His mother took his hands in hers and squeezed them. "We will, Tommy. That was always our intention. But you needed to be aware of our misgivings." She changed the subject, obviously hoping to bring the conversation to a happier topic.
"What church does she attend, Tommy?"
Worse and worse, Tom thought. He leaned against the desk and chose his words carefully, "I don't think she or her guardian attend church."
His mother was struck silent, turning to stare at him in disbelief and confusion. He waited. "I don't understand," she said at last. She seemed determined to try again. "They must attend somewhere. Surely you mean that they just have not been able to attend services often. Due to their difficult circumstances, perhaps."
He gave her a slow half-nod, not sure how to explain this. "That's possible, I suppose." He covered an involuntary wince by scratching his head. He couldn't lie to his parents about this, and he had to watch what he said.
They seemed bewildered at his reaction, exchanging a concerned glance. His father spoke up. "Tommy, they're not…" he glanced at his wife again before continuing, "they're not... Catholic, are they?"
Tom laughed at that, a little relieved that this was their first concern. "Of course not."
They're own relief was obvious, and they seemed content to drop the subject. "I'm sure there's a reasonable answer, Tommy." His mother smoothed her skirt and moved toward the door. "While I would have preferred you met her at church, of course, I understand the circumstances are a bit strange." She gave him a stern look. "Nevertheless, I do insist you discuss this with her. It would never do to pursue a relationship before being certain of your religious compatibility. Since she's American, there's just no telling what religion she is."
He nodded, looking so miserable that Mrs. Andrews had to hug him for a good long minute. "Bring them over for dinner, dear. We will all hope for the best."
He was quiet the rest of the day, until his brother, Willie, pestered him into an impromptu game of football out in the rain and cold. Soaked, muddy, kicking and running, Tom let exhaustion and physical effort replace his despair. Odd how that always helped.
~~~
Tom began spending several evenings a week with Casey and Sam. He didn't consciously plan it that way, but he discovered, night after night as he headed for his flat, that he just didn't want to go home. He had grown up in a happy and boisterous household, and the quiet of his bachelor life had always grated on him. With love, laughter, and companionship waiting for him somewhere else, his feet just naturally turned in that direction. So he went, and they were always happy to see him, and he was reasonably sure, as they shared a meal and chores, that he added something to their lives, too.
He learned to understand the casual way they had with each other, and many times he could see flashes of what their century must have been like. It seemed mostly good, and even amazing, with space shuttles and men on the moon, cures for many diseases, and airplanes that flew around the world in just hours. He was pretty sure they'd never get him on one of those! Once though, they told him about wars and terrorism and weapons so frightening, he had disturbing dreams for several nights. He was upset to learn that Ireland had split, and that Ulster still had not learned to live with itself, but was surprised that Sam thought Ireland should go ahead and vote for Home Rule.
"Northern Ireland is a war zone during the twentieth century," Sam mentioned one night as they cleaned up after dinner. "The two factions cause total bloody mayhem for decades. Let me tell you, Tom, this is a real opportunity to try the other way. Voting against Home Rule didn't work in our timeline; I can't see that voting for it this time, could possibly be any worse."
"Maybe," Tom said, but he thought about it. "I think the Catholics should be equal under the government, but I can't accept that separating from Britain is the answer. I truly think it would ruin us, economically."
Sam lifted a shoulder. "It doesn't have to be one or the other. If you can manage to bring about equality without Home Rule, I'm all right with that. I'm just telling you, it didn't work in our history."
Tom acknowledged that with a twitch of his brows. "Unfortunately, there are people on both sides who refuse to allow any compromise. Maybe we should try to strengthen any society that has a goal of improvement. I have observed, at the shipyard, that Catholics and Protestants work together just fine, when they are committed to a common task. But the Catholics need to be allowed in, and even at the yard we have trouble with that, from time to time."
Sam nodded. "But it's a start. You need to allow more Catholics in, too. Right now, they're a tiny percentage of the workforce, so are at the mercy of the Protestant workers."
