“How would they treat Miriam’s condition?” he asked.
“They have testing methods where they can look at her brain like a blueprint, find the exact location of her injury, and establish what part of the brain it’s affecting. If they can, they’ll operate and repair the damage.”
“And if they can’t cure her in that way, what then?”
“She would be put in a sanatorium where she’d receive twenty-four hour a day care. They’d provide all sorts of activities to keep her busy—art, music, some type of physical exercise.”
Elbows on the table, he dropped his head into his hands. If he could know that for sure. He felt a touch on his arm and he looked down to see Loren’s hand. Her eyes met his in a quiet stare.
“I assure you Mr. Chapeau, your wife will not be locked in a room away from others. She’ll be kept as clean and healthy as possible and I feel sure Molly will call my father. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took Miriam under his wing and supervised her care.”
“What do you think, Irene?” asked Miles. She’d not said anything during the exchange.
“I think Loren believes what she’s saying and is being as honest as she can be. I pray to God she’s right.” She dabbed at her wet eyes with a handkerchief.
Miles’ throat clogged with emotion. If her prediction were true, he’d so love to see Miriam well again. “Then I expect we best see to it that Mrs. Fairchild gets all the help she needs.”
*****
Loren lay on the bed in the guest bedroom. The mattress wasn’t innerspring so the coils creaked every time she turned over. She couldn’t sleep so they made quite a racket. Maybe reading awhile would help. As quietly as she could, she swung her legs over the side and eased off the bed.
Irene had found a gown for her, one of Miriam’s. It was a little tight around the arms and bust but that was okay. At least she wasn’t sleeping on a park bench in her clothes. She padded to the door.
As quietly as possible she made her way downstairs to the bookcase she’d seen earlier. She snapped on the standing lamp. It cast a soft glow in the corner of the room making it possible to read the titles on the spines of the books. She scanned her choices and lifted a thick tome of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
Just as she leaned over to turn off the light, the kitchen door opened. Miles’ form filled the doorway. She froze and stared. Dressed in white boxers and nothing else he was magnificent. He looked just like he had in her dream—wide chest with hair thickening as it made a trail beneath his shorts. Her gaze traveled down his long legs to perfectly formed feet and then back up again, stopping at the erection plainly visible beneath his boxers.
Embarrassed that she’d been so brazen, her gaze flew to his face. She expected to see anger, but instead saw a yearning hunger. His eyes were locked on her breasts as they strained against the thin material. Her nipples puckered in response as a deep ache formed in her belly. The room was thick with tension and desire.
Say something you fool. Break the tension here before the room catches on fire. “Ah, I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I couldn’t sleep and came down for a book.” She held it against her chest as a barrier against his eyes.
Voice gruff, he said, “You didn’t bother me. I was up having a glass of milk. I couldn’t sleep either.”
“Well, goodnight then.” She reached over, turned out the light, and moved to head for the stairs.
His voice filled the darkness. “You’re the one, aren’t you?”
“The one? What do you mean?”
“The woman in my dream. The one on the blanket on the knoll, the one whose ardor matched my own.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes, I’m the one.” She opened her eyes, and her gaze searched for his in the dark, but all she could see was his outline in the moonlight.
He moved closer until he stood in front of her. “Tell me, in your dream, did my hands and mouth caress your breasts?”
Her knees felt like rubber. Her answer came out a croak. “Yes.”
She held her breath, anticipating his next move. His hands moved to her neck and tilted her face up to receive his kiss. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. His lips were soft, teasing the corners of her mouth before sealing over hers. He groaned low in his throat and pulled her closer, sealing the book and her arms tightly between them. She was drowning in his kiss, her head swimming, his arms locked around her the only way she remained upright.
Suddenly he broke the kiss and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She stumbled trying to regain her balance. “It’s all right. Nothing is normal right now in our lives.”
He nodded. “You’re right, but I’m a married man.”
Chuckling, she added, “Yes, and I am dark headed.”
His teeth gleamed white in the darkness. Good, he’s smiling. “There is that.”
The tension between them eased. “Why do you think we had the same dream? It doesn’t make sense,” said Miles.
“I think it has to do with the door in the gazebo, it has powers we don’t understand. Both our lives have been touched radically by its energy.” And their lives might never be the same again. But she owed it to herself and to her father to try to get back home. “Miles, I have to try to get back home. I’ll go through the door of the pergola as many times as it takes.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. If I didn’t have the children to think of, I’d be trying myself . . . to find Miriam. What if it doesn’t work, doesn’t take you back home?”
Loren looked up at him. “Then I’ll have to make a life for myself here,” she said. Would it include Miles? She didn’t know. “Regardless, I must find a job and buy some clothes.”
“I may be able to help you find a post. I’ll ask around tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
Carlisle, October 1947
Loren stood in the gazebo and watched as Miles installed a doorknob on both sides of the door leading outside to the pond. When finished, he handed her a key. “I had three extras made. One for me, you, one for Irene and one to spirit away in case we lose one.”
