A Summer in Time (Train Through Time Series Book 6)

by Bess McBride

“I have no control over this, John. I have no idea.”

  “Do you wish to leave soon?”

  Gem almost smiled.

  “Not too soon,” she said. “Well, anyway, I don’t know what to say about clothing. I wish I didn’t have to bother you or Sally at all with that.”

  “It is no bother, but is a necessity, in my opinion. Is that style of trouser commonly worn by women in the future then? Wives? Mothers? Unmarried misses?”

  Gem quirked a wry eyebrow and nodded. “Yes, all the time. Not by every single female in the world, of course, but jeans are very common.”

  John looked away as if embarrassed, finished his lemonade and stood.

  “I will return in a few moments.”

  He left the room, and Gem finished her drink. She rose and crossed over to the window to look out again. The street was remarkably quiet, but she supposed that was not usual for a small town in 1905. Cars, delivery trucks and garbage trucks didn’t rumble up and down asphalted streets as they did in the twenty-first century, even in the quietest of neighborhoods.

  The door opened behind her, and this time both John and Sally entered the room.

  “I have explained the situation to Sally,” John said, “that your luggage was stolen aboard the train and you need some clothing until—and if—it can be found.”

  Gem, quick to understand, frowned and nodded. “Yes, that’s true. Terrible.”

  John had apparently opted not to confide in his longtime housekeeper. Gem wasn’t sure if he struggled with the idea of repeating her claims of time travel or whether he was worried that Sally would think she was mentally deranged.

  “Sally knows that you wore only your night clothing when you discovered your luggage missing and that you had to borrow a young man’s clothing—a farmer, I believe you said.”

  Gem crossed her arms and covered her mouth with her hand to hide a grin. She nodded again. “Yes, can you imagine?”

  Sally didn’t look like she was buying the story.

  “No, I cannot imagine that at all. How awful for you, Miss Holliday. I can loan you some clothing. We are about the size, though I might be a bit taller. I am to take you shopping tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m so grateful, really.”

  “I will take you to your room now,” Sally said. She turned to John “Dinner will be ready in one hour.”

  John nodded and watched them leave the room. Gem caught his look of warning behind Sally’s back, and she nodded.

  She followed Sally up the stairs, admiring the lack of dust.

  “It’s a beautiful house!” Gem said. “And you maintain it very well. I could never keep a house this size clean.”

  Sally looked over her shoulder at Gem, her expression more openly skeptical now that they were out of John’s presence.

  “We have a maid who comes in to help. A boy takes care of the gardening. John makes a comfortable living, but he is not wealthy.”

  “I didn’t think he was,” Gem said. “But as you said, he has a staff of three, four counting Cedric.”

  “Then you have been to his office as well?” Sally asked as they reached the second floor. She turned to face Gem. “How exactly are you related to him? I know all of John’s relatives.”

  “Yes, I’ll bet you do,” Gem said irritably. When she had imagined John Morrison and his life, she hadn’t envisioned a protective busybody housekeeper. Did the woman keep everyone away from him? Surely not.

  “What do you mean by that?” Sally narrowed her eyes.

  “Nothing. So, where is the room?”

  “This way,” Sally said, pivoting to lead the way down a narrow hallway. A dark-gray runner ran the length of it. She stopped at a door midway down the hall on the side of the house facing the street.

  Gem followed Sally into a fairly large room with a wide window that allowed in a good deal of light. The colors were neutral—pale-gray walls, matching curtains, a rug in pale blue and old rose. A monotone gray easy chair rested in front of a small fireplace, a round cherrywood table beside it. The bed, while not a double, wasn’t exactly a single either. A patterned quilt in shades of white, pale blue and rose looked handmade.

  Gem touched the soft material. “This is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I quilt in my spare time.”

  “You made this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s stunning, really.”

  “Thank you,” she said again. “The bathroom is across the hall. I’ll go to my room now and get something proper for you to wear.” She looked down at her feet. “I think my shoes will be too large for you. You will have to make do with those—” She paused as if to search for a word. “Those shoes for now.”

  She left the room abruptly, leaving Gem to stare at the closed door. The housekeeper didn’t like her; that was clear.

  An uncontrollable shaking took hold of Gem’s body, and she grabbed one of the bedposts for support. She dragged in several deep breaths and forced them out through pursed lips. The stress and anxiety of the bizarre events over the past few hours had obviously caught up to her.

  Gem closed her eyes to concentrate on regaining her sanity. The hard, cool feel of the carved post in her grip grounded her, and she pressed her head against the wood.

  “What is going on?” she whispered aloud. “Why is this happening to me? What am I supposed to do?” Hot tears slipped down her face as a sense of helplessness overwhelmed her. “What am I supposed to do?”

  A knock at the door startled her. She released the post and flexed her aching fingers.

  “Come in,” she said, clearing her throat. Expecting the return of the housekeeper, Gem blinked in surprise to see John open the door. He didn’t enter, however, but stood in the open doorway.

  “I hope everything is satisfactory?” he asked formally.

  Gem gritted her teeth and ran what she hoped was a casual hand across the outer corner of one still-moist eye.

