10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set
Page 229
Loren barely remembered her mother. It would be nice to find out what she was like as a young woman. “I’d like that very much, Mr. Rafferty.”
His face split into a happy grin. “Good, good. My Ethyl and I live in the cottage just outside town, the one with the plaid flag on the curb.” He raised a hand. “I know you’re wondering—it's Ethyl’s idea of honoring her Scottish roots.”
He turned to leave and doffed his hat. “Pop by anytime. She does enjoy a good chat over tea and shortbread.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
She closed the door and walked through the other doorway of the vestibule to enter the house. The dead air space most likely came in handy during cold weather. It had a coat tree, hooks for scarves and mittens, and a rack to allow boots to dry.
As she strolled through the living area, she opened the closed drapes to allow the sunshine to enter. The one bulb in the ceiling fixture didn’t give off much light. But there were lamps spaced about. It was a comfy room, nothing fancy, but a room where you could relax, read a book, or take a nap.
A sofa faced the fireplace, with a floral patterned wool rug on the wide plank wood floor. Two well-worn wingback chairs flanked the couch, a desk occupied the wall behind it, and a game table with an easy chair sat by the large window looking out onto the garden. The place was spotless and well kept. She wondered who came in and cleaned. Since her mother’s death, her father hadn’t visited England and used the cottage.
Loren climbed the stairs and stepped into the first bedroom. It was lovely and overlooked the garden. As she unpacked, she wondered why Daddy hadn’t sold the property. He wasn’t the sentimental type. It had been Mom’s. Maybe he’d promised to keep it until Loren was older.
The walls were covered in green ivy paper. The furniture, Birdseye Maple polished to a lovely glow, smelled of lemon wax. There was even a small vanity to match. The four-poster bed with its white chenille spread invited her.
The trip from Houston had been long and she hadn’t slept a wink. She stripped out of her camel slacks and white blouse and tossed them across the stuffed chair by the window. She turned back the covers. Between the bedspread and sheet was a lightweight blanket, perfect for the slight chill in the house. She slipped into bed in her panties and bra. The cool sheets smelled of sunshine, clean air and wildflowers.
Lying on her side, nose turned into the fresh lilac scented pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But her mind spun like a top.
How did her life become such a mess?
Loren thought she had everything—a great husband, nice house, and one day they’d have children. The fact that she’d never be a mother was a major blow to her happiness. But, it was time to get past that, move on. Adoption was an option. Lots of single people did these days. In time she might even fall in love again and marry.
She snorted into the pillow. Not frigging likely.
How many times had she replayed that last night with Randall? It was a scene she had difficulty putting from her mind. During the weeks leading up to that night, she’d thought maybe they’d work things out, adopt a child and all her dreams would come true.
She burrowed deeper into the covers and pulled the spare pillow to her chest. Put him out of your mind, Loren. That part of your life is over.
*****
Carlisle, Lancashire, August 1947
Miles’ eyes popped open in the dark room. Moonlight shone through the window. He’d heard something, but didn’t know what. He rolled over to find Miriam’s side of the bed empty. The bedding was still warm.
Bloody hell! Would he ever get a full night of sleep again? This was the third time this week he’d had to go outside and locate his wife.
Stepping into pants and shoes, he softly walked down the hall to the stairway. He didn’t want to wake the children. God, he hated for them to see their mother this way. If it weren’t for Irene, their housekeeper, the kids wouldn’t have any mothering at all.
He reached the kitchen door and noticed the screen was unlocked. They usually bolted the master one during the winter, but the weather was still nice and the fresh air good for them. No light shone under Irene’s door, so Miriam hadn’t woken her as she went out.
The moon was full and high. He could see clearly as he moved quietly through the yard of flowers as noise tended to upset her. It wouldn’t do to startle her. If he did, she’d become hysterical or worse because she frightened easily.