Now she could lock the door on the other side. “Out of the children’s reach?”
“Oh yes. Very high up and some place they’d never look.” His grin eased the tension lines in his face. “I haven’t decided where yet, but it will need to be a place they don’t go.” His expression turned sober. “I should have done this two years ago.”
“Miles, you can’t keep blaming yourself for Miriam’s disappearance. If someone, even a child wants to do something bad enough, especially something forbidden, they’ll find a way.”
“Is that your way of telling me the children may do the same thing?”
“Not necessarily, but . . . ” She wanted to reach out and put her arms around him but didn’t dare. It was too soon. Neither of them was ready to take their relationship beyond the friendship stage—friendship with loads of sexual tension underneath. Miles might never be able to forgive himself and move past his guilt.
*****
Loren enjoyed working at the clothing store where Miles helped her get a position. The wife of one of the men in his office helped Loren get on. She and Josephine had the same shift allowing them to become better acquainted.
Business was slow so their favorite way of passing the time, other than having a cup of tea together, was completing Loren’s wardrobe. Josephine did like to shop.
“Look at this dress, Loren.” With her hand, she flipped the small skirt at the waist. “This is called a peplum. I think it will be perfect on you.”
Loren liked the dress. In navy and white polka dots, the style was appropriate for work. “I’ll try it on, but if I like it, it’s the last dress I’m buying for awhile.” She needed to save some money and her supply of clothing was adequate for her needs.
Josephine stood outside the small dressing room. “You still haven’t heard from the fire inspectors?”
“No. Miles
is checking into it.” Loren waltzed out of the dressing room and pivoted so Josephine could see the dress from all sides. Loren and Miles had concocted a story about Loren’s house in London burning down and Loren being a second cousin to Miriam. Of course, when she arrived, she’d been devastated to learn of Miriam’s disappearance.
“It’s perfect on you. You have to buy it.”
Loren smiled back at herself in the triple mirrors. “Yeah, I guess I do.” She turned and shook a finger at Josephine. “No more, though.”
Just then the bell above the door rang and Josephine hurried to greet their customer.
Precisely at 5:00 the shop closed. As Josephine strode off down the street, umbrella bobbing along as she walked, Loren stood under the awning of the building out of the misting rain. Seems it rained every afternoon. She didn’t like the dampness. As was his habit, Miles pulled the Morris sedan to the curb, leaned over and pushed the passenger side door open for her.
Loren rushed to catch the door, slid onto the seat and closed the door. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t give me a ride everyday.”
“You’d ride the bus. Or, perhaps take the bicycle.”
“There is that, but I’m glad to not be out in the rain.”
“Well, fortunately it’s not necessary since I drive by here every morning and evening.”
That was true. “Have the people at your work asked about your house guest?” She didn’t want to cause gossip at his expense, but there was really no alternative. Yes, there was. She could move to a boarding house but then she wouldn’t be able to visit the pond every evening and she wouldn’t see Miles and the children.
He shrugged. “A few. They seem to accept my explanation about the fire and family relationship.”
“Good. You know, I could move out if need be. I’m making enough money now.”
“No. You belong with us.” He grasped her hand, and she thrilled at his touch, something they didn’t do often in fear of going past the invisible line they’d drawn. “Do you want to move out?”
“You know I don’t. I just don’t want to do anything to make your life more difficult.”
“You’re not.” He lifted her hand and kissed a knuckle. “Believe me. Your presence is what is keeping me sane.”
Loren knew he suffered bouts of guilt and anxiety over Miriam’s disappearance. He blamed himself. The police constantly looking, scouring his property didn’t help. They’d drained the pond to find nothing but animal bones, bottles and other cast off items.
*****
Miles watched from the kitchen window as Loren played with Mary and Daniel in the garden. Their squeals of delight squeezed his heart. If Loren was successful in her efforts to go home, they’d miss her. He’d miss her. Not just her presence, but also the time they spent in the gazebo in the late evenings learning more about each other. He’d shared the horror of war and then to find his wife had been affected. His guilt at not being able to better protect her. His grip on the counter tightened at how much Loren had suffered due to her ex-husbands insensitivity. And her grief over being barren.
Loren looked up and saw him watching her and smiled. He heard her say to the children, “Run in and see your father now. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Loren had been with them three weeks, and she’d tried the door in the gazebo morning, and night and noon on the weekends. He’d enjoyed the time she’d been with them. The kids adored her, as did Irene, and her presence helped the children adjust to Miriam’s absence. Tonight she was heading for the pond a little earlier than usual.
From her position by the stove, Irene said, “That poor dear. My heart breaks for her every time she comes through the door with that sad look on her face.”
“Mine too, but I’m selfish enough to hope she stays.” He caught the look of surprise on Irene’s face. “Yes, I know people are already gossiping about Loren staying here and Lord knows, I’ve battled with my guilt since Miriam’s been gone. I should have done more to protect her, but she’s gone and God forgive me, if Loren is telling the truth, I think she might be better off in the future.”
