by Nancy Loyan
Faith strolled past rooms of patients lying in near vegetative states, those whose bodies were gone but memories were alive, and those with neither body nor memory. The home’s supervisor had been hesitant in letting Faith visit. She wasn’t a relative of a patient but because of Andrew’s advanced age and alert mind, she felt no harm could be done. Faith said she was an old friend. How could she explain that she was his step-mother? The elderly needed all the friends they could get.
A nurse led Faith down the shiny, checkered-tile corridor, Faith’s heels the only sound in the empty hall. The nurse pointed to a room with a half-open door and smiled.
Faith could see a figure slumped in a wheelchair, his form silhouetted against the bright sunlight streaming through the window. As the nurse rapped on the door, the figure sat up, startled, his head turning to face the door. A chill ran up her spine as Faith gazed at the elderly man who was really her stepson, as preposterous as it now seemed. She had left him as a sweet young boy with a blanket and stuffed bear.
“Doctor Forrester, you have a visitor,” the nurse announced.
Doctor? Andrew had apparently followed in his father’s footsteps. A lump formed in her throat.
As Faith entered the room, the elderly man squinted to get a closer look. Though the hair was cottony white, the face parched and wrinkled, the eyes still sparkled with mischief. Faith’s gaze locked on to his, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.
“Mom? You look like my mother,” he said in an aged, raspy voice.
“Andrew, you remember me?” Faith asked, a trembling smile on her lips.
“Faith … Faith.” Andrew reached up his frail arms.
The nurse pushed a wooden chair next to the wheelchair and motioned for Faith to sit. The nurse nodded and left the room. Faith grabbed Andrew’s withered hand and held it clasped in hers. She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure as the emotions of lost time swelled within her. The warmth of his hand felt comforting and reassuring. Andrew was real and alive.
“I … I always believed you. Now I know, now I know. After all these years I finally know.” Andrew stared at her. “Look at you, as pretty as when we met, and how long has it been?”
“You know?”
“Oh, yes. I knew there was something special about you when you vanished in front of Dad and me after the earthquake. I later found your things that Dad and you had hidden away. The family secret.”
Faith squeezed his hand. “It’s so good to see you. Now I know for sure that all of it was real. I’m not crazy. I did go back in time.”
“And you must go back again. You must,” Andrew urged, a fire of determination glowing in her eyes.
“Andrew, there’s so much I don’t understand.” Releasing his hand, Faith reached in her pocket and pulled out the yellowed family photograph. She showed it to him.
He eyed the portrait, a smile radiating from his face. “Our loving family.”
“Is it me? Am I really the woman married to Ian Forrester?”
He nodded. “Yes, of course, that’s why you must return.”
“I don’t understand why your father would marry me. He was in love with Miss LaDue?”
“Miss La Doo-doo,” Andrew snickered. “You have to go back so that he doesn’t marry her. I always hated her. In time, you and the Dad will discover that only by being together will you find the happiness you both so desperately seek.” He returned the photo to Faith.
Faith looked at the photograph. “I find it all so difficult to comprehend.”
“Just go back and you will see how love can transcend time itself.”
“How?”
“What fun would life be if we knew all the answers?”
With age came wisdom. Faith reached out and hugged the frail man, feeling more bones than flesh. Releasing him, Faith looked into Andrew’s eyes. “Has life been good to you?”
“I’ve lived this long, haven’t I?”
Faith smiled. “I’m glad that you have.”
“Married once myself and fathered some wonderful children. I’m not telling you about them or my wife now. You’ll just have to go back and find out for yourself.” He winked.
“Andrew, you were a sinister little boy and now a sinister man.”
He laughed. “Think I’d change?”
Faith shook her head.
“Will you promise me something?” Andrew’s tone became low and serious.
“What?”
“When you go back, don’t tell me my future. I want to live life day by day. Please promise me.”
“I promise.” Faith took his hand and squeezed it.
“I’m getting old and tired. I can’t go back. Wouldn’t want to. Lived long enough already.” He sighed. “So glad to see your face. I can now die in peace knowing what I believed all along was true.”
“Don’t talk about dying. We’ve just been reunited.”
“No, we’ll be reunited when you go back. You will go back. You must. My life depends on it.”
Chapter 14
“Faith, Faith!” his voice rang out amidst the whirlpool of people gathered in Lafayette Park. Attired in various stages of dress and undress the men, women, and children were reaching up to him. Faces contorted with anguish were begging for help. Fingers grasped at his tweed suit, clawing at the fabric.
“Come back, Faith! I need you!” Doctor Forrester cried out, eyes darting through the crowd in search of one who could not be found.
A dense fog crept up from beneath his feet, enveloping his legs, his chest, his neck, until his face vanished within its thickness. The crowd disappeared with him.
Out of the fog came a whimper, “Miss Donahue, where are you? I miss you! I miss you!”
Andrew’s tearful voice choked out the words, his face unseen, hidden in the murky fog. The fog turned from gray to black until there was nothing left but darkness and the echo of voices, far away voices.
