“You didn’t like it, did you?” Tom asked. There was a note of disappointment in his voice that made Holly’s heart ache.
“It’s different,” she tried to explain. “It’s just not quite you.”
Tom sighed. “I know. You’re right. I’m trying my hardest to adapt. Everyone in the studio has been singing my praises, but it still doesn’t quite feel right. It’s strange how people react differently to you just because you’re wearing a suit and you have that slick look. The career politicians and the experienced press officers I’ve been interviewing still look down their noses at me, but some of the people on the sidelines, I think I kind of intimidated them.”
“So is that what the studio really wants from you? For you to go around intimidating people?” asked Holly. She kept her tone light, but she really didn’t like the idea that Tom was being forced to move away from the approachable reporter he used to be.
“I’m not in the anchorman job yet. Maybe when I am, I can relax the style a little. At least they’re not insisting I wear a suit when I’m in Haiti.”
“I’m going to miss you,” moaned Holly.
“I haven’t gone yet, and I will be back. All this pain will be worth it when we think about what it will mean for us next year. Next year I could have a little baby who’ll love me no matter what kind of silly suit I have to wear. And now that we’ve been given a clean bill of health from the doctor, there’s nothing to stop us.”
“I know,” Holly answered, trying hard to hide her disappointment. She had mentioned her bump on the head, expecting that the doctor would send her off for an MRI, hoping that an aneurism might be an existing condition that could be treated and that she could then go on to have Libby, free from any risk. But he had given her only the basic health check, and so the risk remained. It seemed that the only thing Holly could do to avoid dying in childbirth was to avoid conceiving Libby. “Just as long as we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“You don’t get rid of me that easy,” Tom said, kissing the top of her head.
“And you don’t get rid of me that easily either. Just don’t go getting all celebrity on me and running off with the first airhead you meet.”
“You know I won’t do that,” Tom assured her.
“Yes, I know you won’t,” Holly answered. The moondial had at least provided her with that certainty.
“Anyway, I’ve got a long journey tomorrow,” Tom said, raising his arms and yawning loudly. “Fancy an early night?”
“Can I bring my popcorn?” teased Holly.
“As long as your crunching doesn’t keep me awake,” Tom warned, still yawning enthusiastically.
“Oh, it won’t be my crunching keeping you awake,” countered Holly. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Tom, a trick she had learned from Billy.
“Mrs. Corrigan, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then let me explain further,” promised Holly, climbing onto Tom’s knee. “I don’t think we need to go to bed to have an early night.”
By the time Holly and Tom made it to their bedroom, the moonlight that had shone through the open window had faded and failed. Holly’s path lay firmly in the present.
7
Jocelyn arrived promptly at eleven o’clock with a wicker basket full of hidden treasures. “I thought we might make the most of the Indian summer and have a little picnic, if you’re up to it?” she challenged.
“If I’m up to it? So what’s put a spring in your step?” answered Holly, genuinely surprised.
“Well, I believe I have your Tom to thank for persuading Patti to return to university.”
“She’s decided to go back? Jocelyn, that’s fantastic news, but please don’t go giving Tom all the credit. I’m sure she would have made the same decision eventually,” Holly assured her.
Jocelyn had only recently returned from her visit to see her son and this was the first chance they’d had to catch up. Holly had been impatient to find out all there was to know about the moondial, but now that the time was here, she was suddenly very nervous about bringing the subject up and she knew Jocelyn shared her reluctance.
Holly had managed to call a truce on all the thoughts and theories that had plagued her ever since she had crossed paths with the moondial. But she couldn’t dispel all her fears. Her experiences of the moondial had been to the extremes of bitter and sweet. For every ounce of hope it had revealed, it seemed to add a pound of pain. Jocelyn had already said there was a price to pay for changing the future and Holly wasn’t sure she was ready to hear her friend’s story.
“I hope you have something better in mind than the garden for our picnic,” grimaced Holly. Although Holly had tried to keep the garden under control, if only so that Tom’s hard work wasn’t completely undone by another year’s summer growth, it was hardly the lush landscape she knew it could be and she still felt guilty about the state it was in every time Jocelyn visited.
“I was thinking we’d take a trip to the ruins of Hardmonton Hall.”
“Really? I didn’t know we could drive up there,” asked Holly. To her shame, she had never visited the ruins close up and had seen no more than the crumbling walls that skirted the outside of the old estate boundaries and led right up to the gatehouse. Even then, the extent of the estate wasn’t as grand as it used to be, with most of the land having been sold off, redeveloped, or reclaimed for farming. Only the areas immediately surrounding the ruins had been left untouched.
“We can’t drive up there,” scolded Jocelyn. “Kids these days want to be ferried around everywhere. These joints of mine are feeling well-oiled today and if I can make the trek, I’m sure you can.”
“You want to show me where the moondial was originally placed, don’t you?” Holly asked, and her stomach did a flip simply saying its name out loud.
“It seems the ideal place to debate the pros and cons of time travel,” chirped Jocelyn, but Holly sensed a tone of false bravado in her voice.
