Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2)

by Lily Silver

  Mick lifted the cover and looked inside.

  “It’s spoiled now,” she continued, “after sitting at room temperature all night. We need a fridge—I mean—icebox. We need to purchase an icebox to keep leftover food from spoiling. And we will need it to preserve the milk and cream.”

  “We’ll take care of it.” Mick and Riley said as one.

  “What is an ice box?” Adrian looked perplexed.

  “It is exactly what it sounds like.” Tara smiled at him, amused by his confusion. It was a little fun to see the tables turned, as she’d appeared the idiot more times than she could count when living in his time. “A metal box that holds a block of ice, and is used to keep perishable food cold.”

  He nodded, and wrote down the item.

  Tara’s head was clearing thanks to the magic brew called coffee. She glanced sharply at Mick as a thought hit her. “When you say you’ll obtain one, you don’t mean you’ll just take it from some poor, unsuspecting human, do you? I couldn’t live with that. People work hard for their wages and just taking things from them isn’t right.”

  “We do not take, sweet sister. We simply make our needs known.” Mick replied in that golden tone. “If I walk into a cafe and say, ‘I need an icebox, can you direct me as to where to find one’, someone will likely have the item and offer it to me as a gift.”

  “Really?” Tara asked with exasperation. “They just give you their stuff, and you go on your way? What do they get in return, after you’ve taken their children’s breakfast or their husband’s clothes?”

  “Pure joy,” Mick returned with a superior smile. “A sudden feeling of bliss, and then good fortune comes to them for helping a Fey-born.”

  Dan could be heard growling from the small interior bedroom.

  Tara rose and moved to the cabinet Mick was using as a makeshift shelf for his ass. She shooed him aside and started taking inventory of their kitchen supplies for Adrian’s list of necessities, as she doubted her Fey brothers and Lord Dillon would have a clue about such mundane concerns.

  The men continued to talk as she opened the drawers and searched for basic cooking and serving implements. Dan entered the room. She could tell by his heavy tread without having to look behind her. The creaking noise as he strained the empty chair at the table with his considerable bulk made her turn about with a clean set of tin dishes for him.

  He grunted as a means of hello, and fell into the remains of breakfast. His meaty hand lifted the cover on a serving dish. “Scrambled eggs and no bacon?”

  “We didn’t think of that. Next time, my friend, you will have bacon.” Riley moved away from the stove as Tara checked the coal bin beside it.

  “Has anyone bought coal since we’ve been here?” She turned to the men. They all gave her a blank stare, with the exception of Dan. “We’re low.”

  “The coal bin was full when we arrived,” Dan commented. “With it being spring, we’re lucky it lasted nearly two weeks.”

  “Coal,” Adrian remarked, adding it to his list. He looked at Tara, and she gave him a few more items to write down.

  “It’s Sunday. I’ve missed you both. I’m yearning for a family outing,” Dan groused. “We’ve been spread out all week, off doing our own thing. We should spend the day together.”

  “What would you suggest?” Adrian asked with more patience then Tara expected. He’d seemed irritated by Dan’s presence of late. In response to Adrian’s ill humor, Dan made himself scarce. Adrian poured himself a second cup of coffee and then filled Dan’s tin cup. “Milk?”

  Dan shook his head. “Thanks, but no.”

  Something changed between them. Tara wasn’t sure what it was, but Adrian was showing more kindness and consideration toward her adopted papa then he had for many weeks.

  “We’ll be off to gather some those items you mentioned,” Mick addressed the room. “The three of you go enjoy this lovely Sunday as a family.”

  Tara stared at her eldest brother, her mouth agape. Really, they were off to just enchant people and take their goods? “Why don’t you allow Adrian to give you funds?”

  “We’ll be just fine.” Riley patted her shoulder from behind. She turned to look at him and met those eyes, those emerald eyes … Tara, awaken.

  Tara, awaken. The words would not leave her alone. She dreamt of them at night. They haunted her during the day if left to herself, alone in the apartment with nothing to occupy her attention. Awaken to what?

  The gentle smile Riley bestowed upon her made her shiver. It was as if he could read her thoughts. She moved to the window and looked out on the golden morning. The door to the hall closed, leaving her alone with Adrian and Dan.

