A Twist of Time

The day was a formidable one at best with the downpour of rain and the occasional streaks of lighting that stretched across the expanse of the skies along with the ominous rolls of thunder. Looking out the large window that covered the entire wall of one side of the den, Piper yawned and sank deeper into the cushions of the comfy sofa, the book she was reading perched on her chest. It was such a dreary day that she could not help feeling sleepy again even though she’d risen later than usual that morning.

Her normal days of vacation almost always consisted of unwinding and downtime or doing precisely what she felt like doing. This year, she had chosen a week at the beach and the forecast called for rain nearly every day. Of all the times to choose a beach vacation! Still, the house was lovely with a beautiful oceanfront view, and it was true that she loved the beach no matter the time of year or type of weather. Come winter, fall, spring, or summer and in rain or sunshine, the soft lull and roll of the tide’s waves were always an inspiration and peaceful interlude.

In the background, soft strains of Chopin’s Nocturnes played as Piper continued reading her book, Wuthering Heights. It had always been one of her favorite classics, and she was determined to reread it since the last time had been when she was only twelve years of age. She was now twenty-four, so reading it again was an overdue endeavor. In this dreary and rainy weather, she could easily picture the haunting, heather strewn moors in the story. And as dark a character as Heathcliff was, he was still an intriguing one to which Piper was immensely drawn. She picked up her coffee, hoping it would keep her awake, at least long enough to complete the current chapter.

It was less than an hour later when Piper gave up her quest and placed the book face down on the coffee table. Turning to settle more comfortably on the sofa, she pulled down the yellow afghan that lay across the top cushion. Lulled by the soft music, the pitter patter of rain, and the warmth beneath the afghan, she quickly fell into a deep slumber.

*********

Was she dreaming? Without a doubt, she must be. She could smell the mustiness of damp earth and heather that bloomed across the moors and stretched as far as the eye could see. It was no longer raining, but she could tell that the rain had only all too recently stopped. She no longer was inside the beach house either. Where on earth was she? What had happened?

Piper realized, much to her amazement, that she was not dressed in the comfy jeans and t-shirt that she had donned earlier that morning. Instead, she wore a printed, soft muslin gown that flowed all the way to her feet, covering much of her arms as well. There was an intricate pattern of embroidered flowers dispersed through the dress's material and delicate wisps of lace were attached here and there to accent its loveliness - or perhaps more so to cover the fullness of her breasts. Beneath the hem of the long dress, Piper could see her feet, but instead of wearing the navy Converse tennis shoes she normally wore, her feet were encased in silk textured shoes. While lovely, they were not at all what Piper was used to, and she quickly noted their flimsiness. What on earth was going on?

Glancing up and looking about, her body creating a full circle along with the direction of her eyes, she searched for any sign of the ocean. No ocean. No sand. No waves. No seagulls. No beach house. Only endless moors and heather as far as the eye could see. Confused, she rose and took a step forward, heading to a nearby formation of rocks. While the skies were overcast, there was still a humid heat that hung in the air and sunshine peeked through the hovering clouds. She was unused to wearing so much clothing, especially in warm weather, so she quickly sought the comfort of the shade created by the bouldering rocks.

She leaned against the largest stone and deliberately pinched her arm with a force. She must be dreaming! But instead, she only winced at the pain felt from the strength of her fingers twisting the skin of her forearm. What the devil was going on? Had she leapt through some crazy tunnel of time to land in England amidst what appeared to be the nineteenth century? Her mind raced as it searched for tangible answers, but there was no denying the situation in which she found herself. She was about as far away from South Carolina's beachfront as possible. It appeared she was now somewhere in England – but even more perplexing, it appeared she was in an entirely different era.

Setting her mind on that which could not be ignored, Piper quickly realized that this transition might not be the worst thing ever. Had she not always felt misplaced? Yes, it was true: she did feel as though she had been been meant for another place and another century, even as much as she loved her Southern roots and loved ones. A smile tugged at her lips. Dream or no dream, she was going to make the best of the situation. After all, perhaps she’d stumble across someone as handsome as Heathcliff. Still, she could not help but wonder how long it would take to do just that. The day would eventually end and where would that leave her?

