Cora

Cora swayed gently with the carriage, looking out the window at the countryside. She didn’t know why she had expected England to be flat, but instead, it rolled gently like waves across the soil, up and down, smoothly rising and sinking. So green—like Ohio, where she’d gone to college, and wooded like that too. The hills here were densely covered with trees and shrubs unless they had been cleared for farming. Those fields she liked the best, a thick green carpet surrounded by dry-stack rock walls, a boundary to keep the sheep in or out.

It was hard to imagine that, just a month ago, she’d arrived in England, then found herself tossed back to 1850 and playing the part of an heiress on an unprecedented, almost inconceivable vacation. But here she was, riding back to Twickenham Manor within days of returning to her own time. Thoughts of making a mistake consumed her. But which mistake?

Leaving. Shouldn’t she just be grateful for the experience of a lifetime, for living a dream, and go back at the appointed time? After all, that’s the way of vacations. You plan and save and go. They’re amazing, whirlwind, walk-your-feet-off days that end all too soon.

Then with a long plane ride back home and a few posts to Facebook, it’s relegated to that part of the brain that stores wonderful memories. In that place, the colors of the sights you’ve seen fade, the scents of flowers and food dissipate, and the cherished faces of newly made friends blur.

Cora’s body hummed nervously just under her skin. She was afraid to lose all of this and a part of herself along with those memories. Her mind reeled, and her emotions seemed out of control. Maybe the fear was hinting at the other mistake, though. Staying. What would she be giving up? This was the kind of decision you asked your parents to help you make, but she was alone for this one.

She decided that stay or go, she still planned to give Simon another gift of music. He had mentioned that he enjoyed the violin before his hearing loss, and she wanted him to hear it again. He should have received the invitation last night.

A week ago, the carriage had been alive with conversation as they traveled to Everett’s house, but today, Lucy, her mother, and May also seemed to prefer the quiet of this journey back.

When they arrived, Aunt Nellie burst out through the door, her purple hem bouncing as she hurried to the carriage when they stopped. The footman hustled to reach the handle before she did and opened the door, then helped the women down.

“You’ve been gone so long. What a trip you’ve had, ladies. Your rooms are ready, and bath water will be taken up.” Nellie gathered them around as a hen pulling chicks under her wing and led them up the steps. “Your comfy beds await you where you can rest, ladies. Come down for tea if you’d like, or I’ll see you at dinner.”

Aunt Nellie dropped off the women at the various rooms until only she and Cora were left in the long hallway.

“Are Reese and Kaitlin still here?” Cora asked. She wondered how their vacation had gone.

“Yes. They’ve had quite a time of it, too. So much has happened to you all, but those are their stories to tell.” Nellie gave Cora a little hug at the door. “We need to talk, don’t we? This is quite more than what you had planned, and … ”

The look on Aunt Nellie’s face made Cora wonder if she knew more than she was letting on and what that was.

“. . . And I have something to show you. It might explain a few things, or it might make it worse. I’ll have to rethink that. Maybe I’ll not show you quite yet. Anyhoo, until later.”

“I could come now. I’m not really tired.” Honestly, Cora welcomed the chance to be busy—anything to keep her mind off Simon. She had no desire to sit down or lie down. It would only give her mind more time to whirl with indecision.

“No, I’ve a couple of things to do first.” Nellie patted Cora’s hand and gave her a wan smile. “Come find me later—on the third floor.”

“That’s the fourth level, right?” Cora had noticed that in England, they called the first floor the one above the ground floor, but still she doubted she understood it.

Aunt Nellie nodded. “Yes, two floors above this one.”

Cora reluctantly entered her room and asked the maid to help her unfasten her heavy traveling clothes, then dismissed her with instructions to wait an hour before sending the bath water. As soon as the door closed, Cora shrugged out of the dress and several layers of petticoats. The chemise was enough for a quick session of exercise.

She began stretching, lunging, and warming up. When worry crept in, she concentrated on her taut muscles or exhaling and pushed it from her mind.

