Sylvie

by Stacy Galloway

  Sylvie surprised Nettie by inviting her over for coffee. Nettie arrived with a peach pie and fresh gossip. They sat at the kitchen table making small talk. Nettie ooh’d and ahh’d over Molly’s new doll and tea party dishes that Richard had bought as a surprise for her fourth birthday. Sylvie stifled a yawn and pretended to be interested.

  Finally, as they sipped their coffee, Sylvie asked Nettie about the latest word from town. Nettie’s face lit up as she launched into the happenings at the latest church social. During another lull, Sylvie mentioned the Brimell mines.

  “Oh, my dear, they can’t keep enough good men there. Floyd says the need for coal is faster than the mines can put out. They’ve sent telegrams as far as New York City asking for help and advertising jobs. It’s a blessing for all of us that the mines are doing as well as the farms. Floyd says it’s good for Kranburg and I must say I do agree.”

  “How are the Brimells doing? Have any of their children taken over the family business?” Sylvie asked.

  “Why no, and it’s such a shame,” said Nettie shaking her head sadly, “Their oldest boy, Frank, is a business man up in Chicago, and of course poor Lester… is not doing very well, bless his heart.”

  “Poor Lester,” Sylvie echoed, “He had so much promise.” She crossed her fingers and hoped Nettie would take the bait.

  “Yes, it took him almost a year to recover from that awful riding accident. And I’m certain that led to his lunacy,” Nettie paused and took a sip of coffee, “Poor dear, everyone thought he was healed and then he has a bout of hysteria right there in the street, looking all wild and claiming he can’t find his house. Why it happened right in front of his house! Minerva almost swooned seeing the wild look in her son’s eyes. And then poor Harold, why he stayed up all night listening to his son’s talk of being in the wrong clothes and Lester wasn’t his real name and that he wanted to go home. And there he was in his own home the whole time!”

  Nettie leaned in and whispered, “They finally took him away, but Minerva and Harold couldn’t stand the thought of their son being locked up in an asylum, so they brought him back, built him his own little house, and he’s settled in peacefully. At least that’s what Minerva says. But he’s never been the same again. Poor dear.”

  Nettie shook her head sadly and took another sip of coffee.

  Sylvie sipped her coffee, “Maybe he’ll get better.”

  Nettie nodded, “I pray for him. He tends to his garden, but that accident did cause him to be crippled and it’s hard for him to get around. Floyd and I stop to visit him sometimes when we’re in town. He’s very quiet, but seems to appreciate the visit. We always stop by to visit Minerva and Harold on our way back since we go right by their house, and we make sure to tell them how well Lester is doing. It helps keep their peace of mind. Minerva is such a dear friend of mine. Why, we went to school together, and one day when we were seven or eight years old, we talked our fathers into building us a tree house. It was in that big oak tree right in my backyard. Of course, Minerva lived next door so we…”

  Sylvie let Nettie prattle on about her childhood. She didn’t need to hear any more. She knew where to find Lester.

  The next day, Sylvie dressed Molly up and did her hair in ringlets. Sylvie dressed herself up in one of her finest dresses and a matching hat. She told Richard she and Molly were going to town for supplies. Richard looked pleasantly surprised. He hooked up the horse and wagon for them. Molly cradled Miss Lovely in her arms during the short ride to town.

  Sylvie stopped at the General Store and picked up the supplies. After the wagon was loaded, she steered in further into the town. They passed the Brimell’s fine house. Soon they were in the country again. Sylvie stopped, got out of the wagon and lifted Molly out of the wagon. She told her to pick some flowers because they were going to visit a sick friend. Molly obediently picked some wild daisies and violets. Sylvie told her to hold them until they got there. After a few minutes a little cabin came into view. Sylvie had never seen it before. It must have been built within the last few years. She pulled up to it, jumped out of the wagon and lifted Molly out.

