Fade to Grey (6 page)

“No, Miss, but when we go into town tomorrow, Royce will veer off to the post office road and fetch the papers for the whole week for Missus Bradenton. Then after she and the mister are done, they give them to us to read. Well, those of us that can read. Some of us household help just like to look at the pictures of fashions and styles, you know.”

She was not embarrassed to say this, Donna noticed. That was one thing from this time that Donna realized, many people only had a few years of schooling and some women might just go from childhood directly into domestic work.

“You don’t have any old ones around then?”

“Oh no, ma’m.” Lilly said. “Why on earth would we do that? Everyone knows they go to the outhouse to be hung on the nail.”

Donna tried to make light of her mistake. “In our household in Chicago, I guess we just had more papers.”

“Of course––you’re probably hungry. You might have to wait a long time for the Missus to wake up, even though she's got company. Excuse me for saying that, Miss Bradenton.”

“That's alright. I've heard the household was like this––sort of loosely run.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss, and I don’t mean to be forward and all, but how do you know?

You never having been here and all. I've been in employment here ten years and you've not visited.”

“I've lived in Chicago all my life, but I've corresponded with my cousins from this area. They've filled me in with family news.” Donna accepted the plate of food Lily offered her and began to eat. Everything was as delicious as it was last night.

Now Rose spoke up. “I guess you know regular breakfast won't be until nine, if then. Sometimes they just skip it and have lunch. Depends on how much of a party there's been the night before.”

Lilly shot Rose a sharp look as if to quiet her.

“Lilly, breakfast was delicious. I think I'll go into the porch to read until the family gets up. I'll be there if anyone is looking for me.” Donna dabbed her lips and placed the napkin on the table.

“Yes, Miss, of course.”

Donna thought she might just as well, because she had no clothing to hang up or brush since she had no luggage. Right now she had the loaned clothing she wore on her back, plus the outfit she arrived in. There was no reason to go back and sit in her room; she would enjoy sitting by herself and gathering her thoughts for the next round—whatever it would be.

“I'll go into the library first and pick out a few books if you don’t think anyone would mind.”

“Of course, Ma'am, help yourself. Rose and I'll be tidying up in there in a few minutes––from the party last night.”

“Yes, of course. I'll only be a short while.”

She left the kitchen and slowly stopped her steps. She paused outside the door after it quit swinging.

“Well, what do you think of that?”

“What, Rose?”

“The cap. Now she’s hiding her hair. I told you what Annabelle and I saw last night—the strange hair stripes and the tattoo no less! I tell you there is something odd going on with her. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“Oh, please don’t make a fuss over a guest and her odd habits,” Lilly said. “Come on, do your best to stay out of trouble. We have plenty of work to do anyway with cleanup.”

Donna padded quietly down the hall to the library. She attempted to tread lightly, remembering the Bradentons were probably still deeply asleep after the previous nights’ drinking. No matter, the library should probably give her some clues as to the time period she was in. The curtains in the library were closed, so she opened them up to let the morning sun stream in. These people sure liked everything dark and gloomy for some reason. The furniture was heavy and of indeterminate origin. Donna was no antiques expert and couldn’t tell American made from European. Seat cushions were either embroidered or colorful velvet. She sat on the sofa and almost slid off.

“Hmm, probably horsehair.”

She had always read that it was slick and uncomfortable. She walked around the room and went to the piano, hoping to see something useful there. Peering inside the instrument she saw a sticker that said,
1800 – St. John’s Emporium, Boston.

Well, that’s just wonderful. But how long ago
was
1800? She did not know and the piano was in mint condition. It could have been recently purchased or simply lightly used. Flipping up the piano seat, she found the insides bare. Nothing but a coating of light dust and a dead silverfish.

“Nothing of use here,” she said ruefully, shutting the lid with a creak. Walking around the room, she picked up and fingered the cups, plates and drinking glasses. Peering into them, she hoped to see something, anything. There was nothing but the dregs of alcohol, coffee and some loose tea leaves.

