by Leah Moyes
Several sites materialized, including a genealogy page that produced a family tree. I read as fast as my eyes could follow! Merritt . . . Merritt . . .Merritt and Joanne! Slapping my hands on the desk, I screamed. “He did it! He really did it!” I wiped the tears to keep reading. “They married on 28 December 1878 and had two sons, Merritt Frederick and Peter Trenton.
Yes! Merritt followed his heart and somehow made his way back to Johnna. He did the right thing “He married his sweetheart! I didn’t screw up this family after all!” I cried aloud.
“Miss Shelton?” Trenton sprinted into the room and startled me. I swiftly hit the “X” and logged off the page. “What are you doing?” His brows furrowed.
I grabbed a tissue and wiped my eyes. “Everything is jolly good now!” I blew my nose.
Mr. Chill stared at me. “Doctor Kymball is on his way.” Then he reached out to help me up from the chair. It might have been the way I behaved, but something about him seemed different. Even the way his eyes rested upon me, they almost appeared sympathetic. He held his grasp well after my footing was sound.
“I’m okay, Mr. Gilford.” I released from his touch but swayed again, so he used both hands this time and gently guided me out.
“Doctor Kymball will be instructed to give you a thorough checkup.”
“I’m fine. I promise I’m fine.”
“It’s routine, you know . . . for liability.”
Oh, there he is. Mr. business is back. “I need to get my cell phone.” I insisted.
“Where is it?”
“The library.”
I let him carefully guide me to the library to retrieve it, but once we entered, I could not tear my eyes away from the cellar door. Mr. Chill noticed my stare and walked over and closed it shut. I know he thought he was doing me a favor, but it was like my heart had been placed in a clamp, and the slow, steady turn took my breath away.
“Here it is.” I shoved it in my pocket and kept my hand there to hide my tremble. As we made our way back down the hall to my room, we walked in complete silence. Once inside, he made sure I returned to bed before he departed. It was the action of a gentleman, but most likely spurred out of employer obligation than anything else.
Reaching for my phone, I allowed the metal to sit in my hands as I studied it. This miniature thing, how much I have taken it for granted. I turned it on and waited.
No missed calls. Not even one.
I pressed #2, on the keypad. My throat strained with emotion as I anticipated the voice I missed so much.
“Hello Kat?”
“Mom!”
Chapter Thirty-five
“You were never in a coma, Miss Shelton.” The doctor pulled each of my eyelids apart and probed with a penlight. “You have a mild concussion, dear, but with rest, you will make a full recovery.”
Doctor Kymball was an older man. He wore a casual suit jacket but nothing else that would have identified him as a medical professional other than the stereotypical mustache, and dated bifocals. Though he entertained my twenty questions, they came with caution. I feared my talk of time travel or hallucinations would put me in an English looney bin for a bit.
For the next 24 hours, I slept peacefully under the medication the doctor prescribed. There were, however, moments of acute alertness that drew me back to the same question I’d been asking since it started. What happened to me? It couldn’t have been a dream. That concept vanished in time, but nothing I conjured up explained living in a different century for six months, in this very house. Could it really be that I traveled back in time?
Sporting a pair of skinny jeans and my black Maroon 5 concert t-shirt, I stepped anxiously into the library late in the afternoon the next day.
I announced my arrival to Trenton as to not startle him while he worked at the desk. The very same desk I left the letters for Merritt, Lizzy, and Abby a couple of nights ago or . . . 132 years ago.
“Thank you for allowing me to rest, Mr. Gilford, my head has endured quite a beating.” He lowered his papers and smiled up at me quizzically. It rattled me. I didn’t know he was capable of a smile, but to his defense, I have acted like a nutcase. He’s simply taking pity on me.
“Trenton. Please call me Trenton.” He continued, “You look . . .” His eyes fluttered with a pause, “You look refreshed.”
Refreshed? I chuckled. Yes, he’s British.
“How did you come to find me, down in the cellar?” I questioned cautiously.
“I had only been in the library for a few minutes when I heard a thump and subsequent cry.” He rubbed his head and appeared confused. “How did that even happen? What were you doing in there?”
I pointed to the stacks of paper that remained exactly where I left them before my fall. “I was finishing up when my leg fell asleep. As I proceeded to retrieve the last of the paperwork in the storage room, I fell through the cellar door . . . but that was at four in the morning.”
“I can assure you, Miss Shelton, I did not arrive at four in the morning. It was shortly after eight.”
I focused on his words, yet confusion clouded my mind. Where did the other four hours go? Then I laughed at the absurdity of my question. 4 hours? Where did the last six months go? He glanced up. I bit my bottom lip to force my mouth shut and he returned to his work.
I slid into the chair across from him. “I’m sorry I didn’t accomplish all that was tasked of me.” Tasked of me? I half expected him to gawk at me again, but I think he already believed I had a screw loose. I sighed. Apparently, my language lingered between the English I’d grown accustomed to hearing from the nineteenth century and the one I was raised on.
“It’s quite all right. I’ve had plenty to keep me busy in the meantime.”
“Well, I wasn't expecting you until the afternoon, so, thank goodness you came earlier.” I attempted to stretch out our small talk.
