Everything In Its Time

by Dee Davis

  "Oh my, yes. Would you like to see it?"

  Jeff wanted to jump from his chair screaming. He felt Elaine's hand on his arm, and drew in a deep breath. "Yes, please."

  Mrs. Abernathy rose and walked over to the photo of her and the Queen. "Just a gag photo from a shop in London. They do it with computers. A friend gave it to me a few years back. Looks real, don't you 'think?"

  Elaine smiled and nodded. Jeff made an inarticulate grumbling noise. Mrs. Abernathy removed the photograph from the wall, leaving a small wall safe exposed. She twisted and turned the dial, stopping every once in a while as though trying to remember the combination. Finally, she beamed at them over her shoulder. "There, open at last." She reached inside and withdrew a small object wrapped in black velvet. "Here it is. It's quite valuable, you know. It was painted sometime in the second half of the fifteenth century, by a Flemish artist. As portrait painting was still quite new, the miniature is a rare example of the early form of the art."

  She sat at her desk and began to unwrap the portrait. "It's quite small, but the detail is extraordinary, and even though the woman in the painting is older, well... see for yourselves."

  She handed the little painting to Jeff. Elaine moved to stand behind him, then stared over his shoulder. He heard her gasp, even as he let out an oath impugning some poor guy's ancestry.

  The woman in the painting was beautiful. Her eyes were gray, her hair gleaming gold, drawn over her shoulder in a heavy braid. The cairngorms did indeed grace her tiny ears. The detail was so fine that he could see the filigree of the gold holding the stones. Her lips were barely tipping upward at the corners, as if she had just begun to smile. She looked demurely down at her hands, which appeared to be folded in prayer. And she looked just like his sister.

  Jeff sucked in a breath, feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. He struggled to breathe calmly. He looked again at the portrait. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was trying to tell him something, that something in the painting wasn't quite what it seemed.

  "Who is this woman?" Jeff held the miniature out to Mrs. Abernathy. His hand trembled, but through sheer willpower he forced it to steady.

  Mrs. Abernathy took the painting, then carefully cradled it in its velvet wrappings. "Her name was Katherine Davidson. She was the wife of the first Laird of Duncreag."

  "What else do you know about her?"

  "Nothing really, except that she is supposedly the lady of the legend." Mrs. Abernathy looked for a moment at the picture. "And that she looks enough like your sister to be a genetic clone."

  Jeff felt Elaine put a hand on his shoulder as she came to sit on the arm of his chair. Her touch was comforting. He leaned closer to her and felt himself calm slightly. She was looking at the portrait in Mrs. Abernathy's hand, her brow furrowed.

  "Mrs. Abernathy, correct me if I'm wrong." Elaine absently stroked Jeff's shoulder. "But I thought that women in the Middle Ages rarely took their husbands' surnames. Yet you called her Katherine Davidson."

  Mrs. Abernathy pursed her lips, her face screwed up in thought. She relaxed suddenly, sending Jeff and Elaine a brief smile. "I honestly can't say that I know the ins and outs of medieval marriages, but I do remember my mother telling us once that Katherine, the one in the portrait, wasn't from Scotland. Perhaps that explains the use of her husband's name. I'm afraid there's really no way to know for sure."

  Elaine nodded. "Do you know her husband's first name?"

  "Oh, yes. His name was Alasdair. Alasdair Davidson."

  "Not Iain?"

  "No, it was Alasdair, and seeing that he was the first Davidson at Duncreag, there are actually documents to verify that. So I'm sure of his name."

  Jeff ran a hand through his hair. "Could Iain have been a middle or second name?"

  "Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

  Elaine stood up, restlessly fingering the photographs on the mantel. "Because, Mrs. Abernathy, Iain is the name of the man in Katherine's dreams."

  "Well, he must be the other one, then."

  "The other one?" Jeff looked puzzled.

  "Why, yes. It fits, don't you see." Mrs. Abernathy smiled at Jeff as though she had satisfactorily clarified the matter for him.

  "Fits?"

  Elaine interrupted, "What she's saying is that Iain is the lover in the story."

