Chapter Twenty
Rachel showered, appreciating the hot water. She slipped into Mary’s ivory silk dress once again, hoping for the best. It was less of a problem to run around the twenty-first century in historical dress than the nineteenth century in jeans. She found another pair of shoes, canvas walkers, and thrust her feet in those.
She had plugged her dead cell phone in before showering, and she picked it up and called Sally at the shop.
“Did you manage to locate the purchase of the book of fairy tales? Did the person use a credit card?”
“No,” Sally said quietly. “It was a cash purchase. I’m so sorry, Rachel.”
Rachel, her legs weak, slumped down onto a kitchen table chair.
“You’re kidding! Who carries cash around these days?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you remember who bought it? Was it a man? A woman? A regular? Do we even have any regulars?”
“I don’t, Rachel. I don’t remember.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Rachel mourned. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I can’t apologize enough,” Sally said.
“It’s not your fault, Sally. I’ll talk to you later.” Rachel closed the phone, buried her face in her arms and cried. When she had sobbed herself dry, she lifted her head and stared unseeingly toward the kitchen window.
“Hickstrom?” she whispered. “Hickstrom? I can’t find the book. How am I going to find the book? I want to go back. Look at me! I’m all dressed to go back.”
The kitchen was silent, as it had been for the past few years.
“Hickstrom? Help me!”
Hickstrom didn’t respond. Rachel grabbed her phone and purse, locked the door and got into her car. She drove to town and parked in front of her shop.
Upon entering and hearing the familiar bell over the door, Sally turned toward her.
“Rachel! I thought you were going to rest!”
“I can’t. I can’t just sit around and let Halwell slip out of my life. I never realized how lonely the farmhouse was with my grandparents gone.”
“Actually, you probably did because you spend all your time here. Personally, I would love the solitude!”
“Then if I can figure out a way back to the nineteenth century, it’s yours. As a matter of fact, since I worried so much about this store and the house while I was there, I’ll fix that now.”
Rachel sat down at her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper.
To Whom It May Concern,
Ownership of my bookshop and my farm and land are transferred to Sally Carr.
Rachel Lee
Rachel pushed the paper toward Sally, who chuckled.
“Rachel, that’s cute, and I appreciate the gesture, but it’s not really worth much. You need a witness at least.”
“It’s not a gesture. I’m trying to ensure that the stuff I love is taken care of. You’re the only one I know who will take care of them.”
“But it needs a witness! Like a notary or just someone else to witness the signature. Besides, without the book, where are you going?”
The doorbell jangled, and Rachel nodded.
“That, whoever it is, is our witness!”
Hickstrom sauntered up to the counter, still dressed jauntily in her island dress.
“Hickstrom!” Rachel cried out
“Oh, it’s the lady! With the book of fairy tales!” Sally exclaimed.
“Quite, my dear. Miss Hermione Hickstrom!”
Rachel jumped up from the desk.
“I can’t find the book, Hickstrom! Somebody bought it, and we don’t know whom. Send me back without it!”
“I cannot, my dear. My powers are not limitless.”
Rachel’s heart dropped to her stomach. “They seem pretty potent.”
“What is this paper?” Hickstrom asked.
“Would you sign it as a witness?” Rachel said dully. “In case I manage to fall off the face of the earth?”
“So dramatic, Rachel,” Hickstrom said. “Really. But yes, I would be pleased to sign your paper.”
Sally sprang into action and handed Hickstrom a pen. Hickstrom stared at the ballpoint pen and then signed, her signature as flamboyant as she.
“Why are you here, Hickstrom?” Rachel asked.
“Well, I did say that I could not send you back without Hickstrom’s Book of Fairy Tales.”
The doorbell jangled again, and Rachel ignored it.
“Yes, several times,” Rachel said.
A plump middle-aged woman with short reddish hair, a blousy blue top and white knee-length shorts approached the counter. “Excuse me?” said the customer.
“Sally, could you help her, please?” Rachel asked. She returned her attention to Hickstrom, who stared at the lady with interest.
“Yes, ma’am, can I help you?” Sally asked.
