A Whisper in Time (18 page)

“Thanks for understanding.” The screen faded.

This was weird. I had inside information on one of the most recognizable couples in America. I knew
her
well enough to form an opinion, and I felt sorry for them.

After shutting down my laptop, I stowed it away and then headed straight for the garage. As I was passing through the laundry room, the door to the apartment opened. Susanna came bounding down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step.

“Hey,” I said, my hand on the garage door.

She gave me a slow, sexy smile. “Come to me.”

Wow. Even as my brain was reeling, my legs were obeying the command. I reached out for her, my arms automatically closing around her hips, our eyes at the same level for once.

Her hands cupped my jaw, one grazing lightly over the afternoon shadow of my beard while the other slid toward the back of my head, her fingers threading through my hair.

“What are you doing, Susanna?”

“You told me to be brave with you,” she said, pulling me closer until her lips touched mine. “I am trying.”

My brain stopped working. All that was left was her mouth “trying.” And succeeding.

I pulled away first. “Holy shit.”

She laughed. “Truly? Is cursing the only encouragement I am to get?”

“That was hot, and you know it.”

“Hot?” She inclined her head, puzzled. “Did you not tell me once that hot means pretty?”

My turn to smile. “I told you it had another meaning too.”

“Will you tell me, or must I tempt it from you?”

Damn. I needed to say it before she totally screwed up my training plans. Fortunately, she had a better vocabulary than most college professors. “Hot also means seductive.”

“Indeed.”

When she reached for me again, I backed away. “You stay there. I need to train.” The next hour could be painful.

“You are a man of admirable willpower.”

“Shut up,” I said with a grin as I slipped out the door.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
IVE

U
NFETTERED
N
ATURE

My trip to Old Raleigh would keep me out overnight. There was no way this could be helped. Because I didn’t wish to worry my hosts, I had to provide a note of explanation. I would leave it for Bruce. He was sensible and less inclined to judge me.

Mark would receive no note. I regretted this necessity and dreaded the inevitable argument when next we met, but there was no helping it either. If he returned from school before the waterfall allowed me to pass, he might try to talk me out of my plans or go with me. Neither was acceptable.

Tuesday, after everyone had left, it was time to assemble the supplies. I squeezed a tube of Bacitracin into a fat glass jar, then added a cork stopper. Into a tiny cloth bag, I added the pills. Seventeen in all. Three different kinds, but each and every one an oral antibiotic. At two per day, this treatment would only last for nine days. It was the best I could do, and I hoped it would be enough. I pulled the drawstring and tied it snugly.

After packing these items into a canvas sack, I added a few more. For hunger, I included an apple, a package of beef jerky, and two granola bars. For emergencies, there was a cloth bandage, a pair of socks and a rain poncho. And, of course, toilet paper.

Missing was the costume. I cleared my mind and donned my clothing. Full slip, silky and trimmed with lace. The granny gown. A wide blue ribbon at my waist. Thick trouser socks. Black sneakers.

With sure fingers, I wound my hair, secured it to the top of my head, and pinned on a cap I’d fashioned from a square of cloth. The transformation was complete.

A quick look in the mirror reflected a girl I barely recognized. It stunned me how completely I had changed in only seven weeks. With the costume came memories, unpleasant in their intensity. I fought back the sense that I was still a servant girl, bound to an unseen master in every way except physical.

I snatched off the cap and forced it into the canvas bag. There would be time enough to pin it on once I reached Old Raleigh.

Now for the letter. Sherri had a delicate mahogany secretary in her husband’s office. It held beautiful notecards of creamy vellum with gilded edges. A special set of pens rested in a carved wooden box. I hurried there, wrote the note quickly, addressed it to Bruce, and laid it on his desk.

It was noon when I emerged from the rear of the house, engaged the alarm, and crossed quickly to the greenway. I ran for the rutted trail and picked my way carefully to the banks of Rocky Creek. There was no one about.

“I am ready, Whisper Falls. Take me back, please.”

There was no sparkle—no indication that the falls would accommodate my wish.