“Miriam, where are you, love? You’re going to catch cold out here without your shoes.” Nothing stirred, and all was quiet. Maybe she was in the gazebo. It was empty, but inside the far door stood wide open. It led to the pasture beyond. A sense of dread choked him. She’d gone through and was at the pond. His greatest fear was that one night he’d be searching for her body in the water.
He quickened his pace. Moonlight danced on the crystal clear pool. “Miriam, where are you? Enough of your games.” He reached the reeds and cattails that surrounded the small body of water. A quick glance across the smooth surface told him she wasn’t in it floundering, fighting for her life. He muttered under his breath. “You’re driving me crazy, woman.”
A soft giggle echoed through the night. He whirled around to spy Miriam rush from one tree to another, peeking around them to see if he could see her.
“Come out, Miriam. I’m tired and you need to be in bed.”
Her white-clad form emerged from the thicket not more than fifteen feet away. “You’re no fun, Miles. Why don’t you like to play with me? Mary and Daniel play with me all the time.” Miriam stopped in front of him, and shook a finger at him. “You’re just like Irene. She won’t play with me either.”
“You know why. Irene and I both have work to do and don’t have time to play.” She picked at the fabric of her gown. She’d heard the explanation so many times, but she cocked her head and listened as if his words were new to her. “I’m sorry you can’t play.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I love you Miles—you, Irene, Mary, and Daniel.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the house.
A dim light shone from the kitchen window and they followed the yellow glow home. As they reached the steps to the back door, he responded, “We all love you too, Miriam.”
Irene was up. He steered Miriam toward a straight-backed chair, and Irene handed him a warm washcloth.
Irene watched, face pinched with worry. “Mr. Miles, you’ve got to do something. This is going too far. It’s not safe for her to be traipsing about during the night.”
He took the dry towel she handed him and sighed. “I know you’re right. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”
*****
Doctor Forbes, in the village proper, knew Miriam well. As he sat behind his office desk, he shook his head sadly at Miles. “I’m sorry, sir. I wish there was more we could do, but if you don’t want to put her in a hospital, we’ll have to medicate her, especially at night.”
He pushed up from his desk, walked to the medicine chest, unlocked it and took out a bottle of pills. He counted a number of tablets into a smaller jar with a stopper. “Give her two of these with her evening meal. They should keep her asleep throughout the night. She might be groggy the next morning, but it can’t be helped.”
Miles got to his feet and took the vial of pills from the doctor. “Thank you.”
The doctor shook his hand and walked him to the door. “In time, we may have to up the dosage. Let me know if she starts wandering during the night again and I’ll give you a stronger script.” He moved back to let Miles pass. “And if you change your mind about Whittingham Asylum, let me know.”
That night, Miles got the first eight consecutive hours of sleep he’d had since he’d returned home from the war, two years before. It’d be nice to have clear eyes while working on the books at the paper mill. Miriam was still asleep when he got up, so he quietly dressed in gray wool slacks and a white shirt. With his tweed jacket across his shoulder, he walke
d downstairs, his new leather lace-up shoes squeaking on the polished wood floor.
Irene stood at the cook stove. “She still asleep?”
“Yes, slept all night.”
“Praise be to God.”
Miles sat down and poured himself a cup of tea from the pot on the table. Irene put a plate in front of him. “You eat your breakfast and I’ll get the children up.”
Fifteen minutes later, laughter and the clatter of footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Both kids rounded the corner at the same time, skidding to a halt beside him.
“Father!” Mary, pretty in a yellow dress and white high top shoes, shouted in his ear. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail that bounced with her every move.
He lifted her onto his lap. “Good morning, buttercup.”
“My name’s not buttercup, Father. It’s Mary.”
He tweaked her nose. “I know it, but in that yellow dress you look like a pretty flower—a buttercup.”
She giggled, hopped down, and made for the stairs yelling. “Irene, Father says I’m a buttercup.”
Daniel, in short pants and shirt, thumb in his mouth, looked up at him with blue eyes so like his mother’s. His hair was brown like his own. “Me?”
