The Timepiece

The strange and inexplicable events of the previous few weeks were not to end as I had expected.

As I arrived at my destination, I steered my roadster onto the grassy off-road of the sparsely inhabited village bearing the baffling name of Ernshire Passage. I rechecked the property’s information sheet. “Here, at long last,” I said aloud while shutting the car down. I hopped out and took in a broad view of the expansive space.

A thick stone wall, patched by moss and topped every few segments by a carved stone urn, traveled off to each side for at least a hundred meters. A stone archway, missing its gate, occupied the wall’s center. Passing through it, a pathway of tiny round pebbles led off through an overgrown garden marked on its sides by dry fountains with statues of angels and birds. Vine-entangled lattice work shaded the area. Despite the obvious lack of attention, an abundance of geraniums resided within the garden. This will do. Just put in the time. And that is one thing I have.

I strolled along the pathway, laughing out loud at times, as I could not contain my excitement. To think that a mere six weeks ago, I had been scraping by; holding down three part-time jobs. I had been miserable, tired, and in debt at the end of each long day. And then, on that fortuitous day, a curious old man tapped me on the shoulder. I had been startled initially, almost persuading myself that a familiarity existed in the man’s face. But the thought had faded in the moment just as the harsh, overbearing sun had faded when an ominous cloud crept across the morning sky.

While I walked the path to the grand home’s entrance, I recalled the meeting that made all of this possible.

Ж

The old, arthritic man held out a tremulous hand which grasped an envelope. “Take this.”

Although I had no interest in accepting this unwelcomed offering from the old man, who I had begun to suspect was without full-working mental faculties, I pitied him in his deplorable physical condition and reluctantly accepted the proffered envelope. “What do you want me to…” I began saying while studying the calligraphic writing on the cover. But I stopped dead. My breath caught, as fear shot through me like an electrical shock. The envelope bore only two words: James Mera. My name?! I looked up and gasped, as the man, who was now walking remarkably fast, was so far removed from me that I did not even bother to shout.

My hands acted on their own, for I had already slid open the envelope while pondering what had transpired. How did he know my name? Yet, maybe he was a mere messenger acting as a proxy on behalf of the true sender. Yes! That was it. Nothing else was possible. I removed the letter and examined it. Nothing remarkable about it; written in the same style as the words on the cover. The same could not be said of its contents, for they truly were remarkable and beyond my understanding. The letter, which was notarized and signed by a lawyer by the name of Victor Warbles, informed me of the passing of an illustrious and wealthy man, David Wrenthorne, who had assigned me as the sole inheritor of his estate.

A week passed, and my newly hired lawyer, acquired from a free legal aid office, verified the veracity of my inheritor status and ensured that I was not ensnared in a dark plot to defraud me out of my non-existing fortune. Really, who would be foolish enough to steal from someone like me, who had nothing and owed everything?

One stipulation contained within the will demanded that I, and any legal representation that I employed, meet with the deceased man’s lawyer, Mr. Warbles, the executor of Wrenthorne’s estate.

Ж

On a bright spring morning not long past the ceasing of the birds’ dawn chorus, my lawyer, Max Jaffrey, and I met the grim and serious, Mr. Warbles. His particular high cheekbones, nearly lipless smile, and gaunt frame did nothing to ease my apprehension.

And what to say of the room in which our meeting was to be conducted? Opulent- a giant Persian carpet, lacquered wood, tapestries, and late-master artwork. However, what caught and held my attention the most were the curtains. They neither covered the windows nor were they drawn aside, for they were placed on the walls, but what did they cover? Somehow, I instinctively suspected that hidden behind, waiting to be seen, were mirrors.

The room’s two immense entrance doors opened wide, issuing forth a burst of air that just moved part of one set of the heavy, wool curtains just enough for the abundant sunlight occupying the room to glint off of glass. But I could not be certain. A mural, tile, or glass view into another room might hide behind them.

Mr. Warbles, in his quiet yet nerve-rattling voice, began by reading the one stipulation. “You must empty the attic and inventory every item. Mr. Warbles will procure the truck and movers.” Mr. Warbles placed the document down and looked at me with narrow, serious eyes. “Agreed?” he asked, holding out a dripping fountain pen.

“How extensive is the property to be inventoried? What kind of property is the attic a part of? Moreover, where is the property located?” began my lawyer with a flurry of questions.

A momentary expression of impatience passed over Mr. Warbles’ face, but he relented. “Very well, sir. Accompany me into the next room, and I will explain everything to you. But only to you. Should you be satisfied, then relate your satisfaction to your client.”

