Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  Being from midtown, exposure to a variety of dishes helped develop my healthy appetite, only here right now, I never wanted a pepperoni pie more in my life.

  The table conversation returned to normal. No one seemed to notice my silence. Despite the foreign food, my unease centered more around the confusing reality I faced. I had no logical grasp of where I was or why this was happening.

  “Miss Shelton?”

  “Kat—Katharine.” I sputtered Merritt’s direction. “You can call me Katharine.” I’m sure he questioned my sanity the moment we met.

  “Your American President . . . Hayes, I believe.”

  Hayes, Hayes, yes, Rutherford B Hayes. I did a paper on the role he played in the Union Army. “Yes, President Hayes. He was wounded five times in the Civil War.”

  “Five times. Most interesting.”

  The way Merritt said this led me to believe the President’s bullet wounds were not what he wanted to discuss.

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “He is an abolitionist correct?”

  My own interest peaked. “Yes, I believe so. He defended refugee slaves as an attorney before he ran for office. Why?”

  “No particular reason.” He carefully glanced down towards his parents. “You must be pleased to have someone with such high moral regard leading your country.”

  I thought about this and how much American politics changed over the century. “Yeah. I think you’re right, but Queen Victoria is honorable.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Merritt.”

  “Yes, father?”

  “Attend to the horses, we will ride to Mosely.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Merritt peered back at me with a proper smile and excused himself.

  The moment he disappeared, loneliness crept in. Lizzy and Abagale found humor in a discussion with their mother, while I nibbled casually at my food. The faggot wasn’t bad, but I had little appetite. I excused myself in a rush to get back to the security of my bedroom. Once inside, I fell to the bed, restless with agitation.

  Admittedly, the primary reason I came to England was to be alone. I yearned for the solitude, but mostly the ignorance. People here didn’t know me or know about Jeff. I didn’t have to hear the annoying repetitive words, “How are you?” every day. It was the stupidest question in the English language. How do you think I am? How do you really think I am? Yet, instead of saying what I truly felt, the word “fine”, would always mechanically expel from my lips. They believed me, except those who genuinely knew me, like Kelly and my mom.

  Deep down, I knew the reason for fleeing to England wasn’t exactly for the right reasons, but in the last couple of months, something changed. It was nothing I could truly identify, besides my sleeping habits. I slept through the night now, and that hadn’t happened since the accident.

  Drawn to the bedroom window, my gaze fell upon the sun as it descended. Unlike Arizona, where the earth appeared ablaze, the rays cast a peaceful glow across the gardens as if it kissed them goodnight. I slid to the bench as my eyes followed the pathways that meandered similarly to the future grounds. In a small way, this brought a sliver of comfort. Yet, for the hundredth time, my mind tried to rationalize my circumstances. Scouring every possibility of how this could occur, my mind spun. How is this possible? I’m living in the past with strangers I have only read about. Glancing at my reflection in the glass, the doubt in my eyes signaled a more frightening question. How will I make it here?

  The first time Jeff brought me home to meet his parents, we’d been dating for two months. I can remember that night like it was yesterday. Terrified of what to expect, I was met by unfamiliar faces and unknown expectations. I recognize those same fears in what I’m feeling now. The only difference . . . Jeff was with me. Tonight, I’m alone. I pressed my face against the cold pane. The chill numbed my warm cheek. The harder I pushed, the more I drew the pain from my chest. Clutching the fabric of my dress, I wanted to tear it to pieces. Why? I cried as anger built. Why was he taken away from me?

  Later that night, Lizzy came to my room. I opened the door only for her since she was part of the reason I hadn’t been kicked to the curb. My somber disposition greeted her and hinted loudly to my bitter mood. She sat at the edge of my bed and kept her bubbly side contained.

  “You seem troubled, Miss Katharine.” She rang the servant bell. When Ana appeared, she announced, “Horlicks please, for Miss Katharine.” Then turned to me. “It will help you sleep.”

  I didn't refuse.

  “Are you unwell?”