  A cannon fired in the distance, as it did every day at noon from the Eiffel tower. At first the sound had worried her, but as one week stretched into two, it became a familiar sound heralding mid-day and reminding all of Paris that the delights of the exhibition beneath the tower awaited them. She loved this view of the city of Paris. They were four stories high on the hill on which Montmartre sat. It was like an eagle’s perch. Her eyes always were drawn to that prominent needle pointing up into the clouds. The brilliant red Eiffel Tower. Again, she wondered if there were some significant change in history because of her time travel? Surely not. The movies and novels of her time always made a big deal about the travelers messing up future events just by stumbling through time. She doubted her previous time jump to Ireland and saving one man from certain death had changed the course of the future.

  Still, the red tower bothered her. Tara never recalled it being red before in photographs or television news reports. It was always black.

  “Darlin’,” Adrian called out, pulling her gaze from the tower in the distance. “You have a visitor.”

  Gisele had arrived. Tara tugged Adrian’s coat tighter about her bosom as she turned to her new friend. She hadn’t heard the knock at the door.

  “Pardon, I thought I was the late riser.” Gisele’s infectious laughter brightened the room. “Are you well, Mrs. Dillon?” Gisele cocked her head a little as she studied Adrian’s old frockcoat that Tara used as a makeshift bathrobe.

  “I’m quite well,” Tara replied. Dan was studying Gisele as if he’d just met a deity. Indeed, if Tara had noted the peculiar resemblance in mannerisms in the beautiful brunette to the iconic Marilyn Monroe, than certainly Dan would, too. “We were going on an outing for the afternoon. Would you like to join us?”

  “Yes, please.” Dan’s rough voice was heard in an undertone.

  “Where are you headed, M’sieur Dillon?”

  “The Paris Exposition.” Adrian said. “Mr. Wilson has already purchased tickets.”

  “And I have six of them, enough to cover you if you wish to accompany us.”

  “Oh, how lovely!” Gisele clapped her gloves together with glee. “M’sieur Wilson, may I reimburse you for my fare, I’ve been there twice since it opened.”

  “No, you may not,” Dan replied with a saucy look. “My treat. I won the till at cards last night, and I won the tickets off an old bloke who couldn’t pay out his losses.”

  Tara couldn’t fathom his luck. “How were you able to play cards, you don’t speak French?”

  “Gambling is a universal language, kid. I had the coin and the skill, that spoke for me. Earned us another thousand, in francs this time, not pounds.”

  So, that was it. Dan gave Adrian some of his winnings from the card table. She nodded to Dan, grateful to him for easing her husband’s cares about money.

  “It will be such an adventure,” Gisele went on. “One you will wish to repeat again and again. You cannot take in all the sights in one day. It is tres magnifique.”

  The prospect of a day at the Paris Exposition was exhilarating. Tara made her excuses and went to get dressed. She had the choice of three dresses. The light cotton print, the blue silk ball gown, or the two-piece beige skirt and jacket set she had been wearing previously that needed to be laundered. She chose the light coral cotton print a
nd draped it over the brass footboard of the bed. The ivory shawl and gloves would complement the dress nicely.

  Gisele popped her head into the room, noted Tara’s struggles to put on her corset by lacing it in front instead of in back. Gisele grasped the edges and turned the corset around her torso so the lacings were where they belonged, in the back. Tara had discovered that lacing it in front and then twisting the closure to the back when she finished worked just fine when she was alone, but then, she didn’t tie herself in very tightly. She went for comfort over torment.

  Apparently her new friend did not share her sense of practicality, as she was jerking the laces so hard that the corset was nearly biting into Tara’s skin at her waist.

  “Not so tight!” Tara could almost feel her ribs about to pop beneath the rigid stricture.

  “It is intended to be tight, cherie. Where did you come by this old corset?” Gisele jerked the lacing tighter and tighter as she spoke, making Tara jerk and gasp with each new pinch of the fabric flattening her waist and her breasts. “It looks like the one my grandmother wore when I was a small child. Ireland must be terribly behind in fashion.”