I crept as close as I dared and held out my hand. The water was wet. I laughed. Of course it was. Water was supposed to be wet, was it not?

“Are you toying with me?”

The rhythmic thud of running shoes slapping pavement of the greenway filtered through the thick forest. The sound grew louder and then faded around a bend in the greenway. I crossed to an old hollow log and sat, clutching the canvas sack to my lap. I could wait and watch.

One hour passed. Then another. No sparkle or shimmer. Mark would be home soon. I must hurry, retrieve the note, and hide my supplies. I could wait here no longer.

I stood stiffly and stalked to the closest boulder. “I shall come tomorrow and the day after that. As long as it takes.”

The water ignored me.

After hurrying home, I let myself into the house and retrieved the note from Bruce’s desk. Then I ran to the apartment and hid the canvas sack in the cabinet below the window seat. Soon, the granny gown hung in the closet, and my normal clothes were back on.

A bike rattled in the lane and up the driveway. Mark was home. Moments later, the door slammed. Feet thundered up the stairs to my apartment and then two light raps.

I faced the door nervously, as if my guilt reeked from every pore. “Come in.”

“Hey, babe,” he said as he flung his backpack on the floor by the door and strode across the room. A few feet from me, though, he stopped. “Why do you have your hair like that?”

Merciful heavens. I had forgotten. “I thought perhaps…” My words faltered as I reached for the hair piled on my head.

“Don’t. Let me do it.”

I nodded wordlessly and turned my back to him. One by one, he drew out the pins. A lock fell, then another. With the third pin, the mass tumbled down.

His arms slipped around my waist and drew me back against him. “That was hot.”

I relaxed into him as his lips pressed to my cheek. “Indeed, and how was your day?”

He groaned against my neck.

“I have two major projects due later this week and two big tests next Wednesday. I’m drowning in homework.”

“May I join you in the family room? We could study together.”

“Sure.” He dropped a light kiss on my lips and took a step toward the door. “See you down there in ten.”

I held my breath until his steps merged into the noise of the house and then released it on a sigh. I’d made too many mistakes. I must increase my vigilance. There could be no room for error once I set foot in the past.

* * *

Eight days went by, and still the falls wouldn’t let me through. Three days remained until the night of the ball in 1800.

I would not give up. My sister needed me. Surely the waterfall would relent, though it had to be today. Tomorrow was Thursday, Sherri’s day off. What if she were to engage me in an activity and I could not slip away? Worry ached in my belly.

I hurried to the falls after my noon meal and waited on Mark’s favorite rock. “Please.” My voice wavered with a mixture of dread and hope.

The water glimmered. I plunged my hand into the flow. It wound around my fingers like ribbons, silken but
not wet
.

Hugging the canvas sack tightly to my chest, I stepped through the waterfall and into the past.

I stood on the narrow ledge of rock between Whisper Falls and the tiny, moss-strewn cave behind it, opening my senses. The world of my birth was as I remembered. The sounds were crisper. The smells fresher.

The creatures in the forest murmured without fear, undisturbed by the presence of humans. I hurried downstream along the pebble-strewn bank before cutting into the woods, then set a course that paralleled the creek, far enough into the trees to avoid detection. When I emerged on the Raleigh Road, there was no one in sight, just as I had expected. I turned toward the capital city.

The road was rutted, the inclines steep at points. How I wished I could ride a bike. The distance in time would be shorter, and the hills not so high. I needed to cease such thoughts, for they made the hours of walking that lay ahead less tolerable. I would be alone with unfettered nature.

Was this not a much-missed part of this century? There was no whining of motors, no planes overhead. How could Mark’s world permit the racket of clashing metal to drown the lovely sounds of the forest? I decided I must relax my mind and allow sweet solitude to ease me onward.

I arrived at the ridge overlooking the capital in late afternoon and paused to drink in the sight. A wave of homesickness rolled over me.

There were new buildings everywhere. New streets encroached into the surrounding woods. Yet it moved and changed at a familiar pace. I understood this world.