The Krav Maga routine was an easy mental shift. She had always imagined an attacker and visualized the various ways to incapacitate or damage them. Her arms drove, and her legs leaned or kicked with power. She imagined someone behind or in front of her, or she was on the ground fighting someone above. The movement flowed—kick, hammer, elbow. She could feel the stress and indecision draining away. She pushed herself to increase the intensity. Cover, hook, clinch, knee—finding a comforting rhythm in the maneuvers. Advance, strike, retreat.

Her arms and legs burned, and sweat ran down her neck, back, and chest when she realized the bath water would soon be delivered and began her cooldown.

After the bath, she requested the lighter, yellow sprigged muslin dress and only one petticoat. The July weather had turned hot and muggy. The maid gave a puzzled look, and Cora added, “I’ll forego the rest of the petticoats. The bell shape is just not that important to me.”

After climbing the stairs and then following the sound of Aunt Nellie singing, Cora found her tucked in a far room, sitting on the floor. She stopped at the door before entering the room. The mural the women had found during their tour of Twickenham Manor covered the wall before her. Aunt Nellie, paintbrush in hand, dabbed at the mural, seeming to be finishing some shoes.

“What do you think? Too frilly?” she asked, her head tipping to the left.

Cora stood before the life-sized picture of herself, not having realized she’d approached the mural. The champagne-colored ball gown hung in three ever-widening tiers toward the floor. Each was bordered with a wide pink satin ribbon. Above that, small pink roses trailed along a twisting green vine. Her hand paused without touching the painting. It was as if the paint was dots of light clinging to the wall.

“It’s dry,” Nellie remarked. “The paint I use is magical but not wet like you’d expect.”

Cora’s finger followed one line of roses, feeling the thick paint, like frosting, that shaped the petals and buds as they bulged away from the wall. The neckline of the dress hung on the edge of her shoulders, and small puffy sleeves were trimmed with the same pink satin.

“It’s perfect.” She realized it was the same picture they had fallen through weeks ago, but seeing it freshly painted brought a dawning reality of the decision she had to make—and soon.

“Is it ready now?” Cora asked.

“The mural? No,” Nellie answered. “It will be in two days—for the full moon. I’ve a little more magic to collect and apply, so it will work. That’s the trick, you know—the magic. In a mural this size, it’s been quite the chore.” Aunt Nellie turned and pointed to the other side of the room. “Your new ball gown is ready, however.”

Across the room, several dresses were hung. Cora recognized the blush of her dress immediately. Her head swung back and forth. It was the exact dress.

Aunt Nellie continued to chatter about the painting. “Oh, I could have done smaller paintings of each of you. I usually just do a portrait, but these dresses begged to be preserved. In the future, this will also be a reminder of your group’s friendship. So I run out each morning and collect the magic from the grass before the sun burns it off.” Aunt Nellie’s voice trailed off as Cora removed her dress from the hanger.

Seed pearls edged the neckline and both sides of the satin ribbons. The dress’s outer layer was a sheer organza with the vine embroidered in a twisting running stitch and the roses embroidered with thin ribbon. The under-fabric glittered as if it were shot through with pinpricks of light. She ran her hand over the fabric as if to brush it off, but it just winked and flashed as the skirt moved.

Aunt Nellie spoke up beside her. “I might have gotten a little carried away with your dress—a bit of magic overload is all. Not to worry—the sparkle will fade by Friday.”

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Cora asked.

“No. Well, I should say yes.” Aunt Nellie clasped her hands neatly in front of her. “Yes. Definitely. This is it.”

Cora doubted the truth of Nellie’s claim, especially as the woman’s eyes slid away from Cora’s. She supposed she’d find out soon enough, whatever the big secret was. She decided to change the subject. “I’d like to use a small room tomorrow night.”

