Home in Time for Christmas (7 page)

He was earnest; he was passionate. She was tempted to touch his cheek, and tell him that it was going to be all right.

But it wasn't going to be all right. He was flesh and blood, certainly. He was no ghost.

And living beings did not transport through time.

She stepped back. “Let's head to town. We'll go to the Internet café, and we'll look in some shop windows. You can be treated to a bit more culture shock.”

“Thank you,” he said.

As they headed for the car, he suddenly stopped again. Melody heard a droning noise, and she looked up. A plane was moving overhead.

“My God,” he breathed. He looked at her. “A plane.”

“You know what a plane is?”

He smiled. “Your brother told me about aeronautics. Men have gone into space. Man has come so far—you'd have thought he would have found a way to stop war by now.”

“Technology has come forward,” she said. “Man—not so much. Come on.”

He opened the driver's door for her and walked around to the passenger side. When he was seated, she reached over to show him where his seat belt was. He had already found it. “I am understanding this,” he told her. “Perhaps you would be willing to teach me how to drive this type of vehicle,” he said.

“Um, sure,” she said.

She eased out of the driveway. “Winter, however, isn't a great time to learn to drive. You can skid on the black ice. And I think we're going to have some kind of ice storm either tonight or tomorrow. I heard about it on the radio, coming in.”

He smiled.

“What?”

“Well, I now know a lot about your life,” he said. “Your mother told me a great deal about you.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she said that she had thought you were happy. She's glad I'm here, as long as I'm not here as a buffer. She thought you were in love with a young man named Mark, who will be here tomorrow night or Christmas Eve, and she doesn't really understand what went wrong.”

“My mother should not be talking about me.”

“She loves you.”

“She still shouldn't have been giving you my personal history.”

He shrugged, looking out the window, still rapt at anything they passed. “I believe she assumed I knew about your life. And you're very lucky, you know.”

“Oh?” she asked carefully.

He looked at her. “Your parents are both living. They love you, and they love your brother very much. You have a wonderful home, a beautiful place to come home to, and that's something very special, something to be appreciated.”

She felt a flush rise to her cheeks, and she winced inwardly.

He was right.

She spent way too much time dreading what they might do, and not appreciating them for all that they were.

Not even realizing that she needed to appreciate the fact that she had them both, they were still young and vital, and would one day make wonderful, crazy, eccentric grandparents.

“You're right,” she said quietly. “I am very lucky.” She chanced a quick glance at him. “So, tell me more about your life.”

“Why? So you can call me a liar?” he asked. His voice didn't rise with the question; he spoke with dignity.

“You know, it's rather cruel and unchristian not to forgive,” she said.

“How can I forgive you when you do think I'm a liar?” he asked.

She let out a groan of frustration. “I don't think you're a liar. I think you're…hurt. But tell me more about your life. Apparently, you wowed Father Dawson.”

“Have you met him? He's a charming man.”

“Um—no. Actually, we did grow up going to church. I go in New York. Sometimes.”

“Ah.”

“Okay, please, I like church. But sometimes, if you grew up with my mom, it's a little weird. She's seri
ously friends with a community of Wiccans. They come and go saying ‘blessed be,' all the time. One of her best friends is Muslim, and my dad takes me to parties thrown by a lot of his Jewish contemporaries all the time.”

He was smiling. “There's nothing wrong with ‘blessed be.' Belief is in the spirit, it creates the soul, and I think it's beyond wonderful that this country has come to a place where people are truly free to worship how they please.”

“Don't go thinking the world is all hunky-dory,” she warned. “People out there still have prejudices. They practice cruelty. As you've learned—there's always a war to be found somewhere.”

“But there's always hope, too, isn't there?” he asked.

She shook her head, unable to prevent a smile. “Okay, there's the tree my mom was talking about. I'll park, and we can walk around.”

She parked. The day was cold, but the sun was out. The snow glistened in beautiful shades of dazzling silver. Kids raced around the little gate that kept the tree safe, throwing snowballs and laughing.

Melody found herself suddenly whacked in the head. She turned around to see a boy of about eleven looking horrified. But even as he stared at her—an adult—in trepidation, a small smile started to curve on his face.

“Hey!” she protested. But she found he made her laugh, and she reached down and formed a snowball quickly.

He realized her intent too late, and she got him good on the shoulder. One of his friends cried out, “She's in, she's in—get her!”

“Hey!” A rain of snowballs was suddenly coming at her.

