A Time To Dream

by Sherry Lewis

  Zacharias had heard enough. He would not tolerate her putting such a burden on their tiny shoulders. To purposely frighten them and then warn them not to seek comfort? Never in his life had Zacharias wanted to strike a woman—not even when Agatha was at her worst—but listening to his mother purposely frightening the boys made him wish she were a man for just ten minutes.

  “But if Papa is ill,” Andrew said slowly, “shouldn’t we take care of him?” He broke off when Zacharias stepped into the doorway and glanced from him to his grandmother in confusion.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” Zacharias said, fighting to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t frighten the boys further. “It was interesting, if not quite accurate.”

  Mordechai dropped his wooden soldier and ran to him. Andrew still held back. Zacharias lifted Mordechai into his arms without taking his gaze from his mother’s face. “Your Grandmama is only teasing you, boys. My brain has not been addled nor am I ill.”

  “Teasing?” Mordechai looked at his grandmother, then back at Zacharias. “But why?”

  “Because she knows how important it is for you to like Agatha.”

  His mother shot to her feet. “Stop it this instant, Zacharias. I will not allow you to influence these poor children.”

  “I might give you the same warning, Mother.”

  Her face reddened and her nostrils flared. “I have only their best interests at heart.”

  “On the contrary.” Zacharias tried to keep the anger from his voice, but only because he had no wish to frighten his sons. “I’m quite certain you’re only concerned with your own best interests.”

  “You are being insolent.”

  “And you are being vicious and hateful.” Zacharias forced himself to take a steadying breath, kissed Mordechai lightly on the cheek, and set him on the floor. “We shall continue to see Agatha,” he assured his children, who both looked confused and a little frightened. “And we shall hear no more from Grandmama on the subject.”

  “I warn you, Zacharias—”

  “No, mother. I warn you. You’ll say nothing more to the boys about Agatha.” He stepped away from the door and motioned her toward it. “And you I shall continue this conversation elsewhere.”

  He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been this angry. The day Agatha had refused his repeated apologies and forced him out of Summervale came close, but even that hadn’t been as bad. Agatha had been stiff-necked and haughty, and she’d insisted that he remove himself and the boys from her presence, but she hadn’t purposely tried to hurt someone else. And not for want of the opportunity.

  She could have made trouble for Patricia. She could have exposed the entire truth to the light of day. Instead, she’d simply turned away from him. And she’d kept the truth quiet for five long years.

  His mother, on the other hand, was methodically trying to destroy another human being. And that he wouldn’t tolerate.

  Now, he followed her down the stairs and led her into the library, where he shut the door firmly between them and the rest of the world. “I warned you once,” he said before she could try to take over. “This is twice. I shan’t give you a third chance. If I hear so much as a whisper from you about Agatha, you shall not spend another night under my roof.”

  His mother glared at him, angrier than he’d ever seen her. Angrier than the day he’d announced his intention to marry Agatha. Angrier than the day his father had lost a veritable fortune on a horse race. Angrier, even, than the day he’d told her the truth about the break-up of his marriage.

  “You are behaving like a fool,” she warned. “You will destroy everything.”

  “I’ll destroy nothing.” His voice rose, but he made no effort to soften it. “You are the one who wants to destroy, Mother. You always have. And I warn you for the last time, I won’t tolerate it under my roof.”

  She stood for a moment, her chest heaving with anger. Before his eyes, she transformed into someone weak and tearful. “I’m only trying to protect you, Zacharias.”

  He marveled at her acting skills, and shuddered to think how often he’d been taken in by them. “I almost wish I could believe you, Mother. Unfortunately, I’ve seen you in action too often.” He ignored the pathetic slump of her shoulders and went on. “I want to make sure you understand me. I will not have you talking to the twins about Agatha. I will not tolerate your interference in my marriage—”

  “And I will not be spoken to this way.” His mother abandoned the pitiful pose the instant she realized it wasn’t working. She opened the door and stood in the doorway, in one of the most majestic poses Zacharias had ever seen. “I am still your mother, Zacharias, whether you like it or not. And I insist that you show me the respect I deserve.”

  “For the first time in my life, I’m showing you exactly the respect you deserve,” he assured her an instant before the door crashed shut between them.

  Seething, Victoria climbed the stairs quickly. She couldn’t believe the way Zacharias had spoken to her. She couldn’t believe the lack of respect, the blatant hostility.

  And why?

  She’d done nothing wrong. Obviously That Woman was having more influence on him than she’d thought.

  She brushed past a chamber maid in the hallway, so upset she barely heard the girl’s mumbled apology, ordered a second maid from her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. Only then did she let down her guard.

  She was worried. Terribly, terribly worried. If Agatha got her clutches into Zacharias again, all of Victoria’s substantial efforts would be in vain. All her hard work would be for naught.

  Why couldn’t Zacharias see how right she was? Why couldn’t he understand how wrong Agatha was for him? He was, she thought sadly, too much like his father. Too stubborn for his own good. And far too soft-hearted.

