A Twist of Time

The day was formidable at best with the onslaught of rain, thunder, and lighting hailing from the skies. Looking out the windows stretching across the entire side of one wall of the den, Piper yawned and sank into the cushions of the sofa. The book she was reading lay on her chest. It was so dreary a day she could not help feeling sleepy again even though she’d slept in that morning.

Her usual vacation almost always consisted of unwinding or downtime or doing whatever she felt like doing. Oftentimes, she would explore the city in which she happened to be staying, but this year, she’d chosen a week at the beach. Go figure, the week’s forecast called for nonstop rain every day. Of all the times for a beach vacation! Still, the house was spacious and comfortable and lay situated on the ocean, so the view was spectacular despite the weather.

Soft strains of Chopin played as Piper attempted to read her book. Wuthering Heights had been one of her favorites in high school. As an English major, rereading the classic piece of literature at thirty was a long overdue endeavor. It was somewhat easy to picture the haunting, heather filled moors from the book in the dreary weather. She picked up her coffee, hoping it would help keep her awake long enough to finish the chapter she was on at the present.

It was less than an hour later that Piper gave up her quest to remain awake. Placing the book face down on the floor, she turned to settle herself more comfortably, pulling down the yellow Afghan from the sofa’s back cushion. Lulled by soft music and the pitter patter of rain, she fell asleep quickly.

*********

Was she dreaming? She must be for she could smell the mustiness of damp earth and heather blossoms. Lush, green moors stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. It was no longer raining but steam rising from the ground told it had only recently stopped. Where was she? Why wasn’t she in the beach house? What was going on?

She looked down and much to her amazement found she was not dressed in comfy jeans and t-shirt. Instead, she wore a soft, printed gown of muslin flowing down to her ankles and covering much of her arms as well. Intricately embroidered flowers filled the dress as well as wisps of lace attached here and there in a decided effort, she was sure, to hide a bit the fullness of her breasts. Piper saw her feet silk encased shoes peeking out from the hem of her dress and immediately wondered where her navy Converse tennis shoes she’d donned earlier were. While lovely, the silk shoes would not be conducive to walking over moors. What the devil?

Looking in the distance, her body moved full circle as she searched for any familiar sign of the ocean or house. No ocean. No sand. No waves. No house. Only moors and heather. Confused, she walked forward until she found herself by a small crabapple tree. The skies were overcast but the air was still hot and heavy with a humid heat as the sun peeked intermittently through the clouds. Unused to wearing such clothing, she was thankful for the tree’s shade.

Leaning against the tree, she gave herself a hard pinch. She must be dreaming! But no, instead she found herself wincing from the pain inflicted by her two fingers. Had she leapt through a tunnel of time? Though without answers, she could not deny the situation in which she found herself. She was about as far away from the ocean in South Carolina as she could be and on the moors of. More perplexing was the time frame. Based upon her clothing, she thought it might be the eighteenth or nineteenth century.

Settling her mind on that which could not be ignored, Piper quickly realized such time travel might not be the worst thing. She had always felt misplaced in the twenty-first century even as much as she loved her Southern roots, family, and friends. A smile tugged at her lips. Dream or no dream, she was going to make the best of this wacky situation. After all, maybe she’d stumble across someone like the dark and brooding Heathcliff.  That is, if she ever saw another human being. She was in the middle of nowhere and the day would end and where would that leave her?

Looking down, Piper realized there was a blanket and a picnic basket atop it. Where the bloody hell had that come from? Still, considering the turn in things, it was to be expected. She lowered herself, taking a seat on the blanket. Opening the basket, she found bread, a wedge of cheese, blackberries, and a bottle of wine. Interestingly enough, there were two small wine glasses, too. Should there be a guest, and if so, who might it be?

At the bottom of the basket, she found a leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights. No big surprise. The copy of the book showed a publishing date of 1847, it was safe to assume it was the latter half of the nineteenth century. Interesting. Now if only her expected guest would arrive. She was anxious to learn who it might be – or maybe it was just an extra glass and nothing more.

Piper opened the wine and poured herself a generous measure of the aromatic liquid. She helped herself to the bread, nibbling at the cheese and berries. Surprisingly, she was hungrier than she thought; the morning’s coffee and bagel had long disappeared.

She found she was rather calm despite the unknown as she grew more accustomed to her situation as the sun rose higher. She peered out over the moors, raising her hand to block the sun. In the distance, she spotted a rider on a dark horse. They drew nearer until she could hear the horses’ hooves strike the earth. Piper’s heart beat rapidly at the sight. To steady her nerves, she downed her glass of wine, wishing for something stronger.

As he drew near, the rider spoke in a low voice to his horse, steadying him. She smiled. He appeared to be a strong version of Heathcliff though different as well. He had dark, windswept hair, blue eyes, and wore only a slight smile upon stern lips. His clothing was fitted well to his lean, tall body. He appeared to be every inch a gentleman, and more than likely, a wealthy one.

He removed his hat and nodded as the stallion stopped inches from the blanket’s edge.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and melodic.

‘Good morning,” Piper responded, smiling. Why did her voice squeak so? This man must think she was a moron.

“The name’s Barclay….Barclay Dowling. I haven’t seen you in the village. Did you move here recently?”

“Uh, yes, only recently,” Piper struggled to think of an answer that wouldn’t be lying. “My name is Piper Harley. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dowling,” she said, unable to hide the Southern drawl that surfaced. There would be no denying she was from across the pond and not from England.

He smiled, and Piper thought it a lovely smile. More nervous than only moments ago, she smoothed an errant curl behind her ear.