But she wasn't fighting alone. Jake was laughing behind her, dishing up and throwing as fast as he could.

One caught her in the chin. “Devils!” she accused.

Jake grabbed her by the shoulder, leading her behind an embankment. To her astonishment, other adults started joining in, which made other children join in. From somewhere, a stereo was sending “Joy to the World” out among the crowd, and though she was getting wetter by the minute, the snowball fight was like a return to her own childhood and a simpler time of life.

She suddenly stepped out to get a really good throw in.

“Get down!” Jake warned. He'd come behind her, and he pressed her shoulder, getting her out of the way as a mammoth white flurry came soaring by. He was armed and ready to return fire, but she slipped down beneath the pressure of his touch.

Another hail of snowballs fell upon Jake, and he slipped into the snow beside her, almost on top of her. The next thing she knew, there were five or six children standing around them, pelting them. She was laughing so hard she couldn't fight back. Jake reached out, though, and brought one of the kids down, and suddenly they were all slipping and falling and lying together in the snow. Jake rolled, and he was on top of her; he lifted his weight and stared down into her eyes, smiling.

“It's true that some things never change,” he said softly.

Some things never changed. Moments like this. When he stared down into her face, that smile on his lips,
and she wanted to touch his face because some things never changed. There would always be that spark that could exist between a man and woman, and whatever it was, chemistry, pheromones, a tone of voice, a scent, whatever the sex researchers came up with, it suddenly wrapped her in a warmth that took away the slightest feel of the chill of the snow.

His expression grew oddly taut and grave, and he smiled again, and eased himself up, extending a hand to draw her up with him. She was stunned when she heard the kids around them applauding. A little girl said, “Wow. Cool grown-ups. Don't see that often.”

“Good fight, kids!” Jake said. He looked at her. “You're trembling. Let's get in out of the cold.”

“The Internet café is right over there.”

He slipped an arm around her as they walked. It was a natural gesture. It wasn't a pickup. It was a courteous way of keeping her warm.

They stepped into the café. There was an empty table by the hearth where a warm fire was burning. The fireplace didn't offer the only heat in the room, but it was cozy looking and extremely inviting.

“Sit, and hold our place. I'll get coffee and pay for the time,” Melody told Jake.

He caught her hand as she was leaving. “I'll repay you for this. I swear. I am not accustomed to allowing anyone to pay my way.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

At the counter, she bought coffee, paid for a half hour of time on the computer and returned. She logged on with the code given to her by the café clerk. A list of recent news choices flashed onto the screen, along with a picture of President Obama.

Jake stared at the screen, entranced. “That man is the president—of the Unites States?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, of course,” he said. “I watched the movies…of course. It's incredible. I love this new world of yours. We have come so far. I had never imagined.”

“Yes, it's amazing. But as I told you before, there are still people out there who hate each other for being of a certain color, religion, nationality or sexual persuasion. Laws have come a long way. But there are people out there who would change them again. It's still a fight to see that we are all treated fairly.”

“But the laws…my God, I am proud.”

She smiled. Then her smile faded. She was playing his game, and he was so easy to believe—but what he kept telling her was impossible.

“All right, I'm looking up New York in the Revolution on Google,” she said.

He sat there quietly in amazement. Thousands of pages popped up so Melody did a search with Jake's name and the Revolution.

To her surprise, pages popped up. “Jake Mallory, Patriot hero,” were key words in many of them.

“You were a hero?”

He shrugged. “I was the same as many a man. I happened to get caught. What does it say about me?”

She went on. There were references to the many pamphlets and essays he had put out in various papers of the time. Thus, when his company was captured during one of the many battles and skirmishes that took place before the British solidified their hold on the city, he was selected to be executed as an example to others. Nathan Hale had already gone to the noose.

“Is there any reference to my sister?” he asked anxiously. They were trying to read together, which wasn't easy.

“I'm not seeing anything yet. Oh, look—here!” Melody said.

“Where are you? Where, where?”

Melody read out loud. “‘Jake Mallory's execution took place at 10:00 a.m. on the morning of December 22. Though Christmas was quickly approaching, the commander in charge, Major Hempton, wanted the people to be given a severe warning regarding rebellion against the mother country. He believed that Mallory's execution would warn citizens away from speaking or writing against the Crown, or harboring any individuals involved in any covert or open subversive activities. Historical references to the day are sketchy, one witness wrote of a snowstorm that obscured the execution. Another wrote of a bizarre storm of roses. There are no eyewitness accounts to be found that say whether the execution was carried out, and there are no death records for Jake Mallory. It's possible that the execution was carried out, and that Mallory's body was quickly buried in an obscure plot since the execution caused something of a Christmas riot, or a mass hallucination.'”

