Timeless Page 4

  "Just as good," he said, scribbling down his number for her. "Here you go." He handed her the piece of paper. "I'll wait for your call." He tipped his head in farewell, and was gone, whistling as he walked down the street, his loaf of bread swinging in his hand.

  Once inside, Alexandria whizzed through the items on her shopping list and was finished in twenty minutes. After loading the shopping into the back seat of her car, she made her way to the newsagent to buy a receipt book. She only got as far as the front window. A small snow globe, almost identical to her own, sat on a small pedestal with a label that said, 'created by Raven – Ferntree local.' She went quickly inside and walked up to the counter. The store looked deserted, so she tapped the small brass bell on the counter, once, then twice, her finger poised for a third.

  "Hold your horses," came a man's voice from the rear of the store. "Kettle's just boiled, and I tend to get cranky when I don't have my tea. Would you like a cup? The Missus makes a fine scone with vanilla frosting. Mind you, I blame her, and the scones, for the extra inches on my expanding waistline."

  "Um… Thank you, but no. I'd just like to know more about the snow globe in the window," she called back.

  "Enough with the shouting, princess, I'm half blind, not half deaf, and the mind is as sharp as a tack."

  A trill of a woman's chuckle.

  The old man paid it no attention as he waddled up to the counter, his baggy pants not concealing his bowed legs. Setting his cup and saucer down on the glass counter, he studied her over the rim of his spectacles, then pulled his trousers up. He took a long sip of his tea, instantly fogging up his spectacles. Without complaint, he plucked them off the end of his nose, and cleaned the lens with the corner of his plaid shirt. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a tea? It's no trouble. As I said, kettle's just boiled."

  "No, but thank you. Maybe next time, when I'm not in so much of a hurry."

  "Next time," he agreed, combing fine wisps of hair down on his head with his fingers. "So, the snow globe, it's locally made by one of our own, you know. It's a replica of the carousel in Circular Park."

  The carousel in Circular Park, yes of course it is, she realized suddenly, and wondered why she hadn't thought of that. "Yes," she said, turning slightly to glance at it over her shoulder. "The thing is, I have one almost just like it, and I'd really like to know how I can contact Raven."

  "You're new to town," he said, making an odd little wheezing sound as he returned the spectacles to the tip of his nose. "Everyone knows how to find Raven. Her family has lived in these parts for years."

  She nodded. "Yes, I'm new." The lie was easier than going into detail about who she really was, and how she had been born in Ferntree Falls.

  "The name's Billy Bob. I own this place," he said holding out his hand. "Have we met before? You look strangely familiar."

  "I don't think so," she replied, giving his hand a warm shake. "I'm Alexandria."

  The old man's eyebrows arched above his spectacles, as though pulled by a puppeteer's string, creasing his brow even further. "Well, I'll be. You're Felicity and Alexander's kid." He shook his head and chuckled. "I heard you came back to Ferntree Falls, just didn't believe it. Good for you. Good for you." He dragged out an old wooden stool from behind the counter and placed it down next to her. "Now I insist you have a cuppa with me, princess. Sit," he said in a manner that did not allow any wriggle room for her objections. "Violet," he called to his wife. "Get your fat ass out here. We have a visitor."

  An old woman with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck popped her head out comically from behind the door at the far end of the store like a wise little owl. "Sweet Jesus," she exclaimed from the doorway, as though she had just seen a ghost. Rubbing her hands on her red and white checkered apron, she almost flew to Alexandria's side. She was a little woman, no more than four feet tall, and although her husband had insinuated that her posterior was on the large side, the little woman was actually as thin as a reed. Her eyes sparkled with an equal measure of both enthusiasm and surprise as she stared up at Alexandria. "Sweet Jesus," she said once again, her finger reaching up to tap Alexandria on the tip of her nose. "Quite real, too, I see. Not a ghost at all."

  The old man nodded beside his wife, his hands on his hips.

  "My dear child, did you know that you are the spitting image of your grandmother, Savannah, at the same age? Your grandmother was a timeless beauty, too."

