“Anything wrong?” he asked, besides, oh, everything. Her gaze lifted to meet his, confirming that she was worried.
“That aerodrome is close to the compound,” she said. “A bit more than a mile, that’s close.”
“So?” What was she thinking? He may not have known her that long yet, but he knew she was thinking. She never seemed to stop.
“Do you want to paddle to England?” Mel paused. “Or fly?”
Larsen straightened. “Are you seriously suggesting we steal a German plane and fly to England?”
“It is better than walking. Or paddling.” Jack slanted a quick smile at Mel, before looking at the map again. If they could get in the air, and keep from being shot down by their own guys, or the Germans, until they got close to the coast, they could ditch and get picked up. It was risky, but not more than anything else they were contemplating doing. It would also depend on what aircraft there was. Larsen wasn’t a pilot. With a stab of guilt, Jack thought about Mel’s statement that Larsen was already supposed to be dead…
He’d thought it would be amazing to know the future…and it was…but it did have a down side. What must it be like to be Mel, to be moving through this time knowing it all, not just knowing who lived and died, but unable to forget?
And he’d done it, not because he should, but because he could. He’d sent her back the first time, to change an outcome he didn’t like, to assuage his own guilt—and locked them both into repeating this time until they could get it right. If he had to do this again, he should send someone back to eliminate himself. What had happened last time that had forced him into sending her back again, instead of stopping it once and for all? Was it because of how he felt about her, or something else? He’d have had a good reason. Surely he hadn’t changed that much?
In Larsen’s face, Jack saw his own mixed feelings about Mel’s bold suggestion. They both wanted to get out of France. Based on what he’d seen and heard, an unpleasant time lay ahead if they were captured.
Unpleasant would be an understatement if the Gestapo got involved. So, torn between hope and disbelief, they both chose hope and agreed to try.
Larsen waited a bit longer, but when no one said anything, he retired to his corner and soon began to snore. It was obnoxious, but it meant he was asleep. They were kind of alone.
Without spoken agreement, Mel followed him to a spot as distant from Larsen as was possible in the cramped cellar. Jack snagged their blankets on the way and folded them into cushions against the chill of the packed dirt floor. Jack put his arm around her for warmth, so they could hear each other, and because he wanted to.
The setting wasn’t romantic and the girl smelled of lye soap. He almost smiled at this parody of romance that they presented. She was huddled deep inside her clothes, so deep he could barely feel the outline of the slight, strong figure he knew was there. Her face was clean, but looked pinched and cold and tired. There were also cuts and scratches in varying degrees of healing scattered across the surface.
All this he’d done to her, or at least he would be doing.
Only her eyes seemed the same as he remembered from their first meeting. The wide purple pools were a mix of wary and surprised and anxious, all of it overlaid with a careful neutrality.
He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but instead he whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Did she sag against him? Did she shiver as she leaned into him, her hand on his chest to steady herself so she could whisper in his ear? Warmth flooded him. It felt good to finally be warm. Felt right to have her close.
“Jack, that facility wasn’t in any of the material you gave me before I came.”
That killed warm dead. He wished he knew more about time travel than how to do it. He hadn’t had time to learn more. All he had were theories…
“You didn’t tell me a lot about…travel…” Mel cast a quick look in Larsen’s direction. There were still muffled snores coming from his direction, but he was glad she was being careful. “But you had concluded that there weren’t alternate realities, or if there were, your technique wouldn’t result in inter-dimensional travel, just single dimensional.”
Dimensions? Jack tried to look like he knew what she was talking about. He saw her lips twitch and suspected he hadn’t succeeded all that well.
“That leaves only one other explanation…” She trailed off.
“That someone else is traveling, too,” Jack said it for her. Which lead to the next obvious question? Were they inadvertently changing things? Or deliberately attempting to alter the future? “If that someone were…tinkering…”
That sounded better than tampering for some reason.
“Tinkering? A whole secret facility is tinkering?”
“Even an irresponsible traveler would most likely start small. Even a minute change could be catastrophic to the point of wiping out the future.” Of course, it was irresponsible to tamper at all as he was coming to realize. But if someone else were here, it would explain why Mel’s attempt to restore the time line wasn’t working.
“Like Back to the Future.”
“What?” Jack looked at her, his brows arched.
“Sorry. It’s a movie. The flux capacitor movie, actually.”
She smiled impishly, turning her face from tired to amazing and turning up the temperature again.
He rubbed his face to distract himself from her. “I’m the one who is sorry. I should never have started this.”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d let me bring my own shoes.”
He found himself grinning back at her, surprised he could. “They must have been some shoes.”
“Never come between a woman and a pair of comfortable shoes.”
He chuckled, the sound surprising and a bit loud in the enclosed space. Over in his corner, Larsen snorted a bit. Jack stiffened until he started to snore again.
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Jack promised.
Her head drooped to his shoulder, but he wasn’t sure she realized it. Maybe because it felt as natural to her as it did to him? She was quiet for a time and he was content to wait. Finally he felt her sigh.
“We probably need to get a look at what they are guarding inside that facility,” Mel said. “If someone is tinkering with time, it might indicate who. Or is that whom?”