  With Molly beside her holding the bouquet and Miss Lovely, Sylvie knocked on the door. After a few minutes, a man warily opened the door. It was Lester, but something about his eyes looked different. His lined face was sad and tired. Gone was the haughty, strutting young male from the past. This man looked battle weary.

  The man raised his eyebrows.

  Sylvie said, “We’ve come to visit with you for a while.”

  She smiled brightly down at Molly, “My daughter likes to bring flowers to people who are ill and alone. She says it makes them feel better.”

  Molly looked up shyly at the man. She held up the bouquet of flowers and said, “My daddy said flowers are smiles from God and the angels.”

  The man’s face softened. He stepped back and opened the door, “Please come in.”

  “Can I get you anything?” He asked.

  “Oh no, we can only stay a moment,” Sylvie replied

  She looked around the room. The main room in the cabin served as both living room and a kitchen. A curtain hung across a doorway she suspected was the bedroom.

  “Please have a seat,” the man motioned towards a small couch.

  “These are for you,” said Molly handing the bouquet to the man.

  “Why thank you,” said the man smiling.

  “Molly, why don’t you sit and play with Miss Lovely?” said Sylvie

  Molly sat on a rocking chair and took off Miss Lovely’s hat while speaking softly to her.

  Sylvie looked at the man, “I have something to tell you,” she said.

  He looked at her questioningly.

  “I believe you. I believe you came from the future. I believe you are not Lester. I believe you because I know how it happened.”

  The man’s face drained and his mouth opened in shock. He stammered, “I must ask you to please leave. I do not know what you’re talking about.”

  But he sat frozen in his chair gripping the flower bouquet.

  “Please. I can help you. I know what happened. It’s called Locum Tenens. I’ve got the book. I know how it happened. I can help you go home.”

  A look of despair crossed the man’s face. His eyes filled with tears, “Please don’t tease me. I have accepted my lot in life.” He looked around the tidy cabin.

  “What is your name?” Sylvie prodded.

  The man looked down and shook his head, “Lester,” he whispered.

  “No it’s not,” Sylvie replied, “What year were you born?”

  The man hung his head.

  “What year were you born?” Sylvie whispered, insistently.

  The man looked up at her. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He shook his head and looked down again.

  Molly looked alarmed and started to say something. Sylvie silenced her with a glare. Molly dropped her eyes and whispered to Miss Lovely.

  “I have the book. Trust me. I will show it to you. I know you are from the future and I want to help in any way that I can,” Sylvie pleaded, “Please let me help. We can do Locum Tenens and send you back home.”

  The man was still.

  “What year were you born?” Sylvie repeated.

  The man looked up at her, ran his hand across his eyes brushing away the tears, “1982.”

  Sylvie contained her enthusiasm and quietly asked, “What year did it happen, the Locum Tenens, what year were you in?”

  The man looked confused and then a look of realization crossed his face.

  “2009,” he replied softly, “it was March of 2009. Specifically March 16th because some friends and I were going to go out the next evening to drink green beer for St. Patrick’s day.” He hung his head and his shoulders shook. Sylvie knew he was crying.

  He looked up again and said, “I’ve re-lived that day over and over. I was at my computer when suddenly a loud wind swirled through the room. I thought a door had blown open or something. Suddenly
a black hole opened up, something reached out and grabbed me and yanked me in. The next thing I knew I was standing in the middle of the street wearing strange clothes and everyone was calling me Lester.”

  He rubbed his jaw, “This isn’t even what I look like.”

  He patted the hump on his back, “I didn’t have this either.”

  He was quiet. He stood up. His hunched back kept him partially bent over. He shuffled towards the kitchen, picked up an empty jar, filled it from the water bucket, and put the bouquet of flowers in it. He carried the bouquet to the table and set it in the center.

  “God and the angels are smiling,” said Molly pointing to the bouquet.

  The man smiled and wiped his eyes.

  He walked back towards the rocking chair.

  Sylvie glared at Molly and Molly hugged Miss Lovely.

