“Thanks,” I replied and motioned to the book. “What’s that?”
She heaved a heavy sigh and held the old book out to me. I took it in my hands and admired the worn red leather of the cover and the intricate symbol of a sun and moon burned into the front.
“This,” she started, “is your mother’s journal.”
My breath caught in my chest as my eyes flicked to my aunt, daring her to tell me she was joking.
“I gave it to your father, a few years ago, thinking it would give him some closure.” My aunt stopped to clear her throat. “Clearly, that was a bad idea. Whatever’s contained in that book drove your father into madness.”
“Then, why give it to me?”
“Because I have a feeling the words your mother wrote weren’t meant for him. They were meant for you. If you can read it and, I dunno, get some answers or closure or… something. Maybe you can get over whatever happened to you and come back to us. Come back to your life. Here.” Her emphasis on the last word caught my attention.
“Did you read this?”
Mary held her chin high. “I read a little. I saw enough to put some pieces together. I don’t believe it, but it’s hard to argue otherwise.” I opened my mouth to try to explain, but she cut me off. “Nope. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know. You disappeared, went… some place far away. I get that. What I want from you is something else entirely.”
I shrugged and shook my head. “What?”
“Read your mother’s journal,” she started, “If you don’t find the answers you need then promise to stop. Leave whatever happened to you behind, stop looking, stop wanting whatever it is you think you want. Stay here, fix the house, run the bakery, and raise that baby. Whether or not that life includes John is up to you.” She paused, her words slowly sinking in. “Can you do that?”
I rubbed my thumb over the sun and moon on the cover, admiring that my mother’s hands had put the symbols there. My mom, the time traveler. The magical woman from the past. I held the edge to my nose and inhaled deeply, surprised to find that the slightest hint of her perfume still held onto the pages, the scent brought tears to my eyes. This was my last hope. If the secret to going back to Henry even existed, it had to be in that journal. My father may have found it, but maybe he didn’t know or understand it properly, the way I would.
“Yes,” I told Aunt Mary, agreeing because there was a high chance I would never have to uphold my end of the bargain. I could be on my way back to Henry any day and that thought set fire to something inside of me. I held up the journal in admiration and awe. “I can do that.”
Chapter Five
After John got back with some breakfast sandwiches, I wolfed mine down and told him my pain meds were making me drowsy, so I excused myself to go upstairs. I felt horrible for lying, I was actually trying to cut down on the pain meds for fear of the effect they’d have on the baby, but I had to get away. The call of Mom’s journal rang like an echo in my head and it was all I could think about. The answer I needed. The secret to time travel. My ticket back to Henry.
It could be waiting within those very pages.
I rested my back against the headboard, bent my knees, and propped the journal open on my thighs before taking a deep breath and carefully opening the pages. The image of Mom’s handwriting struck me hard and I fought not to cry. I ran my fingertips over the pen scrawl, feeling the indent from the pressure put on the pen, imagining her writing the words. Surprisingly, her first entry wasn’t long before my birth.
Jan. 7th 1990
Martha was right. Oh, Lord, was she ever right. I can hear her now, cursing my name, probably regretting the years she spent raising me. All those times I refused to heed her warnings about time, I never understood the repercussions until now. But, here I am, lost and stranded in the future, with no way back. I thank the gods that time saw fit to keep me home in Newfoundland, but it is a Newfoundland I do not know.
I’ve found refuge in the church, a place that, thankfully, still exists in this time. It has been three months since I washed ashore and was found by Mr. Abbott, the local minister who leads the church. I pretended to have no memory of who I am or where I came from. They made me speak to law officials called policemen, and they’ve failed at tracking down my origin, of course.
So, I’ve been left here to work for the church that gives me lodging and I’ve befriended the museum curator, a person who collects information and artifacts from our land’s history. I figure it the best place to find my way home.
Only time shall tell.
