Across the Winds of Time

by Bess McBride

  “Well, just a few people, that is all.”

  “How many few people?” I closed the refrigerator and turned to stare at him.

  He seemed embarrassed.

  “A housekeeper who also cooks, her daughter who helps out, a man who takes care of the farming and gardening—who also happens to be her husband—and her son—who takes care of the animals, horses and carriage.”

  I raised my eyebrows at just about the same time as I dropped my jaw.

  “A carriage?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Well, perhaps buggy would be a more apt description. A carriage is simply not sturdy enough for these country roads. I used to have a carriage though when I lived back East. It was lovely! Black and gleaming.” He sighed rapturously.

  “Darius! Were you... I mean... Are you...” I shook my head. “No, I guess the word would be...were. Were you wealthy?”

  His face reddened.

  “Well, I was not without means, although I must say that I am as poor as a church mouse at the moment.” He grinned, and the twinkle in his eyes showed no hint of regret.

  I closed my mouth, hoping I didn’t look as astonished as I felt. A thought popped into my head, and I surveyed the kitchen.

  “This house isn’t really that big, Darius. Did everyone live here...like live-in staff?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, they live...lived in town. Mrs. White rules the roost over her husband, daughter and son,” he grinned. “I am...was very fortunate.” He shook his head and rubbed his chin in that endearingly confused way I had come to love. “I find it hard to speak in past tense—as if my life is in the past.”

  My face must have drooped at his words because he instantly crossed the kitchen and took me into his arms. I stood quietly still, my arms at my sides, though I longed to wrap my arms around him. I hesitated to let him know how completely love-struck I was, as if exposing my love somehow would hasten its end. I seemed to be made of mush lately, without backbone or will or rational reactions.

  “Ahhhh, Molly, that is not what I meant at all. I am very pleased to be here—to be here with you. You have no idea how much I have missed you.” He pressed my face against his chest and laid his chin on the top of my head. I listened to the rumbling in his chest as he spoke and wished we could stay that way forever.

  I had no idea what he was talking about when he said he missed me, but I didn’t want to see the grief on his face as he spoke of the “other” Molly, so I didn’t question him again. If I was serving as some substitute for a woman he once loved, so be it. That was good enough for me. But the fear that he might disappear lingered ever present in the forefront of my mind, and I continued to try to hold back one last piece of my heart from the strange mystery that was Darius Ferguson.

  He pulled back and peered down into my face with a gentle smile.

  “This will take time, I think, won’t it, my love? I cannot rush you.”

  I kept my eyes downcast, unable to meet his gaze—especially after his intimate term of endearment.

  “You certainly know how to turn on the charm, Mr. Ferguson. You’re awfully hard to resist,” I quipped as I maneuvered my way out of his arms and crossed the kitchen to run water into the sink to wash dishes.

  I tried to keep my back to him, but there was no response, so I gave in to curiosity and threw a glance over my shoulder. Darius leaned against the refrigerator where I’d left him, in a relaxed pose, with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Perhaps you should quit trying,” he said quietly. “To resist, that is.”

  My face heated, and I’m certain my heart stopped for a moment as I looked at him—tall, devastatingly handsome, full of life, and seemingly in love with me.

  “I will wait, Molly, as long as it takes. I am not going anywhere,” he said in a husky voice. He gave me a final lopsided grin before he turned to leave the kitchen. “I will take this time to check a few more things in the house,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked down the hallway.

  I must have smiled the entire time I washed the dishes. When I’d finished cleaning up, I went upstairs to take a bath, this time ensuring that the door was firmly shut just in case Darius planned on another bathroom raid.

  I lay in the bathtub listening to him continue to tap about the house, and I wondered he’d managed to find the one occupation that would bring to reality his possible ghostly status—tapping and rattling on doors, walls, ceilings and floors. He was a walking cliché. I grinned.

