Home in Time for Christmas (6 page)

“Grace,” Keith said softly, and grinned.

“Oh, honestly, Keith, it's hard to imagine that you're a student going for a Ph.D., darling, you can be so juvenile at times.”

“May I?” Jake asked.

“Well, of course!” Mona said.

Jake folded his hands and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Lord, for the food you've provided, for the warmth of the hearth, and the love of family and friends. May we all be home in time for Christmas. Amen.”

He opened his eyes and looked at Melody. Again,
there was something in them that entreated with dignity.

People didn't drop from a hangman's noose to find themselves in a street almost three hundred years later.

“How very nice, Jake, thank you,” Mona said. “So, now, how was the ice skating?”

“It was nice, Mom,” Melody said. She stood to help her mother; Jake stood, as well. “I'm just passing the plates. Please, Jake, thank you.”

He'd been taught to stand when a woman stood, and it was going to keep happening. Melody made a quick job of passing the food around.

“Mrs. Tarleton, I understand that you have some wonderful books on local history,” Jake said.

“Oh, indeed.” Mona flashed a smile. “I'm simply fascinated by the mind-set of those who came before us. When they had the tricentennial of the Salem witchcraft trials, they printed up complete volumes of the proceedings, the court records, everything. It's fascinating reading. So sad and horrible.”

“What happens in the minds of men—and women—is always fascinating,” George said. “With all the theories they've had regarding the hysteria, I still can't imagine sane adults allowing those girls who accused their neighbors of being witches—some only because they used herbs to help cure sicknesses—to cause such a tragedy.”

“I quite agree,” Jake said. “Many people were killed with no evidence that they had done anything wrong.”

“Do you believe in witchcraft?” Melody asked.

“Whether I believe or not does not matter,” Jake said. “Massachusetts was a British colony, and witchcraft was
illegal. Could someone really curse his neighbor's cow with an evil eye? Most probably not. But mixing potions—even herbal potions—could be considered witchcraft and sadly, the punishment for witchcraft could be death. But I don't believe that any of those caught up in the hysteria at Salem were practicing real witchcraft of any kind. They were just caught up in a miasma of fear. There was so much of the world that was unknown and frightening.”

“Indeed,” George agreed.

Mona pounced on the words. “That's just it, people act out of fear or ignorance. The true Wiccans were not guilty of any evil—they were part of the pagan way that existed before Christianity began to spread. And those who brought Christianity across from Europe were willing to do what was necessary to convince others to follow them. I mean, seriously, we don't know what day Christ was born, we have settled on a day for it to be Christmas. The high holy day of All Hallow's Eve coincided with a pagan practice that had long been celebrated. And Easter! The holiday and celebration are even named for Eostre, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring. The old Anglo-Saxons celebrated spring and rebirth, and the Hebrews celebrated Passover, and Christians celebrate the fact that Christ rose from the dead. Here's my point, we are all one creation, however we choose to see our deities.”

“Mom, that's not at all how the Puritans saw it,” Melody said.

“No, I'm afraid they weren't at all accepting of others, and they certainly wouldn't appreciate anyone pointing out the fact that Easter came from Eostre,” Jake said.
“Mrs. Tarleton, this stew is absolutely delicious. Thank you very kindly.”

“Oh,” Mona said, enrapt with her guest. “That's so kind of you. It's just a Crock-Pot stew. I'm so glad you're enjoying it! And I'm fascinated with what you're saying, of course, because it's just terrible to think of the wonderful and kind people who practiced old forms of medicine just to wind up burned at the stake in Europe and Scotland and hanged in England for witchcraft. They were often midwives, or people working with herbs, and as we all know now, many of the natural ingredients cured people.”

“Mom,” Melody pointed out, “just because something is natural, doesn't always mean that it's good for you. Hemlock is natural.”

Mona waved a hand in the air. “My dear, you're missing the point.”

“What
is
the point?” Keith asked, grinning.

Melody kicked him beneath the table again.

“Ouch! Stop that,” he told her.

“What is going on there?” George demanded.

“She kicked me,” Keith said.

“Mother, he's being obnoxious,” Melody said.

“Children! We have a guest,” Mona said, shaking her head. “Honestly, George, how old are they now? How can this still be going on?”

