Crashing a Garden Party

I woke up that morning tired, and having slept in an office chair hadn’t helped my mood. I hadn’t really slept in a couple of days, and I needed a shave. I’d been working on that blasted family history all week, neglecting everything else, even showering.

I sniffed myself and made a face, even my dog was beginning to steer clear of me.

I opened the door to the study and stepped out in to the hallway. As I closed the door it suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t in my hallway.

In fact, I wasn’t in my house at all. I was in the middle of a 1920’s garden party.

Jaws dropped and the tea cups crashed. Understandable, I mean, an unshaven, rather ripe-smelling male had popped into their midst. If I were an old lady I would probably drop my tea cup, too.

I tried to grin as I ran my fingers through my hair. “Hello, ladies.” I managed to get out. Then I bowed, finally those summers with grandma were paying off.

“Sorry to intrude like this,” I said, “but, uh...” I shuffled my feet.

The woman closest to me had a sour look on her face, “Young man, what do you think you are doing?”

“Um...” Since this was obviously a dream, I decided to have some fun. I straightened up and squared my shoulders. “Why madam, don’t you know who I am? I am Harold Fishing Jr.” I said in my deepest voice, giving them my great-grandfather’s name.

“Mr. Fishing?” The oldest of the ladies said. She smiled then, her brown eyes twinkling. “You mean that you are dear Regina’s boy? I am Mrs. Hallawick, perhaps she has mentioned me?”

I didn’t recognize the name, but hey, “Of course. Momma always spoke highly of you, Mrs. Hallawick. She said that while I was in town I must be sure to come and visit you.”

“In that case,” the old lady said, “Come and have some tea with us.” As I began to sit next to her she discreetly wrinkled her nose, “Perhaps, Mr. Fishing,” she began, “you would prefer a seat nearer the roses, they are beautiful this year. You must gather some for your dear mother.”

As I sat, quiet a distance away I noted, from the table, I chatted with the old ladies and accepted tea from a very attractive, and rather familiar looking maid.

At a little past three, when the rest of the ladies began to give their goodbyes, I got up and declared that it was time for me to go.

Mrs. Hallawick approached me, thrust a few dozen roses into my arms, took a discreet breath, and kissed my cheek.

As I turned and walked toward the hedge I wondered when I would wake up, when, suddenly, I was in my study with a bunch of roses in my arms.

I went to my desk and sat down. After putting the roses aside I picked up the portfolio of my great-great grandmother’s various letters and journals.

I searched through the journal until I found a certain entry.

June 2, 1922.

Dear Diary,

I received the strangest letter from dear Mrs. Hallawick today. She said that she had immensely enjoyed the visit of my son. That, though his lack in cologne, he made a pleasant and amusing guest with his odd clothes and witty conversation.

The latter sounds rather like Harold, he never could dress himself, but he was with me on Saturday. No where near New York at all.

I suppose I can only believe that my dear friend must slowly be losing her faculties. I sincerely hope that I remain quite sharp until the end. Poor old soul.”

I leaned back in my chair, how had I managed to travel back in time?

Suddenly I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it I saw the maid from the garden party standing there.

“Wha...?” Was all I managed.

“Mr. Gerard,” she said, “I want to apologize.”

“For what? You are a figment of my imagination. A pretty figment, but a figment.”

“No sir, I’m not.” She cleared her throat. “Could I come in? I feel kinda silly standing here in this costume.”

“No sillier than I felt being in sweats in the 1920’s.” Then I saw my landlord walking past. “Hey Joe, can you see her?”

Joe stopped. “Hi, Ms. Carmichael, nice outfit.”

“Okay... since he can see you, come in.”

She smiled. As she settled on my couch, the only clean spot in the room, she folded her hands and continued.

“Mr. Gerard, I am not a figment of your imagination.”

“I figured that out.”

“And the garden party you attended was absolutely real. I am a physics student. And I was trying to make a dimensional portal. I accidentally made a time machine instead.”

“How...?” I began.

She raised her hand. “Don’t ask. You don’t want to know. So I was going back in time, and you somehow got caught in it. I’m sorry, if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know.”

I looked around my house, then I looked at her. “Can you do laundry?”

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