Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  A tremendous sigh eased past her lips.

  It was time to stop thinking about herself and focus on Meagan.

  The sooner she got this over with, the better.

  Now, where were her slippers? She could have sworn she’d left them right beside the bed. Christie cast a glance toward the walnut wardrobe, then back down to the floor. There they were, exactly where she’d left them.

  Gad!

  She was losing her mind.

  She slid her feet into the white satin slippers.

  A giggle floated up from under the bed.

  Christie bent down to peer between her legs under the four-post bed. “Evie! What are you doing under there? Come out, dearest. The floor is cold.”

  “Bess said not to wake you.”

  “Well I’m awake now, you goose.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” Evie’s strawberry ringlets hopped along the floor ahead of her as she wriggled her way out. She jumped like a frog to land on two feet. Even standing upright she appeared like a cat poised to spring. “We can’t eat breakfast until you come down.”

  “What nonsense.” Christie reached out to straighten the lace bow on the front of Evie’s white muslin frock. “Breakfast is always at seven.” Their father left for work at eight and abhorred any breech in punctuality. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

  Evie set her dimpled hands on her hips. “Today is Saturday.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Where has the time flown?”

  Evie blinked her earnest green eyes. “Father doesn’t go to the bank on Saturday,” she continued, as though speaking to a patient suffering from a head injury. “He works in his study. Breakfast is always at eight on Saturday.”

  “Yes, yes!” Christie’s gaze darted to the small brass clock on her bedside table. “Mercy! It’s a quarter to. I need to get dressed. Run along! Tell them I’ll be right down.”

  A light knock sounded against the door.

  “Come in,” Christie bid.

  Meagan hustled into the bedchamber looking as fresh as a peach in her organdie gown, her smooth mahogany locks coiled tight atop her head. “Good, you’re awake. It’s a quarter to eight. Father is pacing in the dining room like a caged lion. I’m not going in there without reinforcements.”

  “I was just about to get dressed.” Christie kept her tone as patient as she could. It seemed her mother hen duties would never end. “I’ll be right down.”

  Evie threw her arms around Christie’s waist, hugging her tight. “I’m so glad you’re home. No more boring lessons with Miss Grouch Bottom.”

  “Evie!” Christie tried to contain a smile as she and Meagan exchanged looks over the top of Evie’s head.

  “Well, it’s true. Even Father says so. He’s given her the boot. You came home just time, or I should have to suffer through Meagan teaching me my lessons. She doesn’t understand geometry. If Father lets her teach me, I’ll be stupid.”

  Meagan’s cheeks flushed pink, lighting the dusting of freckles on her nose. “I understand it perfectly. I simply don’t like doing it.” Meagan had never enjoyed her lessons. By the age of seventeen, with many of her friends betrothed or already married, she resented them all the more. Hence her sudden compulsion to rush to the altar and the predicament she now found herself in.

  “Geometry isn’t for everyone. God gives us all different gifts,” Christie said with brisk diplomacy. “Meagan can name every country in the atlas. Perhaps she’ll take a grand tour one day and take you with her.” Christie smoothed Evie’s curls with one hand, then dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “But before any of us does anything, we shall need to have breakfast. Now scoot, and let me get dressed.”

  Evie flounced out the door with a happy skip, no doubt relishing the idea of no lessons today, and the details of Christie’s adventures, which she had avoided relating thus far. Recounting her stay in Nevada would only dredge up painful memories of Nat — something Christie had no wish to do.

  Meagan remained, hovering just inside the door.

  Christie could guess why. With her train arriving so late, there hadn’t been a moment of privacy for Meagan to plead her case. Clearly she was bursting at the seams to get it out before their father swayed Christie beyond repair.

  “Perhaps you should close the door.” Christie crossed to the dressing table, then sat down to brush her hair.

  “There’s no need to pretend.” Meagan came forward wringing her hands as soon as she’d closed the door. “I know you must hate me.”

  “Hate you?” Christie spun round on the chair, brush poised in midair. “Whatever for?”

  “Father told me that you were in love with Robby.” Meagan cast her eyes downward. “That you hoped to marry him.”

  “Well he was wrong,” she stated flatly. “I have never been in love with Doctor Turner. In fact, there was nothing between us at all. I admit, I did toy with the idea to avoid Father’s ultimatum, but going to Nevada changed all that.”

  Meagan came forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Because of the kidnapping?”

  “No. Because I met someone else.” Seeing Meagan’s eyes widen with curiosity Christie rushed on. “And that is why I feel very strongly that you should wait.”

  “Wait!” Meagan came to her feet. “Why should I wait? I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you think. I know you and Father think I’m too young — that I don’t know my own mind. But I do. Robby and I are in love and nothing you can say will change that.”

  “Calm down. Sit for a moment and listen to what I have to say.” After Meagan perched on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, Christie continued. “I don’t question your feelings for Doctor Turner. I only question your haste. If he truly loves you, surely he can wait.”

  Meagan rose to her feet to begin pacing the room. “It doesn’t matter how long we wait. Father will never agree.”