  Personally, I was opting for the time traveler persona versus the ghost, and I wondered if I would ever know the truth. It seemed likely that we could not go on exactly as we were—I just didn’t see how—and I would know sooner or later which he was. Whatever brought him to my time—to me—might very well take him from me. I swallowed against the painful lump that formed in my throat and dunked my head under the water as if I could wash the unwanted thoughts away.

  A short while later, feeling clean and refreshed—if a little waterlogged—I climbed out and dried off, wrapping myself in my robe.

  “It’s all yours,” I called out on my way to the bedroom. From the noise, it seemed Darius was above me in the attic.

  He opened the attic door and peered down at me.

  “What’s that?”

  “The bath... It’s all yours. I’m done.”

  “Bath? I just bathed last night.”

  I paused in the middle of towel rubbing my hair and stared up at him. His startled look brought a quiver to my lips, and I pressed the towel against my face as I bent over to laugh.

  “What do you find so amusing?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Is my hair askew? Do I have dirt on my face?”

  I peered up at him and inched the towel to just below mouth. It hadn’t succeeded in stifling my giggles at any rate.

  “You’re killing me, Darius, killing me!” I squealed. “Here in the United States, in the twenty-first century, unless we’re camping in the wilderness, we try to bathe or shower every day. I’m afraid you’re not in the nineteenth century anymore, Dorothy!”

  To my surprise, Darius grinned broadly as he hopped down the stairs, taking them two at once.

  “Wonderful! I am so pleased to hear of it. I confess that I am very ready for another bath after crawling about in the dust up there. But I did not want to waste your water.” He nodded toward the ceiling. “And I’ll have you know that some people in the nineteenth century bathe every day...or so I heard.” He turned into the bathroom but paused at the doorway to look at me. “Who is Dorothy?”

  I went off on another peal of giggles, stuffed the towel to my face again, shook my head and ran into the bedroom, wondering if I were close to hysterics given the bizarre events of the past few days.

  As I readied for bed, I berated myself for mocking him and promised to do better in the future—if I could help it. The sincere curiosity on his face when he asked about Dorothy promised to set me off into another round of giggles.

  I hopped onto the end of my bed and brought my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. I felt like a teenager. His presence had brought a ray of golden light into my life. I wanted to smile and laugh under the gaze of his turquoise eyes. When I wasn’t terrified he might disappear, that is.

  I slipped off the bed and opened the door to call out a goodnight. Darius had left the bathroom door open, and I exerted every ounce of control to keep myself from tiptoeing down the hallway to peek inside. Sassy had no such qualms as she sat by the bathroom door and stared at the object of her affection, who hummed quietly as he bathed. I noted Marmaduke sprawled across the head of the stairs, effectively making sure neither Sassy nor Darius made a move without his permission. I decided to keep him inside so there was no repeat of last night’s noisy festivities.

  “Good night, Darius. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Molly. Sleep well.”

  I shut the door and crawled into bed, wondering what the following day would
bring. Electricity, a shopping expedition and the sight of Darius in a pair of blue jeans. What more could a girl ask?

  I fell asleep, although I never thought it would happen—not with Darius so near. I dreamed of a woman who looked like me. The other Molly, I guessed. She stood with me on the windy hill of the cemetery, long skirt flapping around her legs, arms outstretched, her fingers touching mine as we laughed and pretended to soar over the valley below. Her brown eyes sparkled, and her dark curls flew around her face. Darius relaxed on the bench beneath the oak tree—an expression of satisfaction and love on his face as he watched us.

  ****

  I awoke in the morning to a lovely fresh breeze drifting in through the open window of my bedroom. I rolled over onto my side to face the gentle light filtering in, and I bemusedly contemplated the image of a pair of delicate white lace curtains framing the window. The wind would lift the curtains softly, gracefully, while I lay in bed and admired the pattern of light streaming through them. Darius’s arms would be around me, and we would face the beauty of the morning together...in each other’s arms.