Constance Cobham
I flipped to the next entry as I digested the words I’d just read. Mom found herself lost in time roughly a year before I was born. Which meant, she’d met my father not long after she arrived. The next few entries were much the same as the first; Mom documenting every attempt she made at getting back home, and how every single one failed.
She listed all the different things she tried, relics she’d found through the museum, but nothing that was of any use. Nothing that gave me the answer. I could tell, after the fourth entry, how frustrated she was getting. Some words were blurred from drops of water that had soaked in and bled the ink, but I quickly realized they were most likely tears. How scared she must have been, lost in a future she couldn’t comprehend.
For me, going back in time was scary, but it was a time I knew, a place I could easily digest from reading books, growing up here and knowing some of the histories of Newfoundland. I saw things and knew what they were. But Mom… she would have had no idea how to process things like cars, and cities, and technology.
Feb. 14th, 1990
It has been four months and eight days since I washed ashore in this future Newfoundland. I thought I would have found a way back by now, but I’m beginning to think my efforts are wasted. Everything fails, and nothing seems to bring me closer to an answer.
But today I met a man. A handsome and kind man named Arthur Sheppard. It appears that this day is what they call Valentine’s, a time of year people celebrate their love for one another. He ventured into the museum gift shop in search of a present for his sister, Mary. We talked for hours, and I’m quite fond of him. He invited me over to his home for supper tonight.
Perhaps this future Newfoundland won’t be so bad after all. I know I must find a way back home, eventually, to correct the threads of time. I don’t belong here. But, perhaps, I could dabble in a little romance while I wait. What could it hurt?
Constance
I closed the journal to let out a deep breath, it felt like I’d been holding it in the whole time. Mom’s story mirrored my own in so many ways. She found herself lost in another time, scared, stranded. Then found a man who made her happy, not realizing how she could fall deeply and dangerously in love like I had with Henry. Still, as sweet as it was to see my parents meet through my mother’s eyes… I’d yet to find what I truly wanted. Hesitantly, I continued reading.
The further I read, the further apart the entry dates became. It appeared that Mom had been distracted from her mission of returning home, distracted by the love she felt for Dad. Through my mother’s eyes, I saw how they both fell in love, bought our house, and then, finally, discovered the news they were pregnant with me.
June 2nd, 1991
I can feel the child growing inside me, and my belly is beginning to show signs of change. I’m constantly tormented by guilt. I should be searching for a way home but I’m here, in the future, enthralled with the wonderful life I’ve fallen into. I fear that if I found a way back now, while pregnant, I’d retreat further into a shell of despair. I cannot do that to Arthur, my love, the most wonderful man to ever grace this Earth. I must set aside my mission until the baby is born. If I’m to break Arthur’s heart someday, I’d like to know he and our child will have one another to love.
Constance
Knowing my mother truly loved my dad reassured me in a way I didn’t realize I needed until then. Through all of this, I wondered
and worried about her feelings for him. Now I felt bad that I ever doubted her. My shoulder began to throb, so I laid down to take the weight off, refusing to pop any more pain meds. With my good arm, I held up the journal and continued reading. When I saw the date, my stomach fluttered with an unsettling emotion, a strange mix of fear and excitement. The date read the second day in December.
My birthday.
Dec. 2nd, 1991
Time is passing at a rate I cannot fathom, and each day brings me closer to Dianna’s birth. I’d told myself I would set aside my formidable mission of getting home, but I’m weak. I’m also worried. I’ve spent far too much time in this era, and I fear what my presence has done to alter the threads of time. Nevertheless, part of me doesn’t care. Some days I tell myself that I’ll just abandon my quest and stay here, with Arthur, with Dianna. I’m happy. I’m loved.
I write this as I sit in my new home office and stare out the window, admiring the reflections on the twilight water, and remembering the night I came here. It feels like such a long time ago.
And that was it. That particular entry seemed to drop off. As if Mom had been interrupted and couldn’t finish it. Desperately, I turned the page, eager to find out what happened.