“These are the most peculiar and extraordinary terms that I have ever heard,” my lawyer began.

“It’s fine,” I interrupted.

“But…”

“No, it really is fine. I will rely on your judgment. I have nothing to lose,” I explained.

In the end, my lawyer emerged satisfied, and in turn, I too was satisfied. Wealth had found me through the most implausible circumstances, but it was mine to keep or lose as I determined. I signed my name, and the property, in that signing, became my own.

Ж

My strange and unexpected inheritance consisted of a rather large house and extensive grounds. As I have already conducted you through the front grounds with its fantastical garden, I shall move ahead to the house itself. The grand house was austere, as large as a modest French chateau, and in need of upkeep, as vines, moss, and dirt characterized its stone facades. A sense of faded nobility and long-passed days of cheer and marvel pervaded my sight, as I studied it for only a short while before entering through its front doors.

Within, my house was chilly and gloomy. I drew away the curtains, releasing the sun into the rooms, and opened what windows cooperated, setting the fresh air into battle against the house’s stale breath. Empty. No furniture, décor, or wallpaper. Barren walls, dusty floors, and a general quiet emptiness described what my eyes beheld and my spirit felt. Chandeliers with electric lighting hung in a handful of rooms while the rest of the rooms would be dismally dark at sunset.

Over the next few months, I spent money, that for once in my life, I actually had; all secured away in one of multiple bank accounts; having money was an alien feeling and a relief. Because of my spending, the house became comfortable. Nothing extravagant, mind you. I wanted my inexplicable inheritance to last. But nonetheless, the house became a home with comfortable furniture and all the other expectations of a welcoming residence.

The attic project proved peculiar. Up a narrow and winding staircase in the center of the house, the stairs ended not at a platform but at a sticking, creaking, dark wooden door. The attic itself was plain, and to my great relief, possessed but a few boxes.

Ж

Near the end of registering the attic’s inventory, with a paltry four small boxes remaining to be sorted, I discovered within one of them, a silver heart-shaped jewelry box of formidable weight that reminded me of a style last seen in the early 1800s; intricate fairy-like faces and garden scenes with sprites adorned its face. The box was locked shut to my disappointment, but to my surprise, a key, not greater in length than half of my pinky finger, rested securely in the lock. The key would not budge, jammed in and possibly warped. As I could not remove it, I decided to turn it. Click! I must warn you that my account of what happened next cannot be held to be perfectly accurate, for I have no understanding or rational explanation for what occurred and leave you to judge the matter for yourself.

I lifted the lid. Within the box, I spotted two items. The first was an unforgettable ring made of two twisting platinum pieces, like two vines wrapped together, with three cerulean gems. Aside it was a pocket-sized portrait of a stunning woman near my age of 45. The brightness of her eyes, her flawless skin, her dark black hair, and the kindness in her smile drew me in and dared not let go. Who was this woman? I went to the window and sat on its ledge to admire the portrait in the clear light. I do not know how many minutes passed like this, but the longer I studied her likeness, the more that a feeling unknown to me stirred deep within myself.

It was then that the sunlight shined directly onto the box’s interior and caught the edge, glistening as the hidden item behind the curtain in Mr. Warble’s office had done. I carefully wrapped the portrait in cloth and placed it into my pocket. The ring conveniently fit my finger. I felt around the box’s interior and sprung a tiny lever which lifted the false face. Then I removed it and stared back at myself from within a mirror.

Something was amiss. I knew it, but I knew not what troubled me, as I studied my own face. That was when I heard the excited clamor from behind me, out on the grounds. That was also when I gasped, realizing that the attic was no longer near empty but full of items that I had never seen before. And that was when I felt disoriented and knew that something dreadful had happened to me. Finally, that was when I shut the box and headed for the door.

Air. I needed to feel the outside air on my skin and breathe its comforts.

The attic door was stuck, and I only managed to secure my release from the room by throwing my weight against it repeatedly. In my haste, I stumbled and nearly fell down the stairs to my end.

As I emerged from the stairway into the house, shock and bewilderment overwhelmed me. What had happened? What is this? The house had transformed- the rooms were full of eighteenth-century furniture, paintings, and glassware. The faint scent of lilac hung in the air and colored light streamed through a stained-glass window. Transported? No, this is my house. I ran through the rooms, refusing to look and recognize that everything was strange to me. But my advancement was halted by a man who reminded me of the typical servant one often came across on TV shows.

The man’s eyes widened in alarmed surprise. “My God! William! Outside, now. Into the garden, before it is too late.” With no explanation, the man took me by the arm and hurried me outside; I allowed him and spoke not a word, for I hoped for clarity to this fragmented puzzle. And I began to feel that I was meant to be here. Now, was exactly the right time.