  Jeff blinked, trying to assimilate this new information. "But that would mean Katherine is—was—married to someone she didn't love." He stood, throwing his hands up in frustration. "This is crazy. We're talking about people that have been dead for hundreds of years."

  "Yes, but Jeff, if that portrait is any indication, we're also talking about Katherine. Our Katherine," Elaine countered.

  "Mrs. Abernathy, let me see the portrait again." He held out his hand.

  She gave it to him, watching as he studied it. "What is it?"

  Jeff answered without looking up. "I don't know exactly. I can't shake the feeling that there is more here that I'm seeing."

  He studied the likeness of his sister, following her gaze to her hands, just visible at the bottom of the canvas. Suddenly, it hit him what was wrong. It was her pose. If she was supposed to be praying as the painting suggested, her hands were all wrong. Her hands should have been flat, palm to palm, fingertips pointed upward. Instead they were relaxed, the right one wrapped around the left, her index finger raised slightly. Jeff bent closer, studying the finger. The detail was so clear that he could see a small crescent-shaped scar on the knuckle.

  He sucked in a breath. He felt vaguely sick.

  "This is Katherine."

  Elaine looked at him sharply. "You can say that for sure? How?"

  "This scar." He pointed to it. "One summer, when we were kids, we were coming out of the grocery store when Katherine saw a dog in the back of a pickup truck. He was tied to the side with a rope and had somehow managed to get all tangled up, the result being that he wasn't able to move. Anyway, Katherine ran over to him to try and get him free, but the poor dog was so frightened that he bit her." Jeff paused, still looking at the painting. "He got her whole hand. But the major damage was to her index finger. His teeth almost severed it. Gram rushed her to the hospital and the doctors stitched it back together. She never got the feeling back in her finger, but it worked fine. The only visible sign that the whole thing ever happened was a small crescent-shaped scar."

  "I know the one you mean." Elaine's face tightened. "She always used to joke that if you looked closely you could still see teeth marks." She leaned over Jeff's arm to look at the portrait.

  "You're sure it's the same scar?" Mrs. Abernathy said as she too leaned forward in an effort to see the small painting.

  "Positive."

  Elaine looked up with a puzzled frown. "It's almost like she wanted us to see the scar. I don't know, like she wanted us to recognize her." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But at the same time, she seems to have gone to a lot of effort to make the pose seem casual."

  "So that nobody else would notice anything unusual." Jeff handed the portrait back to Mrs. Abernathy.

  "Exactly. You're really the only one who could recognize the scar. So that would mean it's either a heck of a coincidence or ..."

  "... a message for Jeffrey," Mrs. Abernathy finished for her.

  "But what is she trying to tell me?" Jeff drew in a deep breath, frustration welling up inside him. "Mrs. Abernathy, why the hell didn't you show us this portrait when you first realized it resembled my sister?"

  "I didn't want to be messing with the proper order of things. Remember, I had no idea Katherine was having dreams. So the time didn't seem right. I thought it might be important for her to be here. I was concerned that if I mentioned the portrait, it would have scared her into leaving."

  Jeff started to pace. "My point exactly. And if she had left, she'd be safe, here in this century, instead of long dead, leaving cryptic messages for her brother."

  Elaine put a hand on his arm. "Jeff, we don't know that it wa
s a bad message. Maybe she just wanted you to know that she was all right."

  "All right? How can she have been all right? She travels back to who-knows-where, or for that matter when, to find a guy named Iain, who she thinks is her only true love. She gets there and, best we can tell, finds out he's dead. And then, for some unknown reason, marries this Alasdair character and, if we're to believe legend, lives the rest of her life mourning the dead guy. I'd hardly call that 'all right.' "

  "Jeff, calm down. We don't know anything for certain. Maybe she lived with Iain a long time before he died. Maybe she had a fondness for this Alasdair. All we have to base our understanding on is an old legend. And you know as well as I do that it could have been vastly distorted by time. Maybe Iain turned out to be a loser and she fell for Alasdair instead. It's all just supposition, isn't it?"

  Jeff shook off her hand. "Except that my sister is, or was, stuck in medieval Scotland. And she"—he shot an angry look at Mrs. Abernathy—"had the means to have stopped her from going."