Tom spread his hands. "I can honestly say we've never refused to hire someone because he was Catholic. But it's true that, in general, the Catholic population doesn't have the skills that we need." He shook his head. "Then we get into the education problem. Truly, Sam, I think this issue is too big for even time travelers to solve."
Sam held up an admonishing finger. "We can't solve it all at once. But let's approach it methodically and take what improvements we get, all right?"
Tom nodded. "It's a start."
Later, over tea in the parlor, Sam showed them the latest letter from Albert Einstein. As someone whose business benefited directly from the applications of recent discoveries made by physicists, Tom was quite interested in new theories, and Sam had mentioned that his research in time travel was based on the work of this Einstein. He was curious.
"You've mentioned him before, when you said your research was based on his theories. But I've never heard of him."
Sam thought about it a moment. "It's only 1907," he pointed out. "His first batch of papers were only very recently published and I suppose they are not widely available yet."
"The name sounds Jewish?" Tom asked it as a question, and Sam nodded.
"He is a Jew, although not a practicing one. He's German, living in Switzerland at this time. He eventually becomes a Swiss citizen."
"Ah, but that would explain why his work is not well known here," Tom told him, a little sadly. "British scientists don't collaborate much with German ones."
"Long live King Isaac Newton?" Casey asked.
"Oh, Newton is still king," Sam told her. "For a while longer, anyway. In another decade, it will be a British scientist who confirms Einstein's theory about gravity. Then the crown changes heads."
"You've been writing to him?" Tom asked, gazing at the several sheets of paper in Sam's hand. "About the time travel?"
Sam nodded, a sheepish expression on his face. "I first wrote him just a few days after we got here. Honestly, I didn't have an exact plan; I don't know what I wanted him to do. Can't say that I know, now. But he's a great thinker, Tom. I guess it boils down to that. If anyone can figure out what I've done and what we can do about it, it will be he."
Tom glanced at Casey, uncomfortable with the thought that came to him. "Will he be able to help you get back?" He felt lightheaded. Would Casey leave if she had the opportunity to go home? What right did he have to ask her to stay?
Sam was shaking his head as if trying to figure it out. "I don't think so. All the data point to a separate timeline. The only connection it has to our original timeline is January 24, 1906."
"What if you built another machine and went back to that time? Could you get back that way?"
Casey laughed and they looked at her, not sure what was funny. She held her hands up as if drawing something in the air. "Like there's a nexus there. Maybe a time travel station: 'Transfer here for the twenty-first century!'"
Tom felt bewildered, but Sam laughed. "If this becomes commonplace, I can guarantee some entrepreneur will build one!" But he shook his head again. "I don't know if that would work. Who's to say it would be our twenty-first century? But it's the kind of thing Einstein is good at thinking about."
Sam turned through the pages, all traces of laughter gone from his face. "The problem is," he said, "Herr Einstein is pre
tty sure I'm a crackpot. He's interested enough to consider what I tell him and keep the correspondence open. But he's not going to say he believes that Casey and I have traveled back through time."
"Have you told him about Titanic?" Tom asked.
Sam looked up. "Not yet. But I will soon."
"Sam did tell him about the San Francisco earthquake," Casey said. "In his first letter, before the earthquake happened. I suspect that's why Einstein hasn't just written Sam off as a complete nutcase. But he doesn't know what to do with him."
Tom smiled at her. "I know exactly how he feels."
Under cover of Sam's laugh, he reached over and took Casey's hand, helping her to her feet. "I need to be getting home." He shook Sam's hand and Casey walked with him to the door. Lately, she had been trying to conduct herself in a manner more acceptable to proper society, so he was surprised when she slipped her arms around his neck. Her kiss was deep, her body scandalously close against him. Thought vanished in a swirl of emotion as he lost himself in her lips. When she pulled away he rested his forehead against hers, forcing his hands to remain lightly on her waist.