“Mom, I know the point, and our college genius keeps missing it,” Melody said. “What matters is not always the truth, but rather, peoples' perception of the truth. And fear is something that often sways our perceptions. When you're afraid, you may see something that is entirely innocent as something evil. And in the old days,
science
was often seen as evil, as well.”

“Was that a dig at me?” Keith asked.

“Never. Science is something wonderful,” Melody said.

Melody stood. Jake jumped to his feet. “Please, Jake, sit, you're a guest. I'm just clearing the table so we can bring out the dessert,” Melody said.

Keith stood, too. “Mom, Melody and I will handle this. You sit for a change.”

“All right, thank you,” Mona agreed.

Melody glared at Keith. He frowned, cocking his head. She hurried to the kitchen, carrying the used plates. When he had entered behind her and the connecting door had swung shut, she turned on him. “What's the matter with you? You just left Jake in there alone with Mom and Dad!”

“Jake's doing just fine. Hey, he's a cool crazy, Mel. I like him,” Keith said.

“Get back out there, Keith!” Melody said, piling the plates in the sink to rinse for the dishwasher. “Please, come on, please? Hey, I'm the one who fought for you to keep Cleo, remember?”

“He's not a cat, Mel,” Keith said.

“Get out there!”

“Going, going—I'll grab the pie and plates. You bring the coffee.”

“All right, go. Oh, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He grinned. Her brother left with the fresh-baked blueberry pie Mona had made for dessert and a stack of plates. She quickly rinsed the dinner plates and put them in the dishwasher, then unplugged the coffeepot and headed into the dining room.

To her dismay, her brother was having some kind of exchange with her father; Jake's head was lowered and he was listening, fascinated, to her mother.

They all looked up when she arrived.

“The cups are in the cabinet, dear. Do you want your old Disney mug? Forgive us, Mr. Mallory,” Mona said. “We all have our favorite cup. What would you like? Traditional, a mug—or a Princess cup?”

“Any cup will do, thank you,” Jake said.

Mona passed out mugs and poured the coffee while Melody served the pie.

“Seen any good movies lately?” George asked.

A piece of pie nearly slipped onto the table. Melody's gaze flew to Jake.

“I'm afraid I've not seen anything I could recommend, sir,” he said.

“I've got some DVDs up in my room I'm going to show him,” Keith said. “Hey, I brought a documentary for you, too, Dad. It's on radio frequencies. You're going to love it.”

“Wonderful,” George told him.

Mona rose. Jake rose. She hesitated, and smiled. “It's really all right, Jake. Please, I'm just going to go get that diary that I found in the attic. I swear that that author's last name was Mallory—and that her brother's first name was Jake. What a coincidence that would be if you were related! Of course, to be honest, throughout the centuries, who knows who is really related to whom? You know, people didn't always steer the course of the higher road.”

“What?” Keith asked.

“She means that women fooled around, so your father may not have been your father,” Melody said.

“Oh, dear, that's putting it so crassly,” Mona protested, waving a hand in the air as she went to one of the bookcases.

“This diary is amazing. I probably could sell it for a mint on eBay. It's authentic. And sad, really—it doesn't have an ending. I've been meaning to go to the hall of records, though, I believe, a lot was probably lost during the Revolution. And young men died in different places, so…”

Melody sank into her chair. Mona produced an old leather-bound book from a bookshelf.

Melody started to reach for it. Mona held back. “It's extremely delicate,” she said.

“I'd be honored to handle it quite gently,” Jake said.

Mona opened the book. “Serena Mallory wrote most of the diary here, in Gloucester. And it ends with her heading to New York City, aware that her brother had been captured and was about to be executed. The diary is absolutely charming. There's so much of the day-today in it—and so much about the feelings of the general public during the Stamp Act, and then the Boston Tea Party. She has all kinds of wonderful herbal recipes in there—and reference to the fact that she intends to use all her powers to save her brother's life.” She paused, glancing up from the pages. “Oh look, I remembered correctly. Serena's brother's name is Jake, too. Jake Mallory. What a pity there isn't an ending to the story!”

Jake took the book, his fingers trembling. He handled it as tenderly as if it were a living being. He quickly flipped to the end to read for himself.

He looked at her across the table. “There is no ending,” he said. “Her last words are here. ‘May God grant that he be home in time for Christmas.'”

Melody stood quickly, unnerved.

