by Tamara Gill
She couldn't even find a record of that particular Catherine's marriage, something she had wanted very much to see. Most of the diaries and memoirs dated from the 1850s onward, and Kathryn glanced through them almost mechanically, on the off chance that she might find something useful—the recollections of a daughter or granddaughter, perhaps.
Suddenly, the name of Allerby caught her eye on the flyleaf of a small handwritten book dated 1852. Looking closer, she saw it was a memoir of Caleb Allerby, an escaped slave, detailing his early life and adventures before and after his escape. The writing was hard to decipher and the grammar and spelling were atrocious, but the story it told was clear enough and of more than a little interest to Kathryn.
Caleb, it seemed, was born in 1822, the son of a mulatto slave woman and her master, Jonathan Allerby. His mother was kept on the plantation primarily to serve her master's carnal needs until he tired of her and sold her to a trader headed south when Caleb was ten years old. The book went on to describe Mr. Allerby's cruelty to his slaves and Caleb's subsequent attempts at escape, but Kathryn didn't read much further.
So! she thought in grim satisfaction. The high and mighty Mr. Allerby had a mulatto mistress. She wondered what Mrs. Allerby would say to this news—and what price Mr. Allerby would be willing to pay to keep her from finding out.
Kathryn carefully replaced the various papers in their proper folders and boxes in the file cabinet. She was fairly sure she could put this little tidbit to good use for Ryan's sake . . . if she ever got back! It was a quarter to five by this time, and she decided to stand by the clock early for good measure. Annette, fresh from her afternoon nap, came out to sit on the steps and talk, attempting to keep Kathryn's mind off another failure—for fail she did.
“Listen, Kathy, I've been thinking,” said Annette. “Maybe Catherine wants to see her parents and friends before she switches back, sort of like you have. She's bound to hear about your engagement to Ryan, and know you want to return. Besides, she's supposed to be marrying Logan in a few weeks.”
Kathryn tried to take as much comfort as she could from these words, but she couldn't help wondering if whatever capricious fate had switched them in the first place intended leaving them back where they had started. It seemed all too likely.
Mrs. Sykes-Monroe came home shortly after five, followed by Logan and Mr. Monroe, who had met in town.
Dinner was a fairly lively meal, with Kathryn enjoying her family more than she had in years, though she managed to excuse herself from the group at seven, and again at eight, to keep her vigil on the landing. Both times she returned to give Logan and Annette the bad news with a slight shake of her head. She could see that Logan was beginning to despair as much as she was.
At ten o'clock Kathryn's parents went up to bed and she walked up the stairs with them in order to be by the clock on the hour. At eleven-fifteen, when Kathryn still found herself in 2013 after her tenth attempt at exchanging places with Catherine, she sank down on the steps between Logan and Annette with a sob.
“It's not going to work!” she cried dismally. “Either we're not allowed to switch again, or Catherine doesn't want to. Oh, I'm sorry Logan!” she exclaimed, seeing his stricken look. “I forgot that this is as important to you as it is to me.”
He attempted a smile. “What I haven't told you, Kathy, is that Catherine may have done this on purpose. She felt guilty about leaving you back in her time, possibly against your will, and talked once or twice about trying to change back, just to check on you. But I talked her out of it. Or at least, I thought I had. I was afraid something like this would happen.” His expression was bleak now.
“I'm sure she'll try to come back, Logan,” said Kathryn in as rallying a tone as she could manage. “And I'll keep trying, even if—” she swallowed “—even if we don't make it by midnight. But if we don't, Ryan will leave without me. He'll think I don't love him . . .” She put her head in her hands to hide her tears.
Annette patted and soothed her, and Logan mumbled some unintelligible words of encouragement, though he ran distracted fingers through his hair.
“You two go on to bed,” Kathryn urged after a moment, composing herself. “If it doesn't work at midnight, I'd rather be alone, anyway. I . . . I guess I'll see you in the morning.”