“Of course. ’Tis time, isn’t it?” Aunt Nellie steepled her fingers in front of her but didn’t look to Cora to answer the question. “It will need to be private.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised one finger to tap lightly on her chin as she seemed to study the request. “I wouldn’t want to see you get disturbed. Away from nosy guests. It could be locked. Preferably where you might not even be heard. Of course, I could make that happen anywhere.”

If Cora hadn’t made the initial request, Aunt Nellie’s last statement would have seemed a little scary. But that was precisely the kind of room she needed.

“I have just the thing. Follow me down the stairs to the next level—just the right place.”

Nellie led her to the other end of the sprawling mansion into a far corner. She opened doors on either side of the hallway. One was appointed as a sitting room and the other a library. “Both are lovely rooms. This one has a view of the River Thames, and this one looks out over the gardens. Both very romantic.”

A cold trickle traveled down Cora’s spine. She hadn’t told Aunt Nellie what she wanted the room for, but the woman seemed to know anyway. A grassy lawn sprawled from the mansion, several acres in length. The river sparkled between the swaying trees at its banks. Two white boats bobbed in their moorings on the tide.

The room itself was beautiful, too. The walls were painted with a subtle mint green, but large white medallions surrounded with levels of carved moldings decorated most of the wall space. The medallions were bordered with twists of gold and ivy. The centers depicted fanciful scenes of faeries and humans in pastoral settings. Even the ceiling carried the theme. A small melodian organ sat against one wall, and richly upholstered chairs and couches clustered together, filling the center of the room.

“This one,” Cora said.

“That’s a wonderful choice.” Nellie shut both doors and clasped her hands in front of her. “Will you need it tonight or tomorrow?”

“Both, if I may.” Cora wanted to practice tonight before Simon joined her tomorrow.

“Oh, to be young!” Nellie giggled slightly with the words, then picked up one of Cora’s hands to pat it. “Let’s get it ready for you.” She untied a waist purse and pulled it to open where it had been cinched shut. “Dip your hand in, please.” Nellie pushed the bag in Cora’s direction.

Cora did as requested and withdrew her hand again. A small gasp escaped her lips. Her hand glowed much the way the fabric on the dress had.

“Open the door.”

As Cora’s hand gripped the doorknob, the magical glow on her hands flowed like a ripple toward the shore, draining from her hand to surround the knob and soak inside it. She noticed that while the light transferred, she couldn’t have removed her hand until it had all disappeared even if she wanted to. The latch disengaged with a popping sound and a gust of wind.

“Step inside, please.” Nellie waved her inside the room. “We’ll need to do this a few times.” She pushed the purse toward Cora again. This time when Cora’s hand was aglow with magic, Nellie said, “Now shut the door.” As Cora complied, she added, “That way, you will be the only one to open or close this door until the magic is worn out. You need to do it on both sides once again, so you will be able to open and close it twice.”

After completing the tasks again, Aunt Nellie pulled some magic dust from the bag and blew across her palm as she turned in a complete circle. “There. Soundproof, too. Now the room is yours and only yours until the magic has been used up.”

She began walking back down the long hallway, mumbling a bit, “Oh, to be a fly on the wall. T’would be lovely to witness—hmm—an easy bit of magic that. . .but no. I won’t.” She seemed to have decided when she stopped, her face turning toward Cora. “I won’t. You’ll have the privacy you want.” They began walking again. “It’s a lovely story. But it’s your story.”

Cora wondered what Aunt Nellie went on about. If she really knew what Cora planned, why was she determined to see it as romantic or even a story worth telling?

* * *

Two nights later, she left her room, closing the door quietly behind her. Thankfully, she and her college friends were quartered in the family suites. The newly arriving guests were housed in the farthest north wing of the manor. Most of the lights were out since they hadn't had an evening event and the guests had retired early. She was thankful for country hours tonight. She shouldn’t cross paths with anyone she didn’t know as she headed south.

Cora sneaked across the house half an hour before she had invited Simon to join her for the recital. She didn’t want to risk them being seen together, ducking into a deserted hallway. If they were caught together, people might assume the worst. She thought how strange it was to have to sneak around just to meet with a friend.

