Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy)

by Barbara Bretton

  "He does not often allow that to be seen."

  From the other room, baby Aaron started to cry and Rebekah motioned for her daughter to check on the infant. She waited until Charity was beyond earshot.

  "When I spoke of Andrew some days ago, I spoke from concern for his well-being."

  "I know that, Rebekah. I--"

  Rebekah raised her hand to silence Emilie. "When I speak of Andrew now, it is from concern for all."

  "I believe you see trouble where none exists."

  "And I believe you do not see what stands before you."

  "Rebekah--" Emilie stopped. What could she say? Anything she told the woman would sound either like a lie or a bad excuse. The truth was inconceivable.

  The good housewife leaned back in her chair and considered Emilie, her soft brown eyes holding a subtle challenge. "Some would say you are a fortunate woman, Emilie Rutledge, to have two such men in love with you."

  "Oh, Rebekah," she said on a sigh. "There are so many things you don't understand...." So many things I can tell no one. She met the woman's eyes. "Zane--" She paused to collect her thoughts. "Zane is not a man like Josiah. Home and family are not uppermost in his heart."

  Rebekah made a dismissing motion with her hand. "Nor were they in Josiah's heart. It takes time for a man to learn what is truly important in this world."

  "That may be so," said Emilie, "but at least you have been given the luxury of a permanent home." She gestured toward the farmhouse and the land beyond. "A place to put down roots."

  Rebekah's laugh was loud and full-bodied. "'Tis but a year that we have been back on our land. Josiah has led me on a merry chase these eighteen years past."

  Emilie listened in shocked silence as Rebekah told of her vagabond marriage. Josiah was a crusader against injustice, a lawyer as well as a farmer, and he had combed the land from New Hampshire down to the Carolinas in search of a cause.

  "I do not mean to make light of the grievous situation in which we find ourselves, but 'twas the first volley at Bunker Hill that gave me back my beloved home."

  "Are you happy?" Emilie asked.

  "What is happiness?" Rebekah parried. "I am content. I ask no more than that."

  "I want more than that," Emilie said, unable to stop herself. "I want to be happy."

  "And how will you accomplish that end?" Rebekah asked.

  "Had I that answer, I should be at General Washington's side, conducting the war."

  Rebekah laughed. "You must love your husband for who and what he is, Emilie, not for what you wish him to be."

  The good woman had zeroed in on the root of her problem. "And what if that is not possible?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  "Then you adjust," Rebekah said. "When you love, there is no other way."

  #

  Andrew stood to the left of the doorway and listened. When Emilie and Rutledge had embraced, he'd thought his heart would stop beating, so intense had been his anguish. Now he felt his spirits soaring upward like an eagle, freed from the bonds of a cruel captor.

  Hope, elusive and wondrous, took root inside his heart. There was a chance to win her heart! That fact was undeniable. If she loved Rutledge, she would have stated thus to Rebekah.

  He wondered how it was that only he saw how different, how amazing, Emilie was. How could Rebekah and the others not sense that she was as unlike the other good women of his acquaintance as night was unlike day? Her accent held a blend of the colonies and the melodious tones of music. The way she walked with her head held high, the strength in her voice, the youthful appearance of her skin--surely there was no other woman like her in this world.

  He moved away from the door. It wouldn't do to be found there listening. Turning, he started for the attic stairs and Isaac's project. His mind, however, remained with Emilie.

  Was it possible all women were like her in the 20th century? She'd spoken of strength and independence and at first those notions had seemed unappealing when applied to the fairer sex. But as he watched and listened to Emilie and noted the way she rushed headlong into life, he felt a yearning for another time and place--a time and place he knew only through her eyes.

  Rutledge spoke often of finding his way back to the world he'd left behind. Andrew had thought it a fool's errand. But now he wondered if the same mysterious forces that had propelled them backward through the centuries could be waiting to shoot them forward once again?

  What a miracle it would be if he could one day share Emilie's world with her....

  #

  "Did you hear a noise?" Emilie asked, tilting her head toward the doorway.

  Rebekah shook her head. "Only the mice."

  Emilie shivered. "There's a wonderful thought."

  Rebekah looked at her curiously. "Surely you are accustomed to mice. I know not of a single house that hasn't known their company."

  "That doesn't mean I enjoy their company."

  "Most farmwives take little heed," said Rebekah. "You are an unusual woman, Emilie. Each time I believe I have come to understand you, I realize I have but scratched the surface."

  More than anything, Emilie wanted to confide in Rebekah. Lately she'd been feeling puzzled and confused and more worn-out than she'd been at any other time in her life. The notion of having a woman friend was very tempting and she couldn't think of anyone more understanding or compassionate than Rebekah.

  Unfortunately, the secrets Emilie had to confide were so unbelievable that she knew she could not open her heart. Besides, now that she and Zane were involved in the spy ring, she would do nothing that might compromise the Blakelees' already-shaky sense of security.

  Emilie put down her sewing and stood, in order to stretch her aching back muscles. A wave of dizziness, unexpected and quite surprising, washed over her and she slumped back into her chair.

  Rebekah was by her side in an instant, offering her a cup of water and a shoulder to lean on.