She stopped reading and stared at Jake.

“There's no reference to Serena,” he said.

She exhaled. “There are more pages, more references to be read.”

She looked away quickly.
Why did so much seem to be true?

Perhaps his job had been portraying Jake Mallory at a theater. Or at a park. Through the park service, national
or state. Maybe he put on a one-man show, and now believed, with his whole heart, that he was this man.

“May we keep reading?” he asked.

She nodded.

One of the references read, “Jake Mallory disappears from the end of a hangman's noose. Witchcraft suspected in New York execution.”

The article wasn't really that bizarre. The author this time suggested that Mallory's friends had devised a way to spirit him away when the noose was tightened. Perhaps his British captors, fond of the man, had even helped in his escape.

Another article finally mentioned that Mallory's sister had come to the execution, and created a scene, thus allowing for his escape.

Jake read aloud. “‘Mallory was hanged from an open gallows. His body should have been visible to all witnesses. That they speak of sudden snowstorms and rose petals suggests that the escape was cunningly and meticulously planned.'”

“So you escaped,” Melody said.

“I wish there was another reference to Serena,” he said.

“Well, here's the good news—we can't find anything that suggests that she was captured, held or killed by the British. I'm imaging that whatever happened that day, chaos probably broke loose and she simply went home. I'm sure she was all right,” Melody said.

The screen suddenly warned them that their time was up. She realized that despite the fire, she was still shivering.

“Let's get home,” she said huskily.

“Home,” he said.

Melody couldn't help but grin then. “You did say that it was your home, once. So…”

“Home,” he said again, and he smiled. “But it's your home now. So thank you, thank you for taking me there.”

Her heart fluttered again.

Why couldn't she feel this way about someone sane?

They left the café and walked to the car. He was thoughtful, staring out the window as they headed to her house.

Just as they pulled into the driveway, there was the sound of an explosion.

And a huge puff of smoke erupted from the laboratory at the back of the house.

“D
ad!”

Melody was out of the car so quickly that she nearly slid facedown in the ice. She caught herself and went racing for the back, barely aware that Jake was behind her.

As she came around the corner, Keith was leading her father out the door of the laboratory; both men had blackened faces.

“Dad, Dad, are you all right?” Melody demanded, running to him.

“I did it!” he cried, grabbing her and swinging her around.

“Dad!” She strained against his shoulders, forcing him to put her down. Keith stood wryly at his side, wiping at his face. “Dad!” she scolded. “That was an explosion. Is the fire out? Are you all right?”

Keith answered. “All out—much more smoke than fire. What you saw was bright light—alpha light, as Dad is terming it.”

“What are you trying to accomplish?” Melody demanded.

“A frequency for physical movement,” George told her.

“What?”

“It's complicated,” Keith said.

She threw her brother a furious glance. “I majored in art, not stupidity. Dad, please, I'm so afraid that what you're doing is dangerous. And I do think you're brilliant, and I'm grateful, but I love you and I just think that you should be working on…things that will be useful in life.”

“The Clapper is useful if you're elderly and it's difficult to get up and turn out the lights,” Keith said.

“You're telling me that Dad is trying to improve on the ‘Clapper'?” Melody demanded.

“No, no, that's not what I'm doing,” George said. “Think about the many things people don't really understand. You hit a button on a remote control and the TV channel changes. You hit buttons on your phone, and you can speak to someone on the other side of the globe.”

“Not with my service,” Keith said dryly.

Everyone stared at Keith. “Lighten up, guys, lighten up,” he said.

Jake, who had been standing silently, watching them all, spoke, “It's really true, you know. Discoveries are exactly that. Once upon a time, remember, the learned believed that the world was flat. And trust me, during the Revolution, even the lights you take for granted would be the most amazing creation ever. Men lived by candlelight, by lamps, and none could imagine that a whole city could seem to be ablaze with light. And then—an automobile. And vehicles that fly through the air. Men on the moon. Modern warfare in which an entire city can be destroyed with the push of a button. Melody, think about it, really. There's no reason to believe that your father can't invent anything.”

“But he's going to blow himself up!” Melody protested.