It had to be a hoax. Someone knew that her mother had found the diary. Jake wasn't real. He was a hired actor—maybe Mark had even hired the guy to see what she would do. It was all a cruel hoax. Perhaps someone was trying to prove that Mona was a kook.

But how did anyone manage for her car to spin at precisely the time he was in the road.

“Is everyone finished with dessert?” she asked, her voice ringing coldly.

Keith said, “Come on upstairs, Jake. I'm going to show you my new computer—and dig out some DVDs.”

Melody flew into the kitchen with the dessert dishes. Everyone followed, carrying in something from the dinner table. She curtly thanked them all, and shooed her mother out as well, cleaning up after dinner with a vengeance.

When she was done, she tiptoed to the door to the family room. George was in his chair. Her mother was going through more bookshelves.

She flew up the stairs to Keith's room. Jake was sitting in front of her brother's desk, he was still holding the diary and looking dazed.

Keith turned to her. “Civil War. We'll start with the Civil War.”

“What?” Melody said.

“What's the best Civil War movie?”

“Gone with the Wind,”
Melody said. “
Gettysburg.
That's the best. It's based on the Shaara novel.”

“Yes, but…
Gone with the Wind
is a classic.”

“
Gettysburg
is more of a guy's movie,” Keith insisted.

“But
Gone with the Wind
has the manners and mores of the time.”

“
Gettysburg
is better,” Keith said stubbornly.

Jake turned, swiveling in the desk chair. “Perhaps, if you'd be so kind, I could see them both. It does seem that, at the moment, time is all I have.”

M
elody started dozing off before Scarlett married Rhett.

Keith told her to go to her own room and go to bed; he'd see that Jake saw the end of both movies—they'd move on to the twentieth century after—and that he was settled in the guest room.

She left them uneasily, wondering just what her brother would tell their new friend about the current world, but her drive had been long that day. At first, she stared at the ceiling, thinking that now that she'd actually come to bed, she'd lie awake all night.

But she didn't. She was out cold in a matter of minutes, and if she dreamed, she remembered nothing of it when she woke the next morning.

She felt the morning light come through her drapes, and for a few minutes, she just lay there, appreciating the slow, lazy coming-to-grips with day when she didn't have to rush up for any reason.

Then she remembered Jake and she shot out of bed as if she had been catapulted.

She started immediately out the door, raced back into her bedroom to splash water on her face, give her teeth a furious lick and a promise, and grab a robe and
slippers. Then she went tearing down the stairs, afraid of what he might be saying to her parents if he had woken up first.

The house was quiet. She burst into the kitchen, expecting to find her mother.

Her father was there instead.

“Morning, kitten,” he said. “Coffee?”

“Um, sure, Dad, thanks. Where's Mom—and Jake? Is he still sleeping?”

“One might have thought—he and your brother watched movies most of the night. But, no, Jake is up and about.”

“Where?”

“He went out with your mother.”

“What?”

“He's out with your mom. She wanted to pick a few things up at the store, and she was going to take him by the old Anglican church down the way. They were going to look up some records.”

“They—they can't just do that. Can they?” she asked, staring at him blankly.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Me? I'm fine. Just fine. Dad—you can't just walk into a church and get to the parish records, can you?”

“If anyone can, it's your mother,” George said, smiling and shaking his head. “Well, excuse me, kitten. I'm heading back out to work on my converter.”

“Your converter?” she asked.

“Has to do with sound waves and radio frequencies,” he told her cheerfully. “It's all so fascinating, if you think about it. Come on, my love, I know you think I'm often crazy, but…I did invent the Dust To End Dust sweeper.”

She walked over and hugged him. “And you sent me to college on it, Dad, I'm grateful. I'm just always afraid you're going to hurt yourself. Electronics and chemicals are scary stuff, you know.”

“I'm careful,” he said.

She nodded.

“Is Keith up?” she asked him.

“I think I hear the shower going. Run in and use the one in the master bedroom, if you want, kiddo. I thought I heard singing a while back, too. That could mean that he's going to take a while.”

She sipped the coffee he had prepared for her while she headed back upstairs. She found some warm stockings, a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved knit top and a sweater to wear over it, then padded her way down the hall to her parents' bedroom.

She showered quickly, wanting to be out when her mother returned with Jake.

But they were still gone when she came back down the stairs. Keith, however, was in the kitchen munching on toast and reading the morning paper.

“Where's Dad?” she asked.

