The Will of Time Read online

  The menu was lasagna and green salad, simple, homey food that she had prepared that morning. Her sense of fairness had told her to give this discussion a chance, to listen to whatever suggestions were made, and not be hampered with intricate food preparations. She set the dining room table with the white family china, and added her three antique flint glasses for wine. Having only been able to obtain a trio of goblets in this Huber pattern, Leia only used them for tiny dinner parties.

  "Hello, Leia," Martin said, entering the kitchen and causing Leia to jump. He carried a long, flat white box in his arms. "I met Sara in the driveway loaded with boxes and bags. She said this one's for you." He delivered the box into Leia's oven-mitted arms. "A new dress?" he asked, examining the oven dials.

  "Yes, but it looks like an old one. It's my costume for the charity show. Sara went home and brought it. She wants a Polaroid snapshot, too, for the lobby poster."

  "And I've got my camera, whenever you want to model it," Sara announced, breezing into the kitchen.

  "Are you kidding? I don't want to model it at all. I heard they got some famous model to pose for the flyers they sent out." Leia said. The late June historical revue was timed perfectly. After Grandfather had agreed to sponsor the show, Sara's design class had sent out flyers using the mailing list of the Civil War re-enactors who would participate in the July 1 Gettysburg battle. More than half of the participants had purchased tickets for the charity show, which was being held only a few hour's drive from Gettysburg.

  "You'd better get an 'A' for this," she said, and found a clean spot on the counter to open the box. From under a layer of modern white tissue paper she pulled an old-fashioned black gown with white lace trim, some torture device that must be a corset, a white nylon crinoline hoop that popped out of the box almost by itself, a pair of baggy, split bloomers, a full-length petticoat and an ivory lace camisole.

  "My goodness, they certainly wore a lot of clothes back then," she said. "And I thought the girls got to wear really low-cut dresses. Maybe this is more modest because of the war."

  Martin asked, "What year are you representing?"

  "1863," Sara said, answering for Leia and fussing over a loose thread. "Leia's our female Civil War model, and we have a half-dozen males to portray soldiers."

  "Something smells real good," Martin said, pulling the oven door open to peek. "What is it?"

  "Lasagna, of course. I know you love the stuff." She handed him two potholders.

  He lifted the casserole dish from the oven. "You're right."

  "Why don't you go try the dress on, Leia, and I'll snap your picture before we eat? This needs to cool a bit. Besides, I know you always refuse to have your picture taken once you've stuffed yourself. Should I put this on the counter?" Sara laughed softly as she chattered.

  "Ha ha. Okay. But let's go into the dining room. It's all set up," Leia said, pulling the crystal salad bowl from the refrigerator and leading them from the kitchen.

  Martin whistled softly as he entered the dining room. The chandelier was dimmed, casting a warm glow on the china and crystal. Two white taper candles flickered in the center of the oval table, their light reflecting off of dark green pressed glass holders.

  "This is beautiful. Looks too good to eat off of," he said, setting his casserole on a large table pad.

  "Thanks. Be right back." She gathered the garments from the kitchen and went back to her room to change. It took her longer than she had expected to dress. The bloomers she started with were ruffled and had a mind of their own. She had the hoopskirt on before she realized that the petticoat probably went underneath, so she tossed it aside and put her silk skirt back on as an underskirt. The black dress would go on last, and she would keep her granny boots. They seemed appropriate to her, kind of old-fashioned.

  "Need any help?" Sara asked, bringing a load of bags into the room.

  "Only if you really expect me to wear this," Leia replied, holding up the corset.

  "No problem. Turn around." Sara had her friend in the corset and tied up quickly.

  "I couldn't have gotten into this after I ate," Leia gasped, struggling for air.

  "Nonsense. It affects your lungs more than your stomach. Now, let's get this dress on you."

  Leia noticed that Sara's usually perky smile was drooping, and thought she saw a cloud settling in her blue eyes. "You don't seem yourself tonight, Sara."

