Hello there! Thanks for joining me on this trip down the rabbit hole. : ). I greatly appreciate the company. For those of you who are concerned about the logistics of William establishing a legal identity in this century…fear not. I have a solution. In fact, I even made a couple of phone calls to various government agencies to inquire about a "hypothetical case for use in a story." I probably have my own satellite by now, so, if I don't post another chapter…you'll know why. Just promise me that ya'll will come to get me out of federal prison, okay?

Anyway, check out my other two stories while you're at it (pretty please, I promise, it'll be fun!). They are The Most Important Thing (a Pride and Prejudice fiction), and What the Heart Wants (a Pirates of the Caribbean fiction).

Reviews are *always* appreciated, and reading your thoughts and criticism is invaluable! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 7

Elizabeth woke the next morning to the buzz of her alarm clock. She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at the blue digital clock display. Four-thirty a.m. She sighed and flung an arm out to shut off the alarm and pulled her phone out from underneath her pillow to check the forecast, something one usually did before getting dressed for the day in the Midwest. During springtime, on the prairies, the weather could be sunny and warm one day and freezing the next. Sure enough, the day promised to be hot and sunny.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. On days like today, she, like most women, preferred shorts and a tank top or t-shirt. Remembering William's scandalized reaction to her pajamas the night before, she shook her head and got out of bed before turning on the light and grudgingly pulling on a pair of jeans and a red, ruched tank top.

She quietly tiptoed out into the hallway where she paused, her eyes riveted on the guest room doorway down the hall. Had she dreamt it all? Curiosity got the best of her and she hesitantly crept down the hallway to peek into the room. Before her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the guest room, she heard the steady breathing of someone in a deep sleep. When her vision finally adjusted, she was able to make out a large form, covered by blankets on the bed. Apparently, it hadn't been a dream and William still slept!

Elizabeth silently pulled the door shut and tiptoed to the bathroom. She turned on the light and moved to stand in front of the mirror. Her reflection gazed back, wide-eyed with excitement and disbelief. He was real – it hadn't been a dream! Shaking her head and smiling at the impossibility the situation, she quickly brushed her hair before weaving it into a loose side braid. She hurriedly applied mascara to her eyelashes before she turned off the light and quietly descended the stairs.

It was still dark outside in the pre-dawn hour, but Elizabeth still gazed in wonder at the darkened, beveled glass windows on the first floor. William's words about installing them just for her – well, for his Elizabeth – so that she could see the rainbows she loved each morning, made their significance all the more endearing to her. She headed for the kitchen and placed a bowl and several boxes of cereal on the counter for him to choose from. Then, she pulled a notebook and pen from a drawer and quickly wrote a note.

William,

Please help yourself to cereal and fruit. The milk is in the fridge. I will be back from work around noon.

– Elizabeth.

She finished writing the short missive and laid it beside the bowl on the counter.

On her way out the door, Elizabeth listened with an attentive ear to see if there was any sound from upstairs that would indicate whether or not William was awake. She didn't hear anything, so she left the house to walk the few short blocks to the newspaper office. It was still a little early to go to work, but she had a goal in mind that morning. She was determined to search the newspaper archives for several things. Namely, the building of the bank William claimed to have owned, Elizabeth's obituary, and any news of William's disappearance in 1905.

Elizabeth unlocked the door to the newspaper office, placed her purse on her desk and quickly headed for the archive room. She flipped the light switch, illuminating the square room with its concrete floor, and walls, lined with bookshelves. Her flip-flops made a quiet clapping sound on the concrete as she walked around the perimeter of the room, searching the dimly lit shelves which held the massive volumes containing each year's newspapers since the paper's beginning in 1870.

Locating the volume labeled 1901, Elizabeth lifted the massive, dusty, olive green book from the shelf and placed it on the large wooden table in the center of the room. She turned back to the shelves and hoisted down the 1904 and 1905 volumes as well and placed them on the table next to the other one. She gingerly opened the 1901 book. The large pages were yellowed and brittle with age and a few had begun to crumble around the edges. She carefully flipped to the back of the volume and located the traditional "Year in Review" edition. She ran her finger down the lines of fading, uneven print that denoted significant events that had taken place in the town, state and country over the course of the year.

It was there, in the fifth column, near the center of the page.

"November 1901: W. Darcy, formerly of Boston, Mass. builds and opens First National Bank of South Dakota in Brighton."

Elizabeth carefully turned the pages back to the November issues. She located the article in the November 13 edition of the newspaper. There was no picture – photojournalism hadn't come into wide use until after World War One. Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief as she read the short article.

