Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  Lucille's only reaction was to glare at her with even more hatred.

  "I don't know what terrible thing occurred in your life to make you so bitter. But it's made you a small woman, Lucille. Not in stature, but in spirit. And every time you open your mouth to inflict a hurt on someone, you become even smaller.

  "Until now, Hunter has put up with you because of a misguided promise to his father. I, on the other hand, made no such promise to anyone. With my persuasion - and if you had even an hour of marital bliss you will know how men can be persuaded - I can and will see to it that you are removed from this house. One can only be a bitch so long, Lucille, before people cease to put up with it. And when you hurt little children, even a deathbed promise can be revoked."

  Marin kept her tone of voice conversational. She'd always found the quieter one spoke, the more threatening the words.

  "So, in case I haven't managed to get my point across, I'll recap our conversation in simple English. Stop being a bitch. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Commit random acts of kindness. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you - and any other clichés that happen to come to mind that your mother probably told you. If you find it impossible to be civil, then remove yourself from the family. But under no circumstances are you to utter one more deliberately hurtful word to anyone in this household. If you do, you'll be out on your heavily-bustled butt. If you don't believe that I mean what I say, then I invite you to utter one of those words. Just to see if I'm serious."

  Marin's level gaze met venomous blue eyes. If the act of casting hateful glares could be elevated to a fine art, Lucille was the woman who had done it. But it would take more than a mean-spirited look to sway Marin's stand.

  She rose and walked to the door, not so much as turning her head when she spoke.

  "If you will only try to be pleasant I will treat you with equal consideration, as will everyone else in the house. But from the moment I walk out of this room, the servants, and even Katie, will be instructed to treat you with the same degree of respect with which you treat them." Marin turned and flicked one last look at the glowering woman. "An eye for an eye, so to speak. It's your decision."

  The crashing piece of china shattering against the oak floor as Marin closed the door was probably the teapot. Pity. It had been such a lovely, delicate thing. Two more crashes in quick succession had to be the teacups. Within a quarter hour Marin suspected that not one breakable object remained intact in Lucille's rooms. After the final, enormous crash - probably the cheval mirror - an ominous quiet descended.

  The servants were still in hiding and Katie was still outside with Mamie when Lucille emerged from her room an hour later and returned with a broom and dustpan.

  *******

  Hunter supervised the loading of their bags into the carriage for their trip to Mississippi.

  Thank heavens his mother had declined the obligatory invitation to go with them to Tranquille. Surveying the damage to see if any of the crop was salvageable would be unpleasant enough.

  His bride was just descending the stairs when he entered the front door. A warm wave of love washed over him at the sight of her.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  She stopped and glanced in the mirror, spent several seconds rearranging her jaunty little feathered hat, then plucked it from her head and tossed it on a table.

  "Now I am. Just let me find Katie."

  Katie rounded the staircase from the back of the house just as Marin spoke. She carried a half-eaten biscuit in one hand and Angel tucked under her arm. The cat dangled limply from its precarious perch. A white, frilly doll's bonnet adorned its head. Hunter couldn't stop the smile from curving his lips at the sight of that ridiculous, mis-named cat.

  "I can't find Puffy."

  "That's all right. Puffy and Angel have to stay here," Marin told her.

  An obstinate lower lip slid out slightly, and Katie surprised Hunter by stomping her tiny foot on the floor.

  "I want to take Puffy and Angel!"

  Katie looked at Hunter with a five year old's truculence. When she got no reaction from either adult she began bouncing up and down. The cat's hind legs bounced with her.

  "I want to take Puffy and Angel," she whined. "Why can't I take Puffy and Angel?"

  Hunter was at a loss as to what to do. This was the first time his sweet, angelic little daughter had ever shown the slightest sign of a temper. How did a father handle little girl tantrums? Dear Lord, she was turning into his mother!

  While he contemplated the best course of action, Marin, with hands on hips, stepped up to Katie and studied her as she continued to bounce and whine.