  “Yes, it’s beautiful, very beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Gem? Miss Holliday? Have you been crying?” John’s face took on a horrified expression. He backed up as if he was about to turn and leave.

  Against Gem’s will, John’s retreat released the torrent of tears that she had been fighting back. She slumped to a sitting position on the bed and covered her face as sobs racked her body.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled through her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  The door closed softly, and Gem knew that John had left. Her crying appalled even her, and she couldn’t seem to stop gulping for air. A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she looked up. John stood beside her.

  “I thought you’d gone,” she said, struggling for air. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be hysterical. I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all.”

  “I understand, Gem. Please don’t fret. We will sort this out. You are not alone.”

  Gem did what came naturally. She grabbed his hand and laid it against the side of her face, pressing her cheek against it. Had she thought about what she was doing, she might not have been so bold, but she didn’t think. She just reacted. If she could have had her way, she would have thrown herself against John’s chest and sobbed. A small part of her brain almost prided itself on her control.

  John’s hand stiffened, and he moved imperceptibly, as if to pull away, but he didn’t.

  “Everything will be all right. I promise,” he reassured her in his resonant baritone.

  Gem, embarrassed, gave his hand one last squeeze before releasing it. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and looked up at him with a crooked smile.

  “You can’t promise that, John, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “No, I probably cannot, can I?”

  Gem shook her head.

  “But not for lack of trying on your part, that’s for sure. I am grateful for everything you are doing for me, for finding me at the train station, for bringing a stray home with you, for keeping my secret, for helping me when you don’t really believe me.”
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  “I am beginning to—”

  A knock on the door brought Sally into the room without waiting for an invitation. Her arms laden with clothing, she stopped short when she saw John. Her eyes flew to Gem and then to the bed.

  “John, I don’t think this is quite—”

  “Thank you, Sally. I am grateful to you for loaning Miss Holliday some clothing. If you could just place the clothes there on the bed, I am sure Miss Holliday would be most appreciative.”

  Gem nodded but remained silent. The tension was significant. Sally laid the clothes down on the bed and folded her hands together as if she was prepared to wait like some sort of chaperone.

  “You must have preparations for dinner?” John asked.

  Her chin tightened, and she nodded. “Yes, of course.” She turned and left the room without closing the door.

  Gem felt the tension leave with her. She held back comment, though she was bursting with thoughts, questions and opinions on the relationship between housekeeper and employer, longtime employee or not.

  “Sally has been with me a long time,” John repeated, as if reading her thoughts.

  “Yes,” Gem said. She rose. “I’m okay now. I just had some sort of panic thing, I think.”

  “Good. I was worried for a moment.”

  “I can’t promise I won’t break down again,” Gem warned with a lopsided grin.

  “I am not my best with tears. In fact, they terrify me.”

  “I thought you were going to turn tail and run when you first saw me crying.”

  “I thought I would as well. But here I am.”

  “Here you are,” she repeated softly. Gem resisted the urge to take his hand again.

  John cleared his throat.

  “I shall leave you to dress. We do not dress formally for dinner. I see that Sally brought you some simple clothing.”

  Gem looked down at the ivory cotton blouse and plain gray skirt.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Do you need anything else at the moment?”

  “No, thank you. Where do you eat dinner?”

  “We will eat in the dining room tonight. I will show you the way in about forty-five minutes?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  She watched John as he walked out of the room. Tall and elegant, in real life he was every bit as handsome as she had imagined. His deeply timbered voice only added to his appeal.

  She wondered again why he had never married.

  Chapter Seven

  Gem discarded her gray T-shirt and jeans, leaving her underwear intact. She studied the blouse. Devoid of frills and lace, a row of buttons ran down the back. She had never worn anything that buttoned down the back, and she debated how best to maneuver the high-collared, long-sleeved blouse. She loosened the neck and slipped it over her head, reaching behind her to button the collar.

  Gem then stepped into the skirt and pulled it over her hips. She had agreed with Sally’s earlier assessment of their sizes. They were about the same size, though Sally was taller. The skirt trailed the ground, which didn’t surprise Gem, but she struggled to button the waistband. She recalled Sally’s figure again, remembering the distinctive curve of her spine.

  Corset! Sally probably wore a corset! Gem shook her head grimly and stopped struggling with the button at the back of her skirt. She folded the waistband down and made do, hoping the skirt didn’t fall off. She imagined she was supposed to wear a slip or petticoats as well, but Sally hadn’t brought any, and Gem didn’t blame the housekeeper. It was enough that she was loaning a stranger her clothing—undergarments were way too personal.

  A charming full-length oval mirror tucked in a far corner of the room near the fireplace revealed an image that reminded Gem of pictures she had seen of turn-of-the-century one-room schoolhouse teachers. Except their hair had been tidily stowed away on their heads, not hanging bedraggled around their shoulders.

  Gem had admired the regal Gibson pompadour style that Mrs. Vandingham and Sally favored, and she wondered if she could emulate the style. Seeing no hairbrush in the room and having lost her own toiletries, Gem grabbed up her thick hair and wrapped it into a chignon at the crown of her head, tucking the ends underneath to lock it in place.