Checking the ashtrays, she found cigar stubs and abandoned pipes. Truthfully, it didn’t look much different to the remnants of a cocktail party in Cicero or Skokie. The cigar bands offered no information.

“Huh, some things never change.”

She found a four-wheeled serving cart next to the wall, filled with liquor bottles. She checked the labels and found the brewery or distillery names on labels, but that was all. Moving now to the side of the room, she investigated the beautiful leather-bound books lining the shelves. She plucked three out and took them over to the window. Opening the first,
Vanity Fair
by William Makepeace Thackery, she was thrilled to see a print date on the inside of 1848.

“Now I’m getting somewhere!” She placed Thackery’s novel on the couch and opened the second book,
Jayne Eyre
by Charlotte Bronte. At first she was disappointed to see the first page printed,
First edition, eighteen-forty-seven.
This one apparently had been a gift, since it was inscribed in a thick black penmanship.
To Elizabeth, on your wedding day. Aunt Marcelle, 1865.

“Fantastic! Elizabeth was my great-great-great-great-grandmother Bradenton!” Donna wasn’t exactly certain of the day and month of the wedding, but it seems from the family tree her Gran maintained, it was in the mid-eighteen hundreds, eighteen-fifty perhaps. She placed that book on the couch next to
Ivanhoe
. The third book was of no help to her, being published in England in 1810.

She took them back to their shelf and replaced them. Then she sat on a cushion in the window seat. She sighed and felt a little relieved, but still scared. How would she explain her presence when the Bradentons finally got up? She could improvise it with the staff for a while, and she figured they would be too polite or scared to say anything to their employer about her odd appearance and actions. Perhaps for a while that would work, but how long? How would she get back to her time? Once again, her head started to ache with worry. She gazed outside at October’s dying grass and semi-naked trees. There was really no front lawn; it was more or less just an overgrown field that came up to the front of the house. Weeds and grass that were too high had probably been cut down by the help with a scythe, judging by large clumps of cuttings. What you would have called the lawn was packed dirt, with stone pathways leading to each of the entrance doors. She figured landscaping had not quite caught on yet from the looks of things.

Then she heard the maids coming down the hall. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had forgotten their cleaning mission.

Annabelle and Rose glanced her way and said nothing, but began bustling around the room, cleaning and wiping. They had brought a cart which helped with the glass and bottle removal. Annabelle had a small bucket and rag, which she carefully wrung the water out of and began wiping down the wooden furniture. Rose skirted around the outskirts of the room with a broom and dustpan, shooing dust and tobacco crumbs into it. They both smiled at Donna but made no attempt at conversation. Soon they were on their way back to the kitchen to wash and dry the glassware.

Donna wished she had something to occupy herself, but there was nothing except mind games and time riddles. She thought it best to deal with the here and now and figure out the passage through time later.

“Just as well, I need to have my story straight when I begin telling it.”

She ran plausible scenarios through her head, backwards and forwards. She could pretend to be sick, addled, or soft-minded, but that might be dangerous. They might try to take her to a doctor or admit her into a sanitarium. Then, they might try to contact her family in Chicago. She could be arrogant and demanding and put them on the defensive. This was another bad idea, since they could insist she leave and decide she was some kind of gypsy, thief or imposter. Why shouldn’t they? She had no identifying papers, no letters of introduction and no clothing. That could turn disastrous and she would end up shoved out on the road with only the clothes on her back. She didn’t have any money to travel with, and besides, where would she go?

There had always been charlatans and identify thieves since the beginning of time. The Bradentons might be cautious also. She thought it best to be friendly and stay open to clues in their conversation. She could be a distant relative, traveling, who decided just to drop in. Might that not work?

One time she and her mother played hostess to a distant relative from Poland. All they had was a phone call from the girl’s aunt, who they knew socially, in the suburbs and an initial meeting in a hotel lobby downtown where the girl was staying. They had a pleasant evening, with dining out, and a little sightseeing without any problems, except a slight language barrier which was breeched with laughter and sign language. They could have been easily tricked into accepting her visit, but at least they did know the aunt. People crashed awards shows and parties all the time. All it required was a little chutzpah.

