Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy) (25 page)

Zane slid the deck plan into his coat pocket. "I won't slip."

Emilie met Andrew's eyes. "What do you mean, all will be lost?"

"Each morning dead prisoners are buried in the mud flats. Those who survive live crowded together in the dark below deck with no light and little air and rancid food."

His eyes strayed toward the Blakelees who were standing near the entrance to the front room.

"Josiah?" asked Zane.

Andrew nodded. "'Tis feared he has been sent to the Hell Ship."

"Wait a minute," said Emilie, struck by a dreadful thought. "I understand what will happen to other people if that map falls into the wrong hands, but what about Zane?"

The silence from the two men spoke volumes. She looked down at her hands, focusing on the gold and silver ring. The ring that was serving as her imitation wedding band. She covered it with her right hand.

"You are there to see Maggie," Andrew said. "She knows what you are about and will see to it that you connect with the necessary people."

Emilie was proud of herself. He'd handed her a perfect straight line and she'd resisted the urge. She didn't know anything about this Maggie, but she had a pretty good idea she wouldn't like her.

"Can you ride?" Andrew asked Zane.

Zane nodded. "Won't that draw more attention?"

"You're an officer," Andrew said. "It's in keeping with your position."

And then it was time for Emilie and Zane to say goodbye.

Andrew stepped aside to allow them a moment of privacy, but he didn't look away. Emilie glanced over her shoulder and saw the entire Blakelee family, from Rebekah all the way down to Aaron, watching them with rapt attention.

A handshake just wouldn't do it. Rebekah was already curious enough about the two of them.

Zane met her eyes. "Come on, Em," he said, his voice low. "Let's give it our best shot."

He took her in his arms. The smell of soap and wool enveloped her as he held her close. Tilting her chin with his forefinger, he lowered his head and brought his mouth down on hers.

His kiss was bittersweet. Her tears were hot.

"Be careful," she whispered.

He smiled at her and, with a nod toward the others, he was off.

Chapter Twelve

Emilie tried to throw herself into the frenzied preparations going on at the Blakelee house, but not even the excitement surrounding Charity's wedding could ease the feeling of disaster settling itself around her.

Saying goodbye to Zane she'd wanted to throw herself in his arms and never let him go. But when she turned away from the door and met Andrew's eyes she'd felt embarrassed and confused and altogether positive that she was losing her mind. There was a connection between her and Andrew, a deep and important connection, but she found it difficult to understand exactly what it was.

As it was, Andrew seemed restless. He'd wanted to go out into the fields and work off his energy, but he knew the farm was being watched and he dare not risk being seen.

And so he paced from one end of the farmhouse to the other, muttering to himself. Finally Rebekah could stand it no longer and she put him to work polishing the pewter service she'd dug up from the back yard where she'd had it hidden.

It was obvious he'd give anything to be in Zane's place, facing danger head-on, and Emilie found her own feelings on that subject surprisingly tangled.

#

At dusk Rebekah served a light supper of beans and brown bread with tankards of cider. Emilie found it hard to concentrate on her meal and she ended up moving the food around on her plate with her fork. Afterwards, she helped Rebekah and Charity tidy the kitchen, grateful to have something to occupy her mind.

Isaac had wanted help with something he was building for his sister's new home and Andrew had climbed up to the boy's attic room to help him. Emilie, Rebekah, and Charity settled down in the front room to finish work on the girl's wedding linens by candlelight.

"Are you getting nervous, Charity?" Emilie asked as she put the finishing touches on a table runner embroidered with daisies and forget-me-nots. "Your wedding is less than forty-eight hours away."

"Charity is much like her father," said Rebekah fondly. "There is little in this world that can sway her from her course."

"Timothy's folks arrive tomorrow evening," Charity said. "I find myself wondering if I'll like them half as much as I love him."

Rebekah laughed out loud. "How like my girl to care not what they think of her but to worry if she will like them."

"I'd always wished for in-laws," Emilie said, more to herself than to Rebekah or Charity. "Zane's parents died years before I met him." She'd had but one chance to meet his grandmother Sara Jane during their brief marriage and had longed to get to know the woman who'd meant so much to Zane.

"Poor man," said Rebekah. "'Tis no wonder he hurts as he does. He told me that he was sent away from home long before they met their untimely end."

Emilie's head shot up from her needlework. "He told you about his parents?"

Rebekah nodded. "The morning before last when he helped me hang the wash."

Zane Rutledge helped Rebekah hang the wash? Emilie found she could only stare at the woman in surprise.

"He is a good man," Rebekah continued, her needle dipping in and out of the open-weave fabric of the nightdress she worked on. "And he loves you very much."

Emilie looked back down at her own work again. If Rebekah only knew the truth: that Emilie and Zane had been married and divorced and were living a lie.

"...you can always tell when a man loves a woman," Rebekah was saying. "'Tis the little things that give it away."

Charity smiled smugly. "Timothy gave me a tortoise-shell comb for my birthday."

"I don't think that's exactly what your mother meant," Emilie said. She looked at Rebekah. "Is it?"

Rebekah shook her head. "I always said I realized Josiah truly loved me the night he sat up with Charity when the girl was cutting her teeth." Rebekah, about to give birth to Isaac, had appreciated that unbroken night's sleep the way another woman might have appreciated a flawless emerald. "A man gives what he can," she said, meeting Emilie's eyes, "and he gives it in his own way."

Her thoughts went back to the warm tub of bathwater, scented with roses, that had awaited her in their room the other night. "Perhaps a woman ought not read more into a simple gesture than actually exists."

Rebekah smiled. "And perhaps a woman ought not read less into a man because he does not conform to the ideal."

"If I didn't know better, Rebekah, I would believe you spoke of me."

"Your husband is a good man, Emilie, and a kind one. I fear you do not always see that."

"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.