Dec. 3rd, 1991
I’m able to steal a few precious moments to log this entry, I feel it’s important I do so. Two life-changing events happened in the course of 24 hours. First, Dianna, my sweet and beautiful girl, was born late last night. I’m completely and utterly drowning in an obsession with her perfection. I never knew love could be this way, to take on a form such as this. I can’t imagine ever not loving her. She’s resting soundly in the bassinet next to my bed, a sleeping Arthur by my side, as I write this.
The second notable event is that I found it. I know how to get back. The problem I now face is that I can’t bring myself to do it. I cannot leave them. They are my world, and I theirs.
What a bittersweet feeling it is.
Constance.
My heart beat wildly as I turned the page, searching for more. She wouldn’t have done that, would she? After everything, to discover the way back, and not write it down? Page after page, I grew more frantic. All that proceeded that last entry was a collection of my childhood pieced together through my mother’s adoring eyes. Every birthday, every scrape and bruise, major milestones, locks of my hair, handprints, everything. Her private journal had morphed into my baby book. Mom truly did leave behind her life in favor of the one she’d built in the future.
I let out a fierce scream and chucked the journal across the room where it smashed into a wall and fell to the floor. My stomach dropped when I heard John’s footsteps running up the stairs and down the hall toward my room. He swung open the door and blew in, eyes wide with panic.
“Jesus, Dianna, are you alright?” he asked and sprinted over to the bed where I sat, crying into my hands.
“No!” I yelled, tears and snot bubbling down my face. “No, I’m not alright. It’s over, it’s all over. I’m stuck here.”
John’s shoulders relaxed as he heaved a sigh and sat down. “Look, I’m not going to pretend I don’t see that something’s going on. And I don’t expect you to tell me.” He quirked a smile. “Heck, I’m just thankful that you’ve let me stay here at all. But I just want you to know that I’m here for whatever you need. Friendship or more than friendship, it’s up to you. I just… I love you, Dianna. I want you to know that.”
My lips pursed as I contemplated telling him everything. But I knew, deep down, he’d never be able to accept it. He’d always wonder if the woman he loved was some kind of crazy. And maybe I was. It certainly felt that way. But I had to give him something, let him in. He earned that much.
“John,” I croaked, “I’m pregnant.”
I watched his face changed and his big blue eyes light up with pure delight before I realized what was running through his mind.
“It’s not yours,” I broke it to him, “It’s–” I didn’t know how to shape the words. “I met someone while I was gone.”
“Oh,” he replied, the disappointment radiating from him. “That’s… I guess that’s fair. It’s not like we were together.” He seemed to be collecting his thoughts and feelings about the breaking news. Surprisingly, I worried that it would drive him away. I actually didn’t want John to leave. Not yet, anyway. Not until I figured out my feelings. “What do you need?” he asked.
“Need?”
John took my hand. “Yes, what do you need? What do you want? Should I go back to Alberta? Because I will if that would make you happy. Or should I stay? D-do you want me to help raise that baby?” His own words seemed to overwhelm him, but he still smiled in determination.
“Oh, God, no. John, I could never ask you to do that,” I told him.
“Then ask me something, for the lov’a God,” he replied in desperation. “I feel useless here. Give me something to do other than pacing the floors, listening if you’re okay.”
My heart ached for him. I wasn’t sure what I could promise John for a future. Heck, even a present. I could only live a minute from minute as I faced my new reality that Henry was gone forever. I’d never get back to the people I loved so dearly. But I had a responsibility to the life inside of me. Hesitantly, I pulled John’s hand toward me.
“Just lay with me?” I asked and scooted over to make room for him. He didn’t think twice as he moved and lay down next to me in my sunlit bedroom. His arm came up to hold me in a gentle, respectful embrace and we soon fell asleep to the soothing sounds of our own breathing.