  Billy Bob snatched his spectacles off his nose again, briskly polishing them on his shirt before depositing them back on his nose. He studied Alexandria even more closely. "Ahh, yes," Billy Bob exclaimed, seeing the impossible resemblance. "I see it now. I knew I had seen you before." He looked at his wife. "How many years has it been, you know?"

  Violet thought for a moment. "1991. If memory serves me well, Felicity was just a wee lass of twenty-one when her mother died. Savannah, your grandmother, was a dear friend of mine, and I still miss her dearly."

  "The two of you fought like cats and dogs, old woman," Billy Bob said, rubbing his chin keenly with his knobby fingers, and thinking about his wife and Savannah arguing over whose cooking was better.

  Violet gave her husband a sharp slap on the arm, startling him, pulling him from his reverie. "Woman," he snapped, "keep those vicious little hands to yourself."

  "Then stop filling the girl's head with lies. We did not fight. We merely engaged in passionate discussions, is all."

  "Savannah's home-baked bread was always so much nicer than—"

  Violet slapped him again. "Shush, old man, or I'll make you bake your own bread, see how much you like that. Make yourself useful, and go make Alexandria a cup of lavender tea."

  The old man waddled away, mumbling under his breath and pulling up his trousers for the umpteenth time.

  "Oh, and bring some of those scones with you, the ones with the vanilla glazing. They're sitting on top of the oven," she called after him.

  He shook his head, waving his hand about. "Is it your intention to make everyone around you fat, woman?" he asked, disappearing into the rear room of the shop.

  Chapter 6 – Pretty Horses.

  Alexandria drank lavender tea and ate scones with Billy Bob and Violet for well over an hour before she gave them warm hugs, kissed them on the cheeks, and promised to visit the next time she was in town. Unfortunately, Raven Wing was visiting friends out of town, and would return in a few days’ time. "I'll come back to visit in a couple of days," she said, waving goodbye to the friendly old couple standing arm in arm on the footpath.

  Alexandria walked briskly to Circular Park from the Newsagency, found a park bench and sat down. She stared in silent contemplation at the carousel with all its pretty horses, their unseeing, black eyes staring blankly ahead. A sign hanging on a post nearby read, 'CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE'. There was something eerily peculiar about a carousel that was broken, she thought, as though the absolute stillness of the horses was a sinister warning, a prologue foretelling that something evil was on its way. From out of nowhere came the wistful cry of a wolf, and she shuddered. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she pushed the sinister thoughts from her mind, preferring to think about happier times when she had ridden the carousel as a child with her mother, her father waving at them from the sidelines.

  Other than several couples enjoying a late afternoon stroll, she was the only person in the park without company. She could not help but feel a pang of envy as couples walked by holding hands and laughing together, occasionally stopping to kiss. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away, thinking about Bran and how magical his kiss had been.

  A roiling mass of gray clouds drifted lazily across the sun, darkening the sky and her mood further still. She stood, walked around the circumference of the carousel, looking for possible clues as to why her mother had drawn the carousel in her journal, but found nothing offering any hints at what that reason might have been. She squinted skyward as a slight drizzle, which was nothing more than a fine mist, beg
an to fall. A flurry of wind rattled leaves from branches, sending them silently to the ground.

  "You're out of luck, it appears."

  Alexandria spun around, surprised in discovering she was not alone. "Pardon?"

  "The carousel," River said, gesturing with his hand. "Closed for maintenance." He was lying on a park bench and wore black trousers, a dark blue button-up shirt, and a black leather jacket. He was dressed in mourning clothes, she realized. His usually fair hair was damp from the rain, and had turned a burnt honey color. His eyes, however, hypnotic and alluring, were the same dazzling blue she remembered. He sat up and looked directly at her.

