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A Place in Time

By Carole Lehr Johnson

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Adela Jenks rummaged through a dusty wooden crate, from time-to-time glancing at her friends across the room. The pungent scent of incense nearly choked her, a thread of smoke drifting from the counter next to the cash register. Ever the optimist, she searched for what she hoped would be a memorable keepsake of this trip with her two closest friends.

The shopkeeper had told her the charity shop began as a meat market five hundred years before, developing into many businesses through the centuries, and reborn in the late twentieth century as Charity’s Charity Shop. Not a clever name, to be sure, but one you wouldn’t forget as well as its history.
Everything was so much older, more historic in England, one reason Adela had longed to come.

She heard robust laughter and looked up to see Leanne plowing through a rack of vintage English garments.

Leanne met her eyes. “Kellie, what’s Adela doing in the corner? She sounds like a humongous pack rat.”

Kellie held a long flowing silk robe up against her tall curvaceous figure. “I have no idea … how does this look on me?” She twirled and tilted her head from side to side. “Hmm?”

“The two of you do know this is not a large shop,” Adela said matter-of-factly, “and I can hear everything you say about me. But—” She paused to sneeze.

“All you’re doing is stirring up dust and aggravating your allergies,” Leanne quipped.

“I’m okay ...” Adela sneezed again … “determined to find a keepsake that won’t take up half of my carryon.” Another sneeze. The potent incense had to be the cause. With a moment of reprieve, she looked at Kellie. “That silk thingy is beautiful, don’t you think so, Leanne?”

Leanne turned to Kellie. “Oh, yes, the emerald compliments your blonde hair, and the size of the print suit’s your height. You should get it.”

“Really? I do like it, and it will please Adela since it doesn’t take up much room in my bag.” Kellie grinned and flung the garment over her shoulder.

Adela stood, dusting her hands, and approached them. “I heard that.” But she grinned and held up a small item in triumph. “I found the perfect keepsake.”
Her friends exchanged questioning looks, probably thinking of her penchant for unusual purchases.

“Don’t give me the look.” Adela admonished them. “It’s something truly unique.”
“What is it? An antique fork for your cookbook project?” Leanne teased. “Whatcha gonna do, pose with it for a picture?”

“Droll, very droll.” Adela smirked at Leanne while Kellie chuckled.
Opening what appeared to be a small, old, thin book, Adela felt her lips curve as she took in the first page. “Oh, my, yes. This is exactly what I wanted.”
A vintage passport.

#

Seated in Lady Margaret’s Tea House in the village of Stanton Wake, the women chatted about their day.

“We’d like the traditional afternoon tea.” Leanne pointed to the parchment menu. Their server smiled, wordless, removed the menus, and ambled to the kitchen.

Adela perused her new purchase. A ripple of brightly colored fabric slid across the page. She peeked to see Leanne wrapping her hand-woven Celtic scarf around her neck. “What are you doing?”

Kellie answered. “Being ridiculous, as usual.” Kellie pulled the robe from her bag and flapped it in Leanne’s face. “Not fair. I can’t wear this around my neck.”

Adela ignored their banter and took out her journal to make notes of all they’d done since breakfast.

Leanne huffed. “I can’t find my lip gloss.”

Adela watched as she plowed through her purse, piling things on the table and returned the journal to her bag.

Kellie pointed to the passport. “Why don’t we have a look-see? Find out whose past we’re delving into.”

Adela tugged the leather tab from a tiny slit. The passport was about the size of a contemporary one, but when she opened the cover, the paper was blank, yellowed and musty with no writing.

She smiled, though she noted Kellie and Leanne’s disappointed expressions. They thought she’d purchased something of no value. Adela gradually unfolded the paper to reveal one sizeable piece folded into ten sections. Two revealed faded black and white photos—one of a man and the other of a woman and a small child.
Leanne squealed with delight, and Kellie grinned.

Adela fixed them with a mock glare. “You both always seem so surprised when I find something of worth.”

By the time their tea arrived, they’d learned the passport belonged to a man from Southampton and his wife and young son. They discussed the places the family had traveled to and tried to guess why. The discussion then moved to the upcoming festival.

“I don’t know what to expect.” Kellie’s expression clouded. “I believe it’ll be a lot of fun, but hope it won’t be a letdown.”

