Series

She hung her coat in the closet and walked into the kitchen, lifting Mittens from the floor at his disapproval. The list of dates sat folded on the counter, the signs of age and wear becoming more obvious with every passing day.

Out of the 30 or so days she had originally written down, there were merely a handful remaining, each date falling further from the last.

She missed him terribly, ached for the sound of his voice or the feel of his hands. It was all she could do now to remember the scent of his cologne or the smell of his breath in the morning, simply from the passage of time as opposed to old age. She made her way into the study and dropped Mittens to the floor. He made a noise of complaint before darting towards the door, pausing just before the frame to look back as she sank slowly into her chair. Picture frames lined her desk, pictures of her parents and his, of the two of them together, and her personal favorites, the ones of just him.

She slid open the drawer and removed a small journal wrapped in protective cloth. It was made with brown leather, just bigger than her wide spread palm, and covered in scratches. The pages were wrinkled with water and writing and time. The journal creaked slightly as she opened it, the spine weak, barely holding the pages together. Inside, tucked away between pages of centuries were pictures of her - seated upon a chair in a regal gown, dancing with her friends at a speakeasy downtown, studying in the library at the college where they met, standing in her wedding dress as she stared out the window, and a million others.

As she flipped through the pages, she stroked the memorized words with shaky hands, her tears adding to the years of stains. She knew she wouldn’t find any new dates, he had written down every jump through time that he had experienced, and no matter how many times she flipped through the notebook, nothing about it was ever new. All she had left was the list she had secretly kept all those years and his journal.

Mittens had rejoined her in the office when she had begun to cry and was now lovingly rubbing up against her legs, his purrs putting her more at ease. She closed the journal, returned it to the drawer, and left the room, kissing two fingers and placing them against his portrait on her way out.

She was just settling down behind the television when the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting company?” she asked the cat as she crossed the room.

He gave her a questioning look before jumping from the couch and running from the room. “Me neither.”

The doorbell rang again, and she shuffled to the door. Through the peephole she could just barely make out a tall man with tousled black hair and slim shoulders. She gasped and backed away from the door unable to turn the knob and answer.

The doorbell turned into knocks against the solid oak that she could feel deep in her chest. She unlatched the lock and twisted the door knob. The figure on the porch looked up and smiled, gleaming white teeth matching his green eyes.

“I was beginning to think I had the wrong year,” he chuckled, opening the storm door and letting himself in. “Or at least the wrong house.”

Meredith stood in shock at the man before her, maybe she hadn’t been the only one keeping secrets.

“James?”

The room was huge, the white walls dotted with floor to ceiling windows seeming to continue on forever. Just through the entryway was a thick crowd of people, all moving and swaying to the slow melody of Fredric Chopin’s “Nocturne”. A loud wave of noise, voices mixed with clinking glasses and applause, filled the silence following the music. The room felt alive.

Grand chandeliers hung throughout the room, cascading pools of light on the dance floor that stretched to the vaulted ceiling. The ceiling above them was painted with glistening stars and angels, just one uplifted finger and you could touch Heaven. It was enough to make you cry.

But it was nothing she hadn’t seen before. All across the world, from the Americas to Russia, stood magnificent buildings filled with paintings and music and people just like this.

Meredith stood by the entrance, her dance card in hand, scanning the crowd as her mother made pleasantries behind her. She had already, reluctantly, promised two gentlemen a dance later and prayed that her upraised fan would fend off any other potential suitors.

“Come along,” her mother instructed, gracefully gliding around her and into the crowd. “We mustn’t stand in the doorway for the rest of the evening. It simply wouldn’t be polite.”

With a swish of her skirts and a single glance over her shoulder, her mother disappeared into the mass of people. Meredith inwardly rolled her eyes and followed suit, lifting her full gold trimmed skirt with gloved hands and passing into the crowd.

Eyes followed the two women as they cut across the ballroom, skillfully avoiding the dancers as they found their table across the room. They were new here, having only been in town less than a month, but news spread like wildfire amongst the high society and everyone knew of the widow and her beautiful daughter. Rumors had sparked about them, stories that she had killed her husband for the money alone. Others spoke of the immortal curse that had befallen them. Most days it was hard to tell the difference between the lies and the truth.

Before Meredith could even be seated, she was whisked away for the first of many dances of the night, and she resented her inability to refuse.

Her feet were starting to ache when she finally got a break. She was watching the clock like a hawk now, counting down the seconds until the obligatory nightmare could end. Her mother, ever the proper and polite lady, was entertaining when she returned to their table. Both gentlemen kissed her gloved hand and excused themselves. She returned her mother’s apologetic smile and sank royally into her seat.

“Just a little while longer,” her mother promised, laying a gentle hand on hers. “It’ll all be over soon.”

The bells announced the hour just beyond the icy window panes as a gentleman approached their table. He was tall and lean, very little muscle to show beneath his black tailcoat and trousers. His hair, perfectly combed away from his face, was dark, accenting his green eyes perfectly. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the warmth of the room and the wine, standing in stark contrast to his pale skin.

“I was beginning to worry I would never get the chance to dance with you,” he stated forwardly, his white gloved hand outstretched. “You have been a very popular dance partner tonight.”

She paused for a moment to glance at her mother who was in awe of this stranger's manners.

“Excuse me,” he corrected, drawing back his hand. “Where are my manners? My name is James Taryn. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He bowed at the hips, ducking his head low, before placing a light kiss on her outstretched hand. She stood and curtsied while her mother just bowed her head.

“May I steal you for a dance?”

Meredith nodded as James escorted her to the floor. The piano started up again and the dance began. Her cream colored dress swayed in time with the music as the two waltzed around the room. Goosebumps arose on her arms with every spin as his breath brushed the nape of her neck and her heart pounded loudly in her chest.

Three dances later and her face was numb. Her smile, echoed by her laugh, hadn’t left her face since she had taken his hand. She could feel parts of the crowd around her getting restless, gentleman callers patiently awaiting their turn for a waltz around the room with her. Her heart sank at the thought of ending this magic, but she knew well enough that they had already exceeded the number of dances a young lady was allowed to have with one gentleman.

Behind her the clock struck midnight, cutting through the party with its thunderous warning. She was just about to wish her partner a good night when he suddenly released her hand and tore off through the party.

Men and women gasped as he shoved past, practically leaping out of his way as he fled the room. Meredith looked to her mother apologetically, knowing good and well that ladies don’t run, especially to chase after a young man. She apologized to everyone, patrons and servants alike, as she followed suit, her small heels clacking out her path as she ran. If she had managed to go unnoticed by anyone so far, her noisy exit changed that.

Her corset tightened around her waist with every ragged breath, and her dress made ascending the stairs at a jaunt next to impossible. She pushed through the pain as she reached the top step and busted through the door into the frigid December air, her hair hanging in loose curls around her face.

Golden pins littered the ground as she shoved her hair out of her face, searching the icy darkness for her mysterious suitor. She could just barely make out the sounds of the party but saw no signs, not even footsteps of anyone else. Not even a glass slipper.

The doors behind her opened and closed again, and she turned to find her mother standing behind her with her shawl in her hands.

“No entrance is going to beat the exit you just made,” her mother explained, wrapping the thick material over Meredith’s bare shoulders. “I have sent for the carriage. It’s time we head home.”