Jack chuckled again, careful to keep it soft. “Either way, it’s a good idea. How we make it happen, on the other hand…”
“It is a bit of a problem,” Mel conceded.
A bit of a problem? Just what exactly what was she, or what would she be in the future? The thought gave life to the words and he felt her tense. She was silent for a time before slowly looking up at him, their faces mere inches apart.
“I’m a reporter.”
“Mel—”
“It’s the truth.”
“A reporter…with your skills?”
“It’s—”
“…complicated. Can’t you uncomplicated it for me?”
A smile flickered on her face. “Mel’s life for dummies?”
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s kind of a future joke. There’s all these books on how to do everything, called the Dummies…” She blinked a couple of times. “I guess you’d have to be there.”
“I guess so.” He tried to stay offended, but it was hard with her eyes, well, twinkling like that. Purple twinkles, even. Deep pools of purple twinkles. He could almost dive in and swim around in there. Diving for twinkles—
“You’ve heard of television, right?”
He knew a bit about it. “I saw it demonstrated at the New York World’s Fair.”
“Really, well cool beans. Let me just say, it’s come a long way. And I work in television.”
She explained the concept of her show and the things she’d done. It would be easier to eye dive for twinkles than believe it, but with the twinkles, there was truth in her eyes.
“And you’ve never cried uncle?”
A wry smile curve
d up the edges of her mouth. Her lips were dry and cracked in spots, but he still wanted to kiss them.
“Not until now.”
He could see how appealing she’d be visually, though maybe not as this moment. And like him, the men she’d deal with would tend to underestimate her spirit and determination. He still thought he was crazy to have sent her, but he understood better why he had.
He felt rather than heard her sigh.
“What?”
“I’m torturing myself with what I’d be doing if I were home.”
He didn’t mind the distraction. “What would you be doing?”
“Well, first up, I’d take a bath. A long, hot bath. I don’t think I’ve ever been this dirty. No, I haven’t. I’d remember.” Her smile flickered across her face like a light bulb that hadn’t quite made the electrical connection.
Mel in a tub. Probably shouldn’t think too much about that. “And then?”
“Pajamas. Soft flannel pajamas and warm slippers.” Her voice was rich with longing. “And then a real bed to lie on. I’d sleep and sleep and sleep. I might not ever get up.”
“Not even to eat?”
She glanced up at him. “I’m trying not to think about food, because that might depress me.”
Jack chuckled and smoothed a sticky, lye scented piece of hair off her smudged, tired face. His heart…clutched was the only word he could find to describe the feeling. It hurt, but in a good way and squeezed out the words he hadn’t meant to say to her because he hadn’t the right. Even if time didn’t divide them, what he’d done to her should…
“I love you.” He saw her flinch and tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Oh, Jack.” Her hand came to rest against the side of his face. “I shouldn’t either, but I do. I love you.” She looked rueful. “I think I always have. Captain Jack Hamilton, the hero of The Time Machine. And now here you are.”
“Not a hero.”
“No, you’re still that.” Her gaze teased him gently. “But a man. Oh my.” She leaned against him. “A bit ripe, but definitely a man.”
He laughed lightly, his chin resting lightly on her head, wishing everything were different. Well, almost everything.
Gently, carefully, his hand found her tucked down chin and raised it until he could see her mouth. He lowered his head to hers, their mouths connected. There was no passion in the contact. He didn’t have the energy and he figured she didn’t either. It was enough just to hold her and pretend they had a future. He eased back and hugged her closer.
“Why do you taste of mint?” he murmured, feeling vaguely surprised.
“I kind of brought back some breath mints with me from the future. Do you want one? Of course, I should have brought my toothbrush. I hope I have some teeth left when…you know…”
He knew.
There was silence for a few more minutes.
“Jack…” Her voice sounded dreamy.
“Hmmm…” He was tired of thinking. All he wanted to do was rest his soul in her arms.
“Will you marry me?”
That got his soul’s attention. “Excuse me?”
She grinned. “Commitment issues, Captain?”
“It’s more accurate to call it a situation issue. Otherwise, I’d already be down on one knee.” It was the truth. He didn’t want to lose her. He wanted to keep her, but there was this war going on, not to mention the fact they were hiding in a cellar being vigorously hunted by the enemy. And that he was sixty years older than her, or he would be.
“I know this priest…and there’s a church just across the cemetery. It wouldn’t be legal, of course but anyone who read the register would know that Melanie Morton loved Jack Hamilton and he loved her. “
“Why wouldn’t it be legal?”
Mel sat up, partially pulling away from him. “You have to have a civil and religious ceremony in France.”
He blinked. “How do you know that?”
She grinned. “A movie. Called I was a Male War Bride.”
He didn’t want to know. And she knew it. Her grin widened into a cute smirk.
“He might not do it, but if he will…will you marry me, Melanie Morton?”
“Why Captain Hamilton,” her drawl was full of the South, “I’d be honored.”
* * * * *
December 24, 1942
Time seemed to race forward again. It was funny how it worked—well, not really funny, but interesting in a sucks-dead-toads kind of way, Mel decided.