“Daughter! I'm the man who put you through school, kept clothes on your back—believed that you could make a living at being an artist and that you
shouldn't
have to major in physics, English or something entirely practical and guaranteed,” George said indignantly.

Melody was at a loss. Keith always sided with their father—they were two of a kind. And Jake was obviously not going to help her.

She was about to throw her arms up and walk away.

She didn't get the chance.

Mona stuck her head out the back door. “Supper is just about ready, all. Come on in. George, dear, oh! And Keith! I think you two really need to go on up and wash your faces. You've got about ten minutes.”

“Yes, dear, right away. Thank you,” George said.

He pinched Melody's cheek and headed on in. Keith did the same. She glared at him.

Jake, grinning, walked by her, too. “Mrs. Tarleton, please, will you allow me to help you set up for the meal?”

“How charming, well, of course, Jake. Thank you so much. There's really nothing to it these days, just throw a few things out on the table,” Mona said.

The back door closed. None of them seemed to realize they'd even left her out there.

She started to follow, but changed her mind. She went to the door of her father's laboratory and opened it carefully.

Whatever had occurred had taken place on one of his lab tables. The fire extinguisher was still next to
the table. Keith, however, had wiped up the chemicals. Despite the fact it had sounded as if a bomb had gone off, the place looked clean. Well, other than the layer of soot on the windows, but she knew that when the meal was over, George would come right out and finish the cleanup.

She walked over to her father's desk. Looking at the many scattered papers, she did suddenly rue the fact that she had been totally enamored of the arts in school. She'd had basic courses in math and science, but not much more. She just wished that she could begin to understand the initials and squiggle lines drawn on the spreadsheet her father had out on his desk.

Curious, she hit the mouse for her father's computer, bringing it back to life. She had expected to see squiggles and chemical initials, as well. But there was an article open in the corner that spoke about black holes and magnetic fields. There was another article on the Bermuda Triangle, and it's counterpart across the globe. There were many suggested theories regarding the Triangle—one, aliens were controlling the space; two, there was a different kind of black hole to be discovered there; and three, it all had to do with the magnets of the earth's poles.

She tended to think the last might be the most logical, herself.

There was also an e-mail on the page that was open beneath the articles. Oddly enough, it was from her mother.

 

George, I've been reading a book written by a scout working for the French before the French and Indian wars. A Massasoit chief had brought him to what
they called “the place of the waters and five trees.” The scout swore that the chief showed him how a rabbit could disappear—and an owl could fly out when the rabbit was gone. It had to do with the shaman's magic, he said, but it could only take place at that one spot. I'll show it to you later. This may have something to do with your waves and frequencies that cause movement.

 

Melody backed away from the computer, dismayed. Now her mother was in on it all. She wasn't just being tolerant—she was trying to turn some of her Wiccan or pagan beliefs into something scientific.

The door to the laboratory opened. She stepped back from the computer.

She flushed, aware that she had been reading a private message.

It wasn't her father, or her mother. It was Jake.

“They're crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, my God, they're both crazy.”

Jake stared at her, smiling very slowly, shaking his head. “They thirst for knowledge—that doesn't make them crazy. Melody, they are very dear people. You are blessed.”

“I know they're dear people. Don't you understand how much I love them? That's why I worry so much. And Keith is certainly no help.”

“Your brother is a good man, as well,” Jake said. “And you love them—you're not giving them your faith. You want everything solid, in black-and-white all the time. But love isn't solid, and you love your family. Give them your belief, as well. Belief isn't tangible, you'll
never hold it in your hands. But it's a beautiful gift to give someone.”

Well, of course, Jake would speak so well on belief. He had the craziest story in history, and he wanted her to believe him.

“Sure,” she said, turning away. There was bottle of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels near the lab table. She picked up both and started working on her father's windows. Jake helped her. He was good, and he was quick. He seemed awed by the glass cleaner. “This is so much easier,” he said. “So…and the paper towels. Amazing.”

“Jake, I'm really glad that anyone can get that excited by Windex. We don't use paper towels that often. My mother is trying to save the trees,” she said.

“Save the trees?”

“Yes, that's one problem with all the technology we've created. The air is going bad because we cut down the rain forests. Fish are tainted because industry has caused the mercury levels in the seas to rise. Industrial waste is incredibly high, and even when we—Americans, the biggest group of users—pass laws to protect the environment, we can't force other countries to do the same. You've seen all that's wonderful, but it all comes at a price, too.”