"The First National Bank of South Dakota opened its doors Monday morning at nine o'clock. The bank is owned and operated by Mr. W. Darcy, formerly of Boston, Mass."

Elizabeth carefully lifted the volume from the table and gently laid it on top of the large photocopier. She gingerly flipped it over and carefully laid the page containing the article on the copier's glass surface while supporting the giant book with her other arm and hit the green copy button. She laid the volume back on the table and reached for the 1904 tome to find Elizabeth's obituary.

She knew exactly where to look. Opening the dusty volume, Elizabeth carefully turned to the May 18, 1904 edition. There, in the center of the "notices" column on the front page, was Elizabeth's name…her name. She grasped the edge of the table as a wave of dizziness overtook her. The whole situation was beyond surreal. Elizabeth shook her head and forced herself to read the words on the page in front of her.

"Elizabeth R. Bennet died near Brighton Sunday, May 15, 1904, of injuries sustained in a tornado. Age 23 years, 10 months, 14 days.

The funeral service was held at the Methodist Church Tuesday, at two o'clock in the afternoon. The Rev. Tucker preached a touching service over the remains of the beloved daughter.

E.R. Bennet was born in Brighton on July 1, 1880, to Thomas and Francine Bennet. Miss Bennet was engaged to be married to Mr. W. Darcy of Brighton. The couple had planned to exchange vows in a June 11 ceremony."

Tears blurred Elizabeth's vision as pain ripped through her heart at the thought of losing William. She raised a hand to her chest in an attempt to stem the pain. How hard it must have been for her doppelganger in time to leave him behind! She quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and continued reading.

"Our deepest sympathies are extended to Elizabeth's family and fiancé."

That was it. The end of a life expressed in a few lines of newsprint. Elizabeth lifted the volume, laid it on the copier and pressed the copy button once again. She carefully closed the book and returned it and the 1901 edition to the shelves. Pushing aside the inexplicable grief that threatened to overwhelm her, she opened the final volume to May 17, 1905, the edition that would have been published two days after William disappeared. She found nothing. She turned to the next week, May 24. There, on page two was a small article between two advertisements for DeWitt's Pharmacy and Elwood's Mercantile; "Search continues for bank president." Elizabeth scanned the article.

"The search continues for First National Bank of South Dakota president, William Darcy. Mr. Darcy left work at noon on May 15 and did not return. When interviewed by the Brighton Weekly, his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, claimed that Darcy had gone for a walk and never returned. The disappearance is still under investigation. Foul play is not suspected."

Elizabeth gasped and looked up. William had disappeared! She quickly made a copy of the article and turned to the next edition. May 31, 1905. The article was on the front page this time.

"Search ends for missing Brighton resident," the headline read. "The search has ended for Mr. W. Darcy of Brighton. Mr. Darcy's family in Boston, Mass. have been contacted by local and state authorities, but no contact had been made to the family by Darcy. A lack of further clues as to Darcy's whereabouts is forcing authorities to discontinue the search."

Elizabeth's hands gripped the edge of the table as her legs went numb beneath her and she collapsed into a nearby wooden chair. Her eyes refused to focus on anything except the last line of the paragraph, "A lack of further clues as to Darcy's whereabouts is forcing authorities to discontinue the search."

He had disappeared without a trace. On the very afternoon, he had gone to visit Elizabeth's grave – on the very afternoon he said he had arrived here! Elizabeth swallowed hard and carefully rose from the chair on unsteady legs. She lifted the book, laid it on the copier and hit the copy button one last time.

She returned the volume to the shelf where she had found it and grabbed the stack of photocopies from the printer tray. She turned off the light as she exited the room and slowly walked to the front office, where she collapsed in her chair behind her large, wooden desk. The sound of keys in the lock of the office door alerted her to the time. She was surprised to realize that an hour and a half had passed since she had begun her search for information in the archives. Elizabeth picked up the photocopies once more and stared at them in disbelief.

Whoever was at the door finally realized that it was unlocked, and the bell chimed as they pushed the heavy plate glass door open. Elizabeth quickly folded the papers and slipped them into her purse as Connor, the production manager and IT tech appeared in the doorway. He looked at her in surprise.

"Elizabeth!" Connor exclaimed with a puzzled smile. "You're here early."

Elizabeth smiled back and slumped in her chair. "Hey, Connor. How's it going?"

"Great!" Connor smiled in return, clapping his hands together.