  I inhaled deeply as if I could smell him near me. Was he thinking of me as I thought of him? I wrapped my arms around my chest and hugged myself tightly.

  Today, we would be together. We were going to Council Bluffs. I would buy frivolous white lace curtains, and Darius would hang them while I sat on the bed and admired him. He would turn to look at me, and his face would light up with love and affection. He would pull me into his arms and kiss me.

  I hugged myself tighter and took deep breaths as I closed my eyes and indulged in my daydream for a few more moments. Darius was just downstairs. Why dream about him when I could just get up and be with him?

  I jumped out of bed and threw on a knee-length blue denim skirt and a white cotton blouse. I slipped into some flip-flops, and opened my door to listen for sounds of Darius. The house seemed quiet. Was he still sleeping? Did he sleep? I still didn’t know.

  I tiptoed down the stairs to find the couch unoccupied, the blanket and pillow neatly folded once again at the end of the couch.

  “Good morning, my dear.” Darius emerged from the kitchen, beaming and holding a mug, which he held out to me. I felt my face redden as I reached for the cup. Hopefully, Darius couldn’t tell from my face that I’d been fantasizing about him.

  His hand stilled in midair, and I watched his eyes drop to my skirt and widen. He blinked for a moment and dragged his gaze back to my face with effort. I could have sworn a blush that matched my own bronzed his cheeks.

  I looked down at my skirt for an instant before raising my gaze to his face. I took the cup from him with uncertain hands.

  Darius cleared his throat.

  “You slept in this morning. It is half past nine,” he murmured as he studiously consulted his watch. “We have a journey ahead of us today.”

  I nodded, suddenly mute, and brought the warm cup to my lips, wishing I’d put on some jeans instead of the skirt.

  “I must say you look very lovely in that skirt, Molly, though you look equally delightful in those...em...blue trousers you often wear.”

  I blushed and preened...just a little.

  “Thank you.”

  Darius cleared his throat again. I looked up.

  “I see that the length of women’s skirts has changed over the years...er...centuries.” He hesitated, and his eyes flickered to my skirt—or my legs. “Quit a bit, I think.” He averted his eyes and directed his gaze to my face.

  I surveyed my skirt again.

  “Yes, they have. Is it bothering you?” I said with a coy look at his embarrassed face. “I know women didn’t run around exposing their legs in your time, but we do in my time, Darius.” I didn’t know if I was teasing him or flirting with him. I suspect it was a little of both. But what was the fun of having a nineteenth century man around the house if one couldn’t embarrass him occasionally?

  “A bit,” he murmured with an even smile, “but I shall learn to adapt.” His eyes twinkled appreciatively. He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium very quickly, I thought.

  I took a hasty sip of my drink to hide the flush on my cheeks. A slightly sweet, dark chocolate flavor assailed my taste buds, and I peered into the cup.

  “Darius! This is delicious! Is this your special recipe?”

  Darius clasped his hands behind his back and beamed, the bronze color of his face emphasizing the whiteness of his teeth.

  “It is not such a special recipe, but I am glad you are pleased. It is very common in my time.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Come, we will have breakfast before we go.”

  I followed him in to the kitchen to discover the glass-topped table set with bowls and spoons. The box of raisin bran cereal and the gallon of milk sat in the center.

  “I am afraid I could not find a pitcher for the milk,” he said as he pulled out a chair for me.

  “I don’t have one,” I mumbled in bemused fascination. “I just pour it from the jug.”

  “Well, this looks delicious. Shall we?” he asked.

  Darius picked up the cereal box and turned it several different ways before finding the opening at the top. Molly watched with a swelling heart as he studiously read the instructions on the top of the box.

  “I suspect you didn’t always build Victorian houses for a living, Darius. What did you do?”

  He had mastered opening the box of cereal, and I put my hand out to stop him from filling my bowl to the brim.

