A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (17 page)

Finn looked up from his perch on the stile.  The pale orb of the moon was still visible in the cloudless sky as the sun held court on the other side, bringing much-needed warmth to the chilly October morning.  The woods visible from the farm were ablaze with color, the leaves ranging from a pale yellow to a blood-red crimson.  Another week or two and winter would already be in the air, especially in the early mornings when he reluctantly crawled out of bed, ready to start his chores before breakfast. 

This was the first time
Finn had been allowed out of bed since the beating four days ago.  Mrs. Mallory let him out for some fresh air, but forbade him to do any work.  Finn was thankful to finally be feeling better.  He was still sporting some colorful bruises on his face, but his vision was normal once again and the terrible headache that plagued him for the first few days finally went away.  His ribs were still sore, but not nearly as painful as before, allowing him to fill his lungs with fresh morning air, which smelled of wood smoke, hay, and the tang of manure from the barn. 

The Mallorys had been really kind. 
They all took turns visiting him up in the loft and bringing him food and treats.  Even Martha, who hardly took any notice of him, came up and brought him a cup of cider and a piece of freshly baked tart.  Annie offered Finn her dolly so he wouldn’t feel sad, and Sarah read him a story.  The best visits were, of course, from Abbie.  She didn’t ply him with food, but she did kiss him when no one was about, and that was the best treat of all. 

Finn had finally given her the bracelet, watching her face as she examined it carefully.  She caressed the smooth beads with her fingers,
marveling at the lovely blue color of the stones.  Finn didn’t know what they were called, but he’d seen many of his Indian friends wearing them in their amulets and woven into their braids.  Abbie put on the bracelet and held out her wrist, admiring the effect before tucking it underneath her sleeve and out of sight.  She was pleased, and that made Finn very happy. 

Finn slid off the stile, deciding to take a short walk.  His legs felt wobbly from days of lying in bed
, and he just needed to move around a bit.  He’d walk to the woods and back.  He never did check his traps, but he wouldn’t be going into the woods -- not today.  Finn looked up at the lovely, nearly transparent moon, trying to recapture the dream that woke him during the night.  He couldn’t recall any of the details, but something was nagging at him.  He resolved to remember that part of the dream during the night, but naturally forgot what it was by the time he woke up in the morning. 

Abbie
called out to him as he passed the barn, her blond curls framing her flushed face as she carried a pail of milk back to the house.  He made a move to come and help her, but she waved him away, telling him that he wasn’t allowed to do any lifting yet.  Finn felt odd, being on the farm but not doing any work.  He had to earn his keep or Mr. Mallory might decide to get rid of him.  Of course, at the back of his mind, Finn knew that Mr. Mallory would do no such thing.  The older man knew who attacked Finn and why.   

Finn reached the
tree line and found a stump to sit on.  He’d just take a little break before walking back.  He hadn’t expected to feel so tired.  Suddenly, the fragment of the dream came back to him, as if his mind was finally ready to surrender that little piece of lost memory.  He’d dreamed of the night he found the time-travel device in Amelia’s old bedroom.  He’d come home and was sneaking past the dining room, trying to avoid detection as he made for the stairs.  He hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation inside, but his mind must have registered it anyhow, snippets replaying in his sleep.  Aunt Louisa had just been saying something about knowing their guest from her days in England as Finn tiptoed past the door. 

Finn stopped to digest this interesting piece of information.  All this time he’d been asking himself how he got transported to the future, but he’d never asked why.  And there were so many questions he should have asked. 
Had the man come to see Aunt Louisa?  Why did he have a time-travel device, and had he used it to come to the future, or from the future?  Were his parents aware of the fact that such a device existed?  Why did Aunt Louisa, whom his mother had never spoken of much, suddenly arrive in Virginia without any warning, and where had she been before boarding a ship at Plymouth?  Why did his mother never speak of her family, or her life before Yealm Castle?  Who else had used the time-travel device before him?  Was it just their guest, or had there been someone else?

Finn
got up and began walking again, his mind abuzz with questions.  He didn’t want to jump to erroneous conclusions, but since he’d found the device in their home, obviously he wasn’t the first person to travel through time.  He cast his mind over the entire family.  His father, Charles and Kit were so clearly men of their time that he dismissed them very quickly.  He’d never noticed anything in their behavior that gave him pause, not that he had been looking for anything.  His mother and Aunt Louisa, on the other hand, sometimes surprised him.  They said things that seemed a bit odd, especially when they thought no one was listening, and their views on religion and the role of women was a radical one, although they kept it to themselves most of the time.  He’d always thought that they were more outspoken than other women, although he didn’t live with other women, so had no idea how they behaved in their own home. 