The voices shattered the stillness of the night. Faith jumped up in her bed, shaking. Her nightgown was damp with cold perspiration. She had the urge to answer the distant voices, to call and assure them. The silence of her bedroom made her realize that it was just a strange dream. If not for the library research, the visit to the cemetery, and the conversation with Andrew, she would have thought herself crazy. She reached over to flip on the bedside lamp. In the light, she saw the framed photograph of the family who stood lovingly close. She touched her finger to the woman who was the spitting image of herself and to the man who had his arm about her waist, Dr. and Mrs. Ian Forrester.
“How can I come back to you when I’m a hundred years in the future? I don’t know how,” she wondered aloud, haunted by the photograph and the memories.
She lay back against her pillows, holding the framed photograph in front of her. How do I go back? The idea of returning to 1906 seemed impossible. She shook her head, hoping that the thought would somehow fall away like cobwebs being brushed aside. Instead, the desire to go back grew stronger in her mind.
She could envision herself in the San Francisco of 1906 building a new life out of the rubble of her old life. Whether she was in 1906 or 2006, she would be starting over. Her marriage was over. Years of mistakes, misconceptions, of assumptions, and broken dreams could not be relived. The San Francisco of 2006 held no real future for her, only reminders of what was and what could have been.
“Just go back and you will see how love can transcend time itself.” Andrew’s words rang in her mind.
Love? She sighed. After all the hell Brad put her through, how could she ever trust a man again? How could she ever love again? She couldn’t allow herself to become that vulnerable again. The sickness called love was something she needed to avoid.
As she looked at the photograph, the image smiling back at her made her tingle. Serene contentment radiated from her face. The glowing eyes, the secure, comfortable stance. Doctor Forrester’s hand grasped her waist as they stood intimately close. His eyes beamed at the camera, his happiness
evident in his tilted head and confident pose. Little Andrew held the hand of a little girl, a duplicate of Faith herself. A little girl. Faith had always dreamed of having a little girl. As she had grown older, she had given up the hope of ever having a child. In going back, she would have the opportunity to have the family she had so longed for.
She leaned over and set the photograph on the nightstand, face-down, and turned out the light. The whole scenario seemed like some warped dream or fairy tale. Falling in love with the doctor, marrying him, having sex with him, bearing his child seemed ridiculous. When she left she was merely Andrew’s nanny, and even that role was tenuous. The doctor was arrogant and had shown minimal interest in her. He was about to fire her for mental instability. She wasn’t even his friend yet alone the love of his life.
Closing her eyes, she thought of him. Doctor Ian Forrester seemed more like a creation from Emily Brontë in his handsome, dark, brooding way. His towering height and lean dashing form cut quite a figure. He exuded that subtle, natural sexuality that most women found attractive. Unlike Brad, he wasn’t the yuppie type. He was a real man. For that she was grateful. Thoughts of how he would perform in bed invaded her mind. His hands were soft, his fingers slender and gentle. His lips were full, his body well-proportioned. She squirmed under the covers. This was getting out of hand.
If the opportunity to begin a new life were possible, if Doctor Forrester would fall in love with and marry her, would she take a chance and go back? How could she go back? What risks were involved? The chance of winning the lottery was probably better than the odds of her returning to 1906 San Francisco.
She pieced together the events leading to her original time travel episode. Every little detail. From the automobile careening off the cliff to her surfacing in the cold, placid waters of the bay came back. An idea struck so suddenly it was like a light bulb flashing on in her mind.
“That’s it!” she screamed. “There’s only one way I can go back.”
She smiled while she lay in the dark formulating her plan. The plan would call for recreating the same scene as the last time. It would call for a red Jaguar automobile, the cliffside parking space overlooking the bay, a clear starry night, and would have to take place at the exact month, day, and time. There would be no guarantee of success, she realized. Failure would mean certain death.
“For all intents and purposes, I’m dead anyway.” She sighed.
She would have one year to get her present affairs in order and to plan for the riskiest journey of her life. Much work needed to be done, so many loose ends to tie up. Her life in 2006 would have to be closed out completely.
Faith couldn’t explain the urgency she felt but the idea seemed so right. Nothing had ever seemed so right in her life, as if some invisible force was leading her on this journey.
In one year, she intended to be back in the San Francisco of 1906.
Chapter 15
Faith counted the days while closing out her life in 2006. The Forrester family photograph and thoughts of Andrew heightened her anticipation of beginning a new life in 1906. She kept her final plan a secret, as secure as the sterling in Doctor Forrester’s parlor safe. Even Clarice’s questions and concerns failed to deter her. Faith would fulfill what she perceived as her destiny regardless of the consequences.
Bradley Clark Donahue III was to be released from jail and exonerated from the charge of attempted murder against his wife. The evidence of clutch tampering could not be linked to him. Without Faith’s testimony and the fact that he had taken out a million-dollar life insurance policy, with a double-indemnity clause, for himself as well, he could no longer be held. As for his mob connections, they could not be proven. Sergeant Schmidt couldn’t understand Faith’s change of heart and willingness to set Brad free.
“Thanks, Faith,” Brad said, tapping her on the shoulder as she walked from the civic center.