On another train of thought, however, her heart told her that Simon had become more than a friend.

Cora twisted the knob, feeling a blast of wind, and slipped inside, leaving the door ajar behind her. Last night, she had prepared three pieces by Beethoven, Vivaldi, and Bruch. Simon might know the first two, but the third hadn’t been composed quite yet.

Her heart raced with anticipation. She held the violin to her chin and moved her fingers as if she were playing but didn’t raise the bow. It was a nervous habit from many years ago, something she’d do while she waited to perform, and it was still oddly comforting. She hoped Simon would be able to hear the music—that she wasn't setting him up for a disappointment. The last time had gone well, but the violin made a higher-pitched sound.

It seemed like hours before Simon arrived—black tailcoat, burgundy vest, black tie, white shirt. Oh, my! She closed the door behind him and felt the spurt of breeze blow across her face.

“Thank you for coming.” Cora cringed a little. She sounded so formal. Although her nerves were jittery, she didn’t feel the paralyzing anxiety that had plagued her for years. She felt safe with him.

“You must know that I’m not likely to refuse you anything.”

Simon’s smile melted Cora’s heart—definitely more than a friend. She reached for his hand and lightly held it as she moved with him to a couch and picked up her bow. Simon sat barely more than a foot beyond the reach of the scroll on top of the fingerboard. With a deep breath, she stood before him and began the Beethoven piece.

When she finished the piece, Simon applauded, appreciation evident on his face but not the surprise she’d seen with the piano experience.

This had gone differently in her mind. She’d hoped that because he was so much closer than he usually would have been during a performance, he would be able to enjoy it more. She wondered how much of the music he’d heard. Should she ask? Would he tell her? She thought he would. He seemed completely honest with her.

“Thanks.” Cora gave a slight nod to her audience. “Are you willing to do a little experiment?”

Simon looked a bit skeptical but only briefly. “Yes. It went very well last time. What do you have in mind?”

“Just stand in front of me. Here.” Cora pointed to a spot a little to her left. As he did, she realized immediately that their height difference would not let her new plan work—she couldn’t reach the fingerboard around him and up that high. Even if she sat beside him, she wouldn’t be able to play as she imagined. Then she spied the bench in front of the melodian. Were he to sit and she to kneel—it just might work.

“On second thought, could you pull that bench out into the room?” As he did, Cora ran her fingers over the white abalone keys sparkling with rainbows. One day soon, she’d have to come back to this room to play that little organ. She thrilled inwardly, anticipating adding a new instrument to her experience.

With the bench in the open space, Cora said, “Now have a seat on the end and straddle the corner, not like you would normally sit on this bench.”

Simon complied and looked at her expectantly. “I’m going to kneel behind you, and—”

Simon stood abruptly.

She smiled nervously, wondering if she’d crossed some line of propriety. She laid her hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. If you sit there, then I can place the violin under your jaw as I play it. It’s an experiment, remember?” Simon sat back on the edge, but he didn’t look comfortable—more like he was perching.

Cora knelt behind him with her her feet hanging over the edge of the bench. She leaned forward and put her hand on the top of his shoulder while in his right ear, she said, “Please scoot back until you feel my knees.”

Simon shook his head slowly as if telling himself that he shouldn’t, but he slid back anyway. When he was in the right spot, Cora asked, “Please hold this,” and passed him the bow. She settled the violin under his left jaw, then reclaimed the bow. “I’m going to play across you now.”

Her left arm stretched across Simon’s shoulders, and her hand took position on the fingerboard. Then she leaned against his back, rested her cheek behind his right ear, and held her bow above the strings. Simon stiffened a bit, but Cora played the first notes. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned a little into the instrument. It was working.

She continued to play, the music and the man filling her senses. She loved the smell that was uniquely Simon—something about the way his soap mixed with him was alluring. She closed her eyes and swayed with the music and felt Simon move in rhythm with her.