Annabel always
deferred to Charles in the course of a conversation, but his mother and Aunt Louisa always jumped right in, voicing their opinions and arguing with their husbands.  Finn pushed his hat further back on his head, looking up to the heavens in search of answers.  Was it possible, or was he just reading into things, desperately looking for something that made any kind of sense?  Did it make sense?  Could it be that his mother and her sister had come from another time?  But if they had, did their own husbands not notice anything?  Both his father and Kit had been married before, losing their young wives in their twenties.  They’d had experience of other women.  Surely they saw that Valerie and Louisa were somewhat different.  Even his sister was different, thanks to their influence.  She was more outspoken than most girls her age, and definitely more opinionated.  Finn momentarily pitied the poor man who got her for a wife, suddenly wishing desperately to see her again, if only to tell her that he hadn’t meant to brush her off all those times, and she was secretly his best friend and closest ally at home. 

“Finn, come for breakfast.  Ma has it all ready,” called Sarah
, running toward him from the house.  She looked even smaller from a distance, reminding him of his sister when she was that age.  She was always trailing after him, starved for attention, and he’d been so mean to her, preoccupied with his own interests and plans.  Finn sighed and made for the house, ready to eat. 

Louisa leaned back against the rough wooden wall of the cabin, her eyes closing in exhaustion.  The ship was quiet around her, almost everyone asleep at this time of night.  She found the creaking of wood and the flapping of sails to be as comforting as a lullaby.  The sea was calm tonight, the boat rocking gently from side to side as it slid across the Atlantic, chewing up the miles and taking her further and further away from Valerie. 

Kit was sound asleep on the opposite berth, his face peaceful in slumber. 
He turned over, trying to find a more comfortable position, since his legs were too long for the berth, and had to be bent at all times.  He was taller than most men, and even their bed at home had been a few inches too short, forcing Kit to use the trunk at the base as an extension.  Louisa wondered how tall Kit actually was.  He was at least a head taller than her five foot five, so maybe close to six feet.  His height would not have been unusual in the twenty-first century, but people tended to be much shorter and slighter in the seventeenth century due to the lack of good nutrition and medicine.   

Louisa looked down at Evie, who was sucking furiously.  Normally, she fell asleep after she got full, but she was still going strong.  There was no clock in the cabin, but Louisa was sure it was much longer than usual.  She switched breasts, hoping Evie would soon be satisfied and go back to sleep, allowing Louisa to get some rest.  They’d been at sea for two weeks now, not even halfway to England
, and already Louisa was chafing against life on board, dreaming of land.  The ship was large by the standards of the time, but in reality, it was the size of a large sailboat in her own time.  The crew and their unexpected passengers were crammed on board with not an inch of unoccupied space. 

There was very little to do during the course of the day, other than stay in the tiny cabin or go up on deck for some much-needed air and
exercise.  Louisa was always trying to find a quiet spot to stand, so as not to be in the way of the sailors.  She felt claustrophobic in the cabin and needed to come on deck for several hours a day, regardless of the weather.  Kit tried to make himself useful to the captain, and Bridget spent most of her time in the cabin, washing their few items of clothing and watching Evie while she slept.

Evie finally exhausted herself, her eyes closing of their own accord as she released the nipple with a gentl
e pop, growing heavier in Louisa’s arms.  She normally slept in a hammock that had been put up just for her, but Louisa was too tired to get up, afraid of waking the sleeping baby.  She just laid her down gently, curling around her warm, little body.  Louisa closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, but despite her fatigue, she couldn’t get back to sleep.  Her uterus was contracting painfully, and a wave of nausea washed over her as the rocking of the ship became more pronounced.  She hoped the weather wasn’t changing.  They’d already suffered two storms, but thankfully, they weren’t bad enough to cause any damage to the vessel.  What she wouldn’t give for a seat on a plane.   Six hours and she would have been in London, greeted by a surly customs officer while praying that her luggage hadn’t been lost.  Louisa sighed.  The days of airplanes were over for her.  This was the most expedient mode of transportation, and with any luck, they would be in England by the beginning of December. 