“You bet, my boy.” He picked up his son and hugged him close. He pulled back. “Oh, do I see that thumb in your mouth again?”
Daniel grinned and nodded.
“You know what that means, don’t you?”
He yanked the thumb out of his mouth and threw his arms around Miles’ neck, squealing, “Tickle, tickle, tickle.”
Miles buried his face in the baby’s neck and blew raspberries against his skin. His laughter blended with Daniel’s. He was a lucky man. Both children were healthy and happy. They thought nothing of Miriam’s behavior, just considered her a playmate though they called her Mother.
He lifted Daniel off his lap, sat him on his feet, and pushed back from the table. “I have to go to work now. You be good for Irene today. All right?”
“All right, Daddy. Be good boy.”
Irene was back, Mary on her heels. “You have a good day, sir. Everything will be fine when you get home.”
His heart was heavy as he walked to his Morris. Surely, the Lord had more in mind for him than this limited existence. He wanted a wife to hold in his arms and love during the night, one he could share his days with. He loved his two children, but hadn’t counted on a third one—one with a child’s mind in an adult body. He started the sedan and pulled out of the drive. You’re a fool, man. You have a home, two precious children, and your health. Be grateful for your blessings.
*****
Carlisle, UK, August 2007
Wearing jeans and a tee shirt, Loren padded barefoot into the kitchen and squealed at the sight of a woman at the stove.
The woman jumped and turned, jerking the spatula in her hand, loaded with French toast, back. The bread hit the floor with a splat. Her other fist hit her chest. “Scared the dickens out of me, lovey.” She bent down, retrieved the toast and tossed it in the garbage pail. “Sit, sit. I’ve got coffee ready and your breakfast will be on the table in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Who are you?”
“Did your father not tell you I came with the place? Do all the cleaning and such. Don’t usually cook but this being your first morning here, I wanted to make it special.”
Loren pulled out a chair and sat while the woman poured her a cup of coffee. “You didn’t need to do that.” She flashed the woman a grin. “But I sure won’t turn it down.”
The woman laughed. “That’s what I like to hear.” She went back to the stove and the big iron skillet on the burner.
Loren savored the first couple of sips of the rich coffee. “That’s nice of you, Mrs.—.”
“It’s Mrs. Withers, but you just call me Molly. Everyone does, even old Gus the gardener.”
Loren couldn’t help but smile. Molly was probably in her thirties, a little on the plump side, but with a beautiful pink complexion and sparkling blue eyes.
She set a plate of bacon, French toast, and strawberries before her. A small pitcher of syrup sat in the center of the table. “This looks wonderful.”
Molly beamed and chuckled. “Hoping it is to your liking, miss.” Molly nodded and turned to the sink.
Loren laughed. “I’m sure it will be.” She looked toward the stove. “Is there more? Why don’t you join me?”
“Oh no, miss. I ate breakfast hours ago.”
“Well, at least sit down and drink a cup of coffee with me.”
“I’d like that. I do enjoy a cup of coffee on occasion.” Molly pulled out a chair across from her and sat down.
Loren bit into the French toast sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. It was heavenly. She licked the syrup off her bottom lip. “How long have you worked for my father?”
Molly added sugar and cream to her coffee. “Well, it’s been about ten years now. Before me, my mum took care of the place. She fell and broke her hip and couldn’t get around like she had. So, I took over the job from her.” She took a drink of the now nearly white coffee. “And my mum inherited it from her great-aunt Irene back in 1955.”
She looked around at the kitchen. It fit her idea of what a kitchen in the 1950’s would look like. The stove was a vintage model, the refrigerator slightly newer but had the curved top. “When was this cottage built?”
“Sometime in the 1930’s. It was owned by the Chapeau family until the early 1950’s when your mother’s folks bought it.” She shrugged. “I know the kitchen is a might out-of-date, but everything works.”
“No, I think it’s charming. Makes it feel authentic.” She did like it, even the art deco style black and white tiles of the floor.