  I sighed. “I'm feeling—” I struggled to find the right word. “Lost.” I told her truthfully.

  She remained silent for a minute and smiled, “I’m confident you will like it here. We will be like family, you’ll see.”

  I grinned in response to her sweetness. My doubts didn’t lie with her.

  She patted my hand. “Be at ease, Miss Katharine. I will see you in the morning.” She sounded like a mini mom.

  “Yes,” I resigned, but what I really hoped for was to wake up in my own century by then. “In the morning I suppose,” I reached for the warm drink in Ana’s grasp.

  “Abby and I will be in the classroom promptly at eight.” She said on her way out.

  “Eight it is.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning when I awoke, the same ceiling met me as the night before. I scanned the intricate details of each of the painted vines that crept up the walls for nearly thirty minutes before I found the strength to get out of bed.

  Since my arrival in England, this was the first night I slept this terrible. I stepped to the window and stretched as the light of a new day seeped through. Nothing changed. I was still lost in a different time.

  “Oh, Miss!” Ana gasped when she entered the room. “What happened to your nightdress?” She pointed to my ragged hem that now only reached my upper thigh. “. . . and your knickers?” Her eyes widened with each syllable out of her mouth.

  “Oh . . .” I stalled. I tore a good two feet off the bottom. The additional length smothered my legs.

  I reached for the light linen robe that hung over a chair and exhaled, “I sometimes have nightmares.”

  Genuine concern crept across Ana’s face. “That’s dreadful, Miss.”

  I told the truth but could only imagine what materialized in her head. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  Ana, Lizzy’s sweet maid, seemed more fragile than most. I guessed her age somewhere between 15 and 17 years old. Though she did nothing to upset me, I struggled with the idea of people serving me. In 2010, I had reduced Gretchen’s duties to where I practically did everything myself. Now here, in 1878, I feared such independence might cause more attention than warranted.

  “Miss?”

  “Yes, Ana.” I sat back on the edge of the bed with little desire to move.

  “May I draw a bath for you?”

  I remained still, then glanced her direction. “Don’t you need to attend to Lizzy?”

  “Yes, Miss, but she is at the morning meal now. I’ve been tasked to help you.”

  “Oh. No, thank you, Ana, I think I want to take a walk before school. I’ll take a bath tonight if that’s okay?”

  “Y—yes,” she stuttered, “anything you wish.”

  I glanced across the room to an elegant screen. Two dresses were laid out for me once again, courtesy of Lizzy. Ana followed my eyes.

  “May I assist you in dressing then? Or help you with your hair?”

  I snickered, “No, definitely not.” then I recognized my mistake. “Thanks, but I like to dress myself.” I paused when her chin dipped low. “Is there something wrong with my hair?”. My fingers snagged a knot, and I dashed to mirror.

  “No, Miss.” Ana stumbled, “I—”

  “It’s okay,” I laughed, “it always looks this way in the morning. You don’t have to worry about me.” I grabbed the large brush from her hands and ran it through a few times. The coarseness of the bristles
made me wince. “Ouch,” I whined.

  Ana appeared behind me and reached for the tool. With a gentle glide, she made it seem effortless and much less painful. I watched my reflection as she continued. The light brown strands fell softly to my shoulders. I’d worn my hair up so often in the last year, I’d forgotten about its natural wave. Ana pulled my hair back on one side and slid a comb to secure it from my face. Then she repeated it on the other side. This look was far from anything I’d ever done, but strangely enough, I liked it.

  “Thank you.” I stared for a few more seconds. Even with make-up absent from my face, my skin carried a honey glow. The pasty, skeletal complexion that appeared over the last year was vanishing.

  “Anything else, Miss Katharine?”

  “Oh, no.” I forgot she stood behind me. “I’m fine. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Her eyes blinked rapidly. Nothing slipped out when her mouth parted, so she quickly curtsied and exited the room.

  With the door tightly closed, I approached the dresses with caution. Although I was grateful for the generosity, I grappled with the fact that I’d be wearing a dress from now on. Aside from the business skirts I wore, all considerably shorter, I was a 100% jean and t-shirt gal.