“Out back.” He grinned. “I'll let you in on a little secret.”

“Oh?”

“He's trying to find out if he can contact anyone in outer space.”

“Ouch!”

Keith shrugged. “There's more in this universe than you or I will ever know,” he told her.

“Let's hope he's not trying to transport down any little green men,” Melody said.

Keith reflected on that. “Surely—they won't really be
green,
” he said.

“You're as bad as he is,” she said.

“I hope I invent something as popular as the Dust To End Dust sweeper,” Keith said with a shrug. “No, it hasn't changed the world. But, I'll tell you, it sure keeps my place clean.”

“I have a couple in my apartment, too,” Melody admitted. “He made good money with it—and I'll bet many a family gets to keep their cat or dog because it really picks up animal hair.”

“So, Dad has provided a real service to the world.”

“I never suggested he didn't. I'm just always afraid for him and Mom.”

Melody heard a clacking sound and then a happy baying. Brutus half ran and half dragged himself into the kitchen, his tail wagging away. She bent to pet him. He was followed by a vivacious Jimmy. Their coats were icy cold.

“They were outside?” Melody said. “How'd they just get back in?”

Her question to her brother was answered by a merry “Hello!” from her mother.

They were back. And her mother had taken the dogs for the ride.

Melody raced out of the kitchen and down the hall to the entry.

Mona was taking off her scarf, giving off a little shiver as she did so. Jake was right behind her, ready to help her with her coat with one hand while he held a shopping bag in the other. Melody raced forward to rescue the bag.

Jake smiled at her. She felt a little pitter-patter in her
heart and brushed the feeling away. She still wasn't sure he hadn't been hired by some nefarious and unknown enemy to make her and her family look ridiculous.

And then, of course, there was the possibility of a man who was totally insane.

Because she'd hit him.

Given him a severe concussion, and declined to take him to a hospital.

“Thank you, dear, just drop the groceries in the kitchen—there are a few more bags, boys, if you'll come on out again,” Mona said.

Jake and Keith obligingly followed her out. Melody ran the bag into the kitchen, nearly tripped over Brutus, set the bag down and raced back to the door. It was a little late to panic over what might be said in front of her mother when she wasn't there, but she couldn't help feeling ridiculously anxious.

“Did you two have a nice time out?” she asked.

“Oh, it was lovely,” Mona said. “We met that nice young Anglican priest, Father Dawson. He hasn't been here all that long, and he was delighted to go through the records with us. Then, we went to the café just down the street from the church, and had a lovely time. Jake is
so
knowledgeable about Colonial days and the American Revolution. It was just a wonderful and enlightening chat. Father Dawson thinks that Jake must write a book. He says Jake speaks just as if he really understands events—he could do a bang-up job on a first-person historical fiction type of thing.”

“I'm sure he could,” Keith said, coming in the door with two more grocery bags. Jake was behind him.

“Well, certainly, one day, I'd like to maybe work on
a book,” he said. “Most of the writing that I've done has been for pamphlets and such other materials.”

“Oh, have you written guide books?” Mona asked.

“Oh, some of my own rhetoric, that's all,” Jake said. He arched a brow to Melody, as if awaiting her approval on his reply.

“Well, I'm glad you had a good morning,” she said. “What did you find out?” she asked carefully.

“Nothing. And it's quite strange! The records are there—and, of course these must be Jake's family. I mean, it's just so obvious. There is a record of the other Jake—the revolutionary Jake's ancestors coming to the parish, of Jake's birth, Serena's birth and then adoption into the family,” Mona said. “Then, there are records regarding his, the other Jake's parents' deaths—we even found the headstones, and they're legible, they have a very active women's club at the parish. They keep up the graveyard. Oh, the church is lovely. Father Dawson asked us if we'd come by for services sometime on Christmas or Christmas Eve, and I thought it would be a wonderful idea. It's so beautiful, really. The baptismal font there is from England, it was carved in the 1500s. And they have truly magnificent stained-glass windows. Now, mind you, it's not that a church's appearance makes it any more a place of worship. Or a temple, a mosque, what have you. That's all in the spirit of a place, and Father Dawson gives the church such a lovely spirit!”

“What about this other Jake?” Melody asked. Her mother was heading for the kitchen, following her brother and Jake with the grocery bags.