Looking down at the ground, she realized there was a blanket spread with a picnic basket atop it. From where had it all come? Strange, but it nearly seemed as though she had been expected. Carefully taking a seat on the blanket, she opened the basket to find refreshments: a portion of bread, a wedge of cheese, a pear, and a bottle of wine along with two small glasses. Two glasses? Was she supposed to have a guest?

Nestled inside the basket, beneath all the food and wine, was also a leather bound book. Removing everything else, she picked the book up and opened it. No surprise there: Wuthering Heights. Well, since the book was published in 1847, the period in which she now found herself had to be somewhere during the latter half of that century. This was incredibly interesting, to say the least. Now if only her expected guest would arrive. She was more than anxious to learn for whom the second glass might be intended – or if it was just a spare glass and nothing more.

Settling more comfortably upon the blanket, Piper pulled the stopper out of the wine bottle and poured herself a full glass of red wine. It was fruity, yet spicy, and satisfied her thirst while also relaxing her nerves a bit. Anyone would be a little anxious under the circumstances, she reminded herself. Pulling off a piece of the bread and nibbling the cheese, she found that she was much hungrier than she'd known. The morning’s coffee had done little to satisfy her appetite, especially on such an unexpected journey. Strangely, she supposed she was rather calm despite all things considered.

Growing more accustomed to her situation as the sun rose high in the sky, nearly blinding her, she peered across the vast moor. Raising her hand and blocking as much of the light as possible, she spotted a distant rider upon a black horse. The rider drew nearer until she could hear the horse's strong gait and see that it was a gentleman seated atop it. Piper’s heart began to beat rapidly, and to steady her nerves even more, she downed the small glass of wine she held and then quickly poured herself another generous measure of the same.

As the rider drew very near, he steadied the horse. She could easily see that the man was indeed a strong version of Heathcliff while also very different. He had darkened skin, windswept brown hair, crystal blue eyes, and the semblance of a smile upon his lips. The biggest difference she could discern was that his clothing was fitted to his lean body, and not at all poorly in appearance. No, this gentleman appeared to be very much just that: a gentleman, and more than likely, a wealthy one.

He removed the hat he wore and nodded at her as the black stallion stopped just inches from her blanket. “Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and melodic.

‘Good morning,” Piper murmured. Was that her squeaky voice she heard? He must already think her a moron.

“I am Barclay. Are you new to our village?”

“Yes, indeed. My name is Piper,” she said, fully aware of the Southern drawl that surfaced as she spoke. There was no denying she was not from England.

He smiled, and Piper thought him quite handsome. With a keen and full awareness, she smoothed the errant red curls that swirled about her face to make herself more presentable. She was sure that traveling through centuries had surely left her looking unkept and a bit of a fright.

“That’s no British accent,” he smiled. “Are you from the colonies?”

Piper smiled. “Yes, from Charleston…or you may still know it as Charles Towne,” she quickly added.

“Ah, yes. Charles Towne is a wonderful city. My shipping company stops in port there frequently. I should have recognized your accent.”

Piper smiled. “Where are my manners? Would you care for some refreshment? Perhaps a glass of wine? It’s rather warm today.” Piper pulled the extra glass from the basket, immensely happy that it was obviously intended for this gentleman. She watched his lean frame easily dismount the tall horse.

Barclay strode to the edge of the blanket and knelt before her, accepting the glass of wine with a broader smile and a ‘thank you’, his strong fingers brushing hers. Up close, she could see that his beautiful blue eyes twinkled with undisguised mirth. She was suddenly very happy she had on the soft muslin dress opposed to jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. Hopefully, he would not ask any questions she could not truthfully answer. After all, this had been a very unexpected journey, and she certainly had no clue what the next minute or hour would bring.

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

“No, thank you,” he said. His voice was rich with the strength of his accent and just being this close to him brought an keen awareness. Despite the warmth of the mild day, Piper shivered.

“Did you not bring your wrap, miss?” he asked. "Would you like coat?"

Piper looked about, unsure of her answer but then spotted a lovely lavender shawl behind her on the ground. Picking it up, she playfully pulled at its decorative fringe. “Oh, I’m all right – not really cold at all,” she responded with a smile to match his.

“Aye, indeed. ‘Tis the loveliest of days. I’m thankful for such days, and Maisy has enjoyed getting out for a ride after all the rain.” Barclay downed his wine, and Piper quickly offered him another glass.