  “Please, stop. Loosen it or I will pass out before we make it down Montmartre hill.” Tara yanked and pulled at the edge of the wretched garment.

  Mumbling, Gisele plucked her fingers through the lacings to loosen them as Tara asked.

  Tara sighed long and loud. The ability to breath was more important than fashion. More important than wearing a device that in her mind was associated more with bondage games than beauty. She managed the stockings and garter without aid.

  When Gisele handed her the pantalets, Tara shook her head.

  “Why not, you’ll be nearly naked?” Gisele was aghast at her refusal.

  “No, I’ll be comfortable. I have a petticoat. Add the pantalets and I’ll surely overheat.”

  “But, it is expected—”

  “No one will know, Gisele. I wore only a petticoat and stockings beneath my dresses in Ireland, all the time.” Granted, it had been an Ireland ninety years earlier, when only little girls in short dresses wore pantalets to cover their calves.

  Gisele helped her with the petticoat by lifting it over her head and then tying the strings at the back of Tara’s waist. The spare bustle cage Gisele borrowed her was the next piece to go on. Tara had only worn it once before when she’d gone out of the apartment with her friend to shop. It wasn’t as bad as a corset, it did not pinch or hold one in. The so called cage was really just a wire form that was attached to her waist from behind and tied at the front with sturdy cotton apron strings. The classic butt bump resembled the bars of a small bird cage. The wire was covered with quilting and cotton. The wires arched back as they descended from her hips to forma scrolled letterf. It was intended to hold the back of her dress out from her legs so the fabric would drape elegantly behind her. Once the bustle was secured at her waist, her dress went on quickly, as did her laced high top shoes.

  Gisele wound Tara’s long hair into a simple knot at the top of her head that allowed it to drape slightly over her ears and neck in a poof of Victorian elegance. A wide brimmed hat with flowers completed her ensemble. Gisele showed her how to secure it to her hair with a long pin. The woman nodded her approval and handed Tara the ivory shawl and long white gloves. “You are a vision, ma chere.”

  They walked the narrow streets of Montmartre toward the city of Paris below them. Adrian and Dan doffed their hats to a few people, and it quickly became apparent they had been about the local neighborhood more than Tara had. As the four of them walked down the steep hill Adrian leaned heavily on his cane so his progress was slower than Dan’s. Gisele walked ahead with Dan. Tara adjusted her pace to match Adrian’s steps on the steep grade. She cursed herself once more for the events of that morning in early March when he was shot in their home.

  As Dan said during her morose moments of self blame, it was better to walk with a cane for the rest of your life than to swing by the neck until you were dead.

  Even so, Tara couldn’t put away the niggling feelings of guilt. As Captain Midnight, he had been a hero to his people, a warrior valiantly trying to protect them from the cruelty of British soldiers. Thanks to Tara, his days of sneaking about in the darkness were over.

  “Smile, darlin’,” he whispered, offering his elbow to her as if she needed help walking rather than he. “You’re too serious for such a fine day. We’re off to a fair, not the gallows.”

  She gave him a sweet smile and clutched his arm.

  As they walked the wide boulevard lined with chestnut trees, carriages rolled by in a grand procession. All of Paris was out and about, the moneyed and the middle class all parading the streets and sidewalks, hoping to see and be seen. The women passing Tara made her realize her light cotton dress was rather plain. Most of the women wore heavier silks with long sleeved jackets, even though it was a warm May afternoon. Tara didn’t mind not being dressed so grand, as she would not bake in the hot sun because of her vanity. She could have worn that pretty blue silk damask, but that would be torture in this weather. Ahead of her, Gisele was wearing a linen two piece walking dress of periwinkle blue and a fashionable hat. The pretty woman would be roasting by the time they reached their destination as sun rose higher in the skies.

  After they turned the corner and moved down the next boulevard, the scent of lilacs in bloom perfumed the air. Adrian paused and looked about the street. Tara admired the cultured street filled with people on this serene and sunny Sunday afternoon. The men wore trousers now instead of knee breeches and hose. She noted bowlers and top hats floating by, accompanied by the wide brimmed, elaborate feather hats of the ladies being escorted by their beaus.