“Well, what should I bring?” asked Holly, flustered. She started to randomly open kitchen cupboards. “I’ve already made a pot of tea. There’s a flask here somewhere. Have you brought food? I’ve got some bits and pieces in the fridge. And cutlery. Have you got cutlery?” Holly was gulping air at the end of every sentence as panic set in.
“I’ve got a flask,” soothed Jocelyn, “and enough food to feed an army.” Holly went to say something else but Jocelyn stopped her. “And I’ve got a blanket and all the utensils we could possibly need.”
“You’re sure?” replied Holly meekly.
Jocelyn took hold of Holly’s shaking hands to steady her. “We’re not about to carry out brain surgery here,” she told her. “Just talk, that’s all. Just as much as both of us can bear.”
“Maybe I should get changed,” suggested Holly.
Jocelyn sighed. “You’re fine as you are.”
“Umbrella?”
Jocelyn raised an eyebrow, silencing any further prevarication.
“Let’s throw caution to the wind, shall we? Life’s all about taking risks,” she told Holly.
Holly and Jocelyn began their walk in silence as they followed the overgrown path that had once been an impressive drive leading up to the Hall. The disused road was hidden beneath years of decay and neglect. The only sound breaking the silence was the occasional snapping of twigs underfoot and sweet birdsong that brightened the morning in spite of the growing tension the two women were feeling.
The ancient trees that had guarded the approach to Hardmonton Hall loomed overhead, growing denser as the women made their pilgrimage. The September sun glinted occasionally through the canopy and the dappled sunlight lit the way ahead for them. Holly tried to enjoy the mixture of light and shadow, and the contrast between the rotting vegetation underfoot and the silhouetted leaves that sparkled in the sunshine above. But as the leaves clung onto their branches, a the breeze whipped them into a frenzy and Holly could hear their telltale death rattle.
“So how w
as your visit with Paul?” Holly asked, eager to break the silence.
“As well as could be expected.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” quizzed Holly.
Jocelyn sighed. “Paul hasn’t let me into his life for a very long time, ever since his father died, really,” confessed Jocelyn. “He was a teenager when I left Harry and he never knew what I’d been subjected to—and he certainly didn’t know what I’d seen of the future. I’d protected him as much as I could from Harry’s cruelty and, perversely, so had Harry. Harry was incapable of love but he could put on a good act. He found it entertaining to engender Paul’s affection and use that against me, so when I decided to leave, Paul never really understood why.”
“He blames you for Harry’s suicide?” Holly asked, although the answer was clear.
Jocelyn laughed. “Oh, Holly, yes. Yes, he blames me, and he has every right to.”
“But you know that’s not true. He would have driven you to suicide. He killed himself instead of you. How could you even begin to feel guilty about that?”
Jocelyn looked into the distance where the canopy of trees had started to thin and the full light of day could be seen in all its glory, marking their arrival at the ruins. “Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel,” she told Holly, avoiding the question.
“Or an oncoming train,” sighed Holly.
Jocelyn took Holly’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m here to help. It’ll be all right,” Jocelyn assured her. But the sadness in her eyes told a different story.
The ruins lived up to their name. The Hall itself was nothing more than a series of lonely, half-demolished walls covered in ivy and lichen. Holly could almost believe she was wandering through an overgrown cemetery with giant headstones.
“Do you remember when the Hall was in its heyday?” she asked Jocelyn.
“Lord Hardmonton, the old Lord Hardmonton that is, used to hold annual garden parties and the whole village was invited. They were glorious affairs and we’d spend all year looking forward to them. When he died, his son Edward, the one who was lost in the fire, carried on the tradition, but I was married by then, so I never went.”
“Harry?” guessed Holly.
Jocelyn simply nodded.
“So why did it burn down, anyway? Tom was right, even though he didn’t know it. If they had the moondial and could see into the future, why didn’t they see it coming? Didn’t Edward Hardmonton use the dial?” Holly knew Jocelyn was leading her slowly to the revelations of the moondial and she felt herself trying to sprint to the finish line. She needed to know everything and the questions just kept coming.
“Oh, Edward Hardmonton used it,” Jocelyn told her, but offered no further explanation. “Now, the site for the moondial is right over here, as I recall.”
Biting her lip to hold back questions, Holly let Jocelyn lead her toward what would have been the ornamental gardens. The gardens were still magnificent despite the neglect. The mixture of exotic shrubs and grasses had fought for supremacy over the abandoned and partly demolished architecture and had secured a glorious victory. The red, orange, and yellow hues of autumn were clear to see here and the view was breathtaking. Holly wished she had seen the gardens earlier in the summer at the height of the flowering season.
Holly recognized the site of the moondial from the architectural plans she had already seen. The outer edge of the circle was made from gray stone, although most was now hidden beneath the shrubbery that had bordered it. In the plan, each of the four segments of the main circle had been planted with a different mix of plants and shrubs, possibly chosen to depict the four seasons. Over the years, the more delicate specimens had either been consumed by their more dominant bedfellows or had simply withered and died. In contrast to other parts of the garden, the landscaping here looked bleak.