"I'm kind of glad no one's figured out how to build another time machine," she whispered. "I don't want to have to make that decision, now."
“I could never ask you to stay,” he said. “But I couldn’t bear it if you left. I love you, Casey.”
Chapter 18
March 1907
During her lunch break, Casey went outside to escape the heat of working in the tropical section of the glass Palm House. She ate on the lawn, with a partial view of the herbaceous border, and re-read a note from Tom that had arrived that morning. Especially the part that made her knees shake.
"My parents have invited you and Sam to dinner at Ardara, on Saturday. Will you come? I am so anxious for all of you to meet. It can only do my nerves good to have it done sooner rather than later!"
His nerves! She was going to be tried and judged, and she suspected the verdict had already been decided. She could never measure up to those people. Whatever had she been thinking to let this go so far?
She finished her lunch and stood to return to the Palm House, pausing when she recognized Mrs. Herceforth's carriage on the nearby path. Casey grinned and waited. Mrs. Herceforth continued to sponsor their project, and since her private tour of the Tropical Section, had begun to take an active interest in their work. She stopped by frequently to look around, tell jokes, and chat with Casey, never failing to ask about any possible young men in Casey's life. Casey had so far refrained from mentioning Tom. She suspected Mrs. Herceforth was just lonely and wanted company. But she suddenly saw an opportunity, and as the two of them walked back to the building, she plunged in.
"Mrs. Herceforth, may I ask your advice on something?"
"Oh certainly, dear. What do you need to know?" The old blue eyes twinkled; Casey supposed it was seldom anyone actually asked for advice.
"Dr. Altair and I have been invited to someone's home for dinner this weekend. They are very well respected, and I'm afraid I'm a bit unsure of what I should wear. I'm certain I'll need to buy something, but do you know of a good shop with appropriate dresses?"
Mrs. Herceforth leaned forward. "Are they wealthy, dear?" she whispered gleefully.
Casey blushed. "I think so."
"Is there a young man involved?"
The blush deepened and she could only nod. Oh please, don't let this be a mistake.
Mrs. Herceforth straightened, her face thoughtful. She looked Casey up and down, as if she were not already aware of what Casey looked like. Then abruptly she held out a hand, which Casey took with some hesitation.
"Can they spare you for a few minutes at the House? I have something to show you."
Casey glanced at the students talking at the entrance. "I can catch up later, sure." She wandered over to them while Mrs. Herceforth waited. "I'll be gone a bit with Mrs. Herceforth. Will an hour be all right?"
The senior student nodded, winking as he turned to go inside. "Never hurts to butter up the sponsors," he murmured.
Casey followed Mrs. Herceforth into her carriage, not missing her order to the driver to take them "home." "Mrs. Herceforth?" she said weakly, but her anxiety was waved down.
"It's not far, dear. You'll see."
It wasn't far, either. In ten minutes, during which Mrs. Herceforth kept up a running commentary about the buildings they passed and the people who lived or worked inside them, they drove through a large, formal garden of cut grass, trimmed hedges and roses, stopping in front of a three-story mansion, covered with ivy, and complete with white columns gracing the front. The driver helped them down and Casey followed her hostess into the house, where she was ushered through a cavernous front hall and up a wide, carpeted stairway, past a chandelier over a story tall. They entered a lavish bedroom while Mrs. Herceforth called for "Daisy." Casey had no time to ogle the furnishings, which surely belonged in a palace, for Daisy came immediately, her maid's uniform immaculate. She curtsied, eyes flicking a critical perusal over Casey's working clothes. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Oh there you are, Daisy. Please pull out the dresses that Miss Olmstead left here." Mrs. Herceforth turned to Casey, beaming with pleasure. "My niece from Kilkenny recently stayed with me, and she did quite a bit of shopping while she was in Belfast. She didn't take everything back with her, and I'll be amazed if you are not exactly her size. In fact, I have in mind the exact–ah, here we are!" She turned to Daisy who had emerged from an armoire with several dresses in her arms. Without hesitation, she reached over and snagged the dress that was second from the top and held it up for Casey to see.