  The butter yellow omnibus with black trim and huge black horses came around the corner at the intersection ahead. They were able to garner two seats on the first level so Adrian didn’t have to climb the stairs. Dan and Gisele took the open seats on the second level, in the open air.

  *

  For a man who spent most of the night drinking and gambling, Dan felt light and free. He had a lovely woman beside him, smiling demurely at him and giving him her full attention.

  She was a looker, no doubt about that. Other men on the benches ahead of him kept casting their eyes back toward them, as if they couldn’t believe such a beauty would choose to muck about with a middle aged chump like himself.

  He held on to the railing curling around the back of the vehicle as they pulled away from the curb. The clip-clop of horses hooves on the street soothed his mind. He liked carriages, and the simpler, slower time they represented. No smell of gas and exhaust in the streets, no big semi truck pumping air brakes, no police sirens screeching as they whizzed past at a frantic pace. Sure, there was the smell of horse, and horse shit here and there, but it was cleaned up quickly here, as it seemed the Parisians didn’t wish the multitudes of foreigners visiting their fair city to be offended by the sight and smell of steaming horse apples cooking in the sun.

  He was falling in love.

  Not with the woman beside him, although that could be a possibility. He’d met her twice before, coming and going on the stairs so it was too early to claim that heady emotion with Tara’s new friend.

  No, he was falling in love with this time, this city, this elegant yet peaceful era in history. In trying to escape the tight confines of their apartment in the past weeks so Tara and Adrian could work through their loss and their difficulties, Dan had spent many hours walking the streets and visiting various establishments to amuse himself. He’d been to the Hotel Dieu, and watched the physicians at work, as anyone who simply claimed to have a medical degree was allowed inside the theatre above the surgery table to watch a procedure. He’d learned that Americans were allowed to enroll in the medical college free of charge, no questions asked.

  The wax museum across from the Cafe Veron had been a fun excursion. As had the Coq Bleu, a cabaret with women who thrust their legs up so men of this age could see t
heir knees and thighs! Good God in heaven, there was even a woman at the Reine Blanche who was known far and wide as Nini of the Beautiful Thighs. The men flocked to see her reveal her famous legs. He’d gone with Arthur the other night to see the divine creature. That was a hoot, he thought as he watched the elaborate architecture pass by from his perch on the top level of the bus.

  These poor gents had no idea what they were missing in the future, women strutting about in shorts and halter tops everywhere you looked. In this time, the women were laced up tight from ankle to neck, so the arousal of seeing a girl lift her skirts to show her legs was a treat. You had to go to the clubs to see a real girl beneath all that fluff of petticoats and heavy skirts. It might seem tame to a man of the future, but in truth, he found the restrictions more alluring.

  The omnibus stopped, and men filed past them as he and Gisele sat at the back, near the curved stairway exit.

  “M’sieur Wilson, you are Tara’s father, from America, Oui?” As the crowd of men dispersed and they were alone, the pretty brunette finally found the courage to speak to him.

  Dan glanced at his companion. She had the most perfect little mouth, like a pink bow. Kissable. Her eyes were like sapphires. And he was acting like a dolt, gazing at her as if he’d never seen a woman before in his life. “Ah, yeah. I’m her adopted father, you might say.”

  “Adopted?” She wrinkled her flawless brow and seemed to ponder the word. “It is like the word borrowed in your language?”

  He chuckled at her question. “Borrowed, yeah … but her parents are dead so I can’t give her back. It’s more like acquired, as in a permanent situation.”

  Gisele nodded, as if his explanation made perfect sense. “And you are a Lumber Baron?”

  “Did she say that?” He sighed, and reached into his jacket for his cigar case. He opened it and pulled out a precious cylinder and put it into his mouth. That was another thing he loved about this century. Nobody was harping on him to not smoke and there weren’t obnoxious signs everywhere prohibiting it. He lit a match and sucked deep. With an exhale of smoke, but careful not to blow it in her face—he wasn’t a complete lout—he chuckled at her idea of his being a lumber baron and shook his head. “Nope, I’m an engineer, and a physician.”