  “I’m not thinking about Father. I’m thinking of you. You’ve been so looking so forward to your coming out. For the past two years you’ve talked of nothing else. Why should you be cheated out of your debut? Think of all the hours we’ve spent designing your gown. I just don’t want you to look back years from now with any regrets.”

  Meagan stopped in mid-stride, her voice turning wistful. “I never thought of that.”

  “And what of Aunt Madeline, all of her plans to take you on a grand tour? Do you want to give all of that up?”

  Meagan threw her hands in the air. “I know, I know, but what am I to do? I must make a choice.”

  “I’m not suggesting you call off the engagement, just delay it a few months.”

  “Yes. Perhaps we could,” Meagan said hopefully. “We could announce our engagement after my coming out; that is, if Robby agrees. Aunt Madeline and I would only be gone a few months. We could marry when I return home.”

  “Yes, and Father will have had plenty of time to consider the match.” It would also allow more time for Robby to show his true colors.

  At mention of their father, Meagan’s mouth tightened. “I’m not making any promises. I shall have to speak with Robby first.”

  “Of course not, promises can be hard to keep.” Except if you were a man like Nat. His face swam before her. Her eyes misted over. The image washed from her sight. Had she waited at the train station, would he have offered her a promise?

  If he had, he would have kept it forever.

  • • •

  “You’re a sight this morning,”

  Nat’s gaze swept past Aunt Carolyn to consider his father through red-veined eyes. He hadn’t changed one bit. Though his face had thinned and his hair turned grey. His shoulders were still stocky — his body just as tall and lean. He didn’t just sit in his chair at the end of the table. He occupied it, like a kingdom.

  What a pleasure it
was going to be to set him straight, almost as much pleasure as witnessing his shock last night. When Nat had agreed with a mild shrug to meet his business associate’s daughter, his father had nearly toppled over backward in his chair. No doubt he’d been storing up arguments for months — bristling for a loud debate.

  Fortunately, there was no need.

  Right now, Nat’s scalp threatened to lift from his head.

  The aroma of ham and sausage, mingling with the sweet scent of pink roses in the center of the table, caused his stomach to rebel. “I’d appreciate it if you could speak a little softer,” he requested.

  “You should know better.” From the look of his father’s half smile, Nat guessed he was enjoying the spectacle.

  “You got me there.” ‘No sympathy for self-inflicted illness’, his father used to say. At least this morning he’d spared him that.

  “There’s nothing wrong with sowing a few wild oats now and again, Maxwell.” Aunt Carolyn turned in her chair to flash a wink of support with one dove-colored eye. “Nathan ran into some old friends last night. I expect they had a lot of catching up to do.”

  Good old Aunt Carolyn, Nat could always count on her to take his part. She’d run to his defense many times when he was a child, saving him from more than a few thrashings. But he was well beyond the age of needing her protection.

  He’d always wondered why she’d never married. Though not quite as pretty as his mother, she had the same pale blonde hair and gentle nature — the same husky laugh — attributes she possessed to this day. When she first came to Virginia after his mother’s death, Nat hoped she and his father would marry. It would have been a comfort after the loss of his mother. But they never did. They both seemed content, just as they were.

  “Well, eat up,” his father said, not attempting to lower his voice in the least. “It’ll soak up the booze in your belly.”

  Nat’s stomach heaved at the thought of gulping down runny eggs. “Coffee will do just fine.” He reached for his cup. “So when is this event you want me to get shined up for?”

  Aunt Carolyn turned in her chair. “Colonel Hawthorn is holding a ball for his niece’s coming out next week. It isn’t her official debut of course, that was held in Boston. But I’m sure it will be just as grand.”

  “It’s a damn good thing it isn’t tonight,” his father said. “The ladies would take one look and run for the hills.”

  “Just like you hoped Heather would do, the night you went to see her?”

  Aunt Carolyn’s spoon clattered against her saucer. “Your father regrets all that. Don’t you, Maxwell?”

  “I can speak for myself, Carolyn.”

  Nat leaned back in his chair, feeling the old bitterness rise up in his chest, remembering how his father had accused him of abandoning his family responsibilities. “Blood is thicker than water, son!” he’d said. “You’re letting me down.” It had been an agonizing time — torn between wanting to please his father and honoring his promise to Drew.

  “Go ahead,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m busting at the seams to hear it. Just what did you think to accomplish by offering Heather that money? That she’d disappear?”

  His father’s brow furrowed. “I was trying to help you. You stubborn ass!”

  “Help me?” Nat’s voice rose in disbelief. “By paying Heather off? Even if she had managed to keep the bank from taking Larch Hollow, she couldn’t live there on her own. She had no relatives to take her in. Your money wasn’t about to change that.” Nat came to his feet, almost upsetting his chair. He wandered to the French doors, hoping the familiar sight of the sweeping lawns and Aunt Carolyn’s roses would cool his ire — make the past disappear.

  “It was such a long time ago,” Aunt Carolyn pleaded. “Surely you can both put it behind you now.”

  Nat turned from the window. “I understand why you did it. But how you went about it was just plain wrong.” His voice went quiet. “There were no back taxes owing on Larch Hollow. You drafted that letter yourself, hoping Heather would have no choice but to accept your offer. But you didn’t count on me arriving home when I did.”

