P.S. I Love You

by Jo Noelle

  May laughed softly. “I’m officially a U.S. citizen. I fell back through time while my mother still carried me. As an infant, I came through with Mum, so I have a portrait I can pass through.”

  “We should be about the same age,” Cora said to Lady Cottrell. “That’s a little more than crazy. I’m also about the same age as your daughter.”

  “Yes and no,” Bethany replied. “We would have been similar in age had we both stayed in the same century, but I’ve accumulated more years because I went back in time farther than you did.”

  Cora looked at the group. How often had this happened? Obviously many more times than she’d ever considered. That explained the large room of clothes from all of history at Twickenham Manor.

  Idelisa reached across to Cora’s arm. With a rich accent she said, “Since you and your friends have come, I’m not the newest anymore. I’ve been here a little less than a year. My old place was a land you call Ireland. I came forward in time more than two thousand years.”

  Cora imagined that her expression looked thunderstruck. She felt it. She imagined it had taken a whole pot of Aunt Nellie’s tea to sufficiently explain Idelisa’s time shift to her.

  “I came forward, too, almost that much, just under two thousand years for me,” Cassia said. “I’m Roman. I traveled with the army that invaded Britain. I’ve been here nearly twenty years.”

  Shamay returned her cup to the saucer. “I was born five hundred years ago in France. My father brought me to England to escape the Black Death. The ley lines took me even farther away, but I’m happy to have come forward in time. Life is so much better now.” Cassia and Idelisa nodded in agreement.

  “How could we all come to this time and place?” Cora asked.

  All five women answered in unison, repeating Nellie’s explanation. “Time is a fuzzball.” The women laughed together.

  They settled into lunch and conversations about the upcoming events planned at the Cottrells’ home this week. After the lunch, the ladies said their goodbyes, and May and Cora followed Lady Cottrell to the morning room for visits.

  Cora wondered about what Lady Cottrell had said—that she went to her own time to have her children, and then came back. That eased her mind about Aunt Nellie being able to send them all back on the next full moon. She still had half a month to enjoy this vacation.

  May sat on the sofa near the windows and took up her needlework while Lady Cottrell did the same in a chair near the fireplace. Cora’s fingers still hurt from the clumsy attempts she’d made at needlepoint at Nellie’s house.

  “Do you play?” Lady Cottrell asked.

  Cora’s mind blanked. How could she redirect that question without being rude or lying? She couldn’t. “Sometimes.”

  “Would it be all right if you played a song or two? I find it so relaxing. It’s been a very busy day, has it not?”

  “What would you like to hear?” Cora asked, her hand resting on the corner of the piano. She was stalling, partly grateful that she hadn’t had much time to think about the performance. Still her hands shook beside her, and she fisted the material of her skirt in her palms to stop it. However, she knew it would stop as she continued to play—getting started was the worst part. Her stage fright was more intense in anticipation than in the performance.

  “Nothing too complicated. Just some background tune to soothe us all,” Lady Cottrell answered.

  Cora nodded her assent, sat, and adjusted the seat. She began Chopin’s “Prelude in E-Minor.” The beginning movement was tentative and clear, easing her into the music. Her fingers seemed to limber up with each note, and her back relaxed.

  In moments, the notes and rhythm absorbed her, her fingers striking the keys, but her heart revisited her memories. This song had always reminded her of her family. The rhythmic notes from the left hand steady and sure like her father. Then the right hand began speaking, almost pleading, much like herself as a child, trying, learning, growing. In the last movement, the emotion took on a sad, contemplative stance. And then there was silence, and Cora felt alone in the world. She completed the prelude, then without interruption slipped into another Chopin piece and another.

  When the resonance of the final key faded, Lady Cottrell whispered, “Thank you.”

  Cora, suddenly aware of the audience, faced the women, noticing the unshed tears in their eyes. Cora, too, had to regain her composure like coming out of a dream—the music and memories still swirled within her. This alone made it worth playing the piano and facing the fear that tried to push her away from it.