When she finished the second song, Simon’s hand covered her hand holding the bow, and brought it to his lips. He kissed her wrist and said, “Thank you.” Then he took the bow and the violin from her and stood to place them on a chair near him.

“You’re welcome, but I have another song.”

When he turned back to her, Cora sat back against her ankles. His eyes were dark and intense. This was what a sparrow must feel like caught in the gaze of a cobra, completely mesmerized. He shrugged out of his tailcoat, laying it over the back of the chair, then took two steps and again sat on the bench, facing her and with one leg on each side. Cora, watching, felt frozen, not from fear but from powerful curiosity, longing. Simon’s gaze and his smile—smoldering. She was aware of every movement he made, causing a string of firecrackers to ignite within her. She wanted to be held by him.

Cora swung her legs around to sit on the bench, and he pulled her into his embrace, her legs resting over his right leg as he cradled her to him. Her hands slid around to his back and she snuggled into his chest, again feeling his heart beating beneath her cheek. That was quickly becoming her favorite feeling. Admitting she was in much the same state as he was, she could hardly breathe around her own erratically beating heart.

There wasn’t a century or a time to this. It simply felt right.

Simon’s arms tightened around her. She thought she felt him kiss the top of her head. When she looked up, she was sure—he kissed her forehead. Cora stretched the slightest bit, her lips just a breath from his. She wanted to feel his mouth pressed to hers, but paused, waiting to see if Simon wanted it, too.

Slowly, Simon’s face tilted toward her. At first he brushed his lips across hers, not a kiss but oh, the feel. The feather-light contact provoked a sigh from her. Back and forth his lips grazed hers as his fingers skimmed up her neck, traced her ear, then cupped her jaw before he whispered her name, “Cora.” Then he pressed his mouth to hers.

Cora’s hand reached to the back of his neck, and her fingers twined in his hair. Then she reached up to pull the pins from her own simple hairstyle and dropped them to the floor without releasing Simon’s lips. The weight of her hair atop her head instantly fell away as her tresses lay across her shoulders and his arms.

A deep groan whispered in Simon, and his kisses became more fervent. This felt like the single most right experience of her life—to be here with him. Her mind staggered to claim any other coherent thought.

Moments later—Cora didn’t know how many since time had stopped—Simon pulled Cora into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder and simply held her as he seemed to struggle to slow his breath.

She knew she couldn’t leave Victorian England now. She had to see this through—to know what this was.

Simon smiled down at Cora as he leaned away from her. It seemed that neither of them had words beyond looking in each other’s eyes. She knew their time together this evening was coming to an end. She pressed her hand to his cheek and kissed his other one.

“Thank you for coming to the concert tonight, Mr. Duke.”

He kissed her lips once more, then leaned his forehead against hers. “The pleasure was mine. I’m your most ardent fan, Miss Cora.” He stood and pulled her up with him. “Piano. Violin. Are there other instruments I might look forward to a performance from you in the future?”

“Yes, there are. I’ll have to get you a schedule.” So many more. Ideas spun with the excitement of reintroducing each one to him. Her heart leaped with happiness to share her music with him. Anxiety had fled.

One incredulous eyebrow quirked up with surprise. “I hope it is soon and often.” He picked up his coat and shrugged into it.

They walked hand in hand to the door, and Cora twisted the knob. The rush of wind that had astounded her earlier was not the most amazing magic she had felt this evening. Her blood still simmered, and her head buzzed from the older magic she and Simon had shared. Then he kissed her hand and slipped out the door.

Cora crossed the room back to the violin and packed it away. She sat on the sofa and reclined her head against the padding for a moment, the case in her lap. A plan began to form. She’d have to talk with Aunt Nellie in the morning about all the possibilities of time travel.

When she had dressed for bed, a note slipped under her door.

Dearest Lovely Cora,

I am quick becoming a music lover.

Always yours,

Simon

P.S. If I were of a mind to learn to play an instrument, it would certainly be the violin under your instruction.

Cora giggled and read the letter several times before sleep claimed her.