  Alexandria folded her arms behind her back and looked down at her feet, breaking free of his magnetic gaze. "I can see that, but I'm not actually here for a ride." Loose strands of her own damp hair fell over her shoulders as the rainfall grew gradually heavier. "I was so sorry to hear about your loss," she said, looking back at him. "Kat told me how close you and Dorothy were." She sat down on the lip of the carousel, opposite the park bench.

  He got up from the bench, walked over to the carousel, and sat down next to her, his leg brushing against her hand. She quickly pulled it away, folding her hands in her lap. "I don't bite," he said, giving her a sideways glance.

  "I hope not," she replied, returning his gaze.

  His head lowered, moving closer to hers, and she could feel herself being drawn towards him, her lips parting. She could feel his breath on her mouth, then she suddenly jerked away, and the spell was broken. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just can't—"

  "It's okay, I understand," he said, pulling away and looking around. "Blame it on the romantic setting, okay?"

  She nodded, and they sat in silence for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts. Alexandria broke the silence first. "We were talking about Dorothy," she reminded him.

  He picked up a large fallen leaf and turned it in his hands. Beads of raindrops slid across the glossy surface, then spilled onto the ground. "Dorothy was like a mother to me, and now Clive has gone as well. He didn't feel comfortable staying in the house with Dorothy gone."

  "Clive, that's Bran's father, isn't it?"

  River nodded, brushing damp hair out of his eyes.

  "So now that Clive's gone, where will Bran stay, with you?"

  He shook his head. "Clive and Dorothy owned a family home here in Ferntree long before they came to stay at Lancaster house, so he's moved back in there."

  "Oh, I see."

  "After my mother died, my father offered Clive and Dorothy a fulltime position if they agreed to move into the house. Bran, too, of course. My father thought the company would be good for me. He was right."

  "So you and Bran must be pretty close, then?"

  He lifted his hand, letting the leaf fall back onto the ground. "We were like brothers, until he moved away, that is. Listen, this rain looks like it's going to be hanging around for a while. What say we go somewhere and I buy you a hot drink?"

  "I wanted to check out a few things," she said, looking at the carousel over her shoulder.

  He stood up and held out his hands. Alexandria placed her hands on his palms and he pulled her to her feet. "The carousel has been here for years, it will still be here tomorrow," he said, taking off his jacket for her to hold over her head. "Come on, I'll race you to the café across the street. One, two..."

  Alexandria shot off like a racehorse out of a starting gate on Derby day, laughing as she ran.

  "That's cheating," he called, catching up to her within moments.

  Almost breathless, she laughed again, smiling broadly up at him from under eyelashes glistening with rain. Minutes later, they stood beneath the pink and white striped awning of Rosie's Pancake Parlor, Alexandria catching her breath and River smiling as he watched her. Alexandria shook out River's wet jacket and handed it back to him. "Thank you. That was very sweet of you."

  River showed no signs of exertion whatsoever. "No problems. Look, seeing as we're here," he indicated the doorway to the pancake parlor with his chin, "why don't you let me buy you a coffee and some of Rosie's blueberry pancakes? You won't be sorry."

  Alexandria peered into the parlor through the window, her breath fogging up the window. There were several couples already seated inside, including a table of five friends and a family of six that looked like they were celebrating someone's birthday. The smell of vanilla, maple syrup and burnt butter, and the fact that the only thing she had eaten all day was one of Violet's scones, had her stomach grumbling noisily.

  She nodded, hoping River hadn't heard her stomach. "Okay," she said. "That sounds great, thank you."

  "After you." He held the door ajar for her.

  Ducking under his arm, she went inside, walking toward a booth tucked away at the back of the room and smiling at a young waitress with long red hair, who said she would be with them shortly.

  River hung his wet jacket on a coat stand near the door, then followed her, happy she had chosen a booth at the back of the room, offering some privacy from the rest of the diners. He slid into the booth opposite her.

  Alexandria picked up a pink napkin from the table and patted her damp face. "That rain certainly came out of nowhere."

  "That kind of thing happens a lot around here. You get used to it after a while." He ran a hand over his own face, wiping away rainwater.