  "You're perceptive, as usual. It's just Jason. He acted really strange this afternoon." Having finished dressing Leia, she turned to rummage in one of her shopping bags.

  "Any idea why?"

  Sara sighed again, pulling what must have been a hair pin from her bag. "Nope. But you know, when I think back over the past week or so, he's been acting kind of distant." She twirled the metal object between her fingers.

  "I think I know why," Leia told her, taking the sharp object and setting it on a high dresser.

  "Really?" Sara asked, sounding unconvinced.

  "Here, sit," Leia said, patting a space beside her on the bed. Sara sat, but before Leia could spill her guts, Sara blurted out her opinion.

  "I can tell you one thing. I do know that Jason's father was in town this week."

  "Really? He hasn't seen him since what...fifth grade?"

  "It's been more recent than that, but Mr. Maxwell doesn't see his son unless there's a reason. Financial reason, usually."

  Leia plumped a satin covered pillow, turning it over easily in her lap. "That's such a shame. The only thing wrong with Jason is his ambition to get rich, I think. And that's his father's fault," she said, telling herself that was the case.

  "Well, most of Jason's ambition, if we have to call it that, came from trying to get that man's attention most of his life. I wouldn't even go so far as to call him a father." Sara picked up the other pillow sham and punched its slippery surface. "Now what did I do with that pin I brought for your hair?"

  She got up and dug through her bags again. "Remember high school graduation? Mr. Maxwell didn't show up as promised, he just sent Jason a new car."

  "That's some expensive attention."

  "Expensive love," Sara said, producing another pointed hair torture item. "But he doesn't have the bucks anymore. He keeps calling Jason for help. Turn around."

  Leia held her tongue while her friend pinned her hair to her scalp.

  "Then again, look how good you turned out, and your parents have been gone a long time. Why couldn't Jason be happy with what he's accomplishing?"

  "My parents loved me a whole lot, Sara, for as long as they were alive. I don't think Jason's ever had that kind of security."

  "Done." Sara handed her a small vanity top mirror.

  Leia used it to gaze at the back of her head in the larger mirror over her short dresser. "Very old fashioned. And painful."

  "Jason would hate it. I think if we ever get married he'd want everything new and modern and shiny. No antique lace, no ancient traditions, you know?"

  The mention of a wedding reminded Leia of her dilemma. She had to tell Sara what had happened. She walked to her desk and ran her hands over a framed photograph of her and Sara, taken when they were six or seven years old. Dressed in their mothers' clothing and heels, they each sported a large, floppy sunhat tilted lazily to their sides. Their arms were around each others's shoulders.

  "Okay, here's the thing. Today, Jason stopped by to see me."

  "He did?"

  "Yes. He wanted to make a business proposition."

  Sara looked relieved. "That figures. What was it?"

  "Well, he said he wanted to help me out. Sara, I'm only telling you this because you're my best friend and I care. Today, Jason asked me to marry him so I can inherit."

  "Get out of here," Sara said, smiling at the presumed joke.

  "I'm serious, Sara. And so was he. You can ask him, but I said no, so he'll probably deny it. But you can't trust him like you thought."

  Sara's smile faded. She stood, tilted her head and glared at Leia. "I don't b
elieve you. Either you're lying or you misunderstood."

  Shivers ran up Leia's spine from the ice in her tone. "Sara," she said, her voice a whisper, "why would I lie?"

  "I don't know," Sara admitted, tossing her thick red locks.

  "We've been friends forever. I wouldn't hurt you." Leia said, hoping her friend would understand. She couldn't see the future without Sara, who had been there through every bad perm, fashion crisis and broken heart.

  "You just did." Sara was gone before Leia could reply.

  Back in the dining room, Martin whistled again, this time at Leia's appearance. "You look fantastic. Very historical. Sara just ran out of here...said she'd be back later. Oh, here, I found your driver's license in the bag with the film."

  Leia was glad she had dimmed the overhead lighting. She wasn't used to blushing and wasn't sure if she was doing it now or not. She slipped the license into the sleeve of her dress.

