Page 14

The Future

EARLY MORNING, CHRISTMAS DAY (THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS)

T he sky was overcast—brooding and grim.

Market Street was covered in a fresh fall of snow.

The world was silent, muffled by the clouds overhead and flakes blanketing the roadway.

William looked about and realized it must still be Christmas Day, the shops sporting festive Christmas boughs in their darkened windows.

Across the street was the empty post office, the interior dark and deserted.

If that was the post office, he must be standing in front of Caroline’s shop.

He turned to look, noting a fresh display of ribbons through the window, along with festive sprigs and boughs draping the windows and counters.

Why was he back on this day? Was there some new revelation to uncover?

Not knowing what came next, William walked toward his cottage. As he approached a cross street, Dr. Hadley appeared, walking from the direction of the church.

“Mr. Jackson! Season’s greetings to you!” The doctor paused to meet him at the corner.

William realized something was not right. Dr. Hadley’s hair was whiter. His thick mustache was also white, and he had far more lines on his face. He appeared to have aged several years.

William rubbed his face, confused by this turn of events. Was this a future Christmas?

“Same to you and Mrs. Hadley, doctor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I must be on my way, but I do not need to tell you! You have a full house waiting for you!”

The doctor was not going to invite him to his Christmas feast as he did each year? And what did he mean … a full house? While William pondered their conversation, the doctor had walked off in the direction of his home. He shook his head, not sure what to make of this new situation.

Shrugging, he resumed his walk home, feeling rather bleak and lonely. It would be lovely if Caroline showed up to guide him somewhere, the world eerily quiet as the snow began to fall once more.

An eternity later—the walk seeming to take much longer than usual—he reached his front door, where he stood hesitantly.

All was quiet, and he was reluctant to enter his empty home and spend Christmas alone yet again.

He wanted to embrace life, reconnect with his neighbors and family.

Perhaps even visit Caroline in her millinery and converse with her while she worked—not enter his cold, silent cottage.

From behind the front door, he heard humming with a surge of pleasure. She was coming! They would accompany each other, and she would reveal some new way to improve his lot. It was sweet delight to hear her melodic voice break into song.

‘All glory be to God on high,

and to the earth be peace;

to those on whom his favor rests

goodwill shall never cease.’

The sound grew closer until, finally, the lock clicked, and his front door swung open.

“William, there you are! We have been waiting to serve dinner!”

He blinked. Was she not going to ask him some peculiarly discerning question as she had before?

Caroline reached out a hand, and he looked down.

This time she wore gloves, as if she were cold.

Shaking his head in confusion, he looked down at his own hand to discover that he, too, was wearing gloves.

At least this time, he saw no evidence of his hand being soiled as in the earlier dreams. He reached out and clasped her hand with confidence as she smiled and drew him closer.

Then, to his surprise, she bobbed up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Granted, it landed low in his beard because of their disparity in height, but it was welcome, nevertheless.

Caroline turned and pulled him along to guide him inside, William shutting out the cold to discover that the cottage was warm with ambient heat. The fires must be lit.

As he looked about the sitting room, he was startled to find Uncle Albert sitting at a table beside a young boy with almost black hair.

They were studying a diagram sketched with a graphite pencil, their heads bowed together.

William noticed the room had been redecorated.

Above the fireplace hung a painting of Chatternwell at dawn, painted from one of the rolling hills.

Depicted there was the church spire, and chimneys puffing cheerful smoke.

The rug had been replaced with one of oranges and purples to pick out the colors of the painting, along with the pillows on the settees.

New drapes hung in the windows, and the walls were painted in claret.

“Charles, do you wish to greet your papa?” Caroline called across the room.

William’s head whipped in her direction to confirm she was addressing the boy directly.

Were they not spectators of this scene, then? Were they active participants?

Looking back at the table, he saw the young boy raise his head. Blazing blue eyes found him standing there, and the child hopped down from his chair to race across the room and throw his little arms around William’s thighs. “Papa! You are home!”

William blinked several times, finally raising a hand to the boy’s shoulder to give him a hesitant pat.