Louisa was awakened by Evie’s mewling.  The cabin was flooded with bright light
coming through the porthole, the sound of feet on deck making a racket overhead.  It was time to get up and feed Evie again.  Louisa glanced over at Kit’s berth, but he was already gone, having left the cabin quietly so as not to wake them up.  Louisa forced herself to rise, reaching for a clean clout for Evie.  She poured a little water into a basin, wet a rag and cleaned the baby before putting on the clout, rewrapping the blanket and putting her to her breast again.  Evie began to suck as if she hadn’t been fed in days rather than hours.  She was grabbing onto the breast with her hand, gumming Louisa painfully.  She seemed starved.  For some reason, Evie seemed hungrier in the past few days.  Maybe she was going through a growth spurt and needed to increase her intake.  Louisa supposed that wasn’t unusual, although the only person she could consult on the ship was Bridget, who was a walking encyclopedia.

Louisa fought waves of nausea from the rolling of the ship as Evie continued to nurse, still hungry after having drained both breasts. 
Her little face became red with effort as she tried to suck the last of the milk before finally giving up.

“I brought you some breakfast,” Kit announced as he entered the cabin, carrying a cup of ale and a couple of biscuits.  Louisa looked at the food with revulsion.  She was hungry, but the thought of ale made her
nauseous.  She had just enough time to hand the baby to Kit before she was sick into the basin. 

“Louisa, are you ill?”  Kit put a hand to her forehead, checking for a fever. 

“No, I’m just seasick.  I think I need some fresh air.  Would you take Evie for a walk?”  Louisa rinsed her mouth with some water and forced herself to take a sip of ale.  It was warm and bitter, making her feel sick again. 

“You weren’t sick on the last crossing, and we’ve been at sea for
several weeks.  Why now?”  Kit was looking at her with concern. 

“I think it’s because the sea is rougher at this time of year.  I just need some air.”  Louisa bolted for the door, leaving Kit to see to Evie.  She was fussing, turning her head, her mouth opening and closing as if still hungry. 

Louisa gulped the frigid air until she felt marginally better.  She found a quiet spot, sitting down on a barrel, enjoying the wind on her face and the briny smell of the sea.  Louisa pulled off her cap, allowing her hair to blow in the brisk wind, whipping into her flushed face to the amazement of the sailors who weren’t used to seeing a woman with her head uncovered.  She closed her eyes, listening to the cries of hungry seagulls overhead, the sound of water lapping against the hull soothing and hypnotic.  The nausea passed as suddenly as it arrived, leaving Louisa hungry.  She would have killed for a cup of tea and a boiled egg with some toast.  Her stomach was in knots from the rough food and lack of fruits and vegetables. 

Kit appeared on deck, carrying Evie wrapped tightly in her blanket to keep out the brisk wind.   She was twisting and turning in Kit’s arms as he tried to keep a firm grip on her. 
The first mate said something to him that made Kit scowl, but she couldn’t hear the words.  These men weren’t used to seeing fathers taking care of their children.  That was women’s work, and seeing a man with a baby was usually cause for a snide comment. 

“I think she’s hungry,” he said as he stopped in front of Louisa.  “She keeps fussing and smacking her lips.  Didn’t you just feed her?”

“Yes, just before you came in.  She can’t be hungry so soon.  I need to eat something before I feed her again.  I’m depleted.”  Louisa reluctantly rose to her feet, following Kit back to the cabin.  She forced down the hard biscuit and took a few sips of ale before putting Evie to her breast again.  The baby sucked ferociously, her eyes closed in concentration. 

“Kit, would you fetch Bridget please?” Louisa asked, suddenly worried. 
Maybe Kit was right, and she was getting sick.  She felt unusually tired and queasy.  Her arms and legs felt as if they were made of lead, and her eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep.

“Of course.  I trust she
’s feeling better today.  Seems as if both of you have been afflicted with seasickness.  She’s been green around the gills for two weeks now.  I thought she came from a fishing village and grew up around the sea.”

“It was a long time ago, and she hasn’t been on a ship since she crossed the Atlantic with Alec and Valerie all those years ago,” answered Louisa, trying to get more comfortable.  Bridget was older now
, and everything was more difficult with age.  How old was Bridget anyway?  Valerie had mentioned something about Bridget being a year older than her, so she had to be around forty-three.  Louisa always thought of her as being older, since she looked at least a decade older than Valerie.  Her sister had the benefit of good nutrition and medicine before she found herself in the past, and it still showed, even after all this time.  Bridget’s frizzy red hair was streaked with gray, and there were some wrinkles on her round, freckled face, especially around the eyes.  She had the type of skin that didn’t age well, even in the modern times where all kinds of moisturizers and lotions were available. 