“Yes, that is a fortunate circumstance.” He started typing on his laptop.
“I may not have been found if it weren't for you.” My hand went instinctively to my head.
Trenton nodded gracefully, though he never stopped working. His disinterest in what I had to say spoke volumes. In the silence, I casually glanced around the room. From the tapestries to the mahogany on the chairs, to the dusty candlesticks, each aged significantly more than I remembered. My eyes searched for the Shakespeare bust that once commanded the desk. It now rested in the corner, on a marble pillar. How come I didn’t notice that before? I recalled the way the moon highlighted its profile that last night I left the letters.
My scan settled on the space near the fireplace. I smiled, reliving the dance lesson I received here, first from Lizzy then Merritt. How I loved the carefree spirit Lizzy had and the connection we shared from the moment we met. She was right that first day when she announced we would be great friends, and I’ll miss her unconditional affection terribly. And of course, Merritt, the handsome gentleman, an easy target to fall hopelessly in love with. Not only attractive, but he was a man of unparalleled character. He shared his most intimate desires of freedom, choice, and love with me.
Gazing past Trenton, my sight rested on the gardens outside the window. I cherished the memory of our first walk down the wooded path, and subsequently, how the river materialized into a treasured location. One where we revealed secrets, fears, and hopes that we dared not share with others. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to uncover the many layers I tried to bury. Merritt was most definitely unlike any man I’d ever met. I grinned like a schoolgirl.
“Do tell.” Trenton interrupted my daydream.
“Excuse me?” I questioned, shaking my head. I forgot I wasn’t alone.
“With an animated expression like that, one can only assume it comes with a recollection of some sort.” Trenton said. It was eerie how his voice and mannerisms followed Merritt’s quite closely. It could be the genes, but there seemed to be a few characteristics that appeared to be entirely his own. Like now, when Trenton stared at me, his gaze carri
ed a seriousness far from Merritt’s gentle countenance.
Trenton waited as if he tested me. The dark waves I’d seen on the computer screen during my interview were styled the same way. He wore no jacket this time, but a starched shirt that from my angle caught a slight sheen. The same gold watch rested on his wrist and underneath his expressionless face, questionable intentions.
Why does he care? Why does it feel like he’s baiting me? Nope, I’m not biting. I denied the invitation to share. His request seemed staged, and my involvement was much too personal—and unbelievable.
“I, uh—” Scrambling to deflect, my mind spun. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be a part of this.” I put one hand up and waved it around the room. “I’ve grown fond of your family, to the point I feel like they’re my own. I’ve enjoyed getting to know them in ways—” Careful! “—others may not understand. I just wanted you to know that.”
He appeared pleased. “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.” He resumed typing. “The buyers will be delighted to know the home has been well cared for.”
“B—buyers?” I choked the word out. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room to breathe.
“Oh,” he paused. “I thought I disclosed the purpose of my visit. That’s why I needed the files.” Although his lips were moving, I could hardly concentrate. “We’re selling Charlock Manor.”
Simple inhales became difficult. Selling Charlock? Heat converged to my cheeks, and moisture filled my eyes. I wiped the growing perspiration off my forehead with a trembling hand.
“My apologies, Miss Shelton,” His eyes remained fixed on his screen. “I must’ve forgotten to disclose that in our last conversation. I went back and forth on this for years, but when the most recent offer was issued, I engaged.” The indifference in his voice resonated as he stood to grab another file folder off the nearby table. He didn’t seem to notice my alarm. “The sale should finalize shortly after their attorneys receive our solicitor’s counterproposal.”
“How soon?” My voice cracked.
He glanced up with an arched brow. I lowered my eyes. I didn’t want him to see how close the tears came to falling. “By September or October at the latest.”
I took a deep breath. How can he be so heartless? This is his legacy? I placed one hand on my stomach and the other over my mouth. Rumblings led me to believe I might lose my breakfast at any moment. Biting my lip, I forced a painful detraction. I cannot hurl in front of this man!
He continued, audaciously. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Shelton, I will include a substantial severance package for you. It’s not your fault, or our intent to have shortened your contract.” He continued to flip through papers as if I wasn’t worth the time to pause. “I have also arranged for you to meet the owners of Wadsworth Hall down the road, they’re in need of a house manager if you’re interested.”
Wadsworth Hall? Joanne’s home. It felt as though he slapped my face. I shot to my feet and stared heatedly down at him, though once again, he appeared unaware. I turned to leave, then stopped in place. No! This is not okay. The all too familiar angel, sitting on my shoulder, reminded me to keep my mouth shut, but I argued silently. This cannot go unaddressed. The devil, on the other shoulder, smirked with satisfaction as I spun around and faced Mr. Chill, once again. I glared at him, disgusted at what the descendants of Merritt had become.
“I think selling this place would be a big mistake!”
Glancing up, Trenton’s mouth gaped slightly open. The green in his eyes speared through me.
“Do you even know Charlock Manor? Have you even attempted to understand the sacrifice your ancestors faced to uphold the Gilford family name?” He moved to speak, but I cut him off. “Do you even care about their legacy? Your heritage?” I stepped dangerously close to an invisible line.