  After their time in the parlor, May and Cora went for a walk in the only bright sunshine they’d had that day. An hour later, when they reentered the parlor, they were surprised to see Lady Cottrell chatting with several young men. The guests stood abruptly and greeted May and Cora.

  “I just ordered a tea service. You’ll join us, won’t you?” Lady Cottrell asked with a smirk that said she found this sudden interest of so many eligible gentlemen very entertaining.

  “Yes. Of course.” May nodded to the room full of men. “We’ll just freshen up and come back down.” She stepped into the hall, pulling Cora by the hand. “Excuse us.” They walked quietly around the corner and up the grand staircase.

  At the top, Cora broke the silence. “Were you expecting them?”

  May paused. “Not specifically, but I thought it a possibility because you came. There’s quite an interest building among the gentry and some nobility to attend our little luncheon auction tomorrow. Of course, we sent out more invitations than we thought might be accepted, but Mother’s been receiving an unusual number of acceptances the past two days.” May turned into Cora’s bedroom instead of her own. “From men.” She pulled off her bonnet.

  Each woman smoothed her hair, shook out her dress, and returned downstairs. The men jumped up again. Cora wondered if she would ever get used to that. Although an outdated and abandoned ritual of chivalry in her century, Cora found she liked it. It was nice to be acknowledged whenever she entered.

  The tea and cakes had been delivered in their absence, and May’s mother poured them each a cup. The men approached the young women, announcing their names and greeting them. Cora wished she had noticed who had been sitting where, so she could take a seat and not displace anyone. In the end, she and May choose a settee together. Most of the men crowded around—some in chairs, some standing.

  “Miss Rey, will you be staying for the charity event?” asked the Honorable Vernon Shelby. He was wearing a red coat with yellow-and-red striped pants. Cora could see why Simon had referred to him as a fop. It wasn’t just the colors. He had a matching silk hankie peeking out of the pocket on his left breast. Each button on both the coat and vest were jeweled, and he wore several rings. Finally, his necktie was trimmed with lace—lots of lace.

  Cora pulled her attention back to him. “Oh, yes. I can hardly wait. Will any of you be attending as well?”

  The men’s answers chimed over each other’s, some asking to escort Cora or May, and some suggesting other diversions.

  May answered, “We won’t make any promises for partners. We’ll just have to see how it falls out tomorrow. You’ll have to bid for the favor of our company. It’s for charity, after all.”

  The conversation continued on benign subjects, and Cora’s attention drifted, taking in the men in attendance.

  Lord Wetheridge slouched in the chair beside the fireplace, looking utterly bored. He roused himself once or twice to laugh or sigh at a comment made in the group. Cora caught him staring her way a few times though. Why was he so antisocial? Not that she thought that every man should pay court to them, but since he knew her, and he was here, it seemed rude to ignore the company.

  On the other side of the room, the Honorable Michael Wyndham stood near the doorway. Occasionally, he looked as if he might join the conversation. But just as often, he looked through the door, perhaps planning his escape. He was very young—too young, Cora decided, for either May or herself to be int
erested.

  Although suitors surrounded Cora, her attention was not fully given to them. She wondered why Simon hadn't come that morning—well, afternoon. She would never get used to the idea of sleeping until noon and having breakfast. And morning calls, they were in the afternoon, too.

  When Cora refocused on the conversation, she realized that she and May would take a morning ride with Lord Bellion and Mr. Eccles tomorrow.

  Lady Cottrell spoke up. “I’m sure my son, James, will join you as well. I expect he’ll arrive before supper. There’s nothing like a ride in the morning air to make you appreciate a warm breakfast.”

  “I look forward to seeing Lord Cottrell again,” Lord Bellion replied.

  Cora noticed Lord Bellion’s slight reaction before he smiled and responded. Was it a surprise that May’s brother was expected? Or was he affronted that Lady Cottrell felt the women needed that type of protection?