Silence ensued, and Piper studied the tall horse. She was a beautiful, strong mare. When she returned her attention to Barclay, she found his blue eyes intently watching her, as if summing up the measure of her worth.

“You must have been expecting someone,” he said. “I hope I haven’t intruded.”

Piper arched her brow and looked at him questioningly, before he added, “The extra glass?”

“Oh! It’s only for someone who may come along, like you, in need of such,” Piper said. “I’m glad I could offer you refreshment.”

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

“Will I see you again tonight?” he asked.

“Tonight?”

“At the Pennington’s ball?”

Piper looked down at her lap before she responded. “Yes, I hope so,” she said with sincerity.

“Aye, I hope so, too.” Barclay's blue eyes sparkled as he continued to intently watch her.

“But for now, I fear I must return home,” he said as he slowly rose, and again, Piper could not help but notice the fine physique he cut in his well-tailored riding attire.

He tipped his hat as he placed it back upon the thick waves of hair. “Until later then.” It was a statement and not a question; he fully expected to see her at the ball that evening.

“Yes, until later. It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Piper smiled, thoroughly enchanted in the moment and with the man before her.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Barclay said as he mounted his horse and galloped away, one final smile upon his handsome lips as he looked back.

Ah! The embodiment of a hero straight off the pages of a book. Immense pleasure and excitement filled her. Where were the men like this one in the twenty-first century? She had certainly not stumbled upon any of them in her twenty-four years. Taking up the lavender shawl, she wrapped it around her shoulders and leaned back upon the solid rocks, sighing deeply as she closed her eyes. What an unbelievably romantic day and amazing man!

And then suddenly, as if fate was cruel in a twist and manipulation of time, she opened her eyes and found herself lying back on the comfy sofa, her book and coffee mug on the table before her, dressed once again in her jeans and t-shirt. Surprised, she quickly stood and realized she had dropped the afghan. As she stooped to pick it up, further amazement was hers: it was not the knitted, yellow afghan she’d pulled from the back of the sofa earlier, but the lavender shawl in which she’d wrapped herself just prior to returning to the present day and time.

It was true! Here was proof that she had not imagined the last hour or two of time. Barclay was in face quite real. But as quickly as joy encompassed her, disappointment flooded her at the realization that he was betwixt the centuries in another place and time. Saddened beyond measure that there would be no Barclay and no evening ball, Piper made her way to the kitchen where she poured herself another cup of black coffee before settling back on the sofa. She noticed that it had finally ceased raining, and the sun was now peeking through the clouds.

Piper did not know how long she sat there, contemplating the strange events of her morning, but at some point, she heard footsteps on the front porch. Quickly she rose. She was expecting no one, so fear was a palpable thing as she turned the handle to open the door wide. As the door flung wide, she stepped onto the threshold and into the gleaming afternoon sunlight. It was so unexpectedly bright she could hardly see her hand in front of her. As she shielded her eyes, she stared directly into blue eyes that she already knew.

“I’m so sorry!” A deep, familiar voice said. “My rental agent must have been confused. I did not realize anyone was in the house this week. I‘m the owner and wanted to check on a plumbing issue. I apologize for disturbing you.”

Piper could only stare in wide-eyed wonder at the man who stood before her. He was the spitting image of Barclay, minus the horse and eighteenth century clothing, of course.

Finding her voice, she said, “It’s all right. I’m Piper McCloud, and I’ve rented your home for the week. You are welcome to come in and do whatever needs doing.”

“That would be great. Again, I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. I’m Barkley Grimball,” he said and extended his hand in greeting.

Piper was not surprised. His name was close enough, she thought as she shook his hand.

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

He smiled and nodded. “A glass of water would be great, but please, call me Barkley."

Stepping aside for him to move past, Piper turned her face toward the sun to feel its full effect. She was strongly aware of the profundity of a privilege life had just granted her. It was a gift far larger than anything for which she could ever deign to ask, and she could not wait to see on what journey it would take her. However, in her heart, she was already certain she knew precisely what the outcome would be.

Piper reentered the house, a beautiful, knowing smile, reminiscent of the sunlight in the blue skies, lighting her face. She no longer felt misplaced in any shape or fashion for her world had suddenly spun aright in the most exquisite way possible. Her twist of time - and fate - was without a doubt perfection in the every sense of the word.