There were no beauty products in the seventeenth century.  Women did little more than clean their teeth with a twig and brush their hair. 
Valerie had mentioned that some of the ladies in England used lotions made of hog fat to moisturize their faces, but she couldn’t bring herself to put the rancid fat of a dead animal on her face.  It was too disgusting.  Valerie did make a sort of egg shampoo when there were eggs to spare, to add nutrients and luster to her hair, but that didn’t stop the hair from going gray.  Louisa had noticed a few silver strands when Valerie took her cap off, making her feel somewhat sad.  Their mother had colored her hair every two months, making sure that no gray hair was ever visible on her head.  She looked fabulous at sixty, not something that her daughters would be able to do.

Louisa ran her fingers through Evie’s silky curls, watching her cheeks puff out as she sucked.  She was so sweet. 
Her eyes were closed in concentration; the long black lashes fanned out against her velvety cheek.  A sharp cramp tore through Louisa’s belly, nearly making her double over.  It felt like a contraction.   She laid the baby on the berth, wrapping her arms around her middle in an effort to control the pain.  Evie let out a terrible wail, obviously still not satisfied. 

“What’s amiss, yer ladyship?” Bridget asked, walking carefully into the cabin, her feet spread unusually wide to keep her
from losing her balance. 

“I don’t know, Bridget.  Evie is eating, but she seems hungry all the time.  She’s been like this for the past few days.  It’s like she can’t get enough, and I have pains in my stomach and feel seasick.  How are you feeling?”  Bridget did indeed look greenish.  Her whey-colored face looked sweaty despite the cold wind, and Louisa noticed that she’d lost some weight.  It wasn’t abnormal to lose weight aboard a ship, but Bridget looked downright frail.

“Perhaps ye’re producing less milk.  It happens sometimes due to change in diet.  Ye need to drink more.”  Bridget gave Louisa a searching look.  “Ye don’t look well, yer ladyship.  Have ye gotten yer menses since Evie’s birth?”

“No, not yet.  I think they’ll come soon.  I’ve been
very crampy, especially while I’m feeding the baby.  It feels like the beginning of labor.”  Louisa felt another wave of nausea, her hand going to her mouth automatically.  She saw Bridget watching her carefully, her eyes narrowed.

“
‘Tis not unusual to feel crampy while nursing.  ‘Tis the womb contracting, but there could be other reasons.  Have ye lain with yer husband since the baby’s birth, yer ladyship?”  Bridget seemed a little embarrassed, averting her eyes from Louisa as she waited for an answer.  She was the closest thing to a midwife that Louisa and Valerie had, but she still felt awkward asking certain questions.  Women didn’t normally talk of such things among themselves.

“Yes, why?”  Louisa wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything.  Making love on a narrow berth was nearly impossible, but they did manage it once or twice with much difficulty.  Louisa didn’t really mind that it wasn’t more often.  Her body still felt sore and foreign
; the lovemaking more of a trial than pleasure.  Kit sensed her discomfort and didn’t persist, realizing that she obviously needed more time to heal.

“May I examine ye?”  Bridget came closer, talking Evie from Louisa and laying her in her hammock.  “Just lie back
if ye will.” 

Louisa reclined on the berth, allowing Bridget’s gentle hands to palpate her stomach.  It felt nice, so she closed her eyes, still tired despite having slept for a few hours after Evie’s feeding. 
She would ask Bridget to take Evie for a little while and take a nap; otherwise she wouldn’t make it through the rest of the day.  Louisa’s eyes flew open as she felt Bridget’s fingers squeezing her nipples hard. 

“Bridget, what are you doing?” she yelped
; her nipples were terribly sensitive from all the breastfeeding.

Bridget let go of the nipples and sat down on Kit’s berth, suddenly even paler than she was before.  Her face was glistening with sweat. 

“Bridget, are you ill?”  Louisa reached out, taking Bridget’s hand. 

“I’ll be all right.  It’s ye I’m concerned for.  I think ye might be with child, yer ladyship
, and ye’re not producing enough milk.  Only a few drops came out when I squeezed yer breasts.  Should have been at least a trickle.”  Bridget squeezed Louisa’s hand in sympathy.

“No, that can’t be.  You can’t conceive while nursing.  Isn’t that true?”  Louisa was sure she’d read that somewhere, and anyway, even if she
had, the milk didn’t dry up due to another pregnancy.  Lots of women fed their babies while pregnant.  She’d had a friend in New York who fed her son until he was nearly two while pregnant with her daughter.  Bridget shook her head, smiling at Louisa’s naiveté.

“Haven’t ye ever heard of Irish twins?  Some women conceive
afore they even get their courses after birth.  It’s very possible.  Normally, they continue to produce milk, but it does make the womb contract, and they’re more tired since their body is under such strain.  Ye also have the anxiety over yer unexpected departure.  ‘Tis possible that combined with the pregnancy, yer body is making less milk.”