With a resolved shake of my head, I plunged down the other side of the ridge. In the ensuing years—four on the nineteenth-century side of the falls—the road had been much-improved. Gone were the weeds that hid snakes, and the rocks that lamed horses. It shortened my time into the heart of the city.

The pounding of hammers had been replaced by the shouts of merchants and the screams of those unwary enough to step into the path of a wagon.

I still had not worked out how I would gain access to my sister, but perhaps an idea would come to me when I got there.

The Eton house looked deserted. There was a bit of movement in the kitchen but none visible on the ground floor of the house. I walked along the street until I could stop in the shade of an oak. While I stood there, clutching the short wooden fence and debating what my next move should be, a young woman in a dark roundgown and white apron exited the kitchen building. Her gaze swept the garden, focusing curiously on me.

Her hand crept to her mouth. “Susie?”

“Indeed, yes, Phoebe,” I said in a voice brimming with joy. “It is I.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-S
IX

R
ANDOM
E
VENTS

The final bell rang, signaling the end of school and this frickin’ American government test.

Mr. Fullerton asked insane questions. The only thing that saved me was Susanna. Her father, as the village tutor, had been on top of the politics of that time—which meant Susanna had been, too.

When I walked out of class, Gabrielle stood in the center of the hallway, talking with Jesse and Benita. They waved me over.

Three weeks ago, I’d been dreading this year, worried that I’d be a loner during the school day. Somehow I had just merged into this circle of four friends. It felt nice.

Benita nudged me with her elbow. “We’re celebrating how well the teachers colluded to give us a Wednesday marathon of tests. Want to come with us?”

I resisted the urge to check my watch. “Sure. Where?”

“Olde Tyme Grill?”

“Yeah. Great.”

Gabrielle smiled. “Did you bike today?”

I shook my head. “I drove.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were seated in our booth, drinking smoothies and eating fries. Jesse wanted to compare notes on exam questions, but we outvoted him three-to-one.

“Fine. You win.” He elbowed Benita. “Want to tell them about your audition at the School of the Arts?”

“Sure. It went great.”

Was it modesty or boredom that kept her from saying more? I was actually interested. “Is that where you want to go to college?”

“I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on whether I get into their high school program.”

“You’ll get in,” Jesse said.

Ignoring him, she propped her chin on one of her gloved hands. “Where do you plan to go?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m mostly looking at schools in the mountains.”

“Jesse wants to go to Berkeley.”

He shook his head. “Where I want to go—and where I will end up—might not be the same thing.”

She rolled her eyes. Obviously something she’d heard too often. “Let’s talk about Gabrielle.”

Beside me, Gabrielle laughed. “What do you want to know?”

“Are you going to college?”

“Eventually. It’ll have to wait, though. I have a couple of films lined up after graduation.”

Benita nodded in sage agreement, as if all of her friends took gap years to star in movies. “How does it feel to be on the homecoming court?”

“Busy.”

“Do you have a dress?”

“I will.” Gabrielle shrugged. “My agent is flying in a few to pick from.”

“Oooh.” Benita’s eyes widened. “Is Korry coming?”

Gabrielle exchanged a glance with me. “Korry can’t get away from the movie set.”

How long had she been holding onto that piece of information?

“Then who’s going to escort you?”

“I asked Mark.”

Her statement shut up Benita and Jesse, and it pissed me off. I turned sideways on the bench and pressed my back to the wall, putting maximum space between me and Gabrielle. I’d stopped thinking about it, expecting Korry to show up. Why did she wait until I had an audience? I didn’t like being put on the defensive. From the way her gaze skittered away from mine, she had gotten the message.

The silence lingered an entire minute, quite a record for the four of us.

Jesse was the first to break it. “What did you say, Mark?”

“I haven’t answered yet.”

“Why not? I would’ve said yes before she finished the question.”

Benita punched him in the arm. “You’re taking
me
to the homecoming game.”

“I know,” he said, “but if Gabi asked me to be her escort, you would just have to spend some time alone in the stands.”