Fall (Roam Series, Book Two) (15 page)

He exhaled sharply, kneeling at our side. I watched him fight with the tears that betrayed his calm control, and finally he gave in, lettin
g them slide down his cheeks. “
Eva
.”

I smiled, reaching for his cheek. He pressed his lips to the palm of my hand.

“That’s it,” I whispered, nodding. “That’s her name.”

West and I held the baby in our arms until the sun disappeared into the ocean. He carried the cradle into our bedroom, placing it next to the bed. He whispered words of love to both Eva and I, pressing kisses to my lips and to her tiny fingers. We discussed how I would breast-feed Eva, how we would protect her, and what we would do if Troy was still immortal. We counted her toes, giggled at her chubby knees, and marveled at her cherubic face.

Every time I thought about the fact that I was living someone else’s life, I quickly shut that door in my mind.

West helped me to the bathroom; the shower was an amenity I (or Annie) had insisted on when he had the cottage built. I laughed as West ran back and forth between the shower and the cradle, checking on Eva every ten to fifteen seconds as she slept. We washed her together and bundled her in a fresh, cloth diaper. The layette Annie had prepared for her on first day at home was enormous; she was too tiny to fit into anything but a small, white sleeping gown.

I found a nightgown for myself, in awe of the collection of clothing that Annie had. “You must have a good job,” I buzzed, tossing through dress after dress in the closet. “She has so many dresses!”

“I fix boats on the island. I taxi the property owners back and forth pretty often; they all know you, and love you. They tip us graciously.”

“Wow,” I mouthed, pulling a black, halter cocktail dress from the back. “West, this is gorgeous… chiffon, the detail…,”

“You need to be resting,” he teased, rocking Eva tenderly in his arms. “Nightgown now, fashion show later.”

“I could be a
fifties housewife,” I smirked, slipping into a short, peach nightgown. The bathroom had been well stocked with feminine necessities.
Annie’s a planner- perfect.

“No you couldn’t,” he answered softly, tucking the baby into the cradle. “You’re going to be a teacher.”

“I’m exhausted,” I smoothed my hands down my sides, trying to remember how long it’d take for my stomach to shrink back down. As I did, I remembered my dream, West laying over me, kissing me on the bed…

Good-morning, baby.

“This was the nightgown from my dream,” I shivered, cold reality making me reach for the baby. “Do you think it’s over? The prophecy?”

“If her birth didn’t fulfill the prophecy, we have to hide Troy away… but not here. I won’t have him anywhere near you or Eva.” He gently cupped his hand over her warm
head.

I thought of Logan’s promise to take him through another fountain. “Did Logan tell you he’d travel through another fountain with Troy? I won’t let that happen,” I squared my jaw, shaking my head adamantly. “Logan deserves to go home. He’s done enough to help.”

West considered my words quietly. “I have to go get them. Do you feel well enough to wait here?”

I smiled, adjusting the clean blankets around me. “West,
I’m so tired… but I’ve never felt better than this moment.”

“Maybe you can try to feed her. Without the pressure of anyone around,” he added, and I could see his reluctance to leave.

“Go. Get them. I’ll be fine.” Eva began to breathe rapidly, her eyes pinched closed in a dream. She sighed, her chest rising and falling normally again. I gazed at her. “I just want to hold her.”

“I know the feeling.” He kissed me again, his lips lingering on mine. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

After West left, I lay in the big bed, listening to the waves pounding the shore just outside.
Every time I’d doze off, I’d jump, quickly searching for the baby in my arms.

Surreal
. There was no other word to describe having woken up on Thanksgiving morning seventeen-years-old and twelve weeks pregnant, only to be holding my healthy baby girl in my arms twenty-four hours later (and fifty-seven years earlier.)

Gazing at Eva
, I watched her pursed lips suckle in her sleep, counting the hours since I’d given birth to her.
She’s less than four hours old. How much does she weigh? We need to take her to a pediatrician.

Morgan should hold her.
I thought of Morgan and my dad, trying to concoct a feasible scenario that would explain the baby belonging to me.
Impossible. I’d be committed. West will have to keep her,
I realized, sickened at the thought of being away from her- or West. As I began rationalizing reasons to stay in 1955, Eva stirred and started to cry.

I
had read everything I could about pregnancy and delivery, but nothing about breast-feeding. Awkwardly, I lifted the baby to my breast, imitating what I’d seen in movies. She panted and reached, stirring uncomfortably and crying harder. I rocked her, trying soothing words that sounded unfamiliar to my ears.

“It’s okay,” I sang softly, startled.
I can sing.
My singing voice was something Morgan had described after my fourth grade Christmas pageant as “mice being electrocuted.” When it never improved, I moved on to the books and the pool, giving up on the choir.

Now, I rocked my daughter in my arms, recalling the lyrics to
a song my father sang to me when I was little about a place called
Moonlight Bay
. My voice touched notes that I had no idea were within my grasp; I carried through the chorus, smiling as Eva curled into my arms to sleep again.

“
That was beautiful,” West’s words made me smile at the doorway.

“I can sing… well, Annie can,” I said softly, careful not to wake Eva as she slept. “Logan and Violet are okay?”

“Right here,” Logan stepped in the bedroom, Violet right behind him.

“Where is Troy?”

“He’s tied up outside. He’s gagged- no one can hear him,” West glanced at Violet, and she gave him a dirty look. “Violet won’t let me try to kill him. If he’s mortal, he can’t lead us to the doors if he’s dead.”

“Don’t talk about it in front of the baby,” Violet scolded, waving a silencing hand in West’s direction. “Is she awake?”

“She just fell back to sleep.” I watched Logan as he stared at the bundle in my arms. “I tried to feed her… but she just cried and… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“We’ll go to the mainland and visit the hospital first thing in the morning,” West assured me.