“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it charming, but it’s old and has a history. Look through the bookshelves in the parlor. You’ll find pictures of your mother’s family and a couple of the folks who lived here before.” She finished off her coffee and stood. “I best be getting busy around here.”
Loren got up and carried her plate to the sink. “How often do you come?”
“Been coming every other week but your father asked me to come once a week while you’re here.” She grinned, her pink cheeks dimpling. “Said you were on vacation to rest and see the sights and for me to let him know if you didn’t mind.”
Loren laughed. “Rest, that’s all I’ve been doing for a month. I need some exercise.”
“Well, there’s an old bicycle in the shed. It’s good transportation to town if you don’t plan to rent a car.”
“Thanks, Molly. The breakfast was delicious.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a pleasure to have someone to look after. If you want something to eat you don’t find in the fridge, just let me know and I’ll bring it next time I come.”
Loren nodded and poured another cup of coffee. She’d drink it outside while viewing the garden. She slipped on the sandals she’d left by the door yesterday and strolled outside along the brick path through the rose bushes. There was every color under the sun. She stopped to smell a large fragrant blossom in a gorgeous coral color. Lilac bushes, lilies, and lavender, were scattered at planned intervals among the roses, their combined scents giving off a heady brew. The walkways were lined with border plants with small pink flowers and different colors of ground cover. The combination was a treat for the eyes.
Her sandals slapped against the bricks as she followed the path through the flora. The sun warmed her bare arms and face. She wished now she’d put on shorts instead of jeans. Further on, she came upon a wrought iron bench. She sat down, and with her cup in her lap, leaned back and listened to the sounds of nature—the birds in the trees and shrubs, bees as they buzzed around the fragrant flowers.
Anxious to see the rest of the garden, she continued along the path. It led to a white wood gazebo almost completely covered in ivy. She opened the screen door, stepped inside, and noticed the slight drop in temperature. It was d
ark because of the shrouds of ivy, but she could make out a wicker settee, two chairs and several tables lined the octagonal walls. On the opposite side from where she stood was a screened exit. She peered through the wire to see what lay beyond. A green knoll with several big trees led down to a pond surrounded by grasses and cattails. Before long, she’d have to venture past the gazebo and see what else needed to be discovered. She wanted to walk everywhere here and learn every inch of the property.
She left the small building and went inside, where she rinsed her cup, sat it in the sink to wash later, and stared out the window, thinking. Before too long, she’d have to decide what to do with her life. Her divorce settlement would support her for a while, but she couldn’t sit around and do nothing. An idea churned in her mind. She’d always wanted to write a book. Here, at this beautiful cottage and garden, would be a great place to get started.
Loren strode lightly up the stairs and peeked in the other rooms. There were three bedrooms upstairs. One held twin white iron beds, a 1950’s style dresser with the skirt to match the bedspreads and curtains, and a tall standing chest of cherry wood. The wallpaper was a subdued stripe with tiny flowers.
Next door she found what must have been her mother’s room. The walls were covered in large yellow and pink cabbage roses. The double bed was white four-poster French provincial, with a vanity and chest to match. Lacy sheer curtains covered the windows allowing plenty of light to shine through. A bookshelf held a variety of books from her mother’s childhood—Little Women, Little Men, Gulliver’s Travels, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and Through the Looking Glass. A trinket box held ribbons, a pair of white wrist length gloves, and pieces of costume jewelry. On the bottom shelf she found several scrapbooks.
Holding them against her chest, she carried them to the room she’d settled into yesterday. Sitting in the stuffed chair by the window, she opened the first book and took a peek inside at her mother’s life.
*****
Carlisle, UK, September 1947
Miles woke and lay staring at the ceiling listening to the quiet of the house. This was his favorite time of the day. Rays of sunlight danced on the far wall, coloring the wallpaper orange. Miriam was sleeping quietly—a little too quietly. He glanced over, alarmed to see that she was gone.