The Hands of Time (2 page)

“You’re up early today, lovey.  Is your sister still asleep then?”  She deposited my cholesterol-fest on the
table and stood with her head to one side
,
clearly expecting a nice chat. 

“She
’
s still sleeping, I think.  Mrs. Bradford, I was wondering about that castle on the hill.  Who did it belong to?”

“Oh, that.  It belonged to a local family called Whitfield, I believe.  They were quite wealthy, but not titled.  Made their money in trade.  Not much is known about them, except that one of them was a traitor
and met with a gruesome end
.  No one ha
s
lived there since the
seventeenth century
and the castle fell to ruin.”

“Can I go explore?”  I loved ruins and the prospect of w
a
ndering around an old castle perched on a hill
overlooking the vista of village, river and the Celtic S
ea held great appeal.

Mrs. Bradford gave me a disapproving look.  “I wouldn’t
recommend it, dear
.  That place is not safe.”

“You mean it’s a hazard because it’s crumbling?”  I was curious to see it and wouldn’t be easily dissuaded.

“No.  The
stones are
not going
anywhere
.  It’s the kids.  They
hang about
the ruins after school, drinking and
doing Lord only knows what
.  The place is full of
syringes
and worse.  Those
hooligans
like to pick on
tourists
too, give them a
fright
, if you know what I mean.  Stay away. 
If you long to see a nice castle, take a day trip to Windsor or Leeds. 
They
’
re lovely, with furnished rooms and gift shops.  Perfect for Americans.” 

“Thank you, Mrs.
Bradford
,
I
’
ll certainly mention that to my sister.  I
’
m sure she’d love to take a little trip on the weekend.  May I have more tea?”  Mrs. Bradford waddled back into the kitchen to make another pot of tea
,
and I tucked into my breakfast disappointed.  I wanted to see the castle, but not if I
were
stepping on syringes and looking over my shoulder for hoodlums waiting to give me a scare.  I would have to find something else to do today since Lou would be gone for most of the day.  I would certainly mention the idea of going to see the places Mrs. Bradford
suggested
.  I would really enjoy that
,
and anything that would take my mind off my problems
would be
a welcome distraction.  I would just take a walk down Main Street today and look for some souvenirs for
m
om and
d
ad. 

I was just turning the corner to reach my room when Louisa
burst
out of her room looking flustered and annoyed.

“Totally overslept.  Can you believe it?  Why didn’t you wake me?”  She gave me that accusing older sister look and swept past me down the hall.  “Meet me at the Dolphin at 6pm,” she called over her shoulder as I heard her feet thundering down the
carpeted
wooden stairs
, the front door slamming behind her
. 

“Will do,” I mumbled to myself and entered my room.  I looked around until I spotted my sketch pad and a box of charcoal.  I wouldn
’
t go explore the castle, but
no one said I couldn’t draw it.  I hadn’t drawn anything in months due to lack of
inspiration
and desire, but at this moment my fingers were itching to hold a piece of charcoal and capture the sinister beauty of the jutting walls of the ruin
,
outlined against the pristine background of a
cloudless
June
sky.  I took my supplies and left by the back door, finding a
nice
,
shady spot in the garden where I had an unobstructed
view
of my subject.  I sat down on a comfortable wicker chair, positioned my pad in my lap and began to sketch.  My fingers flew over the page, first outlining the ruin and then filling in the texture of the stone, the narrow slits in the tower that offered glimpses of the sky
,
and the jagged chunks of what remained of the wall. 

I made several different drawings,
one
in charcoal and
two
in pastels, trying to capture the desolate, yet mysterious aura of the place.  I liked the charcoal drawing better. 
It was
more dramatic
,
and
made the castle look more sinister th
a
n the colored drawings.  Satisfied with my efforts, I went back to my room and deposited the drawings on the dresser
,
before putting away the charcoal and pastels and getting ready to leave.  I
’
d grab a light lunch at the café by the
wharf
and then stop into a few shops along Main Street in search of the perfect gift for my parents.  I
’
d spotted an antique shop tucked away on a narrow side street
,
and would stop there along the way.  My
m
om would love some Victorian trinket
,
and
d
ad would probably appreciate something on the history of smuggling in the area.  He was always
fascinated
by anything that had to do with getting over on the tax man. 

As I walked toward the river
,
I tried not to think about Michael’s wedding tomorrow.  I knew that some of our friends were attending
,
and felt an irrational resentment toward them for accepting the
invitation
.  Of course
,
they had no reason to decline.  It wasn’
t them he left.  I had no right to ask them to choose between us, but I knew they
would choose anyway.  A few of my friends had remained loyal and steadfast, but some of the couples that we associated with were already choosing to invite Michael and Kimberly and leave me off the list.  I was no longer part of a couple
,
and therefore
,
not a desirable
g
uest at a gathering where everyone was conveniently paired off.  Soon they would be throwing Kimberly a baby shower and giving her advice on nannies and
nursey schools,
forgetting that it was supposed to be me that they did those things for. 

