Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  I sat on the end of her bed and pretended to take an interest in her few belongings scattered about. I wasn’t sure what to say at first, but I didn’t have to worry for long.

  “How is Charlock Manor?” she whispered. I knew this had to be difficult for her.

  “He misses you.” I confirmed.

  She bit her lip nervously. “How do the girl’s fare?”

  “They’re beautiful, smart, and happy,” I said, lucky to have played a minor role in that. “He also still loves you, Joanne.”

  Her eyes brightened, “really?” She clung to my every word.

  “He will always love you.” At this moment, Joanne’s countenance exalted and rivaled the flame. Although not much could be done, these simple words seemed to bring a longed assurance.

  We sat silently for a few more minutes.

  “Thank you, Katharine.” Joanne tenderly squeezed my hand as I stood to leave. “Nothing may come of this knowledge other than it’s the most priceless of all gifts to me.”

  “Do not give up on him. He’ll do the right thing.” I said this even though I had no surety of it other than my belief in Merritt. He was a man of honor, but the recipient of that honor remained a mystery.

  I kissed her cheek and went to my room. I fell to my bed and found myself troubled, unable to sort through my thoughts. I did what I could for both parties. What more can I do? I didn’t have the patience or strength to watch them both lead unhappy lives apart. It would be a punishment for me to be here, and see Joanne alone always putting others needs above her own. And it would be beyond misery at Charlock watching Merritt settle for an ill-fated marriage.

  Suddenly an overwhelming realization set in. Maybe it’s time for me to leave? Not only the Attwood’s or Gilfords but maybe England altogether. If I couldn’t influence those I cared about to follow their dreams, maybe it was time for me to follow mine! A strange sensation built within me. A renewed strength arose. I swiftly sat up on the edge of my bed while ideas flickered wildly.

  If I was to remain in 1878, I didn’t have to stay here. I could see the world or Europe at least. I knew enough from my history classes that many wonderful events are about to take place now and through the turn of the century. What an amazing opportunity to be in those places at those times, to be an eyewitness to history . . . Van Gogh in the Netherlands, Cézanne, Renoir, and Monet in France. The thoughts energized me. I had not made a bold decision like this without the intent of isolation in mind, yet I no longer felt the craving to hide. If I’m meant to live . . . I’m going to really live!

  I moved to the desk and pulled out several sheets of paper from a single drawer. I removed the stopper from the ink jar and dipped my quill in repeatedly as I addressed each sheet to a different person. Joanne, Lizzy, Abby, and Merritt.

  I left the letter to Joanne folded on the desk with her name on top. The other three I stuffed into a linen case with my few belongings and all the money I’d saved. My plan was to set out at dawn before the household awakened.

  It would take me at least one day to reach the Gilfords by foot. Now that I knew the direction and the terrain, I had no doubt I could reach it by nightfall, which made the covert delivery of the letters that much easier. Mostly out of necessity, since I knew if we came face to face, I would change my mind.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Before the sun rose, and the house stirred, I said goodbye to the Attwood residence. Traveling by foot along the Thames, my thoughts were much clearer this time. Though a sharp chill hung in the air, the light of day was a welcomed scene as I navigated the riverbank. No longer did the atmosphere scare me. For the first time since June, a force surged through my veins and gave me a purpose. Taking control of my circumstances was liberating, despite the unknown ahead.

  Late in the evening on the second day of traveling, I reached familiarity—the forest, the cave which I passed without entering, and ultimately, my special patch of heaven. Though the grass had grown coarse and dry, the sanctuary kept most of its beauty. It was here I contemplated my next move.

  I waited until the cover of darkness could keep me in the shadows and lessen the risk of being seen, then crept quietly toward the back of the house. This simple feat would not have been possible with the illumination of the future gardens, but the only light that met me tonight came in the form of an occasional lightning bug. I cowered behind the brush and watched as the staff completed their duties in the kitchen before, I slipped inside unnoticed.