The priest wasn’t hard to persuade, since the marriage wouldn’t be legal, and for the same reason, it didn’t really matter that neither of them was Catholic. Mel could see in his eyes that he understood what they were trying to do. Love wasn’t just a gift, it was a light in the heart. There’d been a lot of dark since they were shot down. A lot of dark.
So, in even more dark, in that deepest, darkest part of the night, just prior to the unkind dawn over a hostile land, he led them past the dead to the old chapel for the living, for an illegal ordinance. By the light of a single candle that lit up the dark only enough to reveal their clasped hands, he married Melanie Morton to Jack Hamilton—in the eyes of God and each other, but not in the eyes of man or the law.
When Jack kissed her, only their mouths touched. Passion was out of place in this here and in this now.
She signed the register after Jack, wondering if it would still be here if, or when, she made it back to the future. Neither of them knew what effect the time flux was going to have on the future or this past. There was no time to linger and savor the moment. Only a moment to look at the two names and wonder, would she ever come here again and know what she knew now? Even if she didn’t remember, she hoped they’d always be here, a mute witness that they’d been here and loved each other.
They had to race the dawn back to their noisome cellar. The brief burst of fresh air reminded her nose it could smell and she went through another painful adjustment period. There was, she had found, either too much to smell, such as their body odors, or too little, which included the food. Despite this, Mel found that happiness gave new clarity to her mind and new energy to her weary body and soul. Joy was more potent even than chocolate—though she wouldn’t have said no to a shower, pajamas and a bed if any of it had been offered. And some cake. No, she’d never again say no to a piece of cake.
Mouy sent word just after a meager lunch that the signal had been given.
“We should all rest,” Jack said. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Mel looked at Larsen and saw in his face a new maturity and sense of purpose. Sometime in during the dark waiting hours, he’d come to terms with where they were and what they had to do.
Mel sat with her cheek against Jack’s shoulder and tried to sleep, but like the night before they flew to France, sleep eluded her. Unlike that night, this time she didn’t waste any of it wrestling with her conscience. Jack knew the truth. For good or ill, the burden had now been shared.
“Jack,” she leaned up to whisper, “if you need to prove to me that this happened, just tell me, I went before I left the plane. And I’ll know we really met.”
“That’s it? What does it mean?”
“In sixty years, maybe I’ll tell you.” Though she hoped not.
* * * * *
The Germans came back just after sunset. Mel was in Madame’s room off the kitchen, changing from her uniform to black clothes provided by Mouy. Bad enough she now lived in the dark, now she was dressed to hide in it. She’d just gathered up her muddy uniform when she heard the bang of an angry fist against the door and almost dropped the bundle.
Her spider sense didn’t even have time to tingle a warning. Her heart rate went from normal to racing between beats and her adrenaline kicked flight or fight into overdrive. The end result, she froze as the tramp of boots and sound of angry voices filled the next room. One in particular, she recognized.
Kass. Leutnant Thug.
Crap.
&nb
sp; She looked at her muddy uniform and then around the room. No hiding place was safe for her hosts. There was a window. She doused the light and tossed it out, then quietly secured the window again. It was, she knew, a delaying tactic. Now she needed another one.
Kass was yelling at Madame. A slap, then a sharp cry. The priest’s voice joined with the others, calm and reasonable. Kass’s voice got louder, more aggressive…
Think, Mel, think fast…
The best defense is a good offense.
She didn’t stop to think about it. If she thought about it, she wouldn’t have the nerve to do it. She did take a moment to find her inner SEAL. Yes, there it was. If she’d been a cat, she’d be puffed.
She wrenched open the door and stepped right into the middle of the fracas. Her sudden appearance couldn’t have been more startling than a grenade tossed into their midst. Silence spread out in a wave that lapped the edges of the room. Before it could rebound into noise, Mel looked scornfully at each man in his turn. She could have sworn she was channeling Rockman.
“Who is in charge?” She snapped in precise German, her voice as harsh as she could make it. She looked at Kass and dismissed him with her eyes. Only when she’d looked at each man in his term, did she let her gaze find its way back to him. A slight, scathing lift of brow asked her question yet again. Surprise had tilted the control balance her direction, but it wouldn’t last. She could see Kass gathering himself together, fighting against the uncertainty clearly visible in his piggish gaze. She marched up to him, stopping just out of arm range. She hoped. He was a big bruiser of a thug with fat pink lips and arms that almost brushed the floor.
“On whose orders are you here, Leutnant?” she both asked the question and sneered his rank. Rockman would have been proud of her.
He puffed up like the bag of hot air he was, though he was still a dangerous airbag. “Who are you? Show me your papers.”
Mel took a couple of steps closer, forcing him to take an involuntary half step back. “I will be delighted to show you my papers.” It was implied that he would not be delighted to see them.
He licked his fat lips nervously. Now that she knew she had his attention, she lifted the edge of the black sweater, exposing a line of smooth skin to the half-leering, half scared men. She made herself slowly remove the sheaf of papers. It was an awful feeling and if things went wrong, it was going to get a lot worse, but her goal was for all the thinking to be on her side. Reversing blood flow elsewhere seemed like a good idea.
Out of Time Page 23