  "But I'll warn you, I'm no photographer." He arranged her in front of the closed rose mini-blinds to take her picture, in front of the parlor's fireplace, and then on the front porch.

  "Okay, that should do it," Leia said, after half a roll of film and a dozen flashes. "If you want to take more pictures, you'll have to come to the show and plunk down your eight dollar admission. I guess I should go change. Why don't you sit down and start? The food's getting cold... I'll be right back." She hoped Sara would return later, after calming down, and she could reheat the food and their friendship.

  "I'll pour awhile. Where's the wine?"

  "Forgot it! Be right back."

  She'd never liked the basement door being in the dining room. Not only did it make the room less formal, it was an oddity she'd never seen in a house she'd appraised. Leia took a deep breath, always needing one before tackling the lowest level of her home. She hated cellars. The cellar was where Grandfather kept the wine racks, however, so she had no choice but to yank open the door now and head down the steep stairs. As she descended, Leia's shadow grew from the naked light bulb's glow. The door to the dining room clicked shut behind her, causing goose bumps to pop out on her arms. Why did that sound so ominous today? She drew a deep breath, telling herself to relax and complete her task. The rack was to her left at the foot of the stairs.

  She was amazed, as always, at the sheer number of bottles Grandfather had collected for his horizontal storage rack. Many were old, wearing blankets of dust over their labels. Leia lifted one, examining it only long enough to determine that the wine it contained was red.

  "This will do," she said, and turned right, toward the stairs. They weren't there.

  A fresh row of goose bumps broke out, and Leia turned, spotting the stairs to her left. Of course, she thought, it must have been longer than I remembered since I was down here. Scurrying toward the stairs, Leia chided herself for over-reacting, suddenly aware that the air around her was too thick. She had to grab for each breath. Before grasping the handrail, she wiped the perspiration from her palm on her dress, remembering too late that it was someone else's costume. The practical promise to have it dry-cleaned edged out the anxiety, giving her the push she needed to continue. She was being ridiculous!

  Climbing, Leia thought there were more stairs going up than there had been going down, but dismissed the notion as silly. She just couldn't see very well. After all, the light bulb seemed to have dimmed, for she could barely make out the outline of the door at the top of the stairs. Nerves did that to a person.

  Halfway up, Leia froze. Every ounce of light from around and under the door had gone, faded to black, to an inky well of nothingness, and she could see nothing above or below her. If she took a step, she knew she'd plunge to the depths of the cellar and die. The wood rail she clutched was the only evidence she had she was not already floating in space. Her stomach swimming, Leia pushed back the nausea and lifted one foot, feeling for a step she could only hope was there.

  Her foot landed firmly on wood. She felt a ray of hope, and tried the next step, still using the handrail as her lifeline, pulling herself up, higher into the dark. With her free hand held straight in front of her, Leia took two more steps, refusing to look down at where she'd been. It was as if all time had stopped, and she alone existed in the stairwell.

  A thin beam of light sparked above her.

  She could make it! Leia's heart raced as she took another step, and the door, her wonderful door to the dining room, became outlined only a few feet in front of her. What a beautiful door!

  With a surge of energy usually reserved for her exercise class, Leia dashed up two more steps and was through the door, bursting into the brightly lit room. Her exhaled breath of relief immediately reverted to an intake, a gasp, as her gaze fell on people she didn't know...a roomful of costumed strangers. She blinked...hard...but the vision didn't evaporate. The mysterious diners grew silent, the clank of silverware ceasing as they stared at Leia with undisguised curiosity. It was as if she'd interrupted a costume dinner party, for the ladies and men were dressed in nineteenth century garb.

  Having always prided herself on being too tough to faint, Leia allowed her stomach to contract in alarm instead. Grandfather had always said to take the offensive. Show no fear. "What's going on here? Where's Martin?" she demanded, her gaze fixed on one of the women, who appeared to be the oldest. She wore a low-cut gown of cameo-blue satin that puffed at the sleeves and nipped in at her waist, though the younger women's dresses were nipped and cut to a greater degree.

