Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed (11 page)

###

The sound of unfamiliar voices roused me. For
a moment, I couldn’t place where I was. My head throbbed, making it
doubly hard to understand the thick British accents. I strained my
ears anyway.

“We’ve naught left to trade, miss.”

“There has to be something.” A clanging
noise, like heavy metal pots being thrown together, almost made me
cry out. “Where is the little jar we hid back here?”

“Gone. It’s all gone. There’s naught but the
locket Miss Matilda kept and she won’t give it up.”

In my sleep-dulled state, I couldn’t
understand their conversation. Who were the two women? How did they
know my name?

And why did I taste dirt?

I cracked open my eyes to dappled sunlight
shining directly in them. Quickly, I shut them again. But not
before I’d seen the rose garden that surrounded me.

With a groan, I remembered coming outside in
the near-dark last night. I must have fainted or something, and
spent the night out here. And I had been planning to get full
enjoyment out of that king-sized bed, too.

A shiver crawled up my spine, reminding me
that I hadn’t been dressed for a night out in the elements. My
jeans and t-shirt weren’t much insulation against the cold creeping
from the ground into my bones. Maybe that’s why my entire body
ached. Or maybe I was just getting older and needed a mattress.

When I tried to sit up, I found my legs
caught in a net. I looked down to find that I wasn’t wearing jeans
after all, but some long nightgown that I didn’t remember putting
on last night.

“What the—”

I struggled with the gown that seemed to be
longer than I was tall and finally managed to get to my feet. Too
bad my movements and noise had attracted notice.

Two women, one who looked to be about my age
and the other only in her teens, appeared on the cottage’s back
stoop and gaped at me over the hedge of roses.

“What are you doing in my rental?” Thankfully
my mouth was functioning better than the rest of me. I cleared my
throat, embarrassed. “I mean, who are you? And what are you doing
in my rental?” There. Hopefully the firmness in my voice would
scare them off before I had to call the cops. Did they even have
911 in the United Kingdom?

The older woman, whose features seemed
vaguely familiar to me, glared at me and turned to go back inside.
Whoa. That was some major fury steaming from her eyes.

Stepping down to my level, the younger woman
approached me, concern wrinkling her brow. “Miss Matilda, what are
you doing outside at this hour? And without a wrap? Why, you’ll
catch your death of cold.”

She reached for me, as if to pull me inside
with her. I yanked my arm out of her reach.

“How do you know my name?”

Surprise flickered over her face for a
moment, but it quickly disappeared and her brown eyes darkened.
With sadness? “Why don’t ya go back to bed, miss? It’s early
yet.”

She reached for me again. Distracted by a
remembrance of the big bed I’d left behind last night, I wasn’t as
fast to pull away this time. She was stronger than her thin frame
suggested, easily propelling me toward the cottage. I dug in my
heels.

“Who are you?” I asked again, as she pushed
me through the door. Instant surprise overtook me, and I froze.

The interior of the cottage had morphed from
the warm ambiance I remembered to something more like a living
history museum.

Where had all the sparkling appliances
gone?

A rough wooden table and chairs almost
touched the back of a sofa, but not the one I’d seen last night.
This one was covered in an awful striped pattern and looked
old-fashioned and uncomfortable. Somehow, a wall had been erected
to block off the kitchenette.

The furious woman sat at the table with
papers strewn over almost the entire surface. She chewed her lip,
but when I came in the door her face blanked, going completely
neutral.

Again, I was struck by a feeling that I knew
her from somewhere. I couldn’t place her dirty-blond hair or blue
eyes, but maybe I’d seen her last night in my hurry to get away
from the bustling airport and to my country cottage.

That two strangers were invading right
now.

“Who are you?” The question was beginning to
feel redundant.

The younger girl squeezed my arm before
letting go and moving to stir the fire that danced merrily in the
fireplace. “Miss Matilda, I’ve been serving your family for years
now. Don’t you remember, I styled your hair for the Rochdale Ball,
where you met—” She broke off and looked chagrined, before quickly
turning back to the fire.