Reluctantly, Logan and Annette left her sitting on the top stair of the landing, wishing her good-night and goodbye, though they weren't very convincing in their farewells.
Kathryn sat alone, watching the minutes tick by on her wristwatch, remembering her first meeting with Ryan and every moment they had shared since. She fought back the tears when she recalled the hopes and dreams they had shared—was it only a week ago?—in the garden.
Then, it was time. Time for the final attempt. After this, it really wouldn't matter whether they switched back or not, though she would keep trying, for Catherine's and Logan's sakes. Kathryn stood, her shoulders slumped in anticipated defeat, and stared up at the frozen hands of the grandfather clock.
She closed her eyes. “Please, please,” she whispered.
***
A sudden, loud bong! took Catherine by surprise. Startled, she looked up at the clock, and it struck the hour again. Both hands were pointing straight up, when only a moment ago they had still been frozen at twelve-twenty, as they had been since her arrival in this time.
Almost reluctantly, she looked down at her clothing. Her turquoise slacks had disappeared, to be replaced by a full-skirted, tight-bodiced pink satin dress.
She was back in 1825.
She really hadn't thought it would work. When she and Logan returned to announce their engagement, her parents had been overjoyed, as had Annette when she returned from Kansas two days ago. Catherine's only regrets were that her parents, back in 1825, could not share in her happiness and that she still did not know what had happened to Kathryn. The diary had yet to be found.
On a whim, she had decided to stand by the clock for a few moments on her way down to lunch. The chance of Kathryn being there at the same time was slim, she knew, but at least she would have tried. But now it had worked—and what was she to do about it?
On sudden decision, she turned and went back up to her room to sit down. She knew, in a detached part of her mind, that dinner would be served below almost immediately, and that Kathryn had no doubt been on her way to partake of it, but it was absolutely essential that she take time to adjust her thoughts before confronting her parents—her real parents!—downstairs.
Logan! Suddenly his image was forefront in her mind. He had asked her not to do this, and she had promised him that she would not. And now Logan would not even be born for more than one hundred years!
“Why didn't I listen to him?” she groaned aloud. They would have to trade back, she thought. That's simply all there was to it. But—what if Kathryn didn't want to? She had to find out how matters stood here in 1825. And to do that, she would need to go downstairs. At least she would see her parents again, whatever happened.
“Good day, Mama, Papa,” she said warmly as she entered the dining room. She could not understand their surprised looks. Why, her father's expression was positively suspicious!
“I . . . I had feared you might not join us, dear,” said her mother, her voice tentative, her eyes anxious for some reason.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” replied Catherine, wishing she could ask outright what was going on.
“Oh! That's . . . quite understandable, dear,” said her mother with what Catherine could swear was a pitying smile.
“Is it?” she couldn't resist asking.
“Well, you know,” said her mother vaguely, “these things often take time to get over. But, Joseph!” She brightly changed the subject. “What were you just telling me about the new stallion Wade Hampton has purchased for his stables?”
Catherine's interest was caught in spite of herself, and she listened to her father's discussion of the horses and how they might increase the value of the Hampton racing stables. Sh
e really had missed her father. After a while, though, the conversation reminded her of Logan's promise to buy her a horse after they were married. She must determine what had gone on here with Kathryn!
Mr. Prescott left the house immediately after dinner, claiming business in town, and Catherine turned to her mother as soon as they were alone. “What had you planned for me today, ma'am?” she asked, hoping that Kathryn would not have already been told in detail. In fact, her mother looked surprised again.
“Why, I . . . that is, I wasn't certain whether . . . Though I should very much like to attend the rout Mrs. Nott is giving tonight. If you feel up to it, of course?”
“Do you think I should go?” Catherine asked, watching her closely.
“Well, there is certainly no reason you shouldn't, other than your own inclination,” said her mother. “As the announcement never went into the papers, you should not be subjected to impertinent questions. To my thinking, an engagement is not quite official until it is in the papers, if that is any comfort.”