  “You are correct. This is the first large house that I built on my own, though I had some experience assisting with the building of other homes as a youth working with my grandfather. I certainly learned a great deal from the experience.” He grinned and looked around the kitchen. “When I first came here, I built the cabin out back and lived in that. And prior to that, I practiced law for several years in Virginia, but I felt too confined in offices, so I left that behind.” He studied the picture of a bowl of cereal on the cover of the box and picked up the milk jug.

  “A lawyer! So, you went to college then? Did your family have money?” There was just something about the way he carried himself that didn’t quite fit with “farmer”.

  “Yes and yes. I wanted to come out here to try my hand at farming. My parents and brother stayed in Jefferson County.”

  I took over the pouring of the milk since Darius seemed only too happy to fill the bowl all the way to the top.

  “You owned all of this land? Even up to the cemetery?” I paused with my spoon in midair and gazed out the breakfast nook window toward the open expanse of cornfields.

  “It wasn’t a cemetery then, but yes, this was my land.” He gave me a wry smile.

  “I can’t imagine farming all of this without machinery. You just don’t look like a farmer.” I grinned, hoping to soften my observation in case he was dead set on presenting the image of a farmer.

  I needn’t have worried. He grinned and took a bite of cereal.

  “Yes, well, I would venture to say that Sam White and his son, George, probably did most of the farming. I seemed to be somewhat inept at it in the beginning. But I learned”—he grinned again—“just as I learned to build the house. It is hard work, I must admit. But I enjoy being out of doors.”

  I watched him savor the sweetened cereal.

  “And then I met you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, my dear one, and I knew that my bachelor cabin simply would not do, so I set about building this house for us.” His gaze bored into mine, with a sparkle in the golden specks of his eyes. It was as if he tried to draw me out, to compel me to remember.

  I dropped my gaze to my food.

  “Don’t stare at me like that,” I mumbled. “I can’t remember anything. And batting your eyes at me isn’t going to make me remember.”

  Darius’s unexpected snort of laughter broke the intensity of the moment. I looked up.

  “Batting my eyes?” he sputtered. “I beg your pardon. Batting my eyes, indee
d!”

  He grinned and resumed eating. I returned his smile. I still had more questions for him, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment, and I feared a return of the pain I saw in his face when he spoke of the “other” Molly.

  We finished eating over a general discussion of house repairs.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked as I took the dishes to the sink.

  “To ride in a car for the first time? I am!” Darius grinned as he shrugged on his dark jacket. The jacket seemed molded to his broad shoulders and slim waist, and I watched him with a sigh.

  “I can’t wait to see you in blue jeans,” I thought out loud. Darius’s face reddened, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “I trust they will not fit as...em...much like a glove as your trousers do you.” He cleared his throat. “I could not possibly get any work done that way.”

  I blushed. “You’d be surprised. They’re very comfortable.”

  Darius coughed behind his hand and lowered his gaze to my skirt.

  “Comfortable... Yes, of course. Shall we go?”

  I grinned, loving his old-fashioned embarrassment. I grabbed my purse from the coffee table and led the way to the car, pulling open the passenger door for Darius. I beamed as he expressed wonder, both verbally and by action, in the materials and feel of the car. I laughed outright as I showed him how to hook the seatbelt, and argued with him that he simply had to wear the belt—no matter how uncomfortable it felt to be tied in.

  Marmaduke, who had followed us out of the house—with permission—given his last few days of freedom, jumped onto the hood of the car as if he, too, were going for a ride. I shooed him off. He continued to dash from one side of the car to the other, and I worried that he intended to jump inside the car, but he finally came to a halt and stalked over to the side of the drive to watch the activities.

  Having bested Darius’s recalcitrant objections over the seatbelt as a mother might, I went around to the driver’s side and climbed in, feeling self-conscious as he watched my every move. He asked a myriad of questions, some regarding the mechanics of the car, which I could not answer, of course.