  "You're doing it all wrong," Marin instructed as she shook her head.

  Katie bounced to a stop and cocked a defiant glare at the woman who towered over her.

  "Yeah. That's all wrong." Marin studied Katie with deep concentration, the tip of her thumbnail wedged between her teeth. "You need to lie down and roll around. Then scream real loud and bang your head on the floor. And you need to kick your legs, too. Yeah. Hold your breath. That might help."

  Katie had clearly not expected this type of reaction, and quite truthfully, neither had Hunter. But it was proving to be quite effective. Katie's look of defiance had turned to one of uncertainty.

  He was impressed.

  "Now," Marin continued, "if you want to leave Angel and Puffy here, you may go with us. If not, you are welcome to stay here with Mamie."

  Within minutes the carriage rolled down the drive carrying the three of them to Mississippi. Katie's sweet nature had returned when her little tantrum had failed to create the desired effect. The last thing she'd expected, Hunter was sure, was to be instructed in how to throw a fit.

  The carriage had not gone far before trickles of perspiration slid down his back. The heat of the day was stifling even at such an early hour, but Hunter would have been hard-pressed to tell if the heat came from the weather or from Marin's hand which not-so-innocently jostled along his thigh. If Katie had chosen to stay at Pierce Hall, he and Marin may have set a record for taking the longest time in history to travel between Memphis and Tranquille.

  As it was, the trip seemed interminable, but in an exquisitely torturous way. While he had expected to occupy his mind with thoughts of the ruined crop, instead he found himself immersed in daydreams about making love to his wife in every conceivable place on the plantation. And some not so conceivable. The higher Marin's hand slid on his thigh, the more chaotic his thoughts became. He flicked a glance at Katie, who had snuggled down in the seat, her head on Marin's lap, her eyes drooping.

  He loved his daughter dearly, but he was not accustomed to planning his rendezvous around the sleeping patterns of a four year old moppet.

  Marin's hand moved another half inch. Hunter closed his eyes and fought the reaction. When he cast a sidelong look at his mischievous wife, she returned the look with one of feigned innocence.

  "What?" she asked.

  "You know what," he answered, unable to stop the smile that curved his lips. "And if you continue," he looked down at his sleeping daughter, "Katie may wake to a lesson in how babies are made."

  Marin's eyes widened.

  "Oh, Mr. Pierce! Do you mean you want me to stop doing this?" Her hand snaked up his thigh several inches.

  He stopped its progress with an ironclad grip.

  "No." He cursed the raspiness of his voice. "But under the circumstances, I think you'd better. As it is, my heart's racing faster than a thoroughbred's."

  Marin's right hand rested lightly on his chest. With her other hand she opened his palm and slowly placed it over her heart.

  "Is it beating as fast as mine?"

  All traces of amusement vanished as they stared at each other, her unspoken desires clear in her eyes.

  With blessed timing the gates to Tranquille came into view. If they had had any further to travel, Hunter would have found the nearest secluded spot and taken the chance that Katie wo
uld sleep for a good hour or two.

  The horses automatically turned up the drive while he dragged his gaze from Marin's. He was in no condition to climb out of this carriage and greet Maggie and William.

  *******

  "Hunter, this place is absolutely breathtaking! I expected a little house surrounded by cotton fields. How in the world did it survive the war?" Marin felt like a scuba diver who had found sunken treasure.

  "Some of President Grant's senior officers commandeered the house for their use. Grant and his men seldom destroyed a home they had taken over."

  Marin walked through the music room, bewitched by the gleaming wood of the piano, a violin on the table, a harp in front of a chair covered in red velvet. Dark red draperies pooled on the floor. A huge mirror hung above the marble mantel and reflected not only the red, fluted candle chimneys on the chandelier of the music room, but the crystal chandelier in the adjacent parlor.