“Stop that right now, Valerie,
” I
admonished myself.  “You
’
re becoming bitter and angry
,
and I don’t like you that way.”  With that
,
I put Michael out of my mind and walked into the café.  I took
a table
on the wooden patio overlooking the
wharf
and ordered a bowl of soup.  I loved watching the boats moored by the piers, their wooden hulls rocking gently on the
ever-shifting surface of the sparkling river
,
that wound like a ribbon through the hills in the distance.  The seagulls screamed to each other and fought over the crumbs left by careless patrons
,
while fishermen who came back early unloaded their catch, calling out greetings to each other and bragging about their haul.  It was a peaceful scene and I stayed longer th
a
n I intended
, just
enjoying the feeling of being a tourist. 

Finally, I picked up my bag and left the café heading toward Main Street.  I walked
slowly
down the cobblestone street
,
looking into shop windows and admiring their wares
,
as the gentle sunshine of the late afternoon bathed everything in its golden haze
.  I purchased a few postcards with pictures of the marina and a magnet for my fridge
,
before coming to the shop I
’
d been looking for.  It was small and
dim,
cluttered with tiffany lamps, end tables
with spindly legs and inlaid surfaces
and lacquer boxes depicting oriental scenes of snow
-
covered pagodas and parasol shaded geishas.  I w
a
ndered around
,
careful not to touch anything. 

Just as I was getting ready to leave
,
I caught a glimpse of a china figurine on a shelf in the far corner.  My
m
om always mentioned a Dresden
shepherdess
her grandmother used to have that she loved as a little girl
,
and this
reminded
me of it.  I stopped in front of the shelf and picked up the statuette.  It was made in Dresden as I suspected, but two fingers of the smiling, rose-cheeked
shepherdess
were chipped off. 
I put the statue back disappointed.  It would have been the perfect thing to get for
m
om.  On a shelf above the statuette
,
I noticed an ormolu clock
tucked between a carved
jewelry
box and a pair of large brass binoculars
.   The sheer gaudiness of it caught my eye
,
and I took it down
to examine
it more closely. 

The clock was heavier th
a
n I expected
,
made of brass
,
with porcelain panels painted with pink and blue flowers
around the base
.  The round face of the clock had a pattern o
f the same flowers encircling the spindly hands
,
which pointed to golden roman numerals that were so large they barely left any space for the minutes in
-
between.  The “best” part of the clock was the hugely fat cupid perched on top
,
holding a loaded bow ready to shoot some unsuspecting victim in desperate need of romance.  The clock was ticking loudly, but was set to 8:10, which was almost four hours ahead of time.  I
’
m not sure what possessed me to do it, but I opened the glass panel covering the face of the clock and carefully moved the
hands to the correct time, which was 4:05pm.  Suddenly,
it’s as if
all the air had been sucked out of the shop
,
and I felt like a fish
that
finds itself out of water, breathing but not drawing in any air.  I
’
d just enough time to put the clock back on the shelf as all sounds faded into silence and I felt momentarily dizzy before everything in front of my eyes went dark. 

Chapter 3

I heard the sounds of birdsong and the chirping of crickets before I actually opened my eyes.  A light breeze was caressing my face and I felt the
warm
rays of the sun through my closed eyelids
,
blades of grass beneath my fingers and the smell of earth and
pine
filling
my nostrils.  I slowly opened my eyes and looked up at the cloudless blue sky above the treetops.  I was lying in tall grass, dotted with wildflowers and warm from the summer sun.  I just lay there for a few moments enjoying the peaceful feeling of floating
,
before suddenly realizing that this was somehow all wrong. 

I sat up and looked around puzzled.  There was no sign of the shop I
’
d been in or even the village. 
Sparse
tre
e
s surrounded the meadow I was lying in
,
and I could see the river flowing to my left through the gap in the trees.   There were two fishing boats tied up to posts rising out of the muddy bank, but no sign of the marina or the shops that were there just a few moments ago.  I turned to my right
,
and my blood ran cold.  I could see the castle perched on the hill above me, except it was no longer a sinister relic of another time.  The castle stood
intact
and
proud
, the honey
-
colored stones warmed by the sun
,
and
its
leaded windows reflecting the afternoon light.  The wall
encircling
the castle rose high and impregnable, broken only by the arched wooden doors studded with
iron nails and
partially
opened.  I could hear distant voices
,
and the barking of dogs carried on the wind.