  In the absence of a clock or her cell phone, Gem wondered about the time as she turned away from the mirror. She hoped John would return soon, because she was hungry. But first she needed to find the bathroom and wash her hands. She pulled open the door and peered out into the hall. The open doorway at the end of the hall beckoned.

  Feeling a bit as if she were playing dress-up, Gem lifted the hem of her skirt and made her way down to the bathroom. Passing through an oak-trimmed doorway, she stopped short to marvel at the tiny room. Holding a white claw-foot tub, toilet and pedestal sink, the black-and-while tiled bathroom could have fit nicely into any retro-loving modern-family home.

  White towels hung from racks and a ring by the sink. An oval mirror above the sink was the only wall decoration. The room was clean and functional, but that was it.

  Gem located the pull chain for the wall tank above the toilet, counting herself lucky that she had traveled to a time with plumbing. A gentle swoosh of water drained the toilet, and she turned her attention to washing her hands. She eyed a square bar of soap, noting with delight that the brand name engraved into the bar was a company still in business in the twenty-first century.

  Surely she wasn’t so far out of her element that she couldn’t survive in 1905, was she? It wouldn’t have surprised her to go down to the kitchen and discover that the oatmeal was of a familiar brand...if Sally even let her into the kitchen.

  Gem checked her face in the mirror, regretting that she had no color for her lips. Her face looked pale, her eyes wide. She squared her shoulders and left the bathroom. John was knocking on her door, and she grabbed up her skirts and hurried toward him.

  His eyes fell to her shoes.

  “We must remedy that,” he said.

  He didn’t smile, but Gem got the faint impression that he wanted to.

  “Sally’s feet are longer than mine, which is fine. I’m grateful she loaned me her clothes. She can’t be expected to give me her shoes and underwear.”

  John coughed and ran a quick hand across his mouth.

  “No, of course not. I had originally planned that Sally would take you shopping tomorrow, but I think I will undertake that task.”

  “Oh!” Gem exclaimed. “I really hate to impose like that, and to take your money feels awful. It really does. I feel like one of those down-and-out relatives who shows up on your front doorstep and never leaves.”

  “Not at all.”

  “So you’re taking me shopping?” Gem said. “How will you explain me? This is a small town, isn’t it? Where everybody knows everybody?”

  John nodded. “It is. We will simply have to make do. I have been meaning to buy an automobile but have not done so yet. Therefore, we cannot travel to a larger town such as Missoula to shop.”

  “An automobile,” Gem said with a smile at the quaint terminology.

  “Yes, I have my eye on a Model A from the Ford Motor Company in Detroit, Michigan, that I would like to purchase. Perhaps I shall do so soon.”

  “A Model A! How fun!”

  “Indeed! Dinner is ready. Shall we go down?”

  To Gem’s surprise, John held out his arm in a formal fashion. She tucked her hand around his arm, suspecting that he had changed his clothing. Although still black, his suit showed no wrinkles. His hair looked freshly combed, damp, and he smelled of soap.

  He led her down to the dining room. Two settings had been laid out across from each other on a lovely cherrywood table. A matching china hutch flanked one wall, and a sideboard hugged the wall just inside the doorway.

  Sally was in the act of setting out a silver soup tureen when they entered.

  “What beautiful furnishings!” Gem said.

  “Thank you,” John said. “They were my mother’s. One of the few thi
ngs I had shipped out here when I came to Montana.”

  Gem noted red spots on Sally’s cheeks as she glanced at John. She said nothing though and turned away to retrieve several plain white porcelain platters of food from the buffet, which she transferred to the table.

  “Thank you, Sally. Everything looks wonderful,” John said.

  “You are welcome.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “If that is all?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Sally turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. Gem watched her disappear.

  “Where does she eat?”

  “There is a dining table in the kitchen.”

  “So she eats alone?”

  John handed Gem a ladle from the soup tureen.

  “Yes. I usually just take something small in my study. I do not dine formally like this.”

  “So you both eat alone.”

  John tilted his head.

  “Yes. You seem to be insinuating something, but I cannot imagine what. Are you suggesting that I should be dining with the housekeeper?”

  Gem pressed her lips together. If what she suspected was true, his faintly dismissive tone was unintentionally cruel.

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “What is none of your business?”

  Gem ladled a lovely looking tomato soup into her plain porcelain bowl.

  “I’m not familiar with housekeepers, servants, staff, employees, really. I’m self-employed. I don’t know what I’m talking about, that’s all. Ignore me.”

  “I am finding that difficult to do,” John said.

  Gem looked up, wondering if he was serious. As usual, he didn’t smile, but she could have sworn she saw a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. Her pulse fluttered for a moment, and she dropped her eyes to her food.

  “This is delicious,” she said. “I think it’s actually from scratch, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Sally maintains a small garden in back. She prides herself on her tomatoes.”

  “Well, it’s just wonderful.”

  “I miss it in the winter. We have to resort to canned soups then.”

  “Oh, they have canned soups now?”

  “Of course! For some years now, though not when I was a child. Do you not have canned soups in the twenty-first century?”