  She couldn't have said what impressed her more. Her first view of Tranquille had been one of sprawling wings of golden beige brick. Four rectangular brick columns topped by Ionic friezes flanked the front door, and a huge, circular window graced the center of the third floor gable. Stepping through the front door, she was met with an entrance hall so large it had its own fireplace. A massive central staircase, also flanked by Ionic columns, led up to a landing backlit by a wall of windows overlooking a pecan orchard and an overgrown garden. From there the stairs split to lead upward from both sides of the landing.

  While William entertained Katie, Maggie and Hunter had proudly walked Marin through the entire house. She had been rendered speechless and was sure her chin had dropped to her chest. Maggie nervously dusted where there was no dust, and Hunter simply looked on with mild amusement at her awe.

  What a gem! Either this house was privately owned in 1996, or else it had fallen into decay and no longer existed in that time. She'd have to check when she got back.

  Sudden, icy tendrils of premonition crawled over her like an army of spiders. Where had that thought come from? Did her subconscious know something she didn't? The euphoria she'd felt since her wedding night on the bluffs burst, shattering into millions of pieces, like a balloon blown too full.

  She glanced over at Hunter, whose tender smile was a blow to her heart. Was she going to return to her time? Would Hunter's death be what caused it? Would her return cause Hunter's death?

  Defeat such as she had never known settled over her in a heavy, suffocating fog. Why had she let her guard down? Why did she let herself fall in love again? She should have known better. She was never meant to have anyone in her life.

  She fumbled behind her for a chair. As she sank to the cushion she vaguely heard Hunter call her name with alarm. In a heartbeat he was down on one knee, his precious face only inches from hers.

  "Marin! Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He cradled her face in his palms and studied her. His forehead creased in worry. There was no trace of those beloved dimples. "Are you ill? Maggie, would you fetch a glass of water, please?"

  Marin was aware of Maggie bustling from the room, then Hunter's fingers rapidly undoing her bodice. His light, caring touch on her skin kindled a passion in her that rose through the fog of defeat.

  She met his worried blue gaze with tears burning behind her eyes. She took his hands in hers.

  "I'm all right. I just felt light-headed for a second."

  Hunter breathed a sigh of relief, then jerked his gaze back to her, raking the length of her body. He looked at her with hope-filled eyes.

  "Is it possible you could already be..."

  Dear Lord! One more thing to worry about that hadn't even occurred to her! What if she got pregnant? Would she carry a baby to the future?

  "No." She looked into his hopeful eyes. "At least, I'm pretty sure I'm not."

  "Well." He shrugged and stood, though he didn't manage to hide the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "That will come soon enough," he cast her a grinning leer, "considering how our first two nights have gone."

  Her entire body screamed for her to drag him back onto his knees and fall with him to the carpet. To make love to this man in every room of this house, every building, every secluded spot in the woods, until they both died of exhaustion or, through sheer force of will, she clung to him and carried him with her to her own time.

  But she couldn't take a chance on getting pregnant. What she wouldn't give for a year's supply of birth control pills, or even a box of condoms.

  What did people use in this time for birth control? She vaguely remembered something about small pieces of sponge soaked in vinegar, but that had rendered some women sterile. At the very least, vinegar fumes rising from her body would be about as sexy as an unwashed dock worker.

  "Here the water, Mistah Hunt." Maggie shuffled in, her shoes slapping against her heels. She handed the glass to Marin. "How you feelin', Sugar? You gettin' your color back. That a good sign."

  "I'm fine," Marin lied. "Thanks for the water." She took a sip and tried to gather control of her rampaging emotions.

  Maggie fussed over her for a while, fluffing pillows with her meaty fist, tucking them around Marin as if she were a china doll and grumbling something about skinny people and a good gust of wind blowing them away.

  Marin knew Maggie meant well, but she wished she'd just leave her alone to dwell in her misery. Her mind was so paralyzed she could barely form a coherent thought.

  Hunter's shadow fell over her and he brushed a curly tendril from her cheeks. She looked up at him, her heart seizing in her chest while he smiled down at her, a sweet, tender smile that created crescent shadows in both his cheeks and a storm of butterflies under her ribs.