“Hickstrom, why are you here then?” Rachel whispered.
Hickstrom held up an imperious finger and listened to the customer.
“I bought this book of fairy tales, and it’s not what I thought. I thought it was—”
“By those brothers?” Hickstrom asked.
The woman pulled Hickstrom’s Book of Fairy Tales from a recyclable shopping bag and set it on the counter.
“Yes, you know, Cinderella and stuff like that. My eight-year-old granddaughter doesn’t know what a viz-count is, and neither do I.”
“Vai-count,” Hickstrom said. “Vai-count!” She snatched the book from the customer.
Tears poured down Rachel’s face, and she sagged onto the counter.
The customer looked utterly confused. “Could I just get a refund?” she asked.
Sally dug in the register and thrust money at the woman.
“Is she all right?” the customer asked, staring at Rachel bent over the counter, sobbing into her folded arms.
“Yes, she will be fine once she is reunited with her vai-count!” Hickstrom retorted.
The customer nodded and hurried out of the store. Hickstrom pushed the paper she had signed toward Sally.
“I believe this is yours, Miss Carr.”
“How did you know my name?” Sally croaked.
“I am a fairy godmother. I know everything, and it is written on the document. Really, Rachel, you must stop sobbing! It is time to go.”
Rachel lifted her head, wiped at her face and nodded. She stepped over to Sally and hugged her.
“Goodbye, Sally. Take care of everything for me!”
“I don’t understand. Are you going to vanish again? How did that lady happen to return the book at just the time Miss Hickstrom came into the store?”
“Fairy godmother stuff. That’s what she does.”
Rachel smiled at Hickstrom. “What do I do? Touch the book?”
“You must read, dear.”
Rachel opened the book and began to read the first page.
A very long time ago in a land far, far away there lived a fairy godmother with little to do but concern herself overly much with notions of love and lonely hearts and the lives of others. No solitary heart was safe where she was concerned. She must do everything within her power to ensure that love conquered all.
What follows is the tale of two such lonely hearts.
Rachel stopped reading, fully expecting the world to go dark, as it had done twice before. Sally stared at her expectantly. Miss Hickstrom pursed her lips.
“No, not that section. Where is the viscount’s story? You must read that!”
Rachel’s heart started beating again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought it wasn’t working! Okay, let me look for Halwell’s story.”
“I think it was called The Viscount Finds Love!” Sally offered.
“Yes, that is the one,” Hickstrom said. Hickstrom leafed through the pages to find the correct story. She took Rachel’s hand and placed it flat on one page.
“Read.”
In a shaking voice, Rachel read.
“‘The Viscount Finds Love
“‘Viscount Halwell opened his eyes to yet another dreary day at Alton House. He should have removed to London some time ago but could not face the onslaught of invitations and social activities that no doubt awaited him at his town house.
“‘A crack in the curtains revealed that the gray skies outside matched his mood. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, the tightness in his chest unrelieved by the motion.
“‘The wedding had come and gone over a month ago. The happy couple had traveled to the continent and returned yesterday. Despite Halwell’s melancholy, his mother, Lady Georgianna, insisted they call upon the newlyweds as a courtesy. He had protested but had known his mother was correct. Had he gone to London, he could have avoided seeing Lady Mary St. John so soon. Yet...had he gone to London, he would have missed seeing her upon her return.’”
Rachel stopped reading, her throat closing over in fear and grief.
“I’m still here, Hickstrom, and I’m reading about how much Halwell loved Mary! How is this going to work?”
Hickstrom placed her hand on top of Rachel’s.
“It is only a fairy tale, my dear. They almost always have happy endings. Read on!” She pressed Rachel’s hand, and Rachel continued reading.
“‘Such a dilemma. She was lost to him. The better man had won. He had no moral right to long for her, yet he did. Though he had met many fine young misses and potential brides, none had stirred his imagination, his heart, as had Mary. Something about her had been particularly unique, refreshing, perhaps even mysterious, and she had no equal.
“‘He had offered her his heart and name, and she had rejected him.’”
The world went dark, and Rachel’s legs weakened. Sally and Hickstrom’s faces faded.