  The next morning, May and Cora donned riding habits and headed downstairs.

  “Are you sure you won’t join us?” May asked her mother as May walked with Cora to the stables.

  “Not this time. Your brother will take good care of you on the ride, or perhaps Lord Bellion will misstep treating you properly, and James will shoot him.” Her words came out with a little giggle. “With Bellion’s reputation, I doubt it would be much of a surprise to our other guests, but it could dampen the mood at the picnic. Anyway, I have much to do to be ready for the party this afternoon.”

  “Thank you for loaning me a riding dress.” Cora loved the navy blue wool suit fashioned with a split skirt that would allow her to ride astride.

  Five horses stood near the fence of a small paddock just outside the stables—three beautiful stallions and two equally beautiful mares.

  “All Thoroughbreds.” Cora gave a soft whistle and asked May with a bit of awe in her voice, “Which horse is yours?”

  “The pretty chestnut mare on the end. Her name is Taffy.”

  Cora noted that the horse’s coat was only slightly darker than May’s hair and didn’t sport a sidesaddle. “And which belongs to James?”

  “Well, technically, they all do, since my brother fancies himself a horse breeder. They’re part of James’ breeding program. His favorite is the tall black next to Taffy.” May pointed her crop toward to the far right. “He’s aptly named Satan.”

  He and a gray appeared high-spirited, dancing in place as they approached. Two of the horses had been chosen for the ladies and one, presumably for Cora, was already prepared with a sidesaddle. “Apparently, I’m to ride the other mare.”

  May shook her head slightly. “You’re here first. Choose the one you want.”

  May approached Taffy, murmuring softly and pushing her hand from the muzzle to forehead and back again.

  If Cora had known there were horses like this in the stables, she would've been out for a ride every day. She planned to make good use of the habit she’d borrowed. She doubted it was quite the thing since it was a split skirt. Apparently, the women in this family didn't ride sidesaddle either.

  Cora approached the dapple gray. “What’s his name?” The horse, its coat like liquid silver in the sunlight, stood at least seventeen hands high.

  “Cricket. He’s quite the jumper.”

  “Great. He’s mine.” Cora led him to a mounting block and swung into the saddle before a groom could stop her or help her.

  The groom rushed to her side. “He’s a spirited horse. I have a gentler mare you could take. May I help you get off?”

  “Maybe in an hour or two,” she responded.

  May sat atop her mare and turned her to approach Cora, calling over her shoulder to the groom, “You’ll need to change out that sidesaddle before the men join us.” The ladies walked their horses to the far end of the paddock when the gentleman arrived.

  James called out, “May, how did you find another hoyden to befriend?” Then he said toward Mr. Echols, “Sorry, old man. There’s only a sidesaddle left. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Lord Bellion laughed along, but Mr. Echols seemed affronted by the suggestion.

  The groom, with the precision of a NASCAR pit crew, quickly exchanged the saddle, so Mr. Echols could join them.

  As they rode out, James placed himself between May and the cad, Lord Bellion. Cora and Mr. Echols followed behind for several minutes. She could tell that her horse didn't like to be in the back. His ears twitched while he strained at the reins. Though she held him to the walk, he would have none of it. He danced a little to the side and snorted, tossing his head.

  “Cricket doesn’t really like being in the back, and it looks like your horse agrees. What do you think, Mr. Echols? Are you and Homer ready to take the lead with us?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, Cora nudged her horse forward to trot in front of the other three.

  Behind her, Mr. Echols called, “You don't know the lay of the land.” However, she knew he must have followed her forward because he continued his argument quite close to her and much louder than necessary. “It seems prudent that we should stay in the back.”

  Cora wondered if he knew he was annoying as he chastised her or if he did it unconsciously. “Oh, well, it looks like it’s too late for that.” She patted Cricket’s neck. “See how happy he is when he’s the leader?”