  From there, I maneuvered down the hall. Pausing near the sitting room, I heard the girl’s giggles seep through. This brought a wide smile to my face. They were probably playing cards again, possibly only the three of them. Temptation taunted me to push open the door and announce my arrival. I fought it fiercely. I knew once I laid eyes on them, it would be impossible for me to leave.

  I crept farther down the hall and slid into the dark library. I stepped slowly, my touch lingering on the familiar furniture in one of my most favorite places in the entire house. Stopping next to the grand desk, I followed the beam of a full moon. Its shine descended eerily through the large window nearby and emphasized the bronze bust of William Shakespeare resting on one end. This desk was where Merritt spent a great deal of time working. This is where I must leave the letters. Retrieving them from the sack, I held each one individually, cherishing the names—Merritt Gilford, Elizabeth Gilford, and Abagale Gilford . . . much longer than I should have. Many treasured memories materialized here, and many lessons learned. I’ll never forget them.

  Merritt’s voice echoed in the hall. “Continue on. I will return shortly.” My eyes shot towards the door. Listening intently for the sound of his footsteps, I struggled to discern if they moved towards me or away. Once the realization came that he was headed towards the library, my body went into a full shake.

  I left the letters on the desk and hustled towards the darkest part of the room. A place I had spent little time at but knew all too well. The small alcove that housed the three doors I detested—the closet, the washroom, and the cellar. I stiffened against one door and pulled my lips tight, waiting for any sound.

  Merritt entered the library with a single candlestick. He reached for what appeared to be a pipe resting on a small end table near a chaise. Lifting it to his lips, he paused. I pressed further into the darkness. The lone flicker cast a slight shadow against his face . . . that flawless, wonderful face. He glanced up and scanned around. Can he see me? Hear my pounding chest and uneven breath?

  He continued to scan the room as if he knew something seemed amiss. My back smashed awkwardly against the cellar door as flat as I could get. Merritt’s arm lifted the light and cast shadows on an already gloomy scene. When the light inched closer to me, my heart beat faster. He took a few steps forward, and I took another step back. My foot tapped the base of the door. It’s not secure!

  Raindrops swiftly pelted the window. Merritt shifted his light from the wall to the glass.

  Not only did I risk getting caught, but if I managed an escape, it would now be through a raging thunderstorm. Merritt circled back. My shoes teetered on the top step while my legs burned to keep me steady and hidden. The glow of the flame rested before him. I wanted to memorize every detail. Maybe one day I’d return and find that everything fell into place the way it needed to.

  My thoughts shifted to his letter. I hoped he would read it, knowing that I wrote it with love from one friend to another.

  Merritt shook his head and wiped his brow. With one last glance about, he departed. I let one long exhale free before I moved. Too close. I waited until he disappeared.

  Leaning forward, the stiffness in my knees restricted blood flow to my feet. When I attempted to pop them free, the sole on the toe of my boot, which had separated significantly in my walk to Charlock, caught on the threshold.

  Like a bad date, I could not stop it fast enough.

  My arms flung upward as the horrifying feeling of losing control shot terror through my body. With noth
ing to grasp or stop the gravitational pull, I flew backward. Losing sight of the door, my eyes shot upward to the ceiling then braced for impact as my back hit the steps first. My legs whipped over my head as my body rolled into an ongoing somersault until it came to a sudden stop. Despite the pain I should’ve felt, I comprehended nothing, until a growing blackness swallowed my sight once again.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  My eyes fluttered open and my hand reached for the pulsating sting on the side of my head. A lump grew in the same spot I had injured it before. How can I possibly be that foolish or clumsy? Massaging it didn’t ease the pain, and now, the back of my neck throbbed. How many times can one get a concussion in the same place and not get permanent brain damage? I rubbed my fingers together. Not as wet as before. Propping to one side, I leaned over as a shadow loomed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Bloody hell! You frightened me!” I cried. My heart pounded in double time.

  “I’m sorry.” The voice reeked with surprise. “Are you injured?”