  “What is your name?” asked Sylvie to the man.

  He just shook his head, “For the sake of my sanity, let’s just call me Lester.”

  Sylvie nodded. She would save that question for later.

  “So, what happened?” asked the man, “How the hell did I end up here?”

  Sylvie didn’t see the harm in telling him the truth. She had no intention of letting him have the book.

  “A man named Lester Brimell had an accident,” she said pointing to his back, “he decided he couldn’t live as a cripple so he found the hag that lives in the woods, she gave him the secret of Locum Tenens, he did the spell, and you two switched bodies.”

  “And I ended up 100 years in the past. Against my will,” He shook his head.

  Sylvie nodded.

  The man looked at her suspiciously, “How do you know about Locum Tenens?”

  Sylvie paused, “The hag gave me the book. She said it had worked on Lester Brimell. The hag’s disappeared. She was a crazy old bat. I decided to find you because I didn’t know what else to do and I want to help you go home,” she lowered her eyes, “I felt bad for you, knowing you didn’t have any idea of what happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it from happening,” she lied.

  The man looked relieved, “do you think I can really do Locum Tenens to go back home?”

  Sylvie nodded.

  The man looked hopeful, “That’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’ll bring the book by in a few days and we can figure it out,” Sylvie lied again.

  She lowered her eyes, “I did want to ask you a favor, if you don’t mind,” she said shyly.

  “A favor? From me? What can I possibly help you out with?”

  “I’m writing a story, it’s silly really, but I’ve set it in the future. Would you mind telling me a little bit about it? The future I mean? Most of my story is just my wild imagination, but I would love to hear about it, if you don’t mind…” she trailed off and batted her eyes.

  He looked at her, “It’s hard for me. I’ve had to block it out thinking I would never see it again. But let’s give it a try. Some of it will be hard for you to understand, but I’ll do my best.”

  And Lester talked about the future.

  He talked about electricity in every home. And water pipes in every home. He talked about fast cars and how every family had at least one and sometimes two. He talked about cities being lit up all night. He talked about stores being open all night. He talked of planes flying people all over the world. He talked about how women wore pants and dresses. How there were telephones in every house, but they had been replaced by small handheld phones that weren’t connected to anything. And everyone carried one in their pocket. He talked about computers and how they used them instead of paper. He talked about television sets and how they had moving pictures twenty-four hours a day. There were many hospitals and doctors and many diseases had been cured. And money. He said before he left he was making $40,000 a year. He said women could make as much or more money than men and how women were in charge of big companies. He talked for two hours. He paused once to get a glass of water.

  Sylvie listened. She asked very few questions preferring Lester to talk for as long as he could.

  He stopped, drained from the emotional toll of remembering happier times.

  “Oh, my, look at us using up your afternoon,” Sylvie exclaimed, “Come Molly, we must go and let Mr. Brimell have his time back.”

  Molly stood and walked over to Lester and hugged his legs, “I hope you feel better soon.” She whispered and patted his knee. She walked over and stood next to Sylvie.

  “Wait, please tell me when you’ll bring the book,” the man pleaded.

  “I must find it. It’s packed in our attic,” Sylvie lied, “I will return within a week, we’ll read it and see what must happen for you to return back to your time.”

  She walked towards the door, “Thank you, Lester Brimell, and I’m sure it goes without saying that neither of us must utter a word about our conversation. It would sound crazy falling on the wrong ears.”

  The man hung his head and shuddered, “I can’t go back to the asylum. I’ve been out a year and I still have nightmares about it. I won’t utter a word.”

  Sylvie nodded, took Molly’s hand and walked out the door.

  The next day, Sylvie went to the little coal room in the cellar. She sat on the dirt floor and unwrapped her bundle. She set the book of Locum Tenens aside and carefully bundled everything else back up. She closed the small iron door and locked it with the old padlock. She carried the book into the kitchen and set it on the table.

  She picked up an empty pail and the bowl of lemons and set them on the counter.