“What’s this?” asked Holly as she stepped onto one of the four paths that led to the stone center circle where the moondial had stood. Kicking away thick layers of moss underfoot, Holly revealed writing that had been etched into the stone.
“There are inscriptions on each of the four paths,” Jocelyn told her. “A poem with four verses. This is why I wanted to bring you here. They explain how the moondial works and, if I remember correctly, the first one is over here.”
As they crossed the center of the circle, Holly put down the wicker basket she had been carrying.
“Wait, I need something from in there,” Jocelyn said. She rummaged in the basket and took out a wire brush, handing it to Holly.
With a little careful brushing, Holly revealed the wording on the first path:
Beneath the fullest moon
If only for an hour
Reflection is the key
To the moondial’s power
“Well, that’s nothing I couldn’t have worked out for myself,” Holly said sulkily, unable to hide her disappointment that this verse hadn’t revealed any hidden secrets. “I’d already noticed that the vision only lasts about an hour, and I’d worked out the need for a full moon, too. I tried using the dial once when there wasn’t a full moon and the orb barely flickered.”
“Let’s read the next verse,” Jocelyn suggested.
There was no moss growing on the next path, so the second part of the poem was relatively easy for Holly to read.
A timepiece like no other
The Moondial will point the way
With a shadow cast by moonlight
Reaching out to an unborn day
The reference to a timepiece triggered a memory. This time Holly did have a question. “The moonlight reflected from the center of the glass orb created what looked like hands of a dial spinning around and I could hear the ticking of a clock, too. But if it’s a timepiece, how does it work? How does it dictate how far its reflection is cast into the future?”
“I think that’s the one thing that will always remain a mystery. The journal shows how the brass mechanism was engineered, but the timepiece was an instrument to count down the hour, not dictate where the reflection would lead. It’s clear from the notes that it can only be the dial that makes the choice. How it does that, I don’t honestly know, but it does seem to choose a critical point in the traveler’s life.”
“Or death,” added Holly morosely. “Have you brought the journal with you?”
“Don’t worry. It’s in the basket. Once we’ve finished with our picnic, you can have it. I don’t want it anymore.”
“How did you get hold of the journal, anyway?”
“Mr. Andrews, the old gardener at the Hall, came to see me not long after Harry bought the moondial. Though he had never used the dial himself, he had been a close confidante of Edward Hardmonton. I’ll tell you all about it later, but I think you need to read the poem in full first. Ready for the next verse?” insisted Jocelyn.
This path, too, was practically clear, with pretty clusters of lichen around its edges, though not enough to conceal the engraving.
Like a hand upon the water
No imprint shall there be
Like a drop of rain on glass
The choice of path may not be free
Holly stared at the words and tried to make sense of it. A shiver passed through her body as she remembered her footprints in the snow and the dust on the mantelpiece during her last vision and she realized that the first part of this verse fit perfectly with her own experience. She had visited the future but left no imprint. Any impression she made disappeared just like the poem said, like a hand upon the water. The meaning of the second part, however, eluded her, or perhaps she was simply evading it.
“The choice of path isn’t free? What does that mean? Does it mean I have no free choice or does it mean something else? You said there was a price to pay.”
“A little of both, I think. The best way of explaining it is to picture raindrops on a window like the poem says.”
Holly wasn’t convinced that picturing a pane of glass would ease her confusion, but she did as she was told and let Jocelyn guide he
r through the image developing in her mind.
“Have you ever tried to follow a particular raindrop as it makes its way down the glass?”
Holly nodded in agreement but said nothing. As a child she had spent hours watching the rain trickle tears down her bedroom window.
“As it hits the window,” continued Jocelyn, “you would think it’s setting off on its own journey. But at some point, it will cross the path of another raindrop. You may not be able to see that path and you may think that there’s not even a trace of it there, but then suddenly your raindrop veers in a new direction. It’s following its predecessor, no longer on its own journey but one that has already been laid before it.”
Holly hadn’t realized that she had her eyes closed as she followed an imaginary raindrop on its path down her old bedroom window. When she opened her eyes, Jocelyn was watching, her gaze infused with sadness.
“Life, it seems, demands a certain balance. Even when you think you’re choosing a new path, it can sometimes lead you to the same place.”
“Oh, my God,” gasped Holly. “It means no matter what kind of health checks I have, if I get pregnant with Libby then I can’t avoid dying in childbirth. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, Holly. I wish I could say the last verse will give you hope, but I can’t. The moondial’s rules are cruel; there’s no way of softening the blow. Just remember that the dial is giving you a chance to save your life. Try not to lose sight of that. Try to see it as a gift.” Her voice had the hushed tones befitting a funeral parlor.
“A gift? How can this horror that I’m being forced to go through ever be called a gift?” Holly demanded, anger burning the back of her throat.
“If it keeps you safe, and I know it will, then yes, it is a gift. Come on, let’s read the last verse,” Jocelyn said, her tone still soft and unnervingly sympathetic.
The last path was covered in a thick carpet of moss and as Holly scrubbed away the stone’s living shroud, she felt her heart sinking.
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