  Well, Victoria hadn’t let Hugh’s bleeding heart stop her from doing what she knew was right. And she wouldn’t let Zacharias’s, either. She intended to put a stop to this madness once and for all—no matter what it took.

  FOURTEEN

  Zacharias leaned back on the grass and watched the boys playing with Jada on the edge of the pond. Beside him, Agatha sat stiff as a board on the marble bench. She’d kept her eyes riveted on the boys constantly since she arrived that afternoon—almost as if she didn’t want to look at Zacharias. Almost as if she knew.

  Scowling slightly, Zacharias wondered if that were possible. No, he assured himself quickly. She couldn’t know. Who would have told her? Patricia? The very thought made him laugh. His mother? He could no more imagine his mother willingly speaking to Agatha than he could pigs suddenly taking flight.

  Still, the last time he saw Agatha, she’d been flirtatious and coy. She’d behaved as if putting their marriage back together was the most important thing in the world to her. Today she seemed remote, distant, and preoccupied. Something had brought about the change in her.

  He wondered if she’d gotten back a piece of her memory, if she was beginning to remember why she hated him. Each sidelong glance, every gentle sigh sent chills of foreboding up his spine.

  Giving him a stern mental shake, he reminded himself that it was possible something else had affected her mood. Something totally unrelated to himself. He wondered if perhaps he should try to broach the subject, then decided he’d be wiser to leave her alone.

  It might be that she was simply more irritable than usual. Zacharias had noted when they shared the same roof that she became more moody at a particular time of the month, and he suspected that might be the case today. He didn’t pretend to understand the workings of the female mind, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  Plucking a blade of grass, he stole another peek at her. A light breeze had pulled a lock of hair loose and tossed it across her face. He had to force himself not to brush it back from her cheek. Their relationship still teetered on a very thin ledge, and he couldn’t relax enough to make physical overtures. Those would have to come from her—if they eve
r did.

  When she turned her eyes toward him, he quickly shifted his gaze to the cloudless sky and observed, “It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Just right. Not too hot, not too cool.” He busied himself rolling up his shirtsleeves and waited for her response.

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded flat and lifeless, but she watched the boys with such obvious wistfulness, he reassured himself again that she hadn’t reverted to her old ways.

  He shifted his weight onto his elbow. “Would you like to take a stroll around the pond?”

  She skimmed a glance across his face, then turned away again. “No thank you. I’m fine here.”

  Nodding slowly, he contented himself with watching the twins. She let the silence stretch between them for a moment or two, then let out a heavy sigh.

  Maybe it would be wiser to leave her to her thoughts, but her strange mood had him jumping out of his skin. “You seem different today,” he said casually. “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Her gaze shot to his again. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Only because you’re quieter than usual.” He rolled a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger. “You haven’t had any of your memory return, have you?”

  She shook her head quickly, but the slight narrowing of her lips made him wonder if her answer was completely honest.

  “You’d tell me if you did remember anything, wouldn’t you?”

  She didn’t speak for a long moment. So long, he started to get nervous. “Yes,” she said at last. “Of course I would.”

  Well, that was a relief. To lose her now, after knowing her this way, would be even more painful than the first time. He shifted up onto his elbow again. “Then what is it that has you looking so sad?”

  She seemed to argue with herself for a moment, then came to a decision and turned her gaze full on him. “Isn’t there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “Tell you?” He sat up and brushed the grass from his lap, all the while thinking furiously. He could honestly answer “no” to that. He didn’t want to tell her anything.

  But she knew. She must know. The look in her eyes said she did. And the lump of disquiet that dropped into the pit of his stomach confirmed it.

  “There is one small matter I would like to discuss with you,” he said hesitantly. “But I thought I’d wait until we were alone.” He stole a quick glance at her, noted the slight coloring of her cheeks, and felt his heart sink.

  “Maybe you should tell me now. The twins are too far away to hear.”

  She’d paved the way for him, but he still couldn’t make himself step onto that rocky path. He’d been down it before and he knew how treacherous it was.

  When he didn’t speak, she frowned slightly. “Okay. If you won’t tell me, then let me ask you something. Is Patricia Starling pregnant?”

  The blood left his face and his heart stopped beating for one long, agonizing moment. He had to force himself to speak. “Yes.”

  He steeled himself for anger, for hatred, for the sharp sting of her tongue. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and tears filled her eyes. “I see.”

  Drawing together the tattered edges of his courage, he stood. “No, Agatha, I don’t believe you do. Patricia is with child, and the child is mine. But it happened before . . . before the change in you. Long before you ever suggested the possibility of a reconciliation. I haven’t been with her in months.”

  Her eyes dragged slowly across his face, but she said nothing.

  Anger would have been far easier for him to deal with than the immeasurable sadness he saw on her face. He could have railed against hostility, defended himself hotly against accusations, and justified himself a thousand ways if she’d given vent to her spleen as she usually did. But her sadness left him without a single defense.

