She threw back the covers and climbed into the narrow bed. He noticed she was still wearing the pale blue robe, and he grinned. He'd always liked helping her undress.
He watched, amazed, as she yawned, scooted down beneath the covers and closed her eyes.
"You're going to sleep!?"
She nodded, eyes still closed. "Of course."
That's what he got for having an overactive imagination. She'd told him she wasn't interested in continuing where they'd left off two hundred years from now. He'd have to remember his ex-wife was one of the few women in the world who meant exactly what they said.
Not that it made the situation any easier. Climbing into that narrow bed and staying on his own side of the mattress would be a major-league test of willpower and where Emilie was concerned, he'd never had much of that commodity.
"A deal's a deal," he muttered as he climbed out of the tub.
Emilie peered at him through the flickering candlelight. "Did you say something?"
"Not me," he said, grabbing for the scratchy tissues that passed for Early American towels. "You must have heard me yawn."
"Mmm," said Emilie, not sounding terribly convinced. "That must have been it." She turned on her side and closed her eyes. "Last one in bed blows out the candle."
It was going to be a very long night.
Chapter Nine
From sunup until sundown the Blakelee farm was a hotbed of activity. Andrew and the boys set out into the fields soon after dawn, returning to the farmhouse only for food and drink.
Emilie was swept up into the household routine that was uniquely the province of females. She swept the bare wood floors, beat the rugs when necessary, mended stockings and repaired worn trousers. She helped Rebekah with kitchen chores, shuddering at the sight of an unplucked chicken lying on the table, and she was again struck by the realization that knowing about a way of life and actually experiencing that way of life were two totally different things.
Still there was something exhilarating about being tested to the limits of your knowledge and ability and as they began their second week in this strange new world, Emilie found herself more confident that she could find a way to make a life for herself.
#
Unfortunately Zane was finding it difficult to carve a place for himself. Day after day he watched McVie and the Blakelee boys working in the fields while he sat on the top porch step and waited for some sign, some indication that he'd find a way back to the world where he belonged.
He was a coiled mass of energy, a taut mainspring ready to snap. The broken arm kept him from burning off his tensions with hard work. His usual diversions of fast cars and bright lights were unavailable. Pretending he and Emilie were married was easy enough during the day but at night, when she was only a heartbeat away, he burned for her.
In desperation he had taken to sleeping on the floor and, he noted wryly, she had offered no protest. He had only his thoughts for company and as the days passed those thoughts grew increasingly dark.
All around him the talk was of independence but to Zane independence would begin only when he regained financial freedom. He'd been born into money and all that entailed and the pursuits of lesser mortals had always seemed murky at best. McVie had said that once Zane's arm healed he would be an asset in the fields. "Josiah was a large man such as you," Andrew said, "capable of lifting his weight and more."
Pumping iron was one thing. Baling hay was something else again.
He supposed he could get work as a fortune teller but that was probably the best way to insure his place as first in line at the gallows. In his pocket his hand rested on the wristwatch he'd refused to hide with Emilie's twentieth-century possessions. You could probably feed the Continental Army for a year on what he'd paid for the damn thing--and on top of everything else, it no longer worked.
"Wait a minute," he said out loud as he slipped the watch off his wrist. Times may have changed but gold remained constant. If he removed the watch face and separated the band into segments, independence might no longer be as far away as it seemed.
Money could make the difference. He could repay Rebekah Blakelee for her generosity, then purchase a horse and carriage so he and Emilie could return to the lighthouse. He had the feeling that if they were to have any chance at all of returning to the future, they would have to be waiting for that chance at the place where the future began.
#
As for Andrew, he was faring no better than his counterpart from the future.
Each day he worked the farm with vigor.
Each night he slipped from the quiet house to meet with the other members of the spy ring. A spy ring whose numbers were dwindling away faster than the coins in his pocket. First Blakelee. Now Fleming. Arrest warrants had been issued for Miller and Quick.
Papers had fallen into the wrong hands and, to everyone's dismay, invisible ink had proven to be less than reliable. There must be a better means of achieving the desired end but neither Andrew nor the other members of the spy ring could discover what it might be.
Rumors abounded about British troop movements on Long Island and anarchy in the Hudson River Valley. Militiamen in Pennsylvania and New Jersey had laid down their arms and returned home to farms and families in desperate need with promises to return to the front once the harvest was past.
Andrew listened with a keen ear for any mention of a new plot against the life of General Washington, but there was none.
To his puzzlement, he found himself both relieved and disappointed. He wished no danger upon the head of His Excellency, but he wanted to believe that all Mistress Emilie and Rutledge had told him was true. If the general faced no threat to his life, did that mean that the other stories his companions had told him were so much whole cloth?
He had spent much time considering the curious bond between the beautiful red-haired lass and Rutledge. They had once been wed, had stood before man and God and repeated those sacred vows that he and Elspeth had repeated on that long ago summer's day. Until death... they had promised and only death's finality could have torn Elspeth from his side.
He had little experience or knowledge of divorce. He knew that it existed, but beyond that the notion was as foreign as it was distasteful. Doubtless it had been Rutledge who instigated the separation. There was much of the rogue about the man. He had not the aspect of stability that a woman found important in the man she would wed.