Casey could only stare. It was the prettiest dress she'd ever seen. The material looked like silk with a chiffon layer, a very pale sea green with a darker green pattern woven sparingly throughout. The sleeves were long and slender, the collar a V-neck with a faint bit of lace in the 'V.' The skirt was flared slightly from the waist. It had none of the yards and yards of material Casey had noted at the dance, and which she had instinctively decided would be "too much" for a dinner.
Mrs. Herceforth nodded smartly at her expression. "Daisy, let's help Miss Wilson try this on. We must be sure."
Expression neutral, Daisy immediately went to Casey's aid, helping her undress. She sniffed in disapproval at the absence of a corset, but Mrs. Herceforth clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, it's fine, Daisy. She's much too thin to need a corset, anyway. I think she's smart not to wear one. Dreadful things."
Daisy was unconvinced, but Casey smiled slightly in vindication; she simply refused ever to wear one. Then the dress was on her, Daisy doing up the buttons in back and Mrs. Herceforth applying a smart brown belt to the waist. They stepped back, Mrs. Herceforth smiling grandly as she moved Casey in front of a mirror. Casey stared. She still was not used to women's clothes in this era, and even the simple work clothes she wore made her feel dressed up. This though, this was a dress royalty could wear, if royalty wanted to appear confident and elegant. The green was the perfect shade for her coloring, and the dress fit as if it were made for her. Her eyes were greener than ever and the bodice emphasized her small bust in a way her twenty-first century outfits never did. She could just imagine the look that would be on Tom's face, when he saw her.
Mrs. Herceforth gazed with a critical eye at Casey's reflection, then nodded with approval. "All you'll need is a hat and some gloves. Short gloves, dear, since the sleeves are long. A parasol would be nice, too, if you could find one the proper shade and with flowers. Do you have any other shoes?"
Casey nodded. "I have a nice pair that I wore for the dance the other night. I think they'll work."
Mrs. Herceforth nodded. "That's fine, then. Daisy, let's get her back into her clothes; I'm sure she needs to get back to work."
Befuddled, Casey let them undress her and she slipped quickly back into her simple work clothes, as Mrs. Herceforth dismissed Daisy with instructions to pack the dress for Miss Wilson to take with her. When she turned t
o Casey, the twinkle was back in her eyes. "Now, dear, this is not charity. I'm afraid I have a price."
Casey stood still, hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes flicked once after the dress. "I'll pay it if I can."
"Oh, it's not difficult. Just have a seat and tell me about the young man. I promise I won't gossip, but I do miss seeing the young people make their matches. Are you meeting his family at this dinner?"
Casey nodded.
"So you're quite nervous, I take it?"
Another nod, and Mrs. Herceforth laughed gaily. "Oh this is marvelous. My dear, you are going to dazzle them, you know. I have always found you charming and well-behaved. Even the best families are usually satisfied with that, at least at dinner."
Casey laughed, feeling a little better. "I suppose I should concentrate on just that, but I hope they like me for longer."
"Who are they, dear?" As Casey hesitated, she reminded her, "I said I wouldn't gossip."
Casey stared at the carpet a moment. Was it okay to tell her? Would the Andrews family find out she bought her dress with gossip about them? Still, Mrs. Herceforth might have advice about the dinner, and she sure wasn't going to get it from Sam. Or even from Tom, who couldn't understand how intimidated she felt.
"The Andrews family. In Comber."
After a minute of staring at Casey, Mrs. Herceforth blinked once, and took a breath. "Well. You have made an impact. But let's see," she tilted her head, "it's not the youngest son. I don't believe he's yet twenty. And James lives in Dublin. The only other unmarried boy is…" her eyebrows rose, and she looked at Casey with something approaching profound respect. "Thomas? My dear, is the young man Thomas Andrews?"
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