by Bess McBride
Mattie read the paragraph again and again, trying to comprehend the enormity of what it said. Matilda Sinclair! Her heart thudded against her chest. So, she did go back—and for all her whining, had apparently lived in the nineteenth century. And she had married William. Thank goodness no death date was given in the article. She opted not to read any other websites associated with the pen name, which seemed to be more about her books than details of her personal life on the off chance she would see something she didn’t want to. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than knowing the date of her death, except for the date of William’s death.
As much as she wanted to click on references to Sinclair Publishing, which she noted from the references appeared still to be in existence, she balked at the thought of possibly seeing William’s name plastered on the top of the site along with his birth and death dates, such as one might see on a wall of portraits of CEOs.
Though she longed to know William’s future—and her own—she couldn’t risk looking. It seemed likely that she had lived a long time—long enough to write and publish forty-two novels.
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she keyed in several more names. A broad smile spread across her face as she read the screen. A site on American culture in the 1800s revealed that none other than Mr. Thomas Ringwood had been the publisher at Sinclair Publishing in New York. A portrait of an older, more distinguished Thomas with lamb-chop sideburns and mustache, and Sylvie, the spitting image of her mother albeit in Victorian dress, accompanied the article. Despite her best efforts to screen the article with her eyes half closed in anticipation of seeing dates, Mattie wasn’t able to avoid seeing the dates of their deaths on the website, and although she knew a moment of grief, she was comforted to know they’d lived long lives.
One particular biographical site noted that Mrs. Sylvie Ringwood and Mrs. Louisa Carver, New York socialites, were heavily involved in charity events, as were their husbands, prominent publisher Mr. Thomas Ringwood and banker Mr. Stephen Carver.
Mattie touched the screen with her fingers as if she could touch the people she’d come to know.
She finally dragged her eyes from the computer and looked around her apartment, studying the furniture with a critical eye. She was going back. Everything could go. The only things she needed to keep were family photographs, letters, personal documents such as her passport—just in case—and the book. She was definitely taking the book. Perhaps a small donation to the library to cover the cost would be appropriate. And she’d take a few things with her, since it seemed clear from the fact she didn’t arrive in either the past or present naked that whatever touched her traveled with her.
Mattie wasted no time setting her plan in motion. From her experience the month before, she now knew that depending on travel on the exact night of the full moon wasn’t foolproof. The moon had its own plans. She needed to be ready to go that very night, and if she failed to travel that night, then the next night, and every night after that until she returned to William…as history proved she would.
She made a stop at the bank and withdrew all the money in both her checking and savings, leaving only a small amount to keep the accounts open. She converted the money to a series of cashier’s checks. She made her way to a one-stop legal documents store and picked up a power of attorney. Her final stop was to a discount and grocery store where she picked up a few things for the “trip.”
She returned home in the late afternoon, anxiety rising as she realized how much really needed to be done if one planned never to return.
As much as Mattie wanted to hear Renee’s voice one last time, she opted to send her a letter instead. Renee would have too many questions and was even likely to call the police again if she thought Mattie was off her rocker—especially after she read Mattie’s odd letter.
Dear Renee,
So much has happened to me over the past month, I can’t even begin to describe it. I haven’t really been “ill,” and I’m sorry I lied about that. I’ve been away—far, far away. I wish I could tell you about it, but I can’t. You wouldn’t believe me if I did.
You asked me to let you know if I needed anything. I need your help now. I have to leave tonight, and if not tonight, then sometime in the next few nights. But I’ll be gone before you get this letter.
I’ve enclosed the key to my apartment. I’ve left cashier’s checks, a power of attorney for you and the keys to my car on the coffee table in my living room. I can’t take much with me, so I’m asking you to dispose of my things, sell them, give them away…whatever works best for you. You can keep my car or sell it. The money is for you to do with what you want. You can keep it or donate it. It’s yours. I can’t use the money where I’m going.
I know these requests sound bizarre, and I don’t blame you for panicking. But please don’t. I’ll be all right.
I met a “man.” You know, “the one,” but he doesn’t live here. He lives far away, and I’m going to join him. He’s wealthy, so I don’t need any money, the car or my furniture. There is no computer service, no postal service and no telephone service where I’m going so we won’t be able to stay in touch with e-mails, letters or phone calls.
Take care, Renee. I’ll miss you! And thanks for taking care of everything for me.
Love
Mattie
P.S. Find books by I. C. Moon in the library. I’ll say hi to you in them! That way you’ll know I’m okay.
Mattie slipped the letter and her apartment key in the envelope and made her way down to the mailbox to drop it in. The postman had already come and gone for the day, so she knew she’d have plenty of time before Renee got the letter.