Elizabeth sighed. Connor, a trustworthy friend to all who knew him, and a major computer guru was always cheerful. He even dressed his medium-height frame cheerfully from the tips of his spiked black hair and stylish dark-rimmed glasses to his usual style of brightly-colored, button-down shirt and matching Converse All-Stars. No one could be grumpy for long around Connor. Elizabeth shook her head.

"You look tired, girl. Can I get you some coffee?" he asked, genuine concern showing in his expression.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you times a thousand," Elizabeth smiled.

Connor disappeared through the news office door and headed for the small kitchenette in back. Elizabeth swiveled in her chair to face the computer. She swiped the mouse across the mousepad on her desk several times and waited for the screen display to appear. Connor breezed back into the front office, coffee cup in hand. He set the cup in front of her on the desk, gave her a wink and headed back through the door to his own office. "Thank you, Connor!" Elizabeth called after him.

Without turning around, he flashed a "live long and prosper" sign over his shoulder with one hand and replied, "Not a problem!"

Elizabeth picked up the mug and took a fortifying sip as the front door opened again and more of her co-workers filed in, talking and laughing. Last to make an appearance was the editor, Herb. Herb, an aging, but still-fit, white-haired man in his mid-seventies, was sharp as a tack and as upbeat and energetic as Connor. If Herb had his way, he wouldn't retire for another twenty years. He stepped with energy through the door and walked around to his desk, which faced Elizabeth's. "Good morning, Herb," Elizabeth greeted.

"Hullo, Elizabeth," Herb returned her greeting with a smile as he sat down at his computer and began to check his email.

Technology did not scare the man like it did so many other elderly and middle-aged people. Herb kept up with every new piece of technology on the market and snatched up gadgets as soon as they became available "for research," he always claimed, but Elizabeth knew better. When the newest iPhone came out, Herb had been camped out in line at the Apple Store in Sioux Falls, along with the techie and hipster crowds for eight hours before the store opened, to be one of the first to get his hands on one. Elizabeth giggled at the memory.

Herb looked over the top of his computer monitor and raised a white eyebrow in inquiry. "Care to share what has you so amused?" he asked.

"Nope," Elizabeth replied with a smirk as she hunkered down in her chair and opened her email to check for any new public notices.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

William opened his eyes and stretched languorously in his bed, thoroughly relaxed as the warm morning sunlight from the open window poured into his bedroom. He paused mid-stretch. There was something strange about the angle of the light shining through the window. As he looked over toward the wall, he realized that he was not in his own room at all. He bolted upright in bed as the confusion cleared and memories of the day before filled his mind. Elizabeth! William quickly surveyed the room in which he found himself. It had all been real! He hadn't dreamt it! He truly had traveled to the future somehow and Elizabeth – his Lizzy - was alive and well.

With that thought, William quickly rose from the bed and rushed out of the room and down the hall to the closed door of what had been his room and was now Lizzy's. He hesitated a moment before knocking softly on the heavy wooden door. When there was no answer, he knocked again, harder this time, and softly called Lizzy's name. His heart raced slightly in awe as he spoke her name aloud.

When he still didn't receive an answer, William began to grow concerned. He hesitantly opened the bedroom door. The room was empty, the bed neatly made. He turned and rushed downstairs. When he reached the foyer and saw the rainbows that reflected through the beveled glass windows and danced across the walls and wood floor, he smiled. Lizzy did have her rainbows after all, just as he had intended. He searched the dining room and parlor as well, but there was still no sign of her. When he entered the kitchen, a white piece of paper on the counter caught his eye. He picked up the note with Lizzy's familiar handwriting, handwriting that he hadn't seen in a year. After reading it, William sighed with relief. She was at work, that was all. He picked up one of the cereal boxes labeled "Cheerios" and poured some in a bowl, along with milk from the "fridge."

He sat down at the small kitchen table to eat and mentally recalled the events of the night before. He was almost sure that Lizzy had remembered something when she'd seen the photos of herself in the attic. He hoped that with time, she would remember more. He wondered at the mystery surrounding their situation. How had Lizzy come to be here? That she was indeed his Lizzy, he had no doubt. She had known him, had recognized him upon first awakening and after she had held the photograph of the two of them, she had described to him in perfect detail the events that had occurred when it had been taken.

His thoughts drifted to the small changes that he had noticed. Not just in the house, but in Lizzy as well. The idea of her working to support herself bothered William greatly. Why were her parents or her brother, for that matter, not supporting her? In his opinion, no young woman should have that responsibility thrust upon her shoulders. She was made to be cared for and loved.