  "As I figured it was," said Rebekah with a knowing smile. "You are with child."

  "No," said Emilie, struggling to overcome the vertigo. "I'm not. Honestly."

  Rebekah's gaze strayed toward the bodice of Emilie's gown. "The signs are there."

  Emilie shook her head. "I'm retaining water," she said.

  Rebekah looked puzzled. "Your monthly flow," the woman said with great delicacy. "Have you--"

  "I'm fine," said Emilie. "Don't worry." They said travel could cause a woman's cycle to become irregular. God only knew what time travel could do....

  #

  The two women worked in companionable silence for a while longer, then Emilie again put down her sewing.

  "Where is he?" she said, rising to her feet and walking toward the window that looked out across the moonswept farmland. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

  As if on cue, Andrew strode into the room.

  Nodding politely toward Rebekah, he addressed himself to Emilie. "I would not expect him tonight, Mistress Emilie. These matters develop at their own pace."

  Her cheeks flamed as she considered exactly where these matters were developing. "I hope he is safe."

  Andrew chuckled. "As a babe against his mother's breast."

  She whirled to face him. "I'm glad you find this matter amusing, Andrew. Zane is unfamiliar with the ways. Anything could happen--anything!"

  "Hush, lass," he said, his voice low. "Rebekah listens intently." In truth he was experiencing his own measure of apprehension about Rutledge's safety, but to his chagrin, his feelings were not entirely unselfish. If Rutledge were to find comfort in the arms of a willing wench, he doubted if Emilie would look upon the man with fondness.

  Aaron's cry pierced the air and Rebekah put aside her sewing and rose to her feet. "I must see to my son." She held out her arms to Emilie who crossed the room for her embrace. "'Twill work out," Rebekah whispered against her ear. "I promise you."

  "What was that about?" Andrew asked as Rebekah left the room.

  "A personal matter," said Emilie, surpr
ised that the usually circumspect McVie would ask.

  "Rebekah Blakelee is a good woman," Andrew said. "Josiah is a lucky man."

  Emilie sighed and sank wearily into her chair. "And you, Andrew?" she asked. "Were you a lucky man?"

  Her question shocked him with its lack of delicacy.

  "Elspeth was all a life's companion should be," he said after a moment. "Would that I could say such about myself."

  She eyed him with curiosity. "I'm sure you were a wonderful husband."

  "Nay, lass. I was many things but I fear 'wonderful' was not among the lot."

  "I know what the problem was," she said, with a loopy chuckle. "You always forgot to take out the garbage."

  "Lass?"

  "Pay no attention to me," she said, waving her hand in the air. "I'm overtired. That's an old 20th century joke. You wouldn't understand."

  He walked over toward her. "I should like to understand."

  She leaned forward, eyes glowing with intensity. "So what was it you did wrong, Andrew? How were you less than wonderful as a husband?"

  Years of memories crashed over him and for an instant he found it difficult to speak. "I thought not of Elspeth and David," he said slowly. "I thought only of my business."

  "What was your business?"

  "I am a lawyer."

  "Like Josiah?"

  "Like Josiah."

  She shook her head in bemusement. "A Colonial yuppie." Who would have imagined?

  "A yup-pee?"

  "Young urban professional," she said. "It was a disease in the 1980s. I had no idea it had started so early."

  She listened to the familiar story of a man who sacrificed family and friends on the altar of career, knowing that the problem would only increase with time and grow to include women, as well.

  "I rode the circuit," he told her, his mind far away. "For many months at a time, Elspeth was left alone with David to cope with myriad troubles."

  "Did she complain?" Emilie asked.

  "'Twas not in her nature." But he would never forget the terrible pain in her beautiful eyes each time he packed his satchel and walked out the door in search of the shilling.

  "She should have," said Emilie. "People who accept mistreatment get what they deserve."

  "Is that how it is in your time?"

  "The pursuit of happiness," she said. "That's a big part of what you're fighting for."

  "I have never considered happiness a possibility in this world."

  "You're wrong, Andrew. This world may be all we have. If you cannot find happiness here, then what is the purpose to life?"

  Her intent was clear. Her words found their mark inside his soul.

  He knelt down next to her chair and took her hands in his.

  "Andrew!" Her voice went high with surprise. "What on earth--?"

  "The pursuit of happiness," he said, heart beating loudly in his ears. "I have found it with you."

  "Don't say that. I'm a--" She stopped. She had been going to say she was a married woman, but Andrew knew full well the lie to that statement.

  "You are a free woman," he said. "There is no impediment to our happiness."

  She leaped to her feet, almost knocking him down in the process. "You don't know what you're saying. I'm nothing like your Elspeth or the other women you know. I would fight you every step of the way on every issue imaginable."

  "And I should welcome the challenge." He stood up next to her. "It is all the things you are that endear you to my heart."

  She wanted to tell him that it wasn't Emilie Crosse whom he loved, it was some romantic image of the future. But something stopped her. Was this her destiny, she wondered. Could it be that Zane would never return and she would be left alone to chart a course through life?