  Mrs. Abernathy paled. Elaine grabbed Jeff's shoulders, forcing him to look at her. "You know that isn't true. Even if Mrs. Abernathy had shown Katherine the portrait, she still would have wanted to go."

  Jeff sagged forward, his rage evaporating. "You're right." He turned to Mrs. Abernathy. "I'm sorry. You couldn't have done anything to stop her. I was just—"

  Mrs. Abernathy lifted a hand. "You were just grieving for your sister. I understand. I do believe, Jeffrey, that things happen for a reason. So no matter how it turned out, I can't help but think that Katherine is—or should I say was, where she wanted to be."

  Jeff sank into the chair, a hand covering his eyes. "I just wish I had a way of knowing for sure."

  Chapter 15

  "WELL, THAT'S ALL the stuff in the bathroom." Elaine walked back into Katherine's bedroom, holding a brown makeup bag in one hand and rubbing her back with the other. "Have you finished with the clothes in the wardrobe?"

  Jeff sat on the bed, staring out the window, an open wallet in his lap. "Huh? Oh, sorry, I guess I just got sidetracked."

  Elaine sat next to him, then reached over to pick up the wallet. She looked down at a picture of Jeff and Katherine as kids, decked out in holiday finery. "Where was this taken?"

  Jeff looked at the small photo. "I don't know, some studio. Gram wanted a Christmas photo of her 'little lambs.' " He touched the picture almost reverently. "I didn't know Katherine had a copy."

  Elaine flipped through the other pictures, stopping at one of her and Jeff soaking wet and giggling like loons. It had been taken a few years earlier, on a trip to the beach. It had rained the entire time. She felt tears prick her eyes and brushed angrily at them as she handed the wallet back to Jeff. "Here, you should keep the photos. I know she'd want you to."

  "I just can't accept that she's gone, Elaine. It feels wrong to be going through her stuff like this."

  "We're not 'going through it.' At least I'm not. We're just packing it up. Okay?"

  Elaine studied Jeff's haggard face. They'd sat up late, trying to make some sort of sense of everything that had happened. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

  "No. Every time I dozed off, I started dreaming that Kitty was calling for me. So I finally gave up and sat by the window waiting for the sun to come up. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

  "Jeff, stop it. It's like Mrs. Abernathy said, you're grieving for Katherine. It's understandable. In fact, I'd be a lot more concerned if you weren't upset. Now come on, let's finish up in here." She stood and surveyed the belongings left in the room. There were still clothes in the small wardrobe and odds and ends on the bedside table. "You finish the clothes. I'll gather up the things by the bed."

  Jeff nodded unenthusiastically, but headed for the wardrobe, suitcase in hand. Elaine turned to the table. As usual, Katherine had brought almost every piece of jewelry she owned. She was always certain that if she left even one piece behind, she'd need it once she got wherever she was going.

  Elaine bit her lip, trying to stop the threatening tears, and started stuffing things into a small plastic bag. The last thing on the table was a wooden box. She picked it up, then sat down to look at it more closely. She turned it this way and that in the light, examining it. It was heavily carved, the hues of the wood blending into the intricate design, worn smooth in places with age.

  At each end, the box was banded with gold. The gold, too, was embellished with carving. There was a seal of some kind on the top—a wildcat, sort of standing up. It actually looked as if the thing were dancing. It seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

  "Jeff, do you recognize this?"

  He turned from the wardrobe, a long filmy skirt in his hands. "Yeah, that's the box the cairngorms came in. Katherine carried her jewelry in it. I wouldn't be surprised if it's as old as the earrings."

  "It's beautiful. Is this real gold?"

  "As far as I know." He folded the skirt and laid it in the suitcase, then turned to reach for another garment.

  Elaine looked again at the seal. "Do you know what the crest on the top is?"

  Jeff came over to look at the box. "Nope. It looks like a cat, though."

  "Thanks," Elaine said dryly. "I could see that for myself."

  Jeff shrugged and returned to his packing.