  “Possibly.” My fingers fumbled for my wound again in the darkness. “What happened?”

  “I believe you fell . . . down the stairs, it seems . . . quite hard.”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling fairly wonky.”

  “Wonky?”

  “Or wabbly, whatever you all call it.”

  “Are you—” He paused. “Are you Kat Shelton?”

  The dimness hid my smirk. “Blimey, Merritt!” I sneered. “Don’t tease. My head really smarts.” Merritt’s voice seemed a bit off, but surely it was my impairment. I couldn’t think straight. “Wait a minute . . . Kat?” I whispered, surprised. “You've never called me that before . . . it’s Katharine.”

  “I, uh . . . ”

  Silence resumed.

  “Merritt?” No answer. “Merritt!” I cried.

  “Uh, um?” He hesitated. “But how did you—”

  I cut him off, “I’m quite relieved you’re the one who found me, I wouldn't want it to have been your father.”

  “My father?”

  “Why are you being so dodgy? I'm the one that hit my head,” I muttered. My hand fumbled to find his. “Thanks for always being there for me.” I squeezed his hand. “Just like the last time.”

  “Me? Last time?”

  “Did you find the letter? I left it for you in the library.”

  “What letter? Do you mean the files?”

  Merritt’s games were no longer funny. Annoyed, I let go. “Fine, whatever.” Cautiously brushing my hair back from my neck, I moved gently to avoid my newest injury but froze. Something isn’t right. A horrifying sense of nakedness surfaced, even though I was fully clothed. Both hands shot instinctively to my chest. Sheer panic filled my entire form as my fingers fumbled above my rounded collar. Nothing! I feel nothing! The chain, the ring—both, gone! With little air, I sputtered and gasped. Heat flushed my cheeks with every breath.

  “Candle!” I screamed. The form in front of me froze. I jumped up, ignoring the fire that still burned through my muscles. Untying my cloak, I let it fall to the floor and dug ferociously through the folds of my dress as if a swarm of bees attacked me. “Merritt, please!” I shrieked. Horror consumed me. “Please, oh please, help me! I can't see very well. Please help me find my necklace!”

  I heard rustling, then movement, and the click of a modern-day light switch. The glass fixture above my head filled the entire room with artificial light. My face instantly dropped with a new fear. “No! Oh, no, no, no!”

  Confusion emerged from the man who faced me. He switched the light off until my split personality begged for him to turn it on again. Mr. Chill, my “savior” stood immobilized an arm’s length away. His expression exhibited complete bewilderment.

  I dropped to my knees; my palms pressed firmly against my bodice as I attempted to hold my fragmented soul together. Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed profoundly for reasoning, but as I opened them again and glanced around the room, the reality of a modern-day cellar loomed everywhere.

  Overcome with loss, I sobbed. I needed my ring. I desperately needed to hold the one thing that willed strength into me time after time. As I frantically patted the stone floor, I sputtered angrily, “why did you answer as if you were Merritt!”

  Mr. Chill shifted uncomfortably in his stance. “Well—”

  “Well, what?” I questioned sharply.

  “Merritt is my middle name, but I haven’t been called that since childhood.”

  “Your middle name?” The sharpness in my tongue lashed out.

  “But Kat—Katharine, how did you know?”

  I ignored him while I checked and rechecked every possible place the chain might have fallen. The more I recognized its fate, the more my strength depleted.

  Mr. Chill’s eyes fell heavily upon me.

  “What?” I demanded, as the tears dripped easily.

  “Um . . .” he hesitated.

  “What?” I choked. It was if I held him personally responsible for the disappearance of not only my chain, but for my life, the one I finally accepted in 1878.

  “What—what are you looking for?” His voice emerged much softer than I experienced before, but I hardly let him speak.