Of course, he reminded himself, they came from a time and place unknown to him where men watched moving images on giant screens and made a fortune in gold tossing a leather ball through a hoop. Perhaps in that world divorce was an everyday occurrence but still he found that impossible to believe. He wondered what manner of difficulties he had visited upon the lass by forcing her to share a room with the man who had turned away from their conjugal vows.
And he wondered how it was that any man could turn away from such a beautiful woman.
#
One morning, in the third week of their stay with the Blakelees, Emilie was in the kitchen kneading a batch of bread. Rebekah stood at the open hearth, stirring the stewpot while Aaron slept soundly in his cradle beneath the window.
Isaac and two of his younger brothers had gone into the fields to work with Andrew. Charity was in the sitting room working diligently on the pillow slips she would take to her marriage bed two weeks from now.
Zane was already gone when Emilie woke up and she found herself vaguely disturbed that no one had seen him yet today. Not that his whereabouts were any of her concern. They lived in edgy proximity in the small second floor bedroom, married in name but not in fact. That would have been hard enough for any man and woman but, given their volatile history, it was rapidly becoming impossible.
That first night alone in the second floor bedroom had been the turning point. The urge to give into temptation once again had been strong but she had been stronger. Strange how little pleasure that fact afforded her.
They were polite to each other and
considerate, but that was where it ended. Passion still simmered beneath the surface and she was determined that was where the passion would remain. It would be too easy to make the same mistake over again, settling for lust when what she wanted was the whole, incredible wonderful package: lust and love and a future that included a home and family.
All the things Zane had never wanted--and probably never would.
She glanced toward baby Aaron asleep in his cradle.
"You're a lucky woman," she said to Rebekah as she divided the bread dough into four portions.
Rebekah looked at Emilie then at her infant son. "I thank the Almighty every day," she said simply. "Josiah and I lost two daughters to the pox three springs past. A day does not go by where I do not think on their beloved faces."
Emilie spoke without thinking. "Surely you had your children inoculated?"
"'Tis a dangerous and painful process," Rebekah said, looking at Emilie with obvious curiosity. "We would have had to uproot the children and spend many uneasy days in Philadelphia while we waited to see if the pox would come."
"I'm sorry," Emilie said, flustered by her own thoughtlessness. What miracles they took for granted in the 20th century. "You owe me no explanation."
"Nor do you, Emilie, but there is a question that has plagued me now for days."
Emilie directed her attention to the bread dough. "You may ask me anything."
Rebekah wiped her hands on her apron then walked over to the table where Emilie was working. "This is a most delicate matter but one to which I must address myself."
Could Rebekah possibly suspect that Emilie and Zane were not what they seemed to be? She had cut the zipper from Zane's trousers and buried it behind the barn with her American Express card. To her knowledge Andrew still had her driver's license. She prayed he hadn't decided to share their secret with Rebekah Blakelee.
"Speak your mind," Emilie said with more serenity than she was feeling.
Rebekah's cheeks were flushed with high color. Emilie watched, unnerved, as the small-boned woman squared her shoulders then met her eyes. "'Tis about Andrew McVie I speak. He is a fine man, you will agree."
"I agree," said Emilie, puzzled. "He is a man of honor and principle and I--"
Rebekah raised her hand. "He is also a man in love."
The tension rushed from Emilie's body and she laughed. "How wonderful!" she said. "Who is the object of his affections?"
Rebekah's brows slid together in a frown. "You are."
"Rebekah! That is ridiculous. I am--I am a married woman."
"That may be so, but I have seen the way he looks at you when he believes no one is about and I fear the signs are clear."
Emilie abandoned all pretense. "He scarcely knows me," she said. "Love does not grow in such a short span of time."
"Love does not set its pace by the clock, Emilie. I am a woman and I know what I see. Andrew loves you."
"This is dreadful," she said. "Certainly I have done nothing to encourage such a thing." She wiped her hands on her apron. "I must find Andrew and settle this matter immediately."
"No!" Rebekah grabbed her by the arm and held her fast. "You mustn't! It has been a very long time since I have seen Andrew smile. He would be much embarrassed if he knew we read his thoughts."
Andrew McVie--her childhood hero!--in love with her? "Surely it is a temporary thing," Emilie said, twisting the gold and silver ring on her left middle finger. "He--he knows that Zane and I...." Her words trailed off. Andrew knew the truth. The entire truth. If he had fallen in love with her as Rebekah believed, it was with the full knowledge that a future between them was within the realm of possibility.
"...he has known great sorrow these few years past," Rebekah was saying. "Since losing his wife--"
Emilie's head snapped up. "His wife?"
"I did not know Elspeth," Rebekah said, "but I believe he loved her and their son with his heart and soul."
"Is his son--?"
Rebekah nodded, her brown eyes glistening with tears. "A terrible fire," she said, shaking her head. "He lost them both...he lost everything."
A cold chill rose up Emilie's spine. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest. "I'd always wondered," she murmured. "There'd never been any mention of a family."