She felt a little better, and thought it best to play that hand. She would throw herself literally and figuratively at their feet, expecting hospitality and comfort for a short while. Later, she could figure out a way to get back to the year two thousand ten which she had come from. Once again, she heard footsteps. This time it was not the maids. Mr. and Mrs. Bradenton entered the room, a little worse for wear, Donna thought.

“Good morning, young lady!” Mr. Bradenton said. His wife was on his arm, a little pale but smiling.
A good sign
, Donna thought.

She remembered her manners, rose, and went to take his hand. She started shaking it firmly, but then had doubts. Perhaps in this time period, a woman would offer a weaker, more feminine grasp. Unsure of the mannerisms, she split the difference. She offered a medium-strength clasp and hoped it would be acceptable. Mr. Bradenton surprised her and not only shook her hand but grasped her arm halfway to her elbow. He immediately set her at ease with his friendly gesture. He was dressed in a manner that Donna would have thought a bit stuffy and formal in her time, but people were more particular in their way of dressing in this time—whatever time it was. He had on polished black boots, black trousers, a white shirt and jacket, though tie-less. Perhaps that was good enough to greet guests on a weekday in your own house. Donna would have been dressed in a jogging suit and slippers if it was up to her.

Mrs. Bradenton was dressed in a sort of shirt-waist dress, with her dark hair pulled back into a loose braid. Her hair was very long, with the bottom of the braid hitting low on her hips.
She’s
probably never cut her hair
, Donna thought. Her shoes were a sort of soft looking leather, almost made as a ballet slipper. They didn’t look durable enough to wear outside; they were probably her house shoes. People in their social class wouldn’t wear bedroom clothing to greet a guest.

“My dear,” Mrs. Bradenton said. “You must fill us in on your trip. Please, sit down and we’ll have the maids bring some tea and toast.” She looked curiously at Donna’s face, and Donna hoped that nothing was amiss. All her makeup was washed or worn off and she was rather bare faced. Suddenly, she realized Mrs. Bradenton was staring at her cap. Reaching up to touch her white cap, she laughed.

“I’ve been having a bit of a head cold. The doctor back home told me to wear a hat as much as possible until it passed.” There, that should satisfy them. “Plus, it was cold on the train when I traveled here.”

“Yes, yes, keep the head warm. Grow your hair long and tuck it up into a nightcap also,” Mr. Bradenton agreed. “Sounds like a good doctor, I wish I had him around here. Our town could always use another prudent physician.”

Lilly appeared.

“Might I get you anything, ma’am––possibly some hot tea and toast?” Donna got the feeling this partying was a normal routine, with the maid already having a menu to offer.

“Yes, that might be good,” Mrs. Bradenton said. “I could use some strong Oolong and honey this morning.”

She gestured weakly for Donna to sit down. Fantastic, they were moderately hung over from last night! Donna figured the conversation would be rather general and probably nothing specific since they didn’t actually know her. Perhaps if she was lucky, they might give her clues as to who she was.

“We are terribly sorry you didn’t get to join the party last night,” Mr. Bradenton offered. His friendliness was certainly reassuring enough.

“Oh, I got here too late. Plus I was tired from the trip and the confusion, you know. I thought it best just to have the maids show me to my room and start fresh today,” Donna said.

“Yes, that’s always the best way,” Mrs. Bradenton agreed. “The party was already winding down when you arrived. It probably wouldn’t have been much fun.”

Donna studied her, realizing she was looking at her great-great-great-great grandmother. The moment was spooky. Mrs. Bradenton was of average height, pale and a bit plump around the middle. Her hands were delicate and covered with an assortment of large rings. Donna thought back to the eighteen hundreds and remembered women were supposed to stay out of the sun. She probably never exercised in her life, except for some formal dancing. Donna was glad now she had skipped the tanning salon last week and her tan in the bottle product was now worn completely off. She should look just as pale as the rest of them. It would have been difficult to explain a deep tan at the end of October to these people. The only people who were tanned were probably field hands.