  I held up one dress. The rose-colored material melted to my fingers. I skimmed the delicate lace along the neckline and the wide ribbon around the waist. It really was beautiful. Yet, once again, way too much fabric . . . and once again, accessories that would not be found underneath—a slip, long baggy shorts . . . hose? Oh, hell no! I choked. I’ll be fine with my bra and underwear under the dress and if anyone has a problem with it, not that they would know. Or would they? It doesn’t matter, I’m not putting those on.

  After a few adjustments to the heavy garment, I slipped down the back stairs and out the door that led to the gardens. In my intent to avoid the veranda where the family gathered for breakfast, I maneuvered the grounds stealthily. Like I just ditched my own governess. I figured the less I interacted with anyone except the girls, the safer it would be.

  It didn’t take long before I walked down a familiar path and towards the Thames. In the two months, I worked for the Gilfords, in my current time, the sun never appeared two days in a row. The fact that it now surfaced, both yesterday and today, tempted me to wander before I was expected inside “governessing” the rest of the day.

  The foliage thickened the closer I got to the river. The scent of flowers never seen or smelled before clutched my senses, but when I saw it, my knees went weak. The pale-yellow petals of a familiar blossom would have been missed if I hadn’t imprinted them permanently in my mind. The first time Jeff brought me flowers, he told me he chose this one specifically for me.

  “Roses are overused, lilacs and lilies colorless and carnations cheap,” he said, “but the yellow daisy . . . that’s you Kat.”

  I think I could pinpoint that moment as the day I fell in love.

  Yet even here, in the most peaceful place I could be, my chest shuddered with unease. I reflected on memories that would remain just that . . . memories. Picking a flower up, I inhaled deeply and stepped to the edge of the grass. I was drawn to the cascading swirls of white foam intertwined with the gray-blue waves as they danced over rocks. The mesmerizing fascination seemed like only minutes, but when I finally pulled away and strolled back up the path, I noticed the family no longer lingered on the veranda. In fact, the sun now positioned near midday.

  Bolting toward the house, I came to a rapid stop at the same door I exited but did nothing to steady my frantic heartbeat before I stepped inside. Hoping to find the classroom in the same place it’d been centuries later when I led the tours, I sprinted quite unladylike down the hall.

  I can’t believe I’m late on my first day! I berated myself. How did I allow this? Whatever was happening to me, timewise, felt real, but until a solution presented itself, survival was my priority. I can’t make reckless mistakes.

  Reaching the room, I took one lengthy breath and pushed the wooden door wide open the rest of the way. Lizzy sat at the window bench while Abby drew pictures on the chalkboard. They both rushed to my side with genuine concern.

  “Where have you been?” Lizzy cried.

  “I’m sorry I lost track of time.”

  “You’ve been crying, Miss Katharine.” Abby’s face moved within inches of mine. I hadn’t realized it. My fingers quickly brushed my cheeks.

  “Oh, no, I was walking by the river this morning. It must be from the morning dew. I’m sorry.”

  “We can all go to the river.” Lizzy’s eyes lit up. I could see her heart didn’t seem to be in schooling today either. The recollection of how hard it was for me to study on sunny days came to mind. And how easily I’d been swayed to skip.

  I took a deep breath and refocused. “How about we work now and end early?”

  The compromise seemed satisfactory to both, so they willingly took their seats. However, as their gaze went from my face to my feet, shock materialized.

  “Miss Katharine,” Lizzy spoke up first. “Where are your stockings? Did something happen to your suspenders?”

  “ . . . and your slippers?” Abby added.

  I glanced at my bare feet and chuckled with relief. From their expressions, I assumed it to be much worse.

  “I’m not a fan of stockings as you call them.” My shoulders lifted, “or shoes. I thought with such a beautiful day, I could enjoy it without all that extra stuff. Have you ever done that?”

  “Done what?” Lizzy questioned.

  “Gone barefoot?”