William's frown deepened as he recalled her seemingly shattered sense of self-worth. It galled him to see her in that frame of mind. His lips thinned into a hard line and he vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to show her just how valuable, beautiful and desired she truly was, even if it took him a lifetime to do so.

A high-pitched beeping sound and the smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled him from his dark thoughts. Glancing toward the source of the noise on the countertop, he saw a rectangular, silver object with a clear glass pot, filled with steaming brown liquid, nestled in the center. Smiling in appreciation, he opened the cupboards to search for a teacup in which to pour the coffee. All he was able to find were ceramic mugs, similar to his shaving mug. Puzzled, but resigned, William poured the fragrant, steaming coffee into one of the unconventional vessels.

He carried his mug of coffee back to the table and sat down. As he drank, he glanced around the room, noting small things that he had missed the night before. A small piece of paint on the corner of the wall by the back door of the kitchen had chipped off, and the once-shining crown molding and baseboard throughout the kitchen and the rest of the house, although still intact, had lost its sheen, but would look new again with some light refinishing work. William finished his breakfast and decided that he would spend the morning going through the house to compile a list of repairs that needed to be made.

After putting his empty bowl in the sink and setting his mug on the counter, he searched through the drawers until he located paper and a pencil. He decided to start from the bottom of the house and work his way to the top and then outside. He headed down the basement staircase to begin his task.

Two hours later, he was dusty and hot. The house, although in excellent repair for its age he supposed, needed a few cosmetic touch-ups, including the woodwork and some areas of paint. The ceiling plaster on the upstairs landing had begun to crack and would need to be repaired. Several trees on the property were in need of trimming, the lilac hedge needed pruning, and a piece of the siding on the outbuilding needed fixing.

He shook his head as he recalled the scene he had encountered outdoors. His property, he noticed, had apparently been divided up into several parcels over the years. He had known that the carriage house was gone, but the full realization of the extent of the changes that had occurred had hit him with full force that morning. The amount of noise was unbelievable, as well. He knew that Brighton was still a relatively small town, but the cacophony was ceaseless. The roar of the engines of the vehicles that drove by – especially those of the motorbikes - as well as the roar of what he assumed to be mowing machines that he had seen a few of Lizzy's neighbors pushing across their lawns, was unbelievable.

William deposited his list on the dresser in the room he had slept in and pulled open one of the drawers that Lizzy had indicated held more clothing. He withdrew a gray, short-sleeved shirt and another pair of black gym shorts, as she had called them, shaking his head as he did so. He still could not comprehend the fact that the scantiness of the clothing was considered entirely proper, but he had seen people out walking and working in their yards in similar attire. Thoughts of his clothing shifted to thoughts of Lizzy's clothing as he recalled the sleepwear that she had worn the night before.

When William had awoken to her touch and had realized what she was – or wasn't wearing, in this case - it had been all he could do not to pull her down next to him on the bed and explore every inch of her smooth, exposed skin. His hand tingled at the memory of the soft, silky feel of her thigh beneath his palm when he had stopped her from leaving the room. He drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head. Those thoughts would never do. She deserved his respect, not his improper imaginings. William walked to the bathroom where he undressed and quickly stepped into the shower.

Thirty minutes later, he was freshly showered and in the clean clothing, he had found in the dresser. He ran his hand along his jawline, wishing he could have shaved as well, but he had not seen a razor.

William descended the stairs and walked to the kitchen to pour his second cup of coffee of the day. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall – it was eleven o'clock. Lizzy would return from work shortly. A soft smile lifted his lips at the thought and he carried his coffee mug out to the front porch where he sat on the porch swing to enjoy the remainder of the morning until she returned.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Throughout the morning, Elizabeth debated whether or not to call the house to check on William. She wondered if he even knew what a phone was. Did they even have phones in 1905? she asked herself. She rolled her eyes at the preposterousness of the need to even have such a discussion with herself.

She watched the minutes and hours slowly tick by on the pendulum clock on the office wall. By 11:15, she was unable to focus on the stack of paperwork in front of her. She turned when she heard the office door chime.

Connor, returning from an errand to the post office, entered the otherwise empty newsroom. He stopped in front of Elizabeth, sat down on the edge of her desk and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "Soo," he began, a bemused expression lighting his eyes, "when I went to the post office, I happened to look down the block and saw a tall, dark and handsome man sitting on your front porch swing, drinking coffee. Care to explain?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. Crap! she thought. How on earth was she going to explain that? "Uh…" she prevaricated. "Yeah," she began, pretending to sort through the pile of paperwork on her desk. "That's my friend, William. He's a…college friend who is…staying with me for a while. He's, uh, he's looking to move to the area but wanted to see what it's like first, so I told him that he can stay in Michael's old room until he decides for sure." Elizabeth looked up from the paperwork and flashed Connor a wide-eyed, tight-lipped smile and shrugged.