Mr. Chill waved both his hands condescendingly in my direction. “Tell me, Miss Shelton—”
“Kat.” I interrupted, bitterly
“Tell me Kat.” His jaw grew rigid though his tone remained level. “Why you, a stranger, feel the need to question my loyalties to my family?” His lips formed a thin line as if I’d struck a nerve. “You live in this home for maybe two months, and suddenly you’re an expert?” His cheeks flushed as he pushed his chair back with stiff arms but remained seated. “Why should we NOT sell this estate? The number of people calling on Charlock in the last three years has declined by 40%. The expenditures of keeping it open, outweigh the income and history is no longer an interest of today’s adolescents. Soon, the estate will only see the eye of a watchman, and occasionally a tourist, who's gone astray in search of a nearby castle.”
His focus on money immediately fused a spark. I stepped forward to show Mr. Chill I wouldn’t be intimidated. I placed both my hands on the desk and leaned in. “Because Mr. bottom-line . . . this is where Frederick and Martha, fell in love, this is where Martha buried her second-born child, Peter after he followed his older brother, who he adored, to the river and drowned. This is where Lizzy learned how to be a lady and taught a clumsy governess to dance and dress and laugh. This is where Abby cherished her dolls, learned to ride a horse, and valued learning. This is where Merritt became a man, saved the lives of countless slaves, and was painfully torn between following duty and following his heart. Ultimately making the right choice and marrying his soul mate, Johnna, over the dissent of everyone he knew, and might I add . . . spared you all the most wicked of great grandmothers you could ever imagine!” I stole a quick breath. “This is where life happened, love reigned, and goodness prevailed! This is where you, your father, his father, and so on were born. This is the beating heart of the Gilford family, and truthfully, you should sell it because you don't have any respect for it or its past!” I slammed my fist angrily down on the desk. “You don't deserve it!”
I had Mr. Gilford's full attention now. His cheeks paled a pasty white. He remained speechless, most likely having never been spoken to that way, by an employee or anyone. I didn't care if I was out of place, or if I accelerated my termination. Somebody needed to slap him upside the head, and while I considered that, he wasn’t worth the energy.
I turned on my heels and stormed out of the room before Trenton could even respond, and by the time I reached my room, I realized I had reached my limit as well. He was a pompous Englishman with no principle who only put value in stuff and money. How could Merritt and Johnna’s offspring have gone so completely haywire this many years later? How could anyone who had any remote connection to Charlock be this candidly unattached?
Wait! Maybe something else happened in the pedigree . . . maybe I altered something after all. I know Johnna and Merritt married and had two sons, but could someone down the line have tainted it? Like an Abbott? I growled to the possibility. Note to self: research the entire Gilford family tree.
Lying back on my bed, I sighed. The intricate detail and design that met me from the ceiling warmed my heart. How can anyone not be in love with this place? Everything I said to Trenton moments ago replayed in my head, and the more it did, the angrier I got. Sitting up, I stomped childishly to the wardrobe and pulled out my suitcase. Steamed, I grabbed an armful of clothes and threw them sloppily across the bed. I didn’t need to stay here and watch him destroy something that meant so much to me. He would never understand.
My eyes drifted to the window. I stepped over to it and pressed my face against the cool glass. The gardens, the wildflowers, the trees, the river—so many memories. Could I really leave right now and leave it all behind? But how do I say goodbye when the time came, anyway? Now, or in three months’ time, the result would be the same . . . no more Charlock . . . no more Gilfords. My nose scrunched. Well, there was definitely one Gilford I wouldn’t miss.
I circled back to my suitcase, picked the clothes up, and grudgingly placed them back into the wardrobe. I knew what I needed to do and could be an adult about it. I will see this through . . . I need to see this to the end.
Chapter Thirty-six
The calmness of the river called to me. I rolled up my pant legs, barely below my knees, and slipped off my sandals. The cool, clean water tempted my toes. The moment I stepped across a small patch of rocks, movement in the corner of my eye startled me, and I slipped. My entire right leg ended up in the small pool and now soaked through.
“Great!” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry, I surprised you.” Trenton stepped onto a large rock and reached for my arm, “Here, let me help you.”
I didn't resist since I found myself in such an awkward position with one knee in the water and one straddling off another slick stone. Once I was steady, he let go and took a few steps back.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” I whispered, “only my pride.”
This brought a sly grin to his face, but he quickly buried it. “I didn't mean to frighten you, Miss Shelton.” He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his slacks. I studied him carefully. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “I didn’t expect to see anyone down here this early.”
“Yeah, I didn't expect to see you either.” I grumbled, and then persisted, “By the way, it’s Kat, remember.”
“Yes, Kat.” He exhaled. “Was there a problem with breakfast?”
My lips wanted to say yes . . . you, but I made the decision to not let this arrogant heir turn me into someone I’m not, so I responded without emotion. “I thought you should be able to eat in peace.” I squeezed the excess water from my one drenched pant leg. This must've looked amusing, considering the other leg remained completely dry. His chuckle made me instantly self-conscious. “What?” I questioned, ready to defend again.