Bertrand had risen to greet them, and looked at Blake with a welcoming smile, as though they had been expected and were properly dressed. His manners were impeccable, his eyes warm, and all of the Butterfield men were in white tie and tails, as they wore to dinner every night, except Magnus, who looked immaculate in a sailor suit. Charlie, his counterpart, was wearing the corduroy pants, sweatshirt, and running shoes he had worn at school. Andy was in khakis and a sweater, and Caroline had on a miniskirt, which Augusta noted with horror. She rapped her brother’s hand with her fan when he stared at her, and he laughed. He had never seen anything like it, but thought it excellent attire for a pretty girl. Gwyneth and Sybil exchanged a shy smile. Gwyneth was wearing a beautiful lavender silk gown and a diamond choker, and Sybil thought she was even more beautiful than her portrait. She had flawless porcelain skin, pale blond hair upswept in a loose chignon, and huge blue eyes similar to her mother’s and Bettina’s. Gwyneth turned to the butler, whom Sybil recognized, standing at attention behind the Butterfields, and Gwyneth spoke to him in the same Scottish accent as her mother, but in a gentler tone.
“Phillips, please set five places for our guests,” she said softly, and he nodded and disappeared to carry out her orders. Blake stared around the room, as did the children, trying to understand what had happened. But the Butterfields weren’t frightening, they felt like friends. Blake glanced at Sybil, and she nodded to reassure him. Blake and Sybil’s children weren’t frightened either. They were fascinated by the Butterfields.
A moment later, Phillips reappeared and set places at the table for all five Gregorys where Gwyneth indicated as Bert chatted good-humoredly with them. The fact that they weren’t dressed for dinner didn’t seem to bother anyone except Augusta, who spoke under her breath to Uncle Angus. He found the women in the group delightful, whatever they were wearing. The families introduced themselves to each other, and Blake was seated between Bert and Bettina, who was a beautiful young woman. Sybil sat between Bertrand and Josiah, their oldest son. Andy was between Gwyneth and Lucy, whom he thought was the most exquisite girl he’d ever seen. She had her mother’s perfect creamy skin and blond hair, and was wearing a demure white evening dress. She appeared to be about twenty, which Sybil knew from the book was the age she had been at the time of her death. Magnus looked to be six, the age he was when he died, three years after they’d bought the house. Caroline was between Lucy and her brother Charlie, who sat next to Magnus on his other side, who looked totally delighted. The two little boys hit it off immediately and were enchanted to discover they were both six.
Augusta continued to gaze at their guests through her lorgnette, with her lips pursed in disapproval and the little black pug at her feet. Angus’s English bulldog was sound asleep near the fire, snoring loudly. Charlie noticed him and laughed. Magnus said the dog’s name was Rupert. And his grandmother’s pug was Violet.
Everyone at the table looked happy except Augusta, who rarely did anyway. She was their collective conscience and always complained about the children’s manners or what they were wearing.
“I have no idea who these people are,” she said in a loud whisper to her brother, as he continued to stare at Sybil and Caroline with a look of delight. He thought them an excellent addition to the meal.
“What a wonderful surprise,” Bertrand said warmly to their guests around the table, which was beautifully set with silver and gleaming crystal. Everyone began to talk at once as dinner was served, and the food was delicious. Blake commented on the excellent wine. Sybil was dying to talk to Gwyneth, but they were too far apart, and she enjoyed chatting with Bert and Josiah about San Francisco and the house. She explained that they had just moved in, and had arrived from New York.
“We built the house fifteen years ago,” Bert explained, which Sybil instantly calculated meant that the year was 1917 for them, exactly a hundred years before the date that night for the Gregorys. The Gregorys had somehow walked back a century when they entered the formal dining room from the kitchen. Bert and Blake talked business for part of the evening, the older children of both families were having fun with one another, and Charlie and Magnus were plotting happily about things they wanted to do together. Magnus suggested they meet to climb the trees in the garden, which sounded like fun to Charlie too. Magnus confessed to his new friend in a whisper that he wasn’t allowed to, but did it frequently.
It struck Sybil as she watched them that if the year was 1917 for the Butterfields, as it appeared to be from their conversation, Magnus had been a ghost by then for twelve years, since he had died in 1905 when he was six. His age appeared to have remained fixed there, at the age he was when he died. It was an extraordinary phenomenon that Sybil wouldn’t have understood if she hadn’t met with Michael Stanton that day. She was less baffled and confused than the others after everything he had explained. But one thing was for sure, the Butterfields seemed to have no desire to frighten them away. They made the Gregorys feel warmly welcomed, like honored guests. And nothing about them suggested that they were ghosts—they appeared to be entirely real, normal people, although their style of dress, conversation, and manners dated back to 1917. But both families seemed to have much in common, shared interests, and enjoyed each other’s company immensely, even laughing at each other’s jokes.
The meal ended too soon, and Bert said quietly to Sybil and Blake that something extraordinary had happened, and he hoped they would join him and his family again very soon, the following night if they were free. No one mentioned the divergence of dates, or the fact that their two worlds had converged in an astonishingly real way that night.
“I hope they come properly dressed next time,” Augusta added and harrumphed loudly, as Phillips appeared with a decanter of brandy on a silver tray, and another one of port, and Bert invited the Gregorys to join them in the living room. Blake and Sybil stood up with the others, and the entire group followed Bert and Gwyneth into the large living room, as Sybil admired Gwyneth’s dress, and they chatted. But as soon as they entered the living room, the Gregorys found themselves suddenly alone. The Butterfields had disappeared, and when they glanced back into the dining room, the fire was no longer lit, the room was dark, and all signs of the meal had disappeared.
“What just happened, Dad?” Andy asked his father, and Blake looked puzzled as he stared at Sybil, and didn’t know what to say to his son. And Caroline was visibly confused as well.
“I think something very strange and very wonderful happened tonight,” Blake said slowly. “We met the family who built the house and used to live here.”
“And still do,” Sybil said softly.
“Can we see them again?” Charlie asked, looking anxious. “Magnus said he’d come to my room to play tomorrow.” And he had promised to show Magnus his videogames, and how to play them.
“Then maybe he will,” Sybil said gently, as the Gregorys walked into the kitchen, still confused. Their roast beef was in the oven, vastly overcooked by then, and Blake looked at Sybil as their children left the kitchen and went upstairs to their rooms to do their homework. It had been a wonderful evening, and they all hoped they’d see their new friends again. No one was upset by having met them, or afraid of them. It had been a positive experience for all.
“What just happened here?” Blake asked her, shocked and mystified.
“They still live here,” Sybil said calmly, and she sat down at the kitchen table with Blake to tell him what Michael Stanton had said.
“They’re such nice people,” he said afterward. “How is this possible? They thought it was 1917 tonight, and it’s a hundred years later for us.”