Serving my family? The closest thing to a
servant Aunt Donna and I had been able to afford was Eddie, who
mowed our yard every other week during the summer. This wisp of a
girl definitely didn’t look like Eddie.

I glanced around the room again, a ball of
panic rising in my throat. “What happened in here? Where did all
the nice things go?” There was no way these two women were strong
enough to steal the appliances and furniture. Did they have help? I
glanced around, but the three of us seemed to be the only ones
here.

Now the woman at the table sighed. She kept
her eyes on the papers in front of her. “I dare say you are aware
that we’ve been trading the candlesticks and china for some time
now.”

“What?” Who cared about plates and candles?
“I’m talking about the dishwasher, the couch, all the appliances.
Where did you put them?”

She looked up, her eyes flashing. “Matilda,
you know very well that we have not had a dish washer in ages.
We’ve had no servants save Ruth for more than three years.”

I began to feel lightheaded. Was I speaking a
foreign language or something? This time, I spoke slowly so she
would be able to understand. “I want to know where the dishwasher,”
I pointed to the place it stood last night, “stove,” I wasn’t sure
you could call the black wrought iron thing I pointed at a stove
but I went with it, “and refrigerator are. You can keep the
microwave for all I care.”

She shook her head, her lips compressing
until they were white, and began to pore over the papers again. Her
nonchalance bothered me more than I cared to admit. She was sitting
in my cottage, after all! And acting like she owned the place.

“Is this a scam?” My voice rose. I couldn’t
help it. I watched her for signs discomfort while she pretended to
ignore me. “Because I don’t have any money. I’m a veterinary
student. Well, I was – before…”

The woman stood up. For the first time, I
noticed how drawn and pale her face was. Her shoulders were
slightly hunched, as if she bore the weight of the world on
them.

“You seem a bit addled this morning. Perhaps
you should rest for a bit. In fact, I insist upon it.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to know what’s
going on!”

Ruth, who'd been silently picking up the worn
rag rugs from the floor, looked up from her stooped position.
“Forgive me, miss, but you shouldn’t talk to your sister that way.
You two have only each other left and you shouldn’t bicker.”

Sister?

Chapter 2

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, I sank into one
of the chairs at the little wooden table. “Can I have a cup of
coffee?” I asked weakly.

Yes. Java was just what I needed to wake up
from this weird dream and figure out what alternate universe I'd
landed in.

“We haven’t had tea in a week, and she wants
coffee.”

I heard the words that my sister – sister! –
spoke to Ruth, but they didn’t really register. My mind spun as I
tried to take in the changed cottage, the fact that I'd slept
outside, but most of all, the fact that I had a sister. A
sister.

I’d been alone in the world except for my
Aunt Donna since my tenth birthday, when my parents died. I didn’t
have any siblings. I was an orphan.

The familiar swirl of loneliness threatened
to bring tears to my eyes. I stuffed them back down to the deepest
nether-regions of my mind.

What I really needed to do was find my
luggage, get in the little rental car, and drive back to the
airport and normalcy.

“I think I’ll go—” I stood and moved toward
the bedroom.

Behind me, I heard a soft mutter. “Mayhap she
is confounded because she hasn’t eaten in two days.”

“At least she is speaking to you again, even
if it is in anger.”

A pause.

“I cannot think what would keep our uncle
from sending for us. I’ve written two letters to him, the most
recent sent a fortnight ago. If he does not come for us soon, we
will be forced into the almshouse.”

I closed the door and the rest of their
conversation was lost to me. The bedroom had changed overnight,
too. Instead of the king bed with its mounds of pillows, there was
a double. With no pillows.

My suitcase and bookbag were nowhere to be
seen. Spying a trunk in the corner of the room, I rifled through
it, hoping to find some normal clothes to wear. Instead, I found
only more gowns like the one I wore, and ribbons. Lots of ribbons,
of all different colors and patterns.

