A Cry at Midnight (40 page)

Slowly, Randi realized placing her hands over her ears hadn't stopped the sound of the baby's tears. A sense of
deja vu
made her shiver. She'd heard the same thing in the museum, right before she'd reached inside and grabbed the little baby in the bassinet.

She dropped her hands, a stronger sense of panic making her look around for reassurance. Jackson stood in front of her, asking her a question. Beyond him, Lebeau stood at the back doorway, beneath the covered walkway. Birdie stepped out of the kitchen, an armload of folded linen in her hands.

Randi saw all that, but heard very little. Her senses seemed dulled. She even felt as though she was operating in slow motion as she reached inside the pocket of her jeans, to the irritating lump that pressed into her hip.

Her gaze locked with Jackson's, her fingers closed over the little plastic baby. She'd forgotten all about the doll.

"Look, Jackson," she said, although her words sounded hollow. "I didn't travel through time because of the replica. It was the baby. Always the baby . . ."

She saw a horrified look on his face, then her eyes shut against a bright blast of sunlight that seemed to throw her backwards to the ground. Her mind spun with a dizzying sensation of tumbling, then she landed.

Not in mud, she slowly realized. Her fingers connected with a hard wood floor on one side, a fuzzy, worn carpet on the other. She sucked in lungsful of air, which weren't filled with the smell of muddy river. Tentatively, she opened her eyes.

The overhead spotlight highlighted the white-boarded replica of Black Willow Grove, the plastic shield hanging from one nail.

"No," she whispered. "Jackson . . ."

She rolled to her side, then tried to stand. Her head spun so much she felt ill. "I have to find out," she whispered. "I have to know if they were safe." She tried to crawl toward the pedestal so she could stand up, walk to the gift shop. The history book would tell her if anything had changed . . .

But she couldn't pull herself to her feet. With a moan of frustration, Randi sank to the floor, her fingers closed around the little plastic baby as she fell into blackness.

#

Jackson staggered back from the spot where Randi had been just moments before. He'd watched her disappear in front of his eyes, but still couldn't believe what he'd seen. He reached out, swinging his arms wide, but she was gone.

With a cry from deep inside his soul, he tipped back his head and yelled, "Randi!"

The sound of birds, startled into flight, was his only answer. He felt so stunned that he couldn't function. Only when he felt a hand on his shoulder was he shaken from his stupor.

"Randi!" He turned, but found not the woman he loved, but his friend.

"She's gone," Lebeau said, his voice showing the wonder they shared over her disappearance.

"How could this happen?" Jackson asked, holding Lebeau's upper arms. He wanted to shake him, to make him give answers to all the questions that raced through his head.

"She was telling the truth," Lebeau said. "She really was from the future."

"She told you?"

"Yes, she told me many things. About the wonders of her time. About the war that is to come and tear the South apart."

Jackson shook his head. "It's so hard to believe. I've done enough slight of hand tricks to know the signs. I saw no tricks. She simply faded away, and then she was gone."

"What did she say before she left?"

"She heard Rose crying . . . Oh, God. Is Rose well? What if something happened to her? What if she's gone?"

Jackson fought the mud as he ran toward the house. Ignoring the dirt and water he tracked across the marble floors, he ran up the stairs, two at a time. He vaguely heard Lebeau on his heels, but the pounding of his heart drove out all other reality.

"Suzette!" he yelled as he careened into the nursery.

"Mas'r Jackson!" Rose's nurse held the baby close to her chest. Suzette's eyes were wide with fear as she looked over his wild appearance.

"Is she well? Has she been crying?"

"No, sir. She just fed, and I was gettin' ready to put her down for a nap. Miz Randi said she might not be up for awhile."

"Randi," Jackson began, then swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Miss Randi is gone," Lebeau added.

"Gone? But where could she go in this flood? You don't mean she's . . . gone?"

Lebeau shook his head. "We don't know exactly where she went," he said gently, "but she's not coming back."

"How do you know?"

Jackson placed his hand on Rose's downy head. "I pushed her away. I didn't believe."

"Miz Randi said she had to go outside to save you."

Jackson nodded. "That's why she came here. To save us."

"Maybe to make us see the possibilities we wouldn't have understood unless she came into our lives."

"What to you mean, Mr. Lebeau?" Suzette asked.

"Things are going to change," he said, then turned and walked into the hallway.

Jackson placed a kiss on his daughter's forehead. "Take good care of her, Suzette. She's more precious to me than anything I have left on this earth."

He turned away from the nursery, his heart empty and sad despite Rose's health. For an instant, he'd thought perhaps his daughter had disappeared with Randi. She'd been so concerned about what would happen to the baby if he'd died unexpectedly. He'd promised her that he would make provisions for Black Willow Grove and his daughter. He hadn't done that yet, but now he realized a true sign of caring was making those arrangements now, before anyone threatened the continued existence of his plantation or the happiness of his child.

Carrying out his promises was the least he could do out of respect for Randi. She had asked much of him, but he knew he was a better man for the changes she'd initiated. How could he have faulted her for caring enough to make him realize what was truly important? Instead of thanking her, their last moments together had been filled with anger and pain.

The knowledge that she'd taken away that image of him, back to her time, to the family and culture she loved, filled him with sadness. He had to do something to honor her memory.

"Lebeau," Jackson said wearily, "would you come to the study, please? We have some things to discuss."

#

When Randi awoke, she was still alone in the museum. The night's silence weighed heavily around her, but she pushed off the floor with one hand and sat up. Just like when she'd gone back in time, she felt weak and dizzy. The feeling would fade, though. She knew the emptiness in her heart wouldn't.

