“Please, Hannah,” I begged into the phone. “Come explore with us.”
“Okay, mom,” she grumbled. “I’ll meet you there.”
I spent the weekend sleeping and eating. The strange thing about time travel is the amount of eating and sleeping I want to do afterwards. It drained my energy. It is like it needs to absorb my energy to hurl me back-and-forth through time. I had little energy or time to go shopping, so I ended up throwing on my sundress for the third day in a row. The middle of July in coastal Southern Virginia wouldn’t require much more than what I wore. The heat and humidity would kick in before noon. I made a mental note that I would have to get to the store later this week.
Hannah met me and Beth in front of Henry’s house. I hugged her and kept my arm around her waist as we looked at the front of the bricked house. Memories of my time with Henry and Washington were flooding back like someone opened the Hoover Dam.
“What was Washington like?” Beth asked as we waited for the museum to open.
“Determined.” I laughed. “Determined to make a name for himself. Determined to do things right, even if he was completely wrong.” I took a moment to think about the young leader. “And young. He was only twenty-two, and he was leading the Virginia Regiment. Also, he was pretty ticked-off at me when Jumonville was scalped. He blamed me for it.” I snorted out a laugh. Good times.
A man dressed in colonial attire opened the gate to the museum. “Greetings, ladies. Welcome to the Henry Spencer House. Please have your tickets available.”
Beth showed him our e-tickets on her phone. Later in the day, we were going to pick me up a new phone. I buried my old one under some tree in West Virginia.
We started the tour through the backyard, in through back door, and into the parlor. “They restored each room to its true original design. This is Henry Spencer’s first wife, Lady Caroline,” the historic interpreter said. “She died in England, and he brought her portrait with him as he journeyed across the ocean to settle in the Colonies.”
“It’s almost right,” I leaned over to Beth and Hannah. “There was a red rug in here and the fabric is all wrong on the sofa. It was closer to the color of her dress.” Hannah shot me a disapproving look. It would take more than pointing out the sofa was a different color for her to believe me.
“The dining room is across the hall.”
We entered the room. There were pieces missing, and the table was all wrong. I held my tongue after the look Hannah had given me in the parlor. With my arms crossed, I gave a slight nod.
We went down the hall to the study. Henry’s office.
“This is Lord Henry Spencer’s office. The most notable item we found is this notebook. It was found in the back of a drawer and covered in mud and blood. The pages were too fragile to flip through, so we don’t know what they wrote in it. We believe he carried the notebook with him to the battles during the French and Indian War. Oh, to know what he found noteworthy.”
Hannah gasped and quickly covered her mouth. “That looks like your notebook.”
“It is my notebook. That is Jumonville’s blood on there.” I said as I raised my eyebrows in an “I told you so,” kind of way.
“We will move on to the library across the hall.”
We crossed the hall to the library. One of my favorite rooms in the house. Paige came bounding down the stairs. “Oh, you’re back. I’m so happy you came back. I’ve got something to show you in the library.”
“That’s where we’re headed now.” Our tour guide informed Paige.
Next, was the library. The first portrait we saw was of Henry. I stood there and stared at him. It was only days ago when I last saw him. The portrait was the only thing I had left to remember him by.
“Mom, is that him?”
“It is.” I stood there with a stupid grin on my face. I missed my friend. “Snap a pic, will you?”
“No photography in the museum, ma’am.” The man held up his hand to stop Hannah.
“Take it when he’s not looking,” I whispered to her. “Send me a copy.”
“I wanted to show this lady,” Paige began and was abruptly interrupted by the fun police. She had distracted him long enough for Hannah to snap a pic of Henry’s portrait.
“Let me finish my tour,” the man hushed Paige. I gave her a sympathetic look.
“Lord Henry Spencer was a captain in the Virginia Regiment, serving under George Washington. We are not sure of the date, but we know he married his second wife during that time. We had an attack on it a few months ago and received her portrait back from the restorer this morning. If you turn to look behind you, you will find the portrait of Lady Amelia Spencer.”
Beth and Hannah looked at me, and simultaneously, we all turned to look at the portrait.
“Amelia,” Beth gasped. “It’s you.”
I stared at the portrait. Tears flowed down my cheeks. Hannah wrapped her arm around my waist. Beth took my hand. My knees weakened.
“It must be one of your ancestors, ma’am.” The man said, his voice was becoming a blur to me. I could only focus on the portrait of me. “The family resemblance is uncanny.”
“It’s me.” I whispered to Hannah and Beth. “How?”
“It is you,” Hannah said. “I believe you. I don’t know how it could be possible, but I believe you.”
“That’s what I wanted to show you,” squeaked Paige. “When I saw you that morning, I knew you looked familiar. I thought you were one of the new employees. Then you mentioned your name, and I remembered the painting. I figured she must have been your great-great-great—well, I wasn’t sure how many greats—grandmother.”
“It’s something like that,” I smiled. “Can you give me a moment with my daughter and friend?”
“We can’t leave you alone in the rooms,” the man started.
“Please,” I snapped. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. “I just need a moment.”
“We’ll give you time,” Paige said as she pulled the man out of the room. He moaned something about protocol.
“I don’t understand. I certainly didn’t sit for a portrait. We didn’t get married. I came back before that could happen.” My head spun. I could feel all the blood drain from my face. “I sat over there on the sofa and would read. That is where Henry proposed.” I looked around the room, trying to make sense of it all. “But I’m here. Now. I didn’t tell him I would marry him. We didn’t get married.”
“You must have gotten married. Why else would they say that?”
“We didn’t.” I looked at my portrait for a few moments, racing through my memories of the past few months. I spun around and looked at Henry’s portrait. My heart ached for him.
I looked at Hannah and Beth. I stared at Henry’s portrait. My heart tried thumping out of my chest. I wanted to run up the stairs and collapse onto his bed. Dramatic, but my pent-up emotions wanted to take over.
“What are you going to do?” Beth asked. She could tell wild thoughts were spinning around my head.
“I’ve got to go back.”
“How?” Asked Hannah.
“I have no clue how any of this works.” I looked at Henry’s portrait again. I took hold of Hannah and Beth’s hands. “All I know is I left half my heart in seventeen fifty-four. How do I continue without him? I know it somehow happens; the portraits are proof. I don’t know how I did it. I must find a way back to seventeen fifty-four. Back to Henry.”
Continue the Historical Time Travel Adventure:
The Time Writer and The March
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