  “And the twins? Are they her children, too?” Her voice came so softly, it was scarcely more than a whisper and the breeze nearly carried it away.

  He forced himself to breathe, to speak the truth even though the pain of it was sharper than any he’d ever felt. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He mopped his face with his palm. “Because I lost you the first time, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

  “So you lied.” She stood slowly to face him. “And what now? Will you divorce me so you can marry her?”

  “I don’t want to do that.” He battled the urge to touch her, to hold her. It would have been a selfish act, and he’d caused too much pain from selfishness already. “I love you.”

  “How can you say that when you don’t care enough to tell me the truth?”

  “The truth,” he argued, “would have served no purpose.”

  “The truth always serves a purpose.” She flicked an unreadable glance at him. “Always. The truth might hurt, but lies hurt far worse.”

  She didn’t understand. Maybe she couldn’t understand his need to give his sons a future. After all, she had no children of her own. But if they had any hope of a future together, she had to accept that this was one compromise he would not make. “I would do anything, tell any lie, hide any secret, if doing so protected someone I love.”

  A faint pink stained her cheeks. “Can a lie ever protect someone?”

  “Indeed it can. The only lie I’ve ever told—the only real lie—protects those I love most dearly.” When she looked as if she might argue, he held up a hand to stop her. “Do you know what life would be like for Mordechai and Andrew if the truth were ever revealed? The stamp of illegitimacy would destroy their lives and crumble their futures as surely as if the earth shook beneath their feet.”

  She swept another glance over him. “Maybe. But they also need to know who their mother is. There is nothing in this world more important than that—not even fortune.” She went on before he could frame a response. “If I’d known the truth, I would never have tried to take her place. I’d have stepped aside and let you put your real family together.”

  His mind raced, trying furiously to come up with a compelling argument that would convince her not to step aside now. “You are my family,” he said at last. “And so are they. They’ve grown to love you—”

  “And I love them.” Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “But I still have no right to keep them from their real mother.”

  “You have every right.” Agitation made his movements jerky, his voice harsh. “You are my wife. It’s you I love, not Patricia.”

  “And I love you, Zacharias. More than I ever imagined I could ever love anyone.”

  That gave him hope, made him more determined than ever to make her understand. “Then how can you turn your back on everything we could have together? If you truly love the twins, how can you turn away from them again? What kind of love is that?”

  Pain flashed across her face and made him wish he could take back the last question. “A far more honest love than one that would let me think I gave birth to them and then abandoned them. More honest than letting me feel guilty for being a horrible mother.”

  “I was wrong to lie to you,” he admitted, taking a step toward her, “but you must understand why I did it.”

  “I do understand.” She moved away from him again. “I understand that you want to give the twins the best of everything, but all your money and houses and prestige is nothing if you don’t give them honesty.” She glanced at the twins with such longing, he thought her heart would break—and his along with it. “Give them the truth, Zacharias, if nothing else.”

  Before he could stop her, she started across the lawn toward the arbor. Frustrated beyond measure, cut to the quick, angrier with himself than he’d ever been, he could only stand helplessly and watch her.

  What now? Shelby wondered as she paced the length of her bedroom. She’d forced herself to walk away from Zacharias, but she couldn’t stop the tears that had been falling steadily ever since. He’d lied to her. And though she un
derstood his reasons, though she wanted to forgive him and go on, she couldn’t let selfishness cloud her judgment.

  This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t about Shelby Miller or her heart. It was about the future. About Zacharias, Patricia, the twins—and the new child on its way.

  But oh! how it hurt to realize how wrong she’d been. How desperately she wished he could understand what the boys truly needed.

  Hating herself for failing, she stopped in front of the mirror and studied Agatha’s reflection. She hadn’t been able to save Agatha’s marriage or her life, but she had sent Zacharias to Patricia’s waiting arms. She had provided the twins with a mother. She’d rewritten history.

  So, now what?

  Would she go back to her own life, or live out the few remaining days of Agatha’s alone? She’d grown so used to this body, this reflection, these dark eyes and thick brown hair, she could scarcely remember what her own looked like.

  If she did return to her own time, what would she find there? Maybe Agatha was busy making a mess of her life. Except there was nothing to make a mess of. She had no family to destroy, no husband to lose, no children to hurt, no parents to alienate, not even a career to damage. She had nothing. Not in her own life, not in this one.

  She stalked to the window and stared out at the gardens below just as a tall man in an unrecognizable livery descended the front steps, mounted a horse, and rode off down the lane. It was so odd to see a visitor at Summervale, curiosity immediately took the place of self-pity.

  Racing across the room, she threw open the door, and ran down the stairs to the entry where she met Meg holding a small, white envelope in one hand and wearing a look of utter bemusement.

  “Who was that?”

  “Someone from Grand Oaks.” Meg held out the envelope almost as if she were sleepwalking.

  “Grand Oaks?”

  “Orville and Lydia Englund’s estate.” Meg dropped her hands to her side and waited, but she was obviously curious about the contents of the envelope.