She returned to her apartment, and packed a large duffle-type bag with the photographs, letters and personal identification. Although she could see the potential for disaster if the identification were found someday, she suspected it would be better she have something on her—even if far-fetched. She packed the things she’d bought for the trip—over-the-counter pain medicines, antibiotic creams, bandages, cold medicine, toothpaste and spare toothbrushes, feminine products, diaper cream, baby aspirin, antacids, a small bottle of her favorite perfume, deodorant, hand soaps, small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, safety pins and anything else she could ransack from her bathroom.
She had a thought and ran to her computer to find some information, which she printed out and stuffed in a side pocket of the bag. She finished off by throwing in some underthings, warm socks for her feet and her small digital camera, then spent the next fifteen minutes sprawled across the overstuffed duffle bag, squeezing each side as she struggled to zip it closed.
At last she managed, and she sat back on her heels to survey the bag. She hadn’t packed nearly as much as she thought she might need for a lifetime in the nineteenth century, but she’d done the best she could on short notice.
She looked out the window. Dusk had come and gone, and she didn’t have much time. She removed her jeans and t-shirt and slipped into Sylvie’s dress, stockings and slippers. She stuck her hair on top of her head as best she could.
Dragging the heavy bag out to the balcony, she looked up to see the moon just above the roofline of the other apartment buildings. It seemed full to her, but the lunar calendar said the moon would not be full until the following night.
Mattie was taking no chances. She wasn’t sure if William stared at the moon and wished for her return at the exact same time, but she hoped he was. She sat down on the balcony floor, clutched the bag and stared at the moon, wishing she could return to William.
As she had a month ago, she wished all night, struggling to keep her eyes open, fearful that if she fell asleep, she would miss the “window,” or whatever mechanism helped her travel through time before.
And as happened last month, the sky lightened at dawn, dimming the moon’s light, and she remained on the now-cold wooden floor of the balcony—alone. She rose to her knees and laid her head against the railing, one hand clutching her bag, the other push
ing against the pain in her chest as if she could massage it away.
“Please don’t do this, Mister Moon,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me here, without William. I-I don’t think I can do this.” She pulled the book from a side pocket in the bag and held it up. “Wait! Look! This is me! I’m supposed to be there. Send me! I know you have something to do with it. You control the tides. Surely, you can control time as well.”
Mattie waited, held her breath and stared at the outline of the moon dropping toward the horizon. After a few minutes, she dragged air into her lungs, lowered the book and clasped it to her chest.
“Fine, not today then, mister, but I’m not giving up! I’ll see you tonight.”
She rose awkwardly to her feet and grasped the bag to drag it back inside. She turned to look at the moon one last time and felt her knees buckling as she fell forward.
****
William leaned his elbows on his knees and dropped his face in his hands. Dawn approached, lightening the night sky, and Mattie had not returned. No matter how much he begged and pleaded for her, the moon had denied him his heart’s desire.
His body ached from sitting for hours in a fixed position on the bench in the cool night air of the garden. He’d had the gardener move the bench to the exact spot where he had found Mattie only two months prior.
As Mattie had noted, the moon had appeared full for several nights, and he was uncertain which was the one noted to be the “full moon.” They had all looked perfectly rounded to him. And so he had waited in the garden all night for the last three evenings as he had the month prior, and would resume his vigil again for several more days until the moon brought her back to him.
William had no idea what Mattie’s life was like in the twenty-first century, but he believed with all his heart that she loved him. Whether her love for him was enough to overcome her hesitation to stay with him in the nineteenth century remained to be seen.
He turned to study the house. Ashton House. Was it worth giving up the woman he loved? If he had the chance to do it all over again, would he try to travel with Mattie to her time? To leave the estate without heirs, without management, to become a derelict, abandoned relic in future? His mother and Lord Hamilton might see to it in their lifetime, but when they passed on, who would care for the estate, for the household staff, for the tenants, for the land?
His throat ached as he contemplated a choice that was not available to him. The question of whether he would return with Mattie to her time, or live out his days with her in his time was moot. Mattie was gone, and he had no idea if she would—or could—ever return.
He reached for the garment lying on the bench beside him—the same garment he had brought with him to the garden every night at dusk. He pressed the softness of Mattie’s pink robe to his nose and breathed in her scent, a delicate floral fragrance reminiscent of roses.
“What do you mean she just disappeared?” Sylvie had asked the day after Mattie vanished. Tears had flowed down Sylvie’s cheeks. William held her, struggling to keep his own devastation in check.
“We were walking in the garden, and she vanished, Sylvie. That is all I know. I can only assume that somehow she was returned to her own time. I hope that is the case.” William swallowed hard at the thought of anything worse befalling Mattie.
“Is she returning?”
“I do not think so, dearest. I am sorry.” William released his sister and regarded her. At the moment, he wished himself a woman so he too could shed tears to relieve the ache in his chest.
“No, William,” Sylvie said with a watery smile. “It is I who am sorry for your loss, which must be great compared to mine. I cannot imagine how you must feel.”
William thinned his lips into a semblance of a smile, but said nothing. He could not trust himself to speak of the pain of loss.