  “Molly, come here right now!” She shouted.

  Molly came running.

  “You’re going to make lemonade.”

  “Mommy, I don’t-.”

  “Shut up! Squeeze the lemons into the pail,” Sylvie said as she grabbed a knife and cut eight lemons in half.

  Molly picked up one of the halves and squeezed it between her little hands. A small dribble of juice trickled into the pail.

  “Do it to all of them and hurry up!” Sylvie ordered.

  Sylvie walked to Molly’s room and took a white ribbon and a pink ribbon off one of her dresses.

  Sylvie went back to the kitchen, where Molly was still squeezing the first lemon.

  “HURRY UP!” Sylvie screamed.

  Molly jerked and dropped the lemon. She blinked back tears as she picked up the next one. A small trickle of juice dribbled into the pail.

  Sylvie stomped out the back door and let it slam behind her. She went to the barn and picked out three mason jars. On her way out of the barn she saw the axe leaning in the corner. She looked at it in longing.

  “Not this time,” she said with regret.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Molly was still squeezing the same lemon.

  Sylvie grabbed it out of her hand and viciously squeezed it into the pail. She did the same thing to the remaining lemons.

  “Mommy, I-”

  “Shut up and get two scoops of sugar, NOW!” Sylvie shouted.

  Molly whimpered, went to the sugar bag and carefully filled the scoop. She clasped it in both hands and walked it over to Sylvie.

  “Pour it in there and get another and hurry up!” Sylvie glared at her.

  Molly poured the sugar in the pail and got another scoop.

  “We’re going to take this to Lester Brimell and tell him you made it,” Sylvie said as she poured water into the pail.

  “Go to your room and get ready, right now,” she ordered and Molly scurried away.

  Sylvie walked to her own room, opened the top dresser drawer and pulled out a large bottle of powdered sleep aid.

  “Mommy do you need to go to sleep?” Molly asked from the doorway, looking at the bottle.

  “GO AWAY UNTIL I CALL YOU!” Sylvie screamed.

  Molly ran.

  Sylvie went to the kitchen. She poured the lemonade into the three jars. She sliced another lemon and dropped the slices into the jars. She opened the sleep aid and dumped the whole thing
into one of the jars. She added more sugar to that jar and stirred it up. She put the lid on and wrapped that jar in the white ribbon. She put the lids on the other two jars, cut the pink ribbon in half and tied it around the other two. She hid the empty sleep aid bottle in her room.

  She wrapped Locum Tenens in a red shawl and went out to get the horse and wagon ready.

  “Molly, HURRY UP!” She shouted.

  Molly came to the door carrying Miss Lovely. Sylvie glared at her and the doll.

  “Get in the wagon, we’re going to visit Lester,” Sylvie ordered.

  “I’ll pick him some flowers, daddy says flower are God’s-”

  “Shut up about God,” Sylvie hissed through clenched teeth, “Talk to your daddy or Tilley about God, but don’t ever, ever talk to me about God!”

  Molly started crying and climbed into the wagon.

  Sylvie went to the house, put the three jars into a box, picked up the shawl wrapped book and carried it all outside for the ride to town.

  They went straight to Lester’s cabin.

  Sylvie jumped down and grabbed the box of lemonade while Molly climbed down. They walked to the door and Lester opened it before they could knock.

  Once inside, Sylvie said, “Molly made you some lemonade, let me get it ready and then we can read the book,”

  Lester’s eyes lit up, “You found it? You brought the book? I might go home today?” He could hardly contain his excitement.

  Sylvie nodded and set the jars on the counter. She opened the one with the white ribbon and handed it to Lester. She then opened the other two and handed one to Molly.

  She picked up the last jar and said, “I propose a toast! To a happy homecoming!”

  Lester beamed from ear to ear as he and Sylvie clinked their jars together. He then bent and clinked Molly’s, “Thank you for the lemonade,” he said.

  “Mommy made it I only did a little,” Molly said looking down.