Rebekah looked at her. "I thought your acquaintanceship was of a short duration."
For one crazy moment she considered telling Rebekah the truth, that she and Zane were not only divorced, but from the future. Then reason returned and she caught herself before she made a dreadful mistake.
"What should I do?" she asked the brown-eyed woman who was watching her closely. "How shall I handle him?"
"Gently," said Rebekah. "Without harshness or idle encouragement." There was the faintest reproach in her tone, almost as if she'd felt Emilie had been leading him on.
"I--I would never do anything to hurt him."
"He is a good man," said Rebekah once again.
Emilie gazed out the window toward the fields. In the distance she could just make out Andrew's wiry figure and she looked away, her chest tight.
"Your husband is a fine-looking man," Rebekah said. "How long have you been wed?"
"Five--no, six years," Emilie said. "Yes. Six years."
Rebekah smiled. "The years pass swiftly."
"Faster than you could ever imagine," said Emilie.
"You have been blessed with children?"
Emilie shook her head. "Not yet."
Rebekah's smile faded and she reached out to pat Emilie's hand in a sympathetic gesture. "You are young. I am certain you will be blessed."
"I'm afraid I'm not that young," Emilie said with a small laugh. "Thirty years old my next birthday."
"You jest," said Rebekah.
"I haven't been sleeping well," said Emilie, gesturing toward the circles beneath her eyes, "but in truth I will turn thirty in December."
"That cannot be."
"Rebekah!" Emilie's voice rose in indignation. "Do I look that unwell?"
"It's just--I mean to say, you look so young. I did not think it possible that you were--" She shook her head. "I hesitate to stand next to you for I appear old enough to be your mother and I am but three years your senior."
Emilie made polite noises of disagreement but, in truth, the difference in their appearance was startling. "I have had a gentle life," Emilie said.
Rebekah sighed deeply. "I cannot say the same."
Childbirth and toil aged a woman in ways the years could not. Emilie experienced a moment of fear, primal and inarticulate, as she thought of the life she'd left behind. Why had she never realized the depth of ease, of privilege, that the most average of women enjoyed as a matter of course? She wondered what Rebekah would think if she told the woman about microwaves and washing machines, about face lifts and birth control pills.
It won't always be so hard to be a woman, she thought, but that knowledge wouldn't help Rebekah--or herself. The realization was sudden and overwhelming.
Retin-A, cosmetic surgery, the wonders to be found in Estee Lauder and Elizabeth Arden--gone, all of it. This was a rougher world, harsh and unyielding. A woman's beauty was as short-lived as a rose in winter. She had always talked a good show about superficiality and the cult of youth but, when push came to shove, would she be able to face the uncompromising truths that her mirror would soon reveal?
#
By two o'clock Zane had still not returned. Neither Emilie nor Rebekah had any idea where he had disappeared. Emilie briefly considered walking out into the fields to ask Andrew or Isaac if they knew where Zane had gone, but Rebekah's words lingered in her ears and she stayed away. He did not come in for dinner, but continued working.
The two women shared the meal of slaw, hot rolls, and mutton with the Blakelee children, save for Isaac who remained in the fields with Andrew. Charity and her mother had much to consider as the day of the wedding celebration swiftly approached and Emilie found herself drifting along on a wave of bittersweet lon
ging.
Baby Aaron slept contentedly in his cradle near his mother's chair. Benjamin and Stephen, eight-year-old twins, teased each other mercilessly, while the toddler, Ethan, entertained Emilie with tales of his imaginary friend, John the Flying Dog.
It was a simple meal, served in a simple way and shared with people she barely knew, yet Emilie experienced a sharp stab of envy. It seemed so little to ask for: a home of her own, a husband to love, children to care for. Somehow that most basic of dreams had always managed to elude her.
He loves you, Emilie, Rebekah had said about Andrew. I see the way he looks at you....
She couldn't imagine the despair Andrew had felt when he lost his wife and child. It explained so much about him. That haunted look in his hazel eyes. The sense of restlessness. The depth of his commitment to the cause of independence. He was the kind of man a woman could admire: strong and loyal and--
She stopped, shocked by the direction her thoughts were taking her. What on earth had come over her? Surely she wasn't attracted to him--not in the fiery way she was attracted to Zane.
But how would it feel to cast your lot with a man who wanted the same things you wanted, home and family and happy endings? Maybe that type of wild and passionate love was, by its very nature, doomed to failure. Certainly it had been with her marriage to Zane. She'd had such high and shining hopes for their future, only to discover he cared more for adventure than he ever could for her.
After the meal, Emilie helped Rebekah with cleaning up.
"You are looking pale," Rebekah observed, placing her palm against Emilie's forehead. "Are you unwell?"
"Tired," Emilie said.
"You should rest."
Emilie shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a room with her tangled thoughts. "I think I'll sit outside and work on the mending."
Rebekah grew thoughtful. "Is there a chance that perhaps you are with child?"
"No!" Emilie took a deep breath. She laughed nervously as vivid images of that one magical night heated her blood. "I mean, I don't believe so."
Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy) Page 13