  Cora twisted to talk to the group behind her. “Shall we give them their heads, and run a bit?” She heard Mr. Echols snort beside her, but she didn’t look his way. It sounded like a good idea to gallop and not be expected to converse with the man beside her.

  “I won't be running today. Taffy and I never do,” May said.

  “We’ll just enjoy the scenery and conversation, then” Cora answered but doubted it was possible.

  Mr. Echols asked, “Are you enjoying your trip so far, Miss Rey?”

  Cora could think of a thousand different ways to answer that question, and none of them would be truthful. Yes, she was enjoying it, but it was so much more than she had ever imagined her trip to England might be.

  “From what I’ve seen so far, England is a beautiful country. Perhaps the best part, though, is making a dear friend.”

  “Of course girls need their little friends, don't they?” He chuckled.

  Cora turned and looked at him, but there was merriment in his eyes, and she thought perhaps she had misunderstood him with the cultural gap.

  “Why did you come to the house party, Mr. Echols?”

  “Oh, to snap up one of the young girls. I have need of a wife, and I hope one attending might do.”

  She wasn’t about to follow that line of questioning—new subject. “What are your interests?” she asked.

  “Nothing a woman would be interested in, really. I'm not much of a dancer. I don't give a fig about fashions, and the latest gossip is of no interest to me.” He nodded his head with a firm shake on the last phrase as if he were punctuating the end. Did he think that's what she was interested in?

  A Victorian dating game was obviously harder than she’d thought it would be, but she tried again. “Now that you've said what you're not interested in, what is it you do?” Cora asked.

  “I doubt you'd understand—financial interests, land management, seeing to the needs of the peasants.”

  Cora rolled her eyes. I doubt he has peasants.

  “But I do enjoy a bit of good horseflesh. It is the right of man to subdue all those around him, and subduing a horse is possibly one of the highest achievements—next to matrimony, of course.”

  Cora wondered if there was any way to keep him from talking about women. “Do you keep horses, Mr. Echols?”

  “One of the finest stables. Though I don’t say so myself, but it has been bandied about that I keep one of the finest in all of Suffolk County. Of course I would never say that myself, but many have said so about me. Many of the finest horses in all of England can trace their roots back to sires on my property with thanks as well to my father and grandfather and his father before him.”

  T
his seemed like a safe topic—keep him talking about horses. “Which breed do you have, and how do you train them?”

  “I don't. I hire men to train them.” He paused, and Cora racked her brain to think of another question that he might like to answer. Before she could, Mr. Echols added, “It seems unbecoming and vulgar for a woman to show interest in horse breeding and training, but then, you are an American.”

  Jerk! Cora decided to enjoy the ride and ignore the man. She again twisted back toward May. “I think Cricket would like a challenge. What's beyond the curve in the trail in front of us?”

  However, it was James who answered. “There is a course of sorts—gates to jump, hedges, fences, a creek, and that sort of thing.”

  “Is the course clearly marked?” she asked. James nodded, and Cora added, “Then let’s have a contest before we head home. It will add a little excitement to the morning. It seems my horse is too spirited to settle for a sedate walk.”

  Mr. Echols sniffed in prelude to a comment Cora was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear. “Women are delicate and fragile. To goad one into a competition is ungentlemanly. I would never disgrace myself in that way.”

  Called it. Cora couldn’t help but wonder if he would think her roundhouse kick was delicate. “Since I am just an American, as you say, it seems that you would hardly be racing a lady at all.”

  Lord Bellion commented on his way past the pair, “Echols, do you merely sell horses, or do you ride them too?”

  Cora heard the challenge in his remark.

  Echols replied, “Who am I to disallow a lady to have a little pleasure?” He nodded toward Cora as he doffed his hat.

  James rode up between Cora and Mr. Echols. “Let's start at that lone tree beside the road. Lord Bellion and I will go first. Then the two of you will race.”

  May chimed in. “I’ll be the judge and await the group at that hill. I'll ride along the course, so you can see it. When I wave, the race starts.”