“No sir, you’ve eaten yourself up enough about her disappearance, and I know you blame yourself for not insisting she stay in the country when you left for duty.” She gripped his arm. “But you tried, that’s all you could do. That’s all any man could do during that dreadful time.”
Miles searched her face. She was sincere. If she were humoring him, he’d be able to read it in her expression. Irene had been with them a long time. He’d come to love her like a mother. In a way, she was the only grandparent the children had. He and Miriam both had lost their parents during the London Blitz.
“Irene, if she’s willing, I intend to ask her to stay with me, form a permanent relationship.” His jaw was set and he knew his expression was one of determination. No doubt he’d still struggle with guilt, but the battle couldn’t be helped.
He expected Irene to be offended, but instead, she smiled. “Mr. Chapeau, nothing would make me happier than to see you content.”
He started to speak but she raised her hand. “Sir, life is too short to worry about convention all the time. Just think of the number of women left without husbands after the war, many without their spouse’s body so they could obtain a death certificate. Do you think unkindly of them if they find a protector, someone they might say is their brother, their uncle, or cousin?”
“You’re right. I’d never given it any thought, but you’re right.” His heart lightened now that he’d been honest with Irene. He’d been afraid she’d want to leave his employ. “So, you’d still stay with us?”
“You’re my family. And I’ve grown quite fond of Loren. My place is here as long as you need me.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Thank you, Irene. We feel the same way about you.”
The back door banged as the children came racketing through. “Quiet, children. Remember to close the door softly,” said Irene.
Miles picked up Daniel and took Mary by the hand. “Let’s go upstairs and wash up for supper.”
By the time they finished and returned to the kitchen, Irene had the table set. “Take your seats, children. I’ll have the bread on the table by the time you’re settled.”
Miles lifted Daniel onto his tall seat. Mary was able to climb on hers alone. They had just sat down when the back door opened and Loren entered.
“I hope I’m not too late,” she said. “I’ll hang up my coat and be right back. Please don’t wait for me.”
Face pale, she returned to the table and sat down. Her hands shook as she dished a small portion of potatoes on to her plate. Miles grabbed the bowl before she dropped it.
“Here, let me help you.” He placed a small serving of everything on her plate.
She smiled her thanks.
Mary giggled. “Daddy is filling your plate just like he does mine and Daniel’s,” she said.
“Yes, he sure is. Do you think he’ll let me have dessert if I don’t clean my plate?”
Two sets of serious young eyes watched her and shook their heads. “No, you have to eat everything,” said Mary.
“Well, I better get busy then.”
When supper was over, Loren helped Irene with the dishes while Miles got the children bathed and in their nightclothes. He was anxious to talk to Loren. Her expression when she came in tonight was different. Had she given up? He felt torn. He wanted her to be happy, but he also wanted her to stay with him.
*****
Loren said goodnight to Irene and started up the stairs. When she reached the landing, Miles came from the children’s room. She smiled and headed for her room, but he stopped her.
“Come downstairs and let’s talk awhile.”
Near tears, she whispered, “I’d rather not tonight.”
“Loren, please, talk with me. I’ll not be able to sleep until I know what you’re thinking.” He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the stair
s. “Come, tell me what’s going through your mind to make you look so sad.”
She let him lead her downstairs and to the sofa. He cuddled her close while she sobbed against his shirtfront. “It’s not going to happen. I’ll never get home.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve only been trying six weeks.”
“I have to accept the fact that I’m stuck here. I’ll never see my father again and he’ll worry himself sick.” Loren knew Miles felt some of what her father would experience. He’d lost Miriam to the unknown, but at least he had some clue as to her whereabouts.
He tilted her face up to his and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Would it be so terrible to live here with me, Irene, and the kids?” Miles asked.
Further damage his reputation and that of his children? Be the dark-headed harlot in this story? Being from the future and a looser lifestyle, it wouldn’t bother her, but in this generation people were prudish.
“I couldn’t do that to you and the children. You’d be shunned by your friends and neighbors.”
“Do you realize how many women are living with men who aren’t their husbands because they can’t obtain a death certificate for someone whose body has never been found?”
She shook her head.
“More than we’ll ever know. I’d never thought about it before, but Irene reminded me of this before dinner. Most of the women claim the man is her brother, uncle, cousin, or some relative.”
“How could people believe that?” she sputtered.
“They believe it because they want to, for compassionate reasons, and for the fact that the couples don’t show affection in public.”
It all made sense. Somewhere she’d read that in England a body was necessary for a death certificate. The same was true for the states. After seven years you could have them declared legally dead, receive a death certificate and draw death benefits. Before then, with no proof of death, the spouse continued to draw his salary. She assumed there were other ways to get a death certificate, especially in times of war when persons were missing and presumed dead, but individuals may have had reasons for waiting. One being, a woman could live with another man and still draw her husband’s salary. If she remarried, the salary stopped. Maybe it was under handed, but times were tough.
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