He nodded gravely. “So it is better to use cloth with which to clean, and vinegar, and other old sources.”

“Natural sources.”

He nodded again. “As you pointed out, I believe, hemlock is natural.”

“All right, so there is a neutral ground. Sadly, we haven't found it yet.”

“Even back where I came from, one person could
not solve all the problems. Working together is the only way,” Jake said.

“Yeah, and that sure works out just great all the time,” Melody said.

Jake shook his head. “Melody, I do believe that you need a good slap—which, of course, I will never deliver. Don't cry about what you see that you don't like, work at it.”

“I can't send my father to his room for bad behavior,” she said.

“Your father hasn't behaved badly. You have,” he said. There wasn't accusation in his words; it was just something that he was pointing out.

“I love my father!”

He answered slowly and carefully. “I know I'm an outsider, looking in. But your mother has shown me pictures you drew in kindergarten. She's told me that friends and neighbors thought it was actually silly that you went to school for art—artists didn't make it, not often, anyway. But she and your father knew that you were good. They loved you, and they had faith in you.”

“You really don't understand. My father is a brilliant man, and I know that. I don't want to see him go brilliantly crazy,” she said firmly.

“Are dreams all crazy?”

“You know, you're just being aggravating,” she said. “You're right—you are an outsider. You don't understand.”

“All right. But I think he's an amazing man. He's fearless, and he's proven he's talented. I confess, you're right—I don't understand. I don't know why you won't let him have a dream.”

He turned around and headed for the house. She looked after him, feeling chastised and resentful.

And wondering if she did fail to believe in others when she so craved that they believe in her.

“I should have dropped him at a hospital!” she muttered to herself.

She could still do so, of course. Walk into the dining room and announce that she had struck him while driving, been certain that he would come to his senses if she just brought him home to be fixed, but it wasn't working.

She wondered vaguely if she could be arrested now for striking the man and
not
filing a police report immediately. She could just imagine herself in the lockup for Christmas with her family gathered around her.

No. She wasn't going to do anything. And it wasn't because she was afraid of being arrested.

She wasn't ready to let him go.

Resolutely, she walked toward the house. What bothered her, she knew, was that he got beneath her skin.

Everything was on the table when she went in, and her father was pouring lemonade into glasses to go around the table.

“Mom, I'm sorry, I should have been in helping,” she said.

“Oh, your dad and I have this down pat—we're all fine here. You can do the cleanup if you wish, dear,” her mother said.

“That will be perfect,” her father said. “Your mom and I like to snuggle and watch that new game show that comes on at eight.”

Keith, across the table from her, made a face. “They're
too cute, aren't they?” he asked. “So, what are we going to do tonight?” he asked.

“I was thinking that there are a zillion more DVDs that Jake really needs to see,” Melody said.

“I was thinking that we should take him clubbing,” Keith said.

“There will be a designated driver,” her father said sternly.

“See, there's one of the great aspects of living in New York City,” Melody said. “Your entire group can pass out and you're okay because you take taxis everywhere.”

“Melody,” her mother said worriedly.

“Mom, I'm just saying in the city we don't think about designated drivers. I don't actually go out and pass out. Of course we'll be responsible,” Melody said.

“Wherever did we get such a sarcastic child?” Mona said, shaking her head.

“Hey—Keith's the one who spends his life torturously teasing everyone,” Melody protested.

“Torturously teasing?”
Keith said. “There's a mouthful.”

“We do have a guest,” George said. “Let's all behave.”

Mona turned to Jake. “I'll bet you know wonderful little tidbits about the Founding Fathers from your job at the tour company. Have you any great stories that the general public may not know?” she asked.

He finished chewing—meat loaf—and mulled over the question for a moment. “What I don't think people realize today, perhaps, is what a losing proposition going to war against Britain really was. Every single man who signed the Declaration of Independence was, in essence, signing his own death certificate. The United States was a group of separate colonies, all with different problems,
and different beliefs. Even—among the Thirteen Colonies, there were terrible arguments about how a new government should be formed. All these men who were the Founding Fathers were individuals. They all had their strange habits, some drove the others crazy—they were people. Somehow they got it together to form a nation.”

Great, he just managed to sound better every time he opened his mouth.

“You must be a wonderful guide!” Mona said enthusiastically.

“You speak as if you've seen the past and the present,” George told him. “My God, what a wonderful way you have of putting everything into perspective. We spend so much time these days just bitching and moaning!”