Catherine nodded, though she felt nearly as unenlightened as before. Had Kathryn been engaged—or almost engaged? The idea of going out to a party appealed to her. It would give her a chance to see her friends and neighbors here one last time, though of course, she wouldn't be able to tell them goodbye. It was obvious her parents were unaware of the switch, so she doubted that anyone else knew of it. Still, she would like to talk to Priscilla, at least. They had practically grown up together, and she had hardly seen her at all since her return from England.
“Yes, Mama, I should like to go to the Notts's rout,” she said decisively. She and Kathryn could switch back tomorrow as well as today. No doubt Kathryn would like the chance to see her friends and family, as well. And surely, even if she were reluctant to come back to 1825, Logan would manage to convince her.
Still, remembering some of the things she had learned about Kathryn Monroe, she couldn't help feeling somewhat anxious.
By the time the Prescotts left for the rout at five, Catherine had determined, by remarks her mother had let fall, that Kathryn and Ryan James had become engaged and that it had been broken off, apparently not by Kathryn.
Had Ryan cried off? That would explain her mother's pitying attitude, and it would be just what Catherine would expect of him. And if that were the case, then Kathryn might well wish to be as far away from him as possible. She longed to ask for details. Perhaps she would discover more during the course of the evening.
The Notts were one of the wealthier families in Columbia, known for their entertainments, and this rout was no exception. Fresh flowers were everywhere, and one of the three bands in the area had been engaged to play. Catherine located Priscilla soon after their arrival, and her friend seemed as anxious to talk as she was.
“Cathy!” she exclaimed, drawing her into an alcove behind a potted fern. “Is it true what they are saying in town about Ryan? Is the Guard really after him? Is that why your engagement was never made public? I don't wish to pain you, but I have been positively eaten up by curiosity!”
“Well,” began Catherine, desperately casting around in her mind for an appropriate answer, “everything is still very much up in the air.”
Priscilla nodded wisely, just as though Catherine's reply had made sense. “I quite understand. You poor dear! When I think how happy you were when you told me the other day, I could just weep for you. But perhaps everything will come right, after all. I cannot believe Mr. James could really be a criminal!”
Catherine's overwhelming relief was tempered by astonishment. Ryan had fled town with the law after him? Poor Kathryn! If what Priscilla said was true, she had fallen in love with him. She remembered thinking that Kathryn Monroe might be the very woman to handle Ryan James. She smiled, startling Priscilla.
“Yes, I am convinced everything will come right,” she said with sudden certainty. If she loved Ryan, Kathryn would definitely want to switch back, especially if he were in some sort of danger.
Her spirits considerably lighter, Catherine was able to enjoy the rest of the evening, though she found herself missing Logan increasingly as the night wore on. She talked with her friends, discovering a fondness even for those she had least liked before, her perceptions colored by the knowledge that she would probably never see them again.
The clock was striking eleven when the Prescotts returned home. Catherine knew now why her parents had regarded her so strangely earlier. No doubt Kathryn had made quite a scene when told of Ryan's supposed crime, whatever it was, and on being informed that her engagement was off.
Catherine could easily visualize her father's demeanor while delivering such an edict, and could well imagine that Kathryn would not be one to take it tamely. Should she try standing by the clock tonight? That would mean staying up till midnight—and she was already so tired. Surely, tomorrow morning would do as well. Wearily, she dragged herself up the stairs to her bedroom.
Nancy was waiting there for her, and she greeted her old servant with warmth that surprised the woman. “Just undo the back for me, Nancy, and go on to bed. I can do the rest myself.” Catherine had become quite accustomed to doing without a maid during the past month, and now felt a little embarrassed to have Nancy undress her.
“If you're sure, Missie,” said Nancy, stifling a yawn.
“Quite sure. Run along, now.” Nancy did not argue further, but left with a smile and a nod, closing the door behind her.