  "I don't mind. I love the rain. It always makes everything look so refreshed and clean. The air even smells clean. Don't you agree?"

  "I agree," he said, handing her a menu. He loved nothing more than racing through the forest in his wolf form after a good storm, the moist earth beneath his paws, the wet branches slapping against his broad shoulders.

  "Sticky," she murmured, taking the offered menu and giving it a quick wipe over with her napkin before opening it.

  He examined his own menu. "Yeah, I see what you mean. This one isn't any better."

  Alexandria examined the list of options in silence, while River gazed at her secretly over the top of the page and thought how lovely she looked, even with her hair limp and dishevelled by the rain. From across the table, he could smell the sweet scent of the jasmine flowers in her hair. As she lifted her head, his eyes dropped quickly to study his own menu.

  "Are you ready to order?" the redheaded waitress asked politely, her pen poised over a round notepad resembling a stack of pancakes. Before either had time to answer, the family seated in the middle of the room broke into singing 'Happy Birthday' as another waitress approached their table with a purple birthday cake smothered with hundreds of tiny flowers made out of icing, and blazing with twelve yellow candles.

  Alexandria craned her neck to watch the birthday candles being blown out, wishes being made, reminding her of her own birthdays with the Barnabys, and she smiled. Within seconds, the candles burst back into flame, a trick she had learned as a child from her mother's spell book.

  The waitress tapped her notebook with her pen and cleared her throat.

  "Oh, sorry. I'll have the two buttermilk blueberry pancakes served with cream and maple syrup, and a mug of cappuccino. I have it on good authority that the blueberry pancakes here are very good." She glanced over at River, who smiled.

  "Very good," the waitress said, jotting down Alexandria's order.

  "I'll have the same," River said, peeling his fingers off the sticky page and placing the menu in the centre of the table.

  As soon as the waitress walked away, Alexandria said in a pensive voice, "We've done that before, haven't we?"

  "Eaten pancakes? Many times, I—"

  "Running in the rain, I mean. Together, when we were children." She looked squarely at him, waiting for his answer.

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "How come you never told me we knew each other as children?"

  "I haven't had much of an opportunity to talk to you since you've been back. Plus it was a long time ago, and when you never said anything, either, I just figured you didn't remember, or didn't care."

&
nbsp; "I still don't remember. Not really. It's just when we ran from the park just then, it triggered a vague memory."

  "We all used to play together. You, me, Kat."

  Alexandria shook her head. "I can't remember any of that. It's like parts of my past didn't exist, until I came back here. Now, though, when I see something, hear something, smell something, a door opens up. Not open wide, mind you, just a crack, just wide enough to get tiny glimpses. I can't believe how much I've forgotten about my life here."

  "You were only five, and it must have been so traumatic for you, losing your parents, the home you grew up in, your friends."

  "You think I could have blocked it all out on purpose?"

  "Maybe. No one would blame you if you did. It isn't like you had any contact with anyone back here for the last twelve years to remind you of your life here."

  "Do you think we could catch up again soon to talk?"

  "That is a certainty. School is back on Monday."

  "School. I'm not sure I'm ready for a new school."

  "You'll be fine. Kat and I'll be there. You'll fit in just fine."

  Alexandria cringed at hearing Kat's name; it brought back visions of Bran leaving her bedroom that morning.

  "Have I missed something?" River asked, noticing the change of the expression on her face.

  She shook her head, shaking a jasmine flower from her hair. "No."

  He leaned across the table and picked it up, tucking it back into her hair, his hand lingering softly on her cheek. Alexandria caught her breath; she could feel her cheeks turning red, her heart skipping a beat. What was it about the boys in Ferntree Falls that made her lose her faculties with just one touch?

  He held her gaze. There was so much he wanted to tell her. If he opened his mouth now, though, sitting with her here like this, he was afraid that he might say too much and scare her away. But wasn't it already too late to be worrying about such things? If the way he had seen her looking at Bran last night was any indication, he was most certainly too late. Their almost kiss was an indication of that, too.