“No worries, Kellie, we’ll have a great time,” Leanne said. “Just dressing up in those costumes Adela made will get us in seventeenth century mode. Remember how hard we laughed when we tried them on the first time? All those layers. I thought my sides would ache for days at how funny you looked when you got your arms stuck in that chemise, wriggling like trying to escape a cocoon.”

“The least you could’ve done was stop laughing and helped me out of it. Adela had to rescue me while you lay in the floor laughing your fool head off.”

Leanne’s face lit up. “Yeah. It was fun.” She grew thoughtful. “With all those layers, we might need a two-hour start on dressing for the festival.”

Kellie munched on her scone and nodded.

Adela studied the passport absentmindedly. Her thoughts were on the costume patterns ordered a year before their trip, and the time taken to sew the period garments. She’d been meticulous about the right fabric, colors and patterns related to the era.

Taking a sip of tea, she glanced at her friends over the rim of her cup.
“Let’s finish our shopping before dinner, go back to the cottage and crash,” Leanne offered. She stifled a yawn. “Jet lag’s still got me.”

After a final sip, Adela signaled the waitress to pay and asked her to bag up their remaining scones. She tucked the paper bag in her tote, and they stepped outside into the warm March afternoon.

Adela closed her eyes and drew in the sweet scent of wildflowers and foliage. The fresh country scents invigorated her as they strolled the lane toward their cottage.

Her gaze fixed on a pasture full of sheep, little ones running back to their mothers for safety.

Adela froze. Beyond the field, the perfect example of a seventeenth century manor house stood at the end of a tree-lined gravel drive. Enough of the house was visible to glimpse its splendor.

Something about the house called to her, inexplicably. She longed to rush up the drive. Foolishness, she knew, but the urge was there nonetheless.

“Adela,” Leanne called out. “You’ll become a sheep if you stand still any longer.”

Adela shook her head, awakening from her trance, but the connection, the pull of the house, stayed with her.

#

The tiny tourist office stood at the center of Stanton Wake in a building dating back over three hundred years. Beryl, the short white-haired woman answering their questions, was most knowledgeable about the area. Having lived in Stanton Wake all her life, there wasn’t a thing she didn’t know about the village. Many of her ancestors had been born in the area.

Leanne whispered. “Let’s find out about the Adela Jenks Manor House, so we can get some lunch.”

Kellie elbowed her.

Adela ignored them. She had told them about the house and what she had experienced, but she didn’t expect them to understand. She didn’t even understand. But perhaps learning more about the place would somehow jog her memory to what the connection was to the house, perhaps one of her ancestors had lived there.

Beryl told them Maximus DeGrey built Dunbar Park about 1600. His father had bequeathed him one thousand acres. “He had no siblings—at least there is no evidence he did. His son, Henry, inherited. After his death in London, his son, Marcus, took charge of the house and brought his young daughter to live at Stanton Wake. The manor has never been out of the family’s ownership.”

“Do you think there’s a possibility for a tour?” Adela’s stomach clenched in anticipation of the answer.

“Not likely. If the mood strikes, they will allow a private tour. The family is protective of their privacy.”

Leanne jumped in. “How can we find out? We really would like a tour.” She placed a hand on Adela’s shoulder. “Adela is a gourmet chef and history enthusiast and would love a tour of the house and its kitchen as research for her cookbook. Would you be so kind as to help us?” She turned on her winsome personality which had amassed an enormous social media following and a career as an influencer along the way.

Beryl tapped her chin. “Let me see what I can do.” She picked up the phone and dialed.

Leanne whispered to Adela, “That’s a good sign.”

Beryl stepped out of earshot and spoke quietly into the phone. Nodding, she walked back to the counter where they waited—Adela holding her breath.
Her mouth stretched into a wide grin. “You, my American ladies, have an appointment to tour Dunbar Park tomorrow afternoon.”

Adela gently took the woman’s hand. “Wonderful! I don’t know how to thank you.”

“My pleasure, dear, my pleasure. It’s nice for someone to take an interest in our local history. Everyone seems bent on tearing things down to put up something modern. Such a disgrace. I like to visit places that own morsels of history—not places where everything was built last week.”

They laughed, bid her goodbye and departed for their cottage.

Walking along the cobblestone street, Adela marveled at their good fortune to tour the house, and she hoped it would reveal some of its secrets to her.

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