Uncle Albert approached with a broad grin. “William, I have been teaching your boy about locks. I showed him the one you invented.” He indicated the table with a wave of his hand.

William was speechless, only able to nod mutely as he took in his uncle’s cheerful demeanor. He had not seen Uncle Albert this happy in years.

Caroline dropped to her haunches. “Are you ready for dinner, Charles? Or do you need to wash your hands?”

The boy, no more than seven years of age, grinned with an impish twinkle in his intense blue eyes.

“I must wash up,” he confessed, then ran through the door to the kitchen.

Caroline pulled William by the hand and followed the boy.

Entering the back room, William found Aunt Gertrude holding a small girl on her hip, tendrils of graying hair having escaped the neat little bun at her nape.

It amazed him to see his aunt with a huge smile as she used a cloth to wipe the child’s fingers, which were red with the juice of cranberries.

“Now, Margaret, look what a mess you have made!”

“Aunt Gertrude?”

His aunt turned to smile broadly in greeting. “William, you are home! Dinner is almost ready, lad.”

William had not seen his aunt in such fine spirits for years, not since before he had broken the bad news about her son.

Yet, here she stood with color in her cheeks and her eyes glistening with joy.

His chest expanded with elation at seeing her in such good spirits.

The little girl in his aunt’s arms looked about with wide, inquisitive eyes.

Noticing William, her cherubic face lit up. “Pup-pa!” she squealed, wiggling with excitement to ignite a yearning.

He swallowed hard, looking carefully at the two children. Noting the boy bore a resemblance to himself, while the tiny girl wrapped in Aunt Gertrude’s arm had blonde hair and lively hazel eyes. This was Caroline’s daughter. His daughter?

On the table was the evidence of a dinner in its finishing stages, and the smell of roasted meat caused a rumble in his belly.

The entire room was filled with domestic bliss and festive spirits, sprigs of holly adorning the windows, and William felt true happiness standing in his kitchen surrounded by the ones he loved.

Turning to Caroline, pulling on her hand to get her attention, he questioned her earnestly. “What is this?”

She gazed at him with a warm expression before responding, “This is the future, William. If you allow it.”

William was overcome, his throat growing thick with the sheer emotion enveloping him as he took in the sight of his uncle and aunt restored to good spirits. New life that had been brought into the world and set things right, with two healthy children to build the future.

Turning, he pulled Caroline into an embrace. He wanted this! All of this. He wanted children and hope. He wanted reconciliation and good cheer. He wanted her!

As he engulfed her with his arms, feeling her slight body against his own, she giggled.

“Careful, William. Do not squish our babe.” Which was when he felt the roundness of her belly pressed against him.

Caroline was increasing, and with this news, he nearly wept his joy into her vanilla-scented hair.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” he whispered, feeling her lips curve into a smile against his neck.

“Merry Christmas, blacksmith.”

She was half asleep, dozing on the shorter settee and wishing she could stretch out properly on a bed, when Caroline heard the blacksmith mumbling in his sleep.

She could not make out the rest of the words, but she could pick out one.

“… sunshine …”

What on earth could the blacksmith be dreaming about?

She dug an elbow into the settee cushion and raised her head to peer across to where he lay.

“… Christmas …”

Caroline tried to see his expression in the darkened room. Was he in distress? Should she waken him once more?

“… Caroline …”

She bit her lip. He was dreaming of her!

One of Chatternwell’s most eligible men was currently prone across the room and dreaming of silly little Caroline of Somerset. An orphan and unchaste woman of few redeeming traits!

What a bizarre situation this was proving to be. There was nothing to compare this night to, no similar experience to call on. She did not know what to make of the strange events that had unfolded these past hours.

In a day or so, she would leave this cottage and return to the real world, outside of this strange interlude.

When she and William met in the future, they would have to pretend this had never happened.

In fact, they would have to return to their aloof relationship as Mrs. Brown and Mr. Jackson, their only commonality being that they each owned a business on Market Street.

This entire evening would be swept away as if it had never happened.