Slowly, Catherine drew off her dress and unfastened her corset, thinking back over the bits of information she had gleaned that evening. What had Ryan James done to Mr. Allerby? she wondered. She had discovered that it was he who had brought charges. She smiled to herself, thinking that perhaps Ryan was not such a bad fellow, after all. She had never cared for any of the Allerbys herself.
As she removed her corset, a scrap of folded paper fluttered to the ground, having apparently been tucked into the top of the garment. Curious, Catherine bent to pick it up. Unfolding it, she read through the note, obviously from Ryan to Kathryn, delivered that very day.
Midnight! He was coming for her at midnight! And for aught she knew, Kathryn planned to go with him. At any rate, that was a decision Kathryn must make, not she.
It was half past eleven already. Quickly, she refastened her corset and pulled a dark traveling dress from her wardrobe, one that fastened down the front. Once dressed, she pulled out her small valise and packed the few necessities that Kathryn might need on a journey. There! At least now if she wished to go she would not have to waste time with preparations. Catherine tiptoed out into the hallway and down to the landing to check the time—five minutes. She went back to her room and opened the window, leaning out to see if perchance Ryan might be early. Yes, there was someone down there, with two saddled horses.
“Ryan!” she called in a whisper.
“Catherine?” he called back. “Are you coming?”
Catherine drew her head back in. Was she? What had Kathryn planned to do? Leaning out again, she whispered, “I'll just be a few moments.” She pulled the sheets off of the bed so that they would be there to use as a rope if Kathryn needed one, and ran to her desk to scribble a quick note. Tucking it through the handle of the valise just as the clock began to strike, she ran from the room.
***
The clock stopped striking. Kathryn opened her eyes and looked down at the brown wool dress, tears of joy stinging her eyes. But there was no time to lose! Would Ryan still be waiting? Turning, she hurried up to her room, but paused when she saw the packed valise with the note through the handle. She ran across to the open window, her heart in her throat until she saw the shadowy figure below. “Just a minute, I'm almost ready!” she called down, almost giddy with relief.
“You said that before,” Ryan whispered back, but she had already returned to the note.
Kathryn, I have packed everything you should need if you have decided to go with Ryan. The sheets will make a sturdy rope. I have used them for that purpose many tim
es before when I was younger. I am sorry I waited so long to exchange places—I did not know of your proposed elopement until half an hour ago. I wish you much happiness in life, whatever you decide to do.
Love, Catherine
Kathryn smiled and tucked the note into her pocket. Carrying the valise to the window, she tossed it down to Ryan before knotting a sheet around the center bar of the window frame.
“Catch me if I fall,” she whispered, and lowered herself into his waiting arms.
“You truly mean to come with me, Catherine? Are you sure?” Ryan asked, tightening his grip on her.
“Absolutely.” She clung to him for a moment, as well. “Oh, Ryan, I was so worried! You took a terrible risk coming back for me.”
Ryan allowed himself to feast his eyes on her beautiful face, her blue eyes dark with concern for him—for him! Could he really deserve the love of such a woman after the life he had led?
“I love you, Catherine,” he told her from his heart, “and I won't lie to you. There will be danger and considerable hardship until we reach the northern states.”
“The greatest hardship I can imagine is living my life without you, Ryan. Let's go. I have something to tell you on the way, something you're going to find hard to believe . . . “
***
EPILOGUE
Annette was positive she'd never seen a more beautiful bride. Looking at Catherine as she stood in the receiving line next to her new husband, Annette suddenly understood what the phrase “glowing with happiness” meant. She waited until most of the confusion around Logan and Catherine died down, then rustled forward in the full-length lavender maternity dress she'd worn as matron of honor.
“Congratulations, you two! I haven't been so happy since I married David. Catherine, I put my traditional wedding present with the other gifts, but there's something else I wanted to give you personally. Here.” She held out a small rectangular package wrapped in silver paper.