  "From the first moment I have sensed that you hold my destiny in your hands," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I know nothing of your destiny," she said, "beyond what I have told you." Once General Washington's life was spared, Andrew McVie's life--or death--was never mentioned again.

  "Mayhap my destiny is yet to be written," he said. "Could it not be that you are the key to my future?"

  "No," she said, suddenly terrified of what might lie ahead. "That cannot be! Your destiny and the country's are intertwined."

  "I cannot lose you," he said, drawing her into his arms. "I have searched so long for the likes of you that we cannot be parted."

  He was going to kiss her. She knew it by the questioning look in his eyes, the way his head dipped forward, and she stood there waiting for it to happen.

  His mouth slanted across hers. There was wonder in his kiss and a hunger for something she knew she could never provide.

  Turning her head, she broke the kiss but not before he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

  #

  "Next time you will think twice before dallying with a whore," said the man as he opened the door to the jail and shoved Zane inside. "Some of the wenches prefer English swords to American sabers."

  The door swung closed behind the English soldier and Zane found himself plunged in darkness. He sensed rather than saw the presence of other prisoners.

  "Speak up, man," a voice called out. "Tell us who goes there."

  "Rutledge," he said. "Who are you?"

  "Fleming from Little Rocky Hill."

  The name was familiar. "Who else is here?"

  Names came fast through the darkness.

  Miller...Quick...Hughes.

  "Blakelee," he said. "Is Josiah Blakelee here?"

  There was a moment's silence. Waves of distrust emanated from the other side of the cell. The only sound was his blood pounding in his ears.

  "And how do you come to ask of Josiah?" asked one of the men.

  "McVie," he said. "He asked me to--"

  He never finished the sentence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daybreak came and with it no sign of Zane.

  "Something terrible has happened," Emilie said to Andrew as the first light of dawn appeared beyond the trees. "He should have been back hours ago."

  "There may be another explanation," said Andrew, "one you will not care to hear."

  "I know all about sex," she snapped, scarcely registering the blush staining his cheeks. "That's not why he hasn't returned."

  "How can you know with certainty?" They had married and divorced. Both were free to do with their lives as they wished without reproach.

  "I know Zane and I know he wouldn't have left us." Certainly he wouldn't have left her alone with Andrew. Of that she was sure. "I have to find him, Andrew."

  "You cannot do that."

  "I must."

  "The hour is still early. He may yet return."

  #

  The noon hour arrived, followed by the main meal of the day. Neither Emilie nor Andrew could swallow a bite of beef stew.

  "Aye, lass," he said after the dishes had been cleared from the table. "I fear Rutledge may be in trouble." Even the good wenches at Maggie's needed their sleep.

  "Tell me where you sent him," she pleaded. "If you won't go for him, then I will." A wave of nausea, the result of fatigue, came then blessedly went.

  Andrew knew when he had met his match. Despite the precarious nature of his situation, he promised he would search for Zane. "I make no guarantees."

  He dressed in the garb of a farmer, complete with concealing hat.

  "I will return as soon as I am able."

  He started for the door. Emilie was right behind him.

  "No," he said. "I cannot be responsible for your safety. 'Tis too dangerous an undertaking."

  "You can't stop me," she said flatly. "I will go whether or not you allow it."

  They stared at each other.

  Andrew was the one who blinked.

  "We go," he said. "I pray that I am not making a mistake."

  #

  They skirted Princeton proper, keeping to the paths worn smooth by tradesmen and Indians. The lush woodland scenery that had delighted her was all but i
nvisible to her now. Keeping a steady pace, they reached the clearing at dusk.

  "You can go no farther," Andrew said as the whorehouse came into view. There was no sign of the Blakelees' horse, a magnificent roan that Zane had ridden off the farm yesterday, but that meant nothing. "Your presence would draw suspicion."

  She couldn't argue with his logic. "You won't be long?"

  "As long as it takes to obtain the information."

  She nodded, feeling as fragile and brittle as blown glass. "Please hurry," she said. She promised to wait beneath the towering pine tree that had lost a limb to a bolt of lightning.

  #

  Andrew was gone no more than ten minutes when darkness fell. Each time Emilie thought she'd grown accustomed to the swift finality of nightfall, she was again struck by the differences between the world where she'd grown up and the world she lived in now. The only light came from the three story house where Zane had met his fate.

  She shivered, although the night was warm. She had to stop thinking in these melodramatic terms. There would be a simple answer to Zane's absence. Perhaps he'd drunk too much wine. Or, now that he had money, he might have found the temptation of a game of chance to be more than he could resist.

  Of course, there were other more exciting temptations to be found in that gabled house. Temptations that only money could buy.

  It's not as if you have any rights over him, she thought, keeping her gaze trained upon the establishment. Except for that one incredible interlude the night before the balloon accident, she had kept him an arm's length away, emotionally and physically.

  Would it be so terrible if he decided to find comfort in the arms of another, more willing, woman?

  The answer was painfully clear. It would be terrible.

  She started toward the house. She had no idea what she would do once she got there, but there was no way on earth she could just stand there in the woods, waiting for Andrew to return. If something had happened to Zane, she needed to know.

  And if he was happily ensconced in some upstairs bedroom with a brunette--well, she needed to know that too.