Connor raised a skeptical eyebrow. He had known her for too long to believe that tale for even a second.

Elizabeth groaned and sighed. "Connor, please don't say anything to anyone else."

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked quietly, concern now clouding his normally untroubled, bright green eyes.

Elizabeth sighed again as she propped her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her hands. Family issues, work issues, occasional bouts of hopelessness of ever finding her purpose in life – Connor had been there through them all, quietly prying her worries and fears out of her, and she had always felt better for it. The man should be a therapist. She had tried to set him up with her best friend, Charlotte, for years, but the two just hadn't been able to see eye-to-eye. It had been her one and only foray into matchmaking. Disastrous though it was. "Yes. But not right now," she muttered rubbing her temples before she glanced back up at him. "Do you want to come over for supper tonight?"

"What time and what can I bring?" he asked as he gave her shoulder a brotherly pat.

"Dessert. And thanks, Connor."

"Any time," he replied as he hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and strolled through the door to his office.

Elizabeth sighed. Connor was like a second brother. He had been friends with her younger brother, Michael, since grade school and, like her brother, Connor had delighted in harassing the living daylights out of her. Since he had started working at the newspaper after finishing college a few years earlier, he and Elizabeth had struck up a friendship built on annoying the bejeebers out of each other and relying on one another for the big things in life, just as real siblings did.

Elizabeth smiled tiredly and shook her head as she returned her attention to her computer monitor. The clock display in the lower right-hand corner of the screen read eleven twenty. She cleared her desk and shut down her computer before heading to the back of the building to find Herb.

She found him bent over a duplicator machine, apparently finagling with something he was trying to fix. "Hey, Herb," Elizabeth called.

"Yes," Herb answered as he turned around to face her, wiping his ink-stained hands on a towel. "What do you need, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I'm going to head out for the day if you don't need anything else."

Herb smiled back. "No, no. Everything is under control here. Have a good weekend."

"Thanks, Herb," Elizabeth answered as he turned back to his work.

Elizabeth stepped out of the air-conditioned newspaper office and into the heat and humidity of the spring day outside. She turned toward home and began the short walk to her house. When the house came into view, she paused under the shade of an oak tree that grew next to the sidewalk to gather her thoughts. She leaned back against the tree trunk and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Okay, she mentally began, intending to give herself a pep talk. Fact number one; there is a man in my house. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips harder against her already aching head. Fact number two, said man thinks that I am someone who lived and died over a century ago, and I look exactly like her. How is that even possible? Are the things I felt and saw last night even real, or was it due to my overactive imagination? Or, is William really some kind of mutant like in the X-Men comics, with the ability to control minds… Elizabeth shook her head, mentally pulling herself back from the edge of that rabbit hole. Okay, focus! She mentally reprimanded herself. We are not, I repeat, not going down that rabbit hole. She exhaled heavily. Fact number three. No matter what my feelings, either real or imagined, are, I need to keep my distance! I don't even know him and letting him think that I'm who he supposedly thinks I am isn't fair to him, either. There's no possible way that I could be his Elizabeth! I'm me. I'm now. I wasn't anyone before… She struggled for the right way to phrase her thoughts. Coming up empty, she decided to put it on the "can't deal with it now" shelf, and shook her head. The whole situation is impossible, she reminded herself.

No, she considered, that wasn't entirely true. She believed that William had traveled in time; she had seen the proof, unbelievable and impossible as it was to believe. "Okay," Elizabeth said out loud, as she opened her eyes and dropped her hands to her sides. "Fact number three still stands. After all, I don't know him. Even if I believe he's trustworthy, I have technically known him for less than twenty-four hours."

As she turned and squared her shoulders to walk the remaining block to the house, Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly and shook her head to clear the jumbled thoughts from her mind. When she did so, she saw the mental image of William's piercing blue eyes framed by dark lashes, felt the warm, gentle pressure of his hand on her thigh as she sat next to him on the spare room bed, and felt the gentle brush and accompanying electrifying tingle of his hand brushing her cheek and neck.

"Oh, man," she whispered. "Not. Good." Elizabeth opened her eyes, exhaled with a determined huff and firmly repeated to herself, "Fact number three," as she began to walk toward the house.