“Only the meat and dairy need go in the refrigerator, Jake,” Mona said. He was holding tomatoes, and
watching Keith set deli-wrapped cheese in the refrigerator. “Actually, children, get on out of here and let me manage. Take Jake down and show him the tree that's set up outside the court house. It's really just beautiful. All lit up!”

“Mom, you do realize that nothing is more lit up than this house, right?” Melody asked her.

Mona shrugged. “I love Christmas.”

“And it's truly lovely, the way you love it, Mrs. Tarleton,” Jake said.

“You two go on,” Keith said with a yawn. “I'll go see what Dad is up to out there. See if he needs any of my help.”

“Be careful, dear,” Mona said.

“What—is he trying to transport aliens?” Melody whispered to her brother. He shrugged.

“Come on, Keith!” she said. “Look, I'm actually afraid. I have visions of
The Fly
going through my mind here, Dad winding up half in one place, half in another.”

“The Fly?”
Mona said.

“I don't even know if she's referring to the Vincent Price original or the Jeff Goldblum remake. What do think, Mom?” Keith asked.

“Melody!” her mother remonstrated.

“It's a legitimate fear,” Melody said.

“Have faith in your father.”

“I do,” Melody said.

Mona came to the door, waving her hands. “Melody, go on out. Jake has only seen the church and the grocery store. He's living in Boston now and hasn't been around here in ages. Go show him the town.”

Jake was still wearing a coat, one of Keith's old ones. God knew, they owned enough coats. He wore Keith's clothing well. He had the shoulders, and the height. He really was a good-looking man. But it had nothing to do with his stature, his build or even the well-sculpted lines of his features that made him attractive. It was something in his eyes, in his slow smile, and the way he looked at the world around him. With appreciation—with awe.

It was the way he looked at her, always, with sincerity and appreciation.

“All right,” she said briskly, “let's go. But you still haven't told me what happened. You found records regarding eighteenth-century Mallorys. But—”

“There was nothing more. Birth records, and baptismal records, for me and Serena. There's a mention that I went to war. But then…we disappear into history, so it seems.”

“There was no death record—for either?” Melody asked.

Jake shook his head. “And it has to mean something,” he said.

“Yes, it means you had ancestors. And that maybe neither Jake nor Serena stayed on in Gloucester after the war,” Melody said.

He turned to look at her, offering a rueful half smile, shaking his head. “You're never going to believe me, are you?”

“Jake, this is what I think, or what I want to think. You do work for an historic company somewhere. I hit you. You thought you were all right, but you've really got a concussion.”

“You want to think that?” he asked.

“It's better than thinking that you're an actor, taking advantage of us in some way,” she said, keeping her eye on the car as they walked out.

He stopped moving. She turned around. He stood in the snow, tall and straight.

“Perhaps I should leave,” he said.

“Oh, good God, what would you think?” she demanded. “Your story is preposterous.”

“I'm not a liar,” he said, his jaw rigid.

“You're not a liar. Look, try to understand my position,” she said. “I'm sorry. Please, let's just go downtown. You'll love the tree.”

“I'm not a liar, and I'm not a child,” he said. She was startled when he came to her and set his hands on her shoulders. “I'm telling you the truth. I swear, before God, that I'm telling you the truth. And I must get back. This world—this is a wonderful world. And I'm sure I'd be happy here. But I have to see that my sister is safe. Her name has disappeared from all the records. By God, don't you understand? I'm afraid that she saved me somehow, and wound up dead herself at the hands of the British. Maybe I need to go back and die. But I can't leave her fate hanging…on my life. Can't you understand? Please, I'm begging you.”

She stared at him. Truth or not, she was convinced he wasn't an actor. Or he wasn't acting when he spoke to her now. She let out a deep breath.

“Let's go into town. There's an Internet café. We'll start trying to find New York records regarding the Revolution,” she said.

She waited for him to ask her what an Internet café was.

He didn't.

“Do you know what that is?” she asked him.

“Of course.” He was still stiff. Still touching her, and still close. And she suddenly thought it was all too bad; she really liked him. Liked his touch on her. Liked the way his eyes met hers.

“Your brother showed me his computer and explained what he could about the electronics of it last night.” He shook his head. “You communicate at the speed of light. All over the world. You don't question that words suddenly appear in your e-mail. You send pictures—moving pictures. You can connect to one another live, see one another's faces from across the globe. That, you must understand, is to me no different than the fact that I am suddenly here.”