“That’s no British accent,” he was quick to say. “Are you from the colonies, Miss Harley?”

 “Yes. from Charleston,” and quickly added, “in the Carolinas.”

“Ah, I see. My shipping company stops in port frequently in your lovely city.”

The quiet hung between them for a moment as neither knew exactly what to say to the other. Piper broke the silence.

“Where are my manners? Would you care for a glass of wine or refreshment? It’s warm today.” Piper pulled out the extra glass, happy it must have been intended for this man. She watched his lean frame as he easily dismounted his horse as he accepted her invitation.

Barclay strode to the edge of the blanket and knelt down. His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass from her hand with a smile and a murmured ‘thank you’. Up close, Piper saw his blue eyes twinkled with undisguised admiration. Maybe the muslin gown and slippers weren’t the worst things to be wearing. What would this man have thought if she’d been in her jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes? She hoped he’d ask no questions she could not truthfully answer this afternoon. She had no clue what the next minute or hour would bring on this unexpected journey.

“Bread? Cheese? Berries?” she asked, feeling inordinately silly but offering it all to him with gracious Southern manners.

“No, thank you. The wine is sufficient,” he said, holding up his hand to the food. His voice was rich with an English accent. She was keenly aware of the man seated next to her. Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered.

“Did you not bring your wrap, lass?” he asked. "Allow me to offer my coat?"

Looking around, unsure of her answer, Piper spotted a rose-colored shawl behind where she sat. She picked it up.

“Oh, I’m all right – not really cold,” she said, playfully pulling at the shawl’s fringe.

“Aye, indeed. ‘Tis' the loveliest of days and I’m thankful to be able to take Apollo out for a ride after all the rain.” Barclay downed his wine, and Piper refilled his glass.

Piper turned to study the horse. He was a beauty. Strong and tall. She turned back to Barclay and found his blue eyes intently watching, as though summing up the measure of her worth as well.

“You must have been expecting someone,” he said, gesturing to the second glass. “I hope I haven’t intruded.”

“The extra glass? Oh! It was intended for anyone who came along in need of such.” She smiled and added, “I’m glad I could offer it to you.”

Barclay nodded and smiled as he looked down into his glass.

“Will I see you tonight, Miss Harley?” he asked.

“Tonight?” Piper’s brown arched in question.

“The Pennington’s dance? Will you be there?”

“I hope so,” she responded with sincerity though entirely unsure what the night would bring.

“Aye, I hope so, too,” Barclay said. “But for now,” he said as he rose, “I need to make my way back home.”

He tipped his hat before placing it back on the thick waves of hair. “It’s been a pleasure. Until later.” It was a statement and not a question. He fully expected to see her at the dance in the evening.

“Yes, it’s been a pleasure. Until later,” Piper smiled. Enchanted with the moment, she refused to contemplate the possibility she would never see this man again.

“The pleasure has been all mine. Truly.” And with those words, Barclay galloped away on Apollo, one final glance and smile final on his handsome face.

Ah! The embodiment of a such a man, straight from the pages of classic literature! Where were men like Barclay in the twenty-first century? Taking up the shawl, she wrapped it around her shoulders and leaned back on the tree’s trunk. She sighed as she closed her eyes, thinking what a romantic day it had been.

Fate swooped in and suddenly dealt a cruel hand in time's manipulation. Piper opened her eyes and found herself once again on the sofa at the beach house, her book on the floor, and she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Standing up in surprise, the Afghan draped across her fell to the floor. As Piper stooped to retrieve it, amazement was hers. It was not the yellow Afghan, but the rose-colored shawl she'd worn on the moors. Longingly she fingered the delicately knitted material.

As unreal as it seemed, it must be true. It had not been a dream, and Barclay had been real. But as quickly as joy flooded her, disappointment dawned at the realization he was between the worlds of make believe and reality. Saddened beyond measure there would be no Barclay and no dance, Piper poured herself another cup of coffee. She saw the rain had finally stopped and the sun was peaking thought the curtains.

Piper did not know how long she sat on the sofa while she contemplated what had happened, but at some point, she heard the click as a key turned in the front lock. Shaken by the possible intrusion, she quickly made her way to the door, fear displacing all else as she gripped and turned the door knob to swing the door wide. She stepped into the threshold, the afternoon sun momentarily blocking her view until she held up a hand to shield its glare. She found herself staring directly into two familiar blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” A deep and familiar voice said as a man quickly stepped back, his face knotted in confusion. “My rental agent must have made a mistake. I am the owner and didn’t realize anyone was renting the house this week. I thought it was vacant and wanted to fix a lose cabinet in the kitchen. I apologize for the disturbance.”

Piper could only stare at the man standing in front of her. He was the spitting image of Barclay.

Finding her voice, she said, “Oh, it’s all right. I’m Piper by the way. Your house is lovely. I’m renting it for the week, but you’re most welcome to come inside and make the repair.”

“Are you sure? It would be great to fix it while I’m off today though. Again, I do apologize for any inconvenience. Allow me to introduce myself. The name’s Barkley Dowling.”

Why was she not surprised? His name wasn’t Barclay, but it was close enough, and there was no mistaking the blue eyes.

“Please come in, Barkley. Might I offer you some refreshment? It’s a very hot day, after all.”

He smiled and nodded. “That would be wonderful. Anything would be fine. Thank you.”

Stepping aside for the landlord to enter, Piper felt the full force of the afternoon sun on her face. She was aware of the gift life had just bestowed upon her. It was larger than anything for which she could have dared hope. She could scarce wait to see where this journey would end, but, in her heart – deep in her soul - she was certain she already knew the outcome as she closed the door.