“Miss Crockwell is gone?” their mother had asked quietly as she entered the drawing room.
Both Sylvie and William nodded, yet neither spoke.
Their mother sighed. She approached William and kissed his cheek. He returned the kiss and moved away to take up a position leaning on the mantle. He lowered his head to stare into the cold hearth. His mother joined Sylvie on the sofa.
“I am truly sorry, William. Although you are aware I did not wish you to return with her, I almost hoped she would stay.”
William raised his head.
“Miss Crockwell did not plan to leave last night in such an unexpected fashion. But as suddenly as she came, she vanished. I know she would have wished to say goodbye. As for her staying, she never had any intention of remaining in the nineteenth century.” William forced the words out in an even tone.
“I did not realize that,” his mother said. “And yet you gave her your heart, knowing she would leave if given the chance?”
“Mother!” Sylvie said, aghast.
William’s eyes flew to his mother’s face. They rarely spoke so openly to each other, and never of matters of the heart.
His mother’s eyes flickered but she maintained her gaze.
“I do not mean to be vulgar or insensitive, William, but I was concerned what might happen to you if she chose to leave.”
“Yes, Mother, I did give her my heart…unconditionally. In the beginning, I will admit, I turned from her in anger when she told me she could not stay in our time, that she could not give up the life and comforts she has known. But I soon realized that it was not her fault, and that given the same circumstances—were I transported to the Middle Ages, I might insist on returning to my own time as well. I decided then to cherish the remaining moments we had together, and I did. Every moment.”
Sylvie’s cheeks burned a bright red and she looked down at her clasped hands, but said nothing.
His mother sighed again. “I am sorry for your loss, William. What will you do now?”
“I will wait and hope and wish for her return every night while the moon is full, and when the moon is not full, I will simply wait until the next full moon and begin the process all over again.”
His mother rose and approached him.
“That seems a very lonely life, William. It is not what I would wish for you. How long will you wait?”
“Until she returns to me,” he said quietly.
Now, in the garden, as he stared at the outline of the moon slipping down in the sky, he wished with every breath in his body that Mattie would return to him.
A sound like a thud from behind caught his attention, and he turned.
There, on the ground, lay Mattie, half buried by a large cloth bag, a book clutched in her hand.
He jumped up and ran to her, dropping to his knees to push the heavy bag aside and cradle her in his arms. The book slid from her hands. She wore the same dress she had worn the night she had disappeared a month ago.
“Mattie! Mattie, my love!”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her eyes widened, and her face broke into a wide smile.
“William! I’m back. I finally got back!”
“Oh, my love, you have returned to me,” William muttered as he kissed her and spoke at the same time. “I thought never to see you again.”
“I’ve tried and tried to get back, William. I prayed and wished and cursed the moon, waiting night after night,” she cried as she held onto him.
“I cannot believe that you have returned to me,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. He rocked her back and forth like a child.
“I love you, William. I knew that even before I was taken back the last time.” Mattie struggled to straighten to a sitting position, and she regarded him. Loath to release her, William kept hold of her hands.
“And your concerns? Your fears? What you must give up to be with me?”
Mattie smiled, almost serenely, and William studied her face. What had brought on this change of heart?
She patted the bag next to her and picked up the book.
“I’ve brought some of the comforts of home with me to last as long as they can,
and this book tells me that I was always meant to be here. I’m not afraid anymore, William. Everything is going to be all right.”
William eyed the book curiously.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Mattie said softly. Her eyes widened as she looked over his shoulder. He turned to follow her gaze.
“Look how bright the moon is,” she said. “Even as it disappears below the horizon, it seems to be glowing its brightest.”
William stared at the moon for a moment. Mattie was correct. It did seem to shimmer more brightly now than at its zenith.
“It shines for us, my love, because it has given me my heart’s desire.”
“And mine,” said Mattie softly. “Quick! Before the moon changes its mind, kiss me, William. Kiss me and don’t let go!”
William did as the love of his life requested, and he kissed her thoroughly as the moon beamed down upon them.
Epilogue
Mattie looked up to see William poking his head through the nursery door, an inquiring look on his face.
She smiled and nodded. The baby slept soundly, one tiny fist resting against her cheek.
“Is she well?” he asked as he stepped in quietly and approached Mattie’s rocking chair.
“She’s fine,” Mattie said as she raised her face to his kiss. The touch of his lips never failed to send a thrill up her spine.
William sat down in a chair beside her and leaned forward to look at the baby.
“The image of her mother,” he murmured with a smile. With the tip of his index finger, he smoothed a red curl on the baby’s head.
“How’s it going down there?” Mattie asked.
“The drawings you brought have the engineer puzzled, but he feels he can devise a system according to the specifications noted.”
“I’m sure he can. Just remember to tell him that the wastewater can’t be vented into the surrounding waters. It’s going to be some years before they come up with proper wastewater treatment, but I couldn’t figure out how to download plans for wastewater treatment facilities.”