***
The next day I awoke with a sliver of purpose. I had decided that if I were to truly put the past to rest, I had to get rid of everything. The museum still waited for most of Mom’s belongings and collections, so I already had a home for a lot of it. I spent the day packing and cleaning and labeling. It hurt a little, to see Mom’s office so empty. But I told myself that I was making room for a new beginning. It was now my office, to use it as I saw fit. Maybe I’d take over the bakery after all. Or maybe I’d sell it and use the money to open a small restaurant.
It had been a few days now since I checked out of the hospital in St. John’s and the stitches in my shoulder were healing nicely. I removed the old dressing and cleaned the wound before attaching a new, fresh one. The sky was turning pink as the sun prepared to set and I carried one last box out to the dining room. This was a special box, one I had set aside to store my own personal things in. Maria’s jacket, Henry’s necklace, my clothing from Nathaniel, most of the items I’d first discovered in that fateful chest, and some other small trinkets that I couldn’t part with but also knew had to be put out of sight.
Like Mom’s journal.
I stood at the dining room table, the same way I did on that momentous night and stared out at the vast ocean as I stacked everything neatly inside the box. Mom’s journal was the last to go, it sat on the table next to the box. I scooped it up, rubbing my fingers over the sun and moon on the cover once again and, for the last time, recalled the new memories I now had of my mother. She had been a bright light in my life, and I felt closer to her now because I knew her secret. The secret we now both shared. I brushed a hand across my belly and smiled.
“Don’t worry, little one,” I spoke quietly, “I’ll be the best mom I can be. I promise to tell you stories of adventure and magic. How the ocean can grant wishes–”
Suddenly, as I looked at the journal once again, my blood ran hot with an idea. A realization. Frantically, I searched for the entry, the day of my birth. I spread the book out on the table when I reached the page and read it again. Mom had been interrupted, probably because she had gone into labor with me. But what if it were something else entirely? In her next entry, I’m born, and she admits that she’d found the way back. So, what happened between those two entries?
I flipped to the cover again, noting the hand burned sun and moon, and then cast my gaze out to the colorful ocean that waited just outside my door. Then,
out of nowhere, Mom’s voice came to life in my ears.
“If you were to sail out there, to the water, and meet the moon and the sun in the waves at just the right time, they’d grant you a wish.”
My breathing quickened past the point of control as the lightbulb exploded in my brain. That was it. That was the answer I’d been searching for. Mom did find a way back. And, in a way, she did document it. She told me that fable and then burned the symbols into her journal. I recalled the entry when Mom must have found it, how she noted standing in her new office, staring out at the water. It had to be it.
I had all of my belongings right there in a box in front of me. John was gone into town to pick up supper. The sun and moon were reflecting on the ocean’s waves. The timing was perfect. As if the universe aligned to show me the way. I bolted for the kitchen to grab a pen and paper, feverishly jotting down some parting words to leave behind.
John and Mary,
Thank you for everything. Really. I don’t know what I would have done without both of you in my life. John, I want you to know that I really do forgive you. You’re an amazing man, friend, and partner. If things were different, I have no doubt in my mind that we’d be together. But, I want you to find someone who will make you happy. Thank you for being here and helping me heal.
Mary, you have always been the shining light in my life post-Mom. You turned me into the woman I am today. Thank you for everything. Take care of the house and tell Samantha she can have the bakery.
If you’re reading this, it means I succeeded where Dad had failed, and I’ll be long gone. Maybe I’ll return one day, maybe I won’t. Only time will tell.
All my love,
Dianna
I left the notebook open to my letter on the kitchen counter and ran upstairs to grab my old leather shoulder bag. I stuffed a few clean pairs of underwear inside, plus a Diva Cup, deodorant, and my toothbrush. I descended the stairs two at a time and scuttled around the house, scooping up things I knew I’d need this time around and stuffing them in the satchel.
The Pirate Queen Page 4