At the bottom of the trunk I found a stack of
letters bound with a thin cord. They were like no letters I'd ever
seen before. Written on thick yellow paper in a calligraphy-style
print. I flipped one of them over and admired the waxy seal that
someone had stamped into it. Without thinking of the consequences,
I opened the letter and read the salutation. It was addressed to
“Dearest Minerva.”

If the women in the other room thought I was
Matilda, and this letter was written to Minerva…

My pulse pattered in my ears. I sat down on
quivery legs.

It couldn’t be.

I inhaled deeply, my airways burning.

God, this can’t be happening. The prayer
slipped out before I remembered that I wasn’t on speaking terms
with Him.

Somehow, someway… I'd arrived last night at a
cottage in England in the twenty-first century. Today, I'd awakened
in the nineteenth!

###

Moments later, I strode away from the
cottage, determined to find a way out of this mess.

I’d banged my knee and ripped the hem of the
dress I wore while climbing through the bedroom window. My head
still pounded, but I couldn’t tell if it was from my fainting spell
last night or the conundrum that I now found myself in.

It could be a coincidence. The only reason I
remembered the names Matilda and Minerva was because my aunt had
talked about them once, a long time ago, when she’d been on a
genealogy kick.

They were sisters. And sure, my family
history was one reason I'd decided to take the
honeymoon-trip-turned-trip-for-one to this little berg in the
United Kingdom.

But what were the chances they were the only
sisters with those names? I mean, it couldn’t be that I'd traveled
back in time. Right?

My rental car wasn't where I'd left it last
night. There weren't even any tire tracks. And the road wasn't
paved.

I rubbed my fists over my eyes. Nope, the
grassy lane with two ruts of smashed-down grass had definitely been
paved yesterday afternoon when I'd driven in.

Another building stood behind the place where
I remembered parking my car, this one smaller than the cottage but
its roof was the same thatched material as the cottage.

I really didn’t have time to go exploring if
I was going to figure out a way to get out of this mess, but my
stubborn feet carried me in that direction anyway.

The heavy wooden door let loose a long creak
when I pulled it open. Although the inside was dim, dust motes
glittered in slanted rays that shone through a grungy window.
Sunlight from behind me illuminated the packed dirt floor and feel
like a beam from heaven on a dark, familiar shape. An anvil.

Breath caught in my throat as I stepped to
the workbench and ran my fingers over the tools lying in careful
rows. The hammers and tongs were primitive, so different from what
I usually worked with.

And so dusty.

I wiped my hands on my skirt to get rid of
the offending grime. In the center of the room stood the forge. It
looked like one I'd admired at a museum, made out of stones and
open on the top. A pile of coal in the corner of the room just
begged to be used.

What could it hurt to pound a couple of
shapes? Maybe it would release some of my pent-up frustration.

I found the tinder box and flint in a drawer,
and like the good little Girl Scout I'd been until the seventh
grade, soon had the coals glowing with life. It quickly started
getting stuffy in the small enclosed space and I remembered why
Aunt Donna said she preferred a closed forge – it kept the smoke
contained.

The realization that I could easily get
carbon monoxide poisoning sent me rushing to the double doors that
took up nearly the whole wall opposite the door I'd come in.

Grunting, I slid the two-by-four that latched
them closed out of the way and gave a hefty push.

Nothing happened.

The smoke started making my eyes water. I put
my shoulder into it.

Still no movement.

A lung-rattling cough surprised me and
scratched my throat. I couldn’t see any other options and I sure
wasn’t going to give up. So I backed up and ran at the door.

I managed to trip on my skirt and fall
headlong into it. It finally gave, which didn’t help me catch my
balance, and I tumbled through and landed in a heap on the
grass.

Fresh air whooshed through my nostrils and I
drew greedy breaths.

Then I looked up. I barely registered the
light pants and dark jacket before I was captured by the handsomest
pair of sideburns I’d ever seen.

Chapter 3