  “My necklace.” I snapped as if this was common knowledge. Why did I have to come back right then? My head reeled in pain. Sharp pains now speared across my jaw and behind my eyes. The idea my ring could be lost forever, tore me to shreds. Mr. Chill moved forward with his hand extended, a clumped tissue dangled from his tips. I gazed up at his face. The outline of his nose and mouth faded when a blackness absorbed the surrounding light. My legs buckled underneath. Two arms caught me, and all went dark.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The next morning, I awoke in my room, the one given to me originally by Pauline when I first arrived at Charlock, so many months ago. My eyes attempted to adjust to the once familiar, now foreign, sights, sounds, and wall décor. My head ached, along with every muscle in my body. Not that I knew what it felt like to be paralyzed, but I could not force my body to move.

  As my mind centered on the Gilfords and Joanne, tears filled my eyes effortlessly. I buried my face in the pile of pillows with a plea to stop my heart from additional tearing. For the longest time, I yearned for a return to my time in 2010, but now that it’s happened, I questioned my ability to endure the change.

  A tap at my door forced me to engage in reality as Mr. Chill stepped forward with a glass mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Wishing for Merritt to enter once again with his shy approach and gentle manner, I cringed at the sight of my newest rescuer, Trenton. Despite his almost human countenance, he was nearly the last person on earth I wanted to see. Margaret being the last, or Heath, it was a toss-up.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Mr. Chill’s demeanor appeared sensitive. I glanced up from my pity party in the pillows, my hair ratted in all directions, sure to be the epitome of English appeal.

  “Delightful,” I mumbled as I buried my face again.

  “Delightful?” Trenton smirked but moved on. “I brought you some coffee, however, if you are up for a full breakfast, I can have Helen prepare one, you’re probably famished.” My face shot up. What kind of crazy déjà vu game am I playing?

  “What year is it?” I asked with feigned confidence.

  Mr. Chill’s eyes narrowed with scrutiny. He hesitated, then held the newspaper out towards me and pointed at the date. It said, “14 June 2010.”

  “June?” I launched forward and grabbed the paper. “June 14th?” How? I was gone for six months! It was November 16th when I left 1878!

  I glanced towards Trenton Gilford. He stepped backward with my outburst, sure to believe I bordered on madness . . . and maybe I did. “Was I in a coma?”

  “A Coma?” He chuckled at first, then must have recognized the seriousness in my face. “When would you have been in a coma? You only fell yesterday. You were unconscious, but I’m sure the Doctor would’ve told me if you were i
n a coma.”

  I touched the bump. Ouch, that’s real. My hand slid down my face to where my neck remained bare. Then I remembered my missing necklace and the profound emptiness that followed. My eyes stung as I fought diligently to keep the tears restrained but failed.

  Trenton set the coffee on the nightstand and shifted nervously. “Dr. Kymball insisted on seeing you again this morning. I’ve already sent for him and will check in later.” He excused himself.

  I laid my head back down and pulled the quilt over top. The cover didn’t stop the unease from coming. Overwhelmed, I wrestled with the idea of insanity. There seemed to be no logical answer to my incident, and the more I tried to rationalize it, the more complicated it appeared.

  Discouraged, I threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, almost too quickly for the injury. Wobbling a bit, I caught myself before I fell. Glancing down at my attire, I realized I still wore a dress, my 1878 dress. However, the cloak had been removed and placed on a nearby chair. Fumbling around in my drawers, I located my yoga pants, the ones I’d wished for in the bizarre world I came from. I held them to my nose, their freshly laundered scent tickled my toes.

  My phone! I cried. I have a cell phone! I anxiously searched the room, trying to locate it until everything from that fateful night came flooding back. I’d been in the library, tirelessly wrapping up the last of the records, when I fell and left my cell phone charging on the desk.

  Determined, I flung the bedroom door open and scampered down the hall. When I reached the entry hall, the portrait brought me to a swift stop. Tears bubbled on my lower lashes as I gazed over each figure before me. I need to know what happened to Merritt and the girls! I paid no attention to the house or the staff as I rushed towards the office and its computer. My fingers couldn’t pound the keyboard fast enough. I logged on to the internet and searched for “Merritt Gilford, England 1878”.