She uncurled the fingers of her other hand, not surprised to find the pink plastic doll still pressed into her palm. Rose. The baby had found a special place in her heart. Not even the death of her own unborn child had affected her so deeply. She'd never hear Rose's squeals of delight, massage her gums, feel her snuggle up for a nap, or just walk around the beautiful old home with the baby.

She'd also never walk into Jackson's study and find him sitting behind his huge desk, or slip into his bedroom for a night of passion. The loss of the man and the baby she loved filled her with such sadness that she didn't know how she'd go on.

This time when she tried to get up off the floor, her legs held her upright. She still felt dizzy, but she could walk. The first thing she needed to discover was if she'd changed history in any way.

With one hand on the wall, she slowly maneuvered down the hallway to the gift shop. By the time she reached the doorway, she was tired and out of breath, but had to go on. The stack of history books about the area were tucked beneath a shelf of Victorian post cards and colorful glass paperweights.

Randi sank to the floor, then slowly pulled out the book from the bottom of the stack--the one she'd "borrowed" to read up on the plantation. Sure enough, she could barely see the places where she'd turned the pages. Her breathing fast and shallow, she found the part about the people who had lived in the house. Her finger skimmed down the page, then stopped on the paragraph she sought.

"Jackson Durant and his infant daughter disappeared in the flood of 1849, their bodies never recovered once the water receded." Oh, God. She hadn't changed history. Despite her warnings, despite all her tries to get him to leave, they hadn't survived. Tears filled her eyes and she cried for the two loved ones she'd lost forever to time and the damned river.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself off the floor. She needed to know if she'd truly come back on the same night, so she made her way to Mrs. Williams's office on legs that felt encased in lead. Randi flipped on the light, then found the desk calendar on the museum director's desk.

Sure enough, it was turned to the same date as when she'd left. She glanced at the clock and found that she'd been gone only minutes, although she had been lying on the floor for some time. Her jeans and shoes were still muddy and damp.

Her family hadn't been frantically searching for her. No one knew she'd gone back in time, fallen in love, or had her heart broken again.

All she wanted to do right now was go home, fall into bed, and sleep for the next twenty years or so. But there were things to do, she noticed as she stood in the doorway of the office and looked down the long, narrow dark hallway. She needed to fix the plastic shield, and make sure all of her cleaning supplies were put up for the night. No need to alert the world to her unbelievable trip back to 1849.

As if they'd believe you
, she told herself as she grabbed a hammer from the janitor's closet, then slowly walked back to the replica of the house where she'd once given her heart and her body to the man she loved.

When she stood in front of the house, though, she knew there was one thing she couldn't replace. The pink plastic baby. No way could she seal the tiny doll back up in the house, all alone. This baby was her only link to Rose, and Randi knew she'd treasure this keepsake always--her only link to the past.

She hadn't even been able to bring her drawings back. All the sketches she'd made of the house, then of Rose and Jackson, were still in her bedroom back at Black Willow Grove. Perhaps Jackson would find them and remember her. Fondly, she hoped. He'd been so angry when they'd parted.

She wanted to believe that was exhaustion and frustration talking, and not his true feelings. Jackson hadn't believed her, but he'd been honest about that always. She also believed that he loved her, in his own way. Maybe not like a man of this time, who had been raised in a society where men and women, black and white, were considered equals. But he had changed a lot in the three weeks she'd stayed in the past. When she'd first arrived, he wouldn't hold or acknowledge his daughter in public. He took every meal in the formal dining room. She wanted to believe that if by some miracle he survived, he would continue to be more open and loving to Rose.

And to any other children he might have with another wife. He'd always said he would remarry. Her hand strayed to her stomach. She'd asked him not to pull away the last time they'd made love. There was a chance, although a slim one, that she might be carrying Jackson's child.

If she was, she'd have a forever, living reminder of him. If not, then she'd cherish the memories.

Finding the lost nail that she'd ripped out of the replica, she positioned it in the plastic and gently tapped it in. There. No one would ever know that she'd reached inside and gone back to the days when the real plantation house had stood on this ground.

As she straightened, a wave of dizziness reminded her that she was still suffering the effects of traveling through time. She needed to get home, go to bed, and try to mend her broken heart.

She put the hammer back in the closet, used some paper towels to clean up the mud she'd tracked around, then made her way carefully to the front door. Like so many nights, she looked around one last time before turning out the light. Everything looked so . . . normal.

With a sigh, she opened the door, then reached for her keys to lock the dead bolt before punching in the security code. Except her keys weren't there. They were still in her fanny pack, safely hidden in her bedroom in 1849.

From
a third floor window, Jackson watched with pride as the levee around the house held back the Mississippi. Brewster had come back from Crowder's Point with news that almost miraculously, the break had been repaired enough to keep the gap from widening. The level of the river was going down already. Within two weeks, they'd have the cotton replanted. The crop would be slightly late this year, but they would have a harvest.

They were going to survive the flood.

Had Randi's insistence of danger played any part in his flood precautions? He imagined they had. Although he'd been cautioning the other planters about the possibility of flood based on reports from far upstream, he wouldn't have built the levee around the house. He'd provided extra surveillance of the levees because she was frightened of the river. Perhaps his efforts had at least saved the house from damage.

Randi had been gone a full day and already his future stretched out bleak and lonely. He knew that no other woman would ever fill the gap she'd left. But would he try to find someone else? He told himself that he must, for the sake of Black Willow Grove. He needed a male heir, although the idea of making love to another woman left him feeling cold.