Faith stopped walking and turned to meet his gaze.
“What made you change your mind?” he asked.
“I don’t want to hold grudges. Even you’re entitled to a life,” she answered without emotion.
“So, I guess the next time we’ll meet is in divorce court?”
“Not necessarily.”
Brad stepped back, startled. “What? What are you saying?”
“I’m not contesting the divorce,” she said, her gaze unwavering. He was squirming in his Gucci loafers.
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Yo!” Brad took another step back. “What’s going on? I don’t get it. Where’s the catch?”
“No catch.” She sighed. There was a time when she would have had him nailed in court, his name and reputation dragged in the mud, and his pockets and bank accounts emptied. It’s what he deserved for using her and deceiving her. Where she was going, though, his alimony payments couldn’t be mailed.
“What is it you want?” he asked, raking his hair back with his fingers.
“The house on Sacramento Street, for starters.”
“The house, huh?”
“Yes. I don’t want your little Twinkie living in my house.”
He scoffed. “That house is too old for Pam’s taste anyway.”
“I know. She’s still into Barbie’s Dream Home.”
“Faith?” He stepped forward, pointing a finger at her with a scowl on his face.
She stood firm, maintaining her steady gaze. “I also want one million cash.”
“You want what?”
“Come off it, Brad. We both know you’re worth well over four million dollars.”
“I — ”
“I’ll have my attorney contact yours about setting up an appointment to get the paperwork finalized,” Faith said, turning her back to him and walking forward.
“Faith?” he called.
She stopped and pivoted to face him.
“What do you plan on doing with your life?”
Did he really care?
She smiled. “I plan on going back to a simpler place and time.”
“I … I want you to know that I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t rig your car and, well, with Pam, things just happened.” He shrugged his shoulders. For a brief moment he looked like the college preppie she met and fell in love with. Appearances were deceiving with Brad. One look in his eyes revealed a hardened soul. If only she had looked deeper into his eyes when she was young. Too old too soon, too smart too late, her mother used to say.
“You were never honest with me,” she said.
“No. I wasn’t honest. I was afraid.”
“Not of me, but of losing all your money, your lifestyle, right Brad?”
He flinched. “Divorces can get nasty.”
“I’m saving you that.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Maybe one day you will.”
• • •
They met with their attorneys, worked out a settlement, and dissolved their marriage. Faith’s attorney couldn’t understand her resolve in not contesting the divorce and fighting for alimony. Where she was going she didn’t need much. For a woman who had grown accustomed to luxury and modern convenience, she realized that the most important things in life could not be bought or invented. A faithful and loving husband, children, true friends, health, a happy home, and a long life were more important than microwaves and Jaguars.
The house at 92 Sacramento Street was titled to Faith free and clear and one million dollars placed in her savings account. Brad practically danced on air, whistling, as he left the attorney’s office. Faith smirked. She wasn’t completely done with him yet. First things first.
Faith’s first goal was to transform her elegant Victorian home into an historical masterpiece. She hired a renowned restoration architect and, together with an interior designer, they outlined a design scheme for the home. Relying on memory, Faith’s goal was to return the house to its original 1906 grandeur.
All contemporary accoutrements, from the laminate kitchen cabinets to the
tinted china bathroom fixtures were ripped out. Wooden floors were sanded and refinished, molding stripped and stained, windows and doors replaced to reflect a turn-of-the-century mood.
Faith scrounged antique shops, auction houses, catalogues, and showrooms, selecting period-appropriate wall coverings, rugs, furniture, and accessories to reflect the time period. Gas lamp fixtures were hung, draperies created, rugs, furniture, and plants placed.
Months passed before she was able to walk through the result. Faith basked in the transformation. Parquet floors glistened, scattered with Persian and Tabriz rugs. Worn leather scented the library, lemon wax the parlor. The restoration was complete down to the marble-topped parlor safe in the corner of the dining room. She half-expected Andrew to come bounding in at any moment.
The first night she slept in the restored bedroom, she felt a sense of renewal and contentment. There was comfort in the flannel granny gown and the downy feather bed. In the moonlight, she scanned the outline of the baked-on enamel iron footboard, the towering rosewood wardrobe, and the commode complete with porcelain toilet set. Her house had become a home. Memories of her awakening in the same room in 1906 flooded her mind. Pleasant memories. Soon, if all her plans worked, she would be back there, back in time. She knew where she belonged.
• • •
Three more days. Everything was on schedule. Faith dressed accordingly for her noon appointment. The prim powder blue Chanel suit was appropriate for a meeting with the stoic San Francisco Historic Preservation Society. They were in for quite a surprise.
“So,” Faith announced at the meeting, “I am donating my restored home, one of the few original survivors of the 1906 earthquake and fire, to your historic preservation society. It is my desire that this home serve as a museum and a reminder of simpler times now past. The home is the legacy of Doctor Ian Forrester, who lovingly built it and resided within it. I want future generations to treasure this fine example of Victorian architecture. To secure its future, I have established The Forrester Trust to finance maintenance and future repairs.”