  “Maxwell?” Aunt Carolyn breathed, clearly aghast at her brother-in-law’s ruthless behavior. “Is this true?”

  His father sighed. “Yes, it’s true.”

  “You didn’t think I knew, did you? You thought I’d never find out. But there are certain advantages to being a spy. It’s surprising what you can find out with the right connections.” Nat laughed harshly. “I can thank you for that. Strange how things turn out, isn’t it?”

  His father slammed his fist down on the table. “I did it because I love you, dammit! Heather was weak. You deserved better than that.”

  “That wasn’t for you to decide!”

  “That may be so. But you were so stubborn you wouldn’t listen to reason. Talking to you then was like talking to a brick wall.”

  “Well, maybe I got tired of being the only chick in the nest — having everything rammed down my throat.”

  “I was too hard on you.” His father’s shoulders sagged. “I know that now. But when Carolyn told me you were thinking of marrying Heather, I lost all control. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I never said that,” Aunt Carolyn breathed. “I said I hoped he didn’t feel obligated to marry her.” Aunt Carolyn’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh dear, this is all my fault.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Carolyn,” his father barked. “It’s all my doing and I shall take full responsibility for it. I thought if her home was in danger, she’d have no choice but to take the money. Of course, it didn’t turn out that way. If I’d known you’d return home in time to rescue her, I would have never done it. Instead of helping you, I helped to bait her trap. It was a damn stupid thing to do.”

  Nat gave an imperceptible nod. It wasn’t a formal apology, but knowing his father, it was as close as he’d get. He’d forgiven his father a long time ago. He just needed to hear it from his own lips.

  • • •

  “If Aunt Madeline dies, Meagan won’t be able to go on her grand tour,” Evie declared in hushed tones.

  “Aunt Madeline is not going to die,” Christie said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Aunt Cora died and she was old.”

  “It was her time,” their father said with blunt finality. He repositioned his black cane, returning his attention to the view of the rolling green countryside beyond the carriage window.

  Christie and Meagan exchanged glances over the top of Evie’s saucer-shaped straw hat.

  Ian Wallace demanded silence in his carriage, as it gave him time to think. The business of running his Boston bank consumed him night and day. But today Christie didn’t give a dash about his autocratic rules. “Aunt Cora was very ill, dearest.”

  “Do we all have a time, Father?” Evie asked.

  “We do.”

  “Are you going to die?”

  “I am.”

  Evie’s face scrunched and her lower lip began to quiver.

  Christie sent her father a reproachful look. “Father is not going to die for a very long time.”

  Evie turned to Meagan. “If Father dies and Christie marries Mr. Cavanaugh, you will have to take me with you.”

  “Father is as healthy as a horse,” Meagan said stoutly.

  Evie’s voice held a note of confusion. “I heard Christie tell Bess, he was as stubborn as a mule.”

  Meagan’s lips twitched as she tried to contain a smile.

  Christie stared straight ahead, attempting to ignore her Father’s piercing glare. They’d hardly spoken a word throughout the entire journey, which suited her just fine as she had nothing to say to him. Everything had been said in his study the night before.

  If meeting Mr. Cavanaugh would secure his consent for Meag
an to achieve her dream of going on a grand tour, then so be it. After all, what did she have to lose? Once Cavanaugh learned about the kidnapping, he’d run like a scalded dog with his tail between his legs.

  There was no risk involved.

  Christie gave Evie’s hand a firm pat. “No one is going to die, and though Mr. Cavanaugh has expressed a wish to meet, that doesn’t mean he’ll offer marriage, or I will accept.”

  “We shall see,” their father said without bothering to turn from the window. He appeared older today, his strong, handsome features cast in relief against the brilliance of the afternoon sun. The bright light diluted the usual glitter in his green eyes, highlighting the sprinkle of grey in his mahogany hair. Yet his presence held the same power it always had, a quality that had nothing to do with his six foot height or large frame.

  It would be nice to think his distraction was caused by guilt, but it was usual for him to sit trance-like, staring out the window of the carriage.

  “If you both leave,” Evie said. “Who will take me shopping and to the park?”

  “Father will take you.”

  Evie sent Meagan a look of disgust. “Father can’t take me to buy unmentionables. And Christie says I am very low on unmentionables.”

  Meagan turned toward the window, letting her mahogany curls swing against her cheek, no doubt to veil an irresistible smile. If they were alone, she’d have let her laughter ring loud and long.

  Christie would miss Meagan’s exuberance in the months to come. But she also knew how much this trip meant to her. She’d learned distance couldn’t mend a broken heart, but hopefully the trip would distract Meagan from the recent blow.

  Robby had proved to be the scallywag Christie predicted, eloping with a wealthy widow, practically on the eve of Meagan’s request they delay their marriage. Meagan was devastated. It was a terrible thing to watch. Christie wished she’d been able to protect her somehow? But some things are unavoidable, like love and hate and heartbreak.

  But Meagan was resilient. She’d get through it. Eventually time would ease the pain. Still, Christie didn’t wish to see her sister hurt. Not the way she’d been hurt.