Logan, still silent, walked toward the bed. His blue eyes were so unfamiliar, and I wished for a moment his brown eyes would return. “She’s so… little,” he stepped back slightly, a smile working at his lips. “Red hair?”

“And her eyes are green,” I said to West, laughing. “They look exactly like mine.”

Violet refused to blink. “So, technically… she’s my… big sister?”

Logan rolled his eyes, focusing on me. “How do you feel?”

I considered my tired body, though my mind raced. “I’m sore… and sleepy. It just all happened so fast…,”

“Not from our end. It felt like forever. Then when I realized you could have
already
had
the baby, we had to tie Troy up, because… what if when we
killed
him we really-
killed
him, you know? I miss cell phones.” Violet lifted her eyes to West’s. “Can I hold her?”

He nodded. I
reluctantly handed Eva to Violet. She accepted her with grace, careful to support her head. Eva continued to sleep, exhaling so noisily that the four of us chuckled in unison, under our breaths. “What next?” She asked, her eyes never leaving her sister’s face.

“Roam needs to rest.” West walked to my side, his fingers kneading my shoulder. “I’m taking them both to the hospital in the morning. Violet, Logan, can you sleep in the living room, on the davenport?”

“What? The porch?” Violet lowered the baby back to my arms. “Like a dog?”

“It’s a couch,” I murmured. West pressed his fingers between his eyes tiredly.

“I’m sorry… yes, couch.”

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry about us.” Logan glanced at the pile of towels, blankets, and sheets in the corner of the bedroom. “I’m guessing there’s no twenty-four hour Laundromat around here.”

“We have Tide in the kitchen… and a wringer near the back door.” He watched their confused faces, and then turned to me, defeated.

“A wringer is like a… press, to squeeze the water out of clothing. No washer, no dryer. I’ll do my best with the laundry tomorrow. Let’s just try to sleep. Where is Troy again?” I yawned, and West sat next to me on the bed.

“There is a little shanty behind the house, for storage. He’s in it, bound and gagged.” He folded a pillow under his head. “In the morning, Violet and Logan can question him while I take you to the mainland for a doctor.”

“Okay,” I turned to my side, my eyelids refusing to operate. “She should be in the cradle. A baby should never sleep in with her parents.” I recited from an internet article I’d read, already feeling the irresistible lull of sleep.

“I’ve got her, baby. Just sleep.”

My hands grip silver mugs of foamy ale. I nearly trip as I scan the room; a bar…, no a pub, crude wooden tables hosting inebriated sots.
Sots? When have I ever used that word?

“Ah-ha
, gentlemen, may I present,” a man stands atop his chair, propping one leg on the high back while hoisting his cup into the air, “young Isa, the Spanish rose,” he rolls his tongue, spitting foully before brushing the back of his arm over his lips. Lewd catcalls pierce my ears.

“What?”
I back away from him, lowering the mugs to a table.
Mirror… where’s my mirror?
I find the mirror on the wall near the door, liquefied but clearly reflecting my appearance.
Black hair, green eyes, tiny waist, full chest…
judging by my wench’s gown, I estimate the date to be 1790.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” a man’s voice, so familiar,
rings out from the crowd. I step back, not believing my eyes as West climbs on top of another chair, swaying and obviously drunk. “This innocent rose has yet to be… plucked,” his wordplay draws vulgar shouts and laughter, “But I may know a man for the job!”

I’m d
reaming…

I’m
safe,
I think, crossing my arms over my breasts.

Play along, have some fun.

“Sir,
if you think that you have the… qualifications… you may attend to your work… upstairs,” I drawl, curling my finger at him as I back toward a staircase. I guess that it leads to the balcony over our heads.

Eager
cheers fill the warm tavern, and several men grab West from under the armpits, escorting him to the stairs. I can’t help but laugh;
Really, West? Is this how you spent the eighteenth century?
“Hurry up… let’s get on with the… plucking, before I wake up,” I tease, pleased to see that his abs are, in fact, immortal as his blousy shirt lifts above his belt while they carry him. Whistling and laughter drown out his smiling words as his eyes struggle to focus.

“How did I get so lucky?” He
asks, those sapphire blue eyes gleaming beneath drunken lids.

“Maybe you deserve a break,” I
say, my accent clearly of Spanish influence.

“A break?” He
narrows his eyes in confusion at my expression, following me as I back up the stairs. Beaming wickedly, his brows jump twice above his gaze. “It hurts a little the first time, you know,” he breathes, alcohol thick on this tongue.

Careful not to touch him, I slide the beige fabric of my left sleeve up to my elbow, offering him the blank plane of tanned skin. “I know,” I mouth seductively.

He stops in midstride, calculating my words. “You?”

“That is not poop. That is some kind of… demonic waste. Something is wrong with her. West, something is wrong with
that
.”

“It’s normal. It’s called meconium. Violet, hand me another
warm rag…,”

“I really think we should just throw this one out. I mean, it’s destroyed.”

“I can clean it.”

“Is she okay?” I watched Violet and West bent over Eva on the floor as she lay on a blanket. She cried pathetically, and I struggled to sit up.

“She’s hungry. How do you feel?” West smiled at me, his warm eyes calming. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“Talking… that’s a nice way to put it.” Violet folded the cloth diaper neatly around Eva’s waist. “You know
, they do have baby bottles. West told me. If the breast thing isn’t working.”

“Let me try,” I reached for her, and West carried her to me in the bed. I let him prop me up against some pillows. “I need to go to the bathroom, but I can’t let her starve for another minute.”

“You can’t feed her if you’re uncomfortable. Go to the bathroom,” he took her back. “She likes when I rock her. She’ll be okay for a few minutes.”