We emerged into the strong light of late morning and I recognized the garden in full bloom. The same could not be said about the many faces of the people that sat stiffly in lawn chairs on either side of a white carpet. The men and women, in their suits and dresses of a time long since passed, turned to gawk and stare in horror, when my leader called out, “Stop! You must stop! He has returned! William has returned!”

To my horror, we were interrupting a wedding; the bride and groom stood on a stone dais before a pastor. The groom looked in our direction with ire in his eyes. When the bride looked at me, I pulled out of the man’s grip and rooted to the spot. She was the woman in the picture, I had at that moment, resting in my pocket. It’s her. The woman’s hand shot to her mouth, and her eyes released a flood of recognition and even tears.

“What is this!?” I bellowed out over the gasping and chatter that was picking up among the wedding guests.

The man who had led me answered. “You were gone far too long. The estate is in ruin. With your declared death, Valerie was compelled to accept the proposal of Baron Wrenthorne. This is the morning of their wedding!”

“Enough!” erupted the baron. “Not another word from you,” he glared. “And you, William, into the house,” he demanded.

“No!” Valerie protested, rushing forward, but the baron caught her in his powerful grip and wrenched her back. “You will accompany me,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Take him to the library,” the baron ordered.

Two bulky, rough servants in plain clothes caught me by each arm and escorted me back into the house and into a prodigious library of wall-to-wall shelves stuffed with great volumes of bound books. The maple wood floor reflected some of the sunlight piercing three large windows in the only wall bereft of bookshelves. I was ushered past two green sofas in a sitting area and stopped before a large desk baring a map of 1807, boxes of cigars, and an open newspaper. But what demanded my attention was the large curtain over a part of the back wall. It reminded me of the one I had seen in Mr. Warbles’ office.

I held in my breath when I heard Wrenthorne and Valerie enter from behind. All will be clear soon. The moment is now.

“Not another word!” Wrenthorne bore down on Valerie with cruel eyes, as the two emerged into my view and took their places behind the desk. “Well, well. The mislaid man returns, but finds no welcome. Did you think you could appear after all of these years and step into your old life? No. You step on me in doing so.”

While he continued to berate me, with the occasional snicker thrown in from my two captors, I looked at Valerie, for I could feel her eyes burning into me as though she willed me to look at her. Her mouth moved silently, “Close your eyes when I raise my arm.” She was my hope. I looked back toward the baron, but focused on Valerie, who made her way to a long rope cord aside the curtain. She raised her arm and took hold of the cord; my eyes shut. I heard a rustling, and a powerful brightness filled the darkness I looked upon. As quickly as it came, it vanished. Amid painful shouting, my captors released me.

“William look!”

I looked and saw the anguished men using their palms to cover their eyes. On a rack was a sword above an empty scabbard. I ripped it off of the wall and held back my captors, who were recovering from their momentary blindness. “Come no nearer, or I will use this,” I threatened, holding it out at arm’s length, menacing.

At that moment, the man who had led me to Valerie, who I believed to be the butler, entered the room, out-of-breath and with two armed men. “There he is! The master has returned. Valerie’s husband has returned.”

The proclamation was beyond me, and I turned toward Valerie. I was lost in her gaze while Baron Wrenthorn and his men were taken from the room, and she and I were left to each other. I shook my head. “I do not understand what is happening.”

There was no surprise in her expression. “Always my brave champion. Ready to push back the terrible shadows of the world. Dawn on the horizon.”

Valerie paused and then continued. “You told me that traveling ahead in time could turn your mind against itself and clean the slate. You dreaded the possibility that you might awaken without memory of who you were, where you had come from, or how you had traveled. I pleaded with you, using all of my passion, my warnings, my measures, but to no avail. Before you went ahead, you placed in my hands the heart-shaped box and instructed me should you not return in time. Despite many obstacles, I succeeded and ensured that one day, no matter how far into the future, you would reunite with your timepiece. And would return to me,” she explained.

Valerie walked back to the curtain and pulled the cord, revealing a mirror. This time, there was no blinding light. I saw only her and myself; we were shimmering, awash in light.

My mind exploded in realization and recognition. All of it I knew. Everything was mine again. My memories, my feelings, my identity, my joy and my love. All of the vapor in the darkness parted by the scorching illumination. “Valerie. Your name is Valerie…and I am William. I remember it all.” I shook my head, and breathed in deeply, trying to prevent myself from crying uncontrollably, yet the tears came.

Valerie enwrapped me in her arms, and I knew that I was home.