  A filigreed latch joined the lid and the base. Elaine opened the box carefully. It was wooden inside as well, the bottom still lined with traces of some sort of a rich brocade. She turned it over, marveling at the workmanship. It was a fine piece that probably belonged in a museum someplace. She stroked the underside of the box absently and then paused, her attention on the bottom. With one finger, she traced the line of some sort of carving.

  "Jeff? Did you know there's something carved on the underside of this box?" She walked over to the window, and held it up to the light.

  "There's something carved all over the box, Elaine."

  She peered at the wood. "No, I don't mean decorations. I mean words. Jeff, there's something written on the bottom of the box."

  " 'Made in China'?" Jeff said, looking over her shoulder.

  "Ha-ha. Hang on a sec. Let me see if I can ... Wait, I know. Hand me the pad of paper and pencil that're over there by Katherine's purse." She sat on the cushion in the window seat.

  "Okay. Here. Now what are you going to do?"

  Elaine smiled up at him as she ripped a piece of paper off the pad. "Well, I've no idea if it will work but I'm going to try and take a tracing of the carving. You know, kind of like rubbing an effigy." She demonstrated by placing the paper over the bottom of the box and rubbing the pencil across it.

  "Hey, I think it might actually be working."

  "Thanks so much for your confidence." Elaine triumphantly held out the piece of paper. "You read this and I'll look at the box. Between us, we ought to be able to figure out what it says." She peered at the carving, trying to make out the words. "Are you sure you've never seen this before? It seems like somebody would have noticed it."

  "Well, I haven't seen it. And as far as I know, neither did Katherine. She'd have told me if she had." He studied the tracing. "Okay, here goes. It looks like the first word is 'with' and then maybe 'touching.' Do you agree?"

  "Yes, and then maybe 'hearts'?"

  It took them nearly an hour to decipher the writing. But finally, with some confidence, they felt they had a translation.

  "Okay. Shall I read the whole thing?" Elaine's voice reflected her excitement.

  Jeff smiled. "Shoot."

  She read from the paper containing their final version.

  "with touching hearts Our love entwines

  like Ivy on a Tree

  on Stony Ledge our love will soar

  our spirits to be set free

  the wind will House our joy and love

  and send us on our Quest

  Three bells will toll, away we'll fly To North and south and West KO"

  "It's a poem." Elaine put down the paper.

 
"Yeah, but not a very good one." Jeff looked at the tracing. "The last word doesn't even rhyme. In fact, it isn't even a word."

  Elaine studied their writing. "If you get rid of the K and the O, it rhymes. But what do we do with them? KO isn't a word."

  "Wait a minute. Let me see the box." Elaine handed it to Jeff, who peered at it through narrowed eyes. "I don't think it is an O. I think it's a D. That's it—KD." He looked at Elaine triumphantly.

  "Great, KD. That makes even less sense than KO. At least KO had a vowel in it."

  "Elaine, use that wonderful legal mind of yours. What comes in twos and would be fitting for the end of a poem? Or any work of art, for that matter."

  "I don't know. A period?"

  "Elaine." He shot her an exasperated look. "A signature. KD isn't a word, it's a set of initials. K. D."

  Elaine gasped. "Katherine Davidson."

  Jeff grinned like a proud parent. "Right."

  "Wait a minute—you think Katherine wrote the poem?"

  "I do."

  "You sound really sure. Why? It's more than just the initials, isn't it?"

  Jeff pinched her cheek. "You really are quick on the uptake, aren't you? Okay, first"—he held up a finger— "there is the fact that the carving appears to be as old as the box. Witness all our trouble deciphering it. That means we can feel fairly certain that the poem was written a long time ago. Second"—he held up a second finger—"there's the fact that this poem is written in English. Modern English. Since we've already determined that the carving is old, it means whoever wrote it had to know modern English. Quite a feat for a medieval person."

  "Unless you happened to start your life in the twentieth century." Elaine grinned.

  "Right. And when you add the initials K. D. to the mix, the poem simply has to be Katherine's." Jeff sat back on the window seat with a frown. "The real problem, though, is trying to decide why she wrote the thing. Somehow I don't believe she was inspired by a muse."

  "Could she have been trying to send a message of some kind? Like the painting?"