  Dear God, how she loved this man.

  She loved him as much as she had loved Ryan. And the thought of losing him too, of either burying him or returning to her own time without him, was like a dull knife slowly piercing her heart.

  But she couldn't let herself dwell on that. She stiffened her spine and made a decision. Hunter was still alive, and she would make sure they lived every moment they had together to the fullest. And if he gave her a child, no matter what century she ended up in she would have a piece of him with her forever.

  Every nerve in her body ignited at the thought. She blinked at him slowly, seductively, hiding the desperation she felt.

  "Thank you, Maggie. Perhaps I should lie down and rest before lunch," she said, without ever removing her gaze from Hunter's. When he raised a hopeful eyebrow at her words, she answered by moistening her lips.

  "Yes! Let me see you to our room!" Hunter replied with amusing speed as he took the glass from her fingers and shoved it at Maggie.

  Maggie, who Marin already knew was nobody's fool, wheezed a quiet chuckle.

  "Yessir, Mistah Hunt. You gets this little gal up to your room and let her rest." Another wheeze. "Mebbe you oughtta rest, too. Me and that shiftless William'll keep your sweet baby girl happy whilst you all rest."

  Hunter obviously didn't need to be told twice. He wasted no time in pulling Marin to her feet, then he scooped her into his arms and took the stairs two at a time. Maggie's wheezing faded from earshot, then was cut off completely when Hunter kicked the bedroom door shut behind them.

  No sooner was the door closed than Marin had her lips on his. He released her legs and slowly slid her body down the length of his until she stood on tiptoe, the heat of their kiss never cooling. This was what she ached for, longed for. But it was altogether too civilized.

  While her tongue played hide and seek with his, her hands found the lapels of his coat. It took no effort at all to pull the well-tailored garment over his shoulders and off his arms. After dropping it to the floor she returned to concentrate on his tie. With that strip of silk also discarded she shoved him back against the door and murmured against his lips, "Are you particularly fond of this shirt?" When he breathlessly groaned, "No," she yanked apart the plackets, ignoring the clatter of buttons as they fell to the polished oak floor. An anima
listic growl escaped his throat, then the thirty-odd covered buttons from the back of her bodice created the sound of rain on a windowpane as they scattered about the room. She frantically pulled his shirttail from his trousers, then, with a fistful of snowy white cambric in each hand, her lips still on his, she guided him to the plush carpet behind them, sinking to her knees, pulling him down with her.

  They knelt there briefly, wrapped in each other's arms, drinking deeply of the storming passion that buffeted them both. Finally, she lowered herself to the carpet, staying him with her hand when he would have followed. He hovered there on his knees, rising above her, just the sight of him searing her soul. She raked the length of him with her gaze - his heated eyes and sculptured jaw; the haphazard shirt revealing a bronze chest that begged to be caressed; his trousers so snug they strained across his hips. He rose above her like a god, and she burned the sight of him into her memory, to be taken out and enjoyed, or savored, later. After she looked her fill, she slid her hands up his chest and twined both sides of his shirt front around her fists, pulling him down to her as she rose up to meet him, intent on burning a memory into his own soul that would live throughout eternity.

  ******

  Hunter fell back, both exhausted and exhilarated, to the quilt covering the mountain of freshly ginned cotton. Somehow he found the strength to roll his head to the right so that he might enjoy the view of the best thing that ever happened to him.

  Marin lay beside him, her face already turned to his, a languid, dreamy smile curving her lips. Her body glistened with a fine sheen from their exertions. Her porcelain skin and mahogany hair held errant clumps of snowy cotton that had risen into the air - caused by their earlier vigorous activities - then drifted slowly earthward to settle and stick to her moist flesh. Without bothering to look he knew his own body suffered the same fuzzy malady. In fact, at that very moment she reached to caress his cheek, then brought her fingers to her lips and blew a tiny blizzard of cotton from her fingertips.