  Their expressions told me no.

  Lizzy placed her hand over mine and patted. “I will call Ana down before we leave the room. You must have endured such an unpleasant ordeal, the amnesia, your clothes, I . . .” Lizzy pulled her hand towards her cheeks to stop her tears from continuing. I stared in awe as she continued, “I weep for you. Miss Katharine.”

  I lowered my head to hide my smile. Her emotion seemed real. I didn’t want to make light of it, but if this was the extent of their hardships, I had my work cut out for me here.

  “Thank you, Lizzy and Abby, I appreciate your concern, and yes I’m having some trouble adjusting.” I accepted the handkerchief Abby held out for me. “Especially after my injury and all.” I wiped my cheeks and turned to the chalkboard with an eagerness to get the focus back on school. Glancing at the supplies before me, I tried to recall a time I had ever held chalk in my fingers.

  After the incident in my kindergarten year, I hadn't set foot in another classroom until I went to college. All of my learning took place on a small laminate whiteboard that I used with a wipe-off marker and a rag. In college, my classrooms were numbered in the hundreds, where mostly projectors and microphones were used. By then my best friend became a laptop. Teaching, however, under these dated circumstances will be an unusual experience.

  I spoke confidently of my qualifications to Mr. and Mrs. Gilford because my life was on the line, but truthfully, doubts arose. I had only “tutored” twice during my entire college career. The last one happened to be a handsome senior who faked an artistic weakness. It didn’t take long for me to learn Jeff was actually a business major and only pretended to have failed humanities to spend time with me—by then I didn’t mind.

  “So, I thought, maybe since we are . . . recent acquaintances,” I circled back around to the girls, “we might spend some time today getting to know each other first.” Blank expressions met me. This must be an unusual course to take. “I will start,” I suggested quickly. “I grew up in New York City, USA, as you know.”

  “USA?” Abagale repeated.

  “Yes, oh, yes, it’s the United States of America. We call it USA for short.”

  “What does United States mean?” Abagale continued.

  “United means all together. States are the individual territories that make up America. There are fifty states.”

  “Fifty? That is quite a lot.” Lizzy questioned.

  “Uh
, um . . .” My mind quickly tried to calculate the number in 1878. Despite my surroundings, it was easy to forget their history differed significantly from mine. “Yes, well, fifty is how many America plans on having.” I scrambled. “I believe they have thirty or maybe forty now.” I tried to recall the late comers besides Hawaii and Alaska.

  “Papa said the Yanks are haughty. England gave you your independence.” Lizzy propped her chin up.

  “Oh, really?” My nose wrinkled. “What else does he say?”

  “That the Brits will possess America one day.”

  “Interesting.” A stir pinged inside my gut. I had to remind myself not to argue. “Do you know why America fought against the British in the Revolutionary War?”

  “America didn’t do what England told them too.”

  “Well, yes, part of that is true, but . . .” I stopped myself. I knew this would need to be addressed carefully. History can be a matter of perspective. If I taught what we believed, I wouldn’t have a job for long. “How about we save that history lesson for another day?”

  Their wide smiles suggested agreement as I continued with my introduction. "I’m 24 . . . also as you know; I love history and art and have two older brothers.”

  “Are they handsome?” Lizzy giggled.

  “Well, yes, but Mike, the oldest, is married and has a two-year-old son, Caleb—my cute nephew.”

  “Oh,” she frowned. Not that she’d ever meet him, but she was right at that age where anything male caused a pitter-patter.

  “Kent is single and in medical school. He wants to be a plastic surgeon.”

  The room fell silent. Their confused looks said more than enough. I tapped my forehead. I need to think before I speak. “Ha, yeah . . . um, he wants to be a doctor.” I laughed awkwardly. “It's your turn, Abby, tell me about yourself.”

  “I’m 11.” She smiled as if I didn’t know. “I like to draw pictures, ride my horse Lady and—” She peered around slyly making sure no one else listened in. “—and I like to play with my dolls, Annabelle and Eva.”