.

  “India. They have some problems there. We are sending you to Mount Abu.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I said.

  Jean-Pierre unexpectedly stood and flicked a switch on the wall. A screen began to descend from the ceiling. Aimée opened her laptop, then turned off the lights. Within a few minutes, Google was giving us a visual tour of Mount Abu in Western India. It was old technology, but it worked in this centuries-old chateau.

  “Indians call it an oasis in the desert. You can see in these pictures that it is very beautiful.”

  “Yes,” confirmed Chow. “Where is the meeting?” he asked.

  “The meeting is at Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University. The University is supportive of GOG and safe for you,” Jean-Pierre said with a nod to me. “It is also where you and the other GOG members will stay.”

  Aimée clicked around her laptop, showing us pictures of the University.

  “Everyone is wearing white,” I said, slightly surprised.

  “Yes. All visitors must wear white while they are there. They will loan those clothes to you. To stay there, you will also attend daily meditation at four in the morning; they call it Amrit Vela.”

  “Nectar Time,” Chow quietly said, as everyone looked at him.

  “What does it mean?” I asked him.

  “Amrit Vela means the ambrosial period. It is called the Nectar Time—two-and-a-half hours before dawn arrives. This is a time when many souls are born or leave their bodies. Nectar Time is said to have profound effects on the subconscious, bringing it to the surface and into conscious awareness,” Chow explained.

  “It will be the right place for you, Ann,” Jean-Pierre announced. “You know, they believe there that humanity is reaching the end of the current cycle, and the earth will be destroyed.”

  Chow and I suddenly looke
d at one another.

  “Does that mean something to the two of you?” he asked.

  “It does,” Chow answered. He began to tell them of The Prophecies and our role in them. I added information and answered questions as Jean-Pierre and Aimée asked them.

  “Magnifique!” Aimée said, amazed when we had finished, looking at her husband with wide eyes.

  “A member of my own family is the Guardian of Time!” Jean-Pierre said to his wife.

  That went over well, I thought, initially unsure of how it would be received.

  “Thank you for supporting us,” I said gratefully.

  They both nodded.

  “You will fly into Dabok Airport in Udaipur, India. I’m sorry, Ann; it is a twenty-hour flight with three stops. Then Mount Abu is two hundred and ten kilometers from Udaipur. It can take up to six hours to drive up to Mount Abu, depending on the mountain road conditions,” Jean-Pierre informed us.

  “Oh my goodness; six hours on mountain roads in India after flying for twenty hours. What could be worse?” I said, despair edging my voice.

  “Traveling there on a donkey,” Jean-Pierre answered flatly, in his dry humor. “That would be worse.”

  Aimée gave her husband a disgusted look.

  “It seems daunting because we have just traveled many hours today. After a few days rest, it will not seem so overwhelming,” Chow said gently to me, his hand on my arm for comfort.

  “Chow is right, Ann. A few days will put you right,” Aimée kindly added.

  “I think I’ll need their nectar when I get there,” I said sarcastically.

  Everyone chuckled. Aimée turned on the lights, closed her laptop, and returned the screen to its original position.

  “Now let us enjoy our lunch,” Aimée suggested with a smile.

  “That is a fine idea, mon amour,” Jean-Pierre replied, then winked at her, trying to soften her up.

  She scowled at him again.

  Chapter 29

  INDIA