  When no answer came, Leia turned to the men at the table. The older of the two, who looked a great deal like Grandfather, was leaning back in his chair, either bored or sleepy. Next to him sat a young man in a Civil War uniform, his brown hair neat on his neck, glaring at her with the most appealing grimace she'd ever seen. His dark eyes spoke, but like the other man, he was silent. Despite their strangeness the men didn't seem threatening.

  Whoever these people are, Leia thought, they seemed to have brought their own interior decorator. She recognized the walls themselves, the layout of her dining room, but nothing else. The wall coverings, the furniture, even the shape of the dining table were foreign to her. The mini-blinds were gone, replaced by heavy folds of velvet fabric. The painted walls had been covered with gold, flocked wallpaper. An antique chandelier swayed above the table, tiny prisms dripping from its branches. She thought it looked beautiful, but it wasn't hers. She blinked again, harder, scrunching her face.

  "Impossible," she whispered then, recalling the brief moments she had spent in the cellar, certainly not long enough for anyone to make the changes she was witnessing. Feeling a slight spinning behind her eyes, Leia looked down at the bottle still clutched in her damp hand. The thick cellar dust had cleared by itself, exposing a nearly new label on the cool glass. Had the dust disappeared or had she wiped it on her dress? She drew a deep breath, inhaling a heavy, greasy odor of good food cooked...differently?

  "Well?" She waited for someone to speak.

  "Who is Martin, and who on earth are you?" The older woman had found her voice first. "And why were you in our cellar?"

  "I'm Leia, and this is my family's home." She didn't want it to sound like she lived alone. "Who are you?" Leia's mind tried to process everything she saw, and she still couldn't believe her eyes. At least her voice sounded calm.

  "Ah, Leah! I'm your Aunt Martha. How nice to see you have arrived ahead of schedule. This house is so far from the town, and so hidden in the pines, we were afraid you might be delayed. Especially with the Confederates advancing this way," said the lady in the cameo-blue gown, finally breaking the silence that had been as heavy as the humid air. Who had turned off the air conditioning, anyway?

  The woman rose and extended a hand, but not for shaking, as Leia expected. Instead the woman took the wine bottle and set it on the table in front of the soldier and said something to him Leia couldn't hear. Who was Leah, anyway, and why did Martha assume she was Leah? Maybe the woman was just messing with her mind.

  The others resume
d their conversation, keeping their eyes on the newcomer, and Leia stiffened her spine and strode toward the closest doorway. She needed to see if her own kitchen was there, and if Martin was in it.

  Leia's ankle turned slightly as she stumbled into the kitchen. The floor was planks of wood not the smooth linoleum she was used to walking on. Her entrance had stopped the conversation of two black women arranging food containers over steaming platters. Leia wondered what they were supposed to be doing and how they were going to do it since her shiny, modern appliances had all been removed. She looked around the room, and sure enough, the gingham curtains were gone as well as the oak cabinets. The kitchen looked downright historic.

  At Leia's continued silence, the two women nodded and returned to their task. Dressed like servants, their caps had wilted in the heat and their aprons were soiled. Huge shadows ringed their underarms. Leia felt her own perspiration trickling down the sleeves of her costume.

  At last one of them spoke. "May I git you something, Miss?"

  Leia thanked her, saying no, that there was nothing she could put into words at the moment.

  "Are you feeling well, my dear?" The cameo woman had followed Leia into the kitchen. She pushed Leia onto a hard, wooden-backed chair. "We were worried so when we heard that William's daughter was coming north almost unescorted."

  "Yes. I'm fine. I think," Leia said, trying to take in her surroundings and get her bearings.

  "Where is your traveling companion?"

  "He, um, turned back already." Okay, it sounded good to her. Maybe the woman should believe Martin had left, in case she meant them harm. "But I'm not alone."

  "Of course he would, what am I thinking, the war is on. At least he delivered you here safely! We did not expect you until next week, Leah, if at all. Traveling now! I suppose Baltimore is not the most suitable atmosphere for a new widow, especially since the riot year before last."