THE TIME STAR (9 page)

Oh, Lord! Waneeta shut her eyes. The
release of tension from her body caused her to whimper, and she shook with
shock. As she hastily brushed the tears across her cheeks, Waneeta realized her
plight.

Thomas had not been a figment of her
imagination. She had the iodine stain, the photo,
this journal
.

Her memories, too. And the forest wasn't
out to get her. Granted, it had changed, but what did you expect in over a
century? That tree must have just been freshly uprooted when she met Thomas,
but a century later it was barely distinguishable. The tree with the fork in it
was hardly more than a sapling when Thomas walked these woods, and now it was
one of the old growth trees, too deformed to be cut down. Only to be used as a
seeder tree now.

Waneeta put her hand to her mouth and
bit her knuckles. The pristine snow, the cabin, Thomas himself had told her
what she could never have believed. Even the way he reacted to the snowmobile;
they were all clues now confirmed.

I traveled back in time!

Tears streamed down her face, and
Waneeta refused to fight them. Never in her wildest dreams would she believe
this could happen. But the proof was there, recorded for posterity, a century
ago.

When the sobbing finally died, Waneeta
glanced at her watch. She'd been in bed only half an hour.

It felt like a hundred years.

Bad choice of words. Looking again at
her watch, she touched its crystal face. The last time she glanced at it was in
the garage. But hadn't it broken during her spill in the woods? Or had it been
affected by the change in time that was so drastic, it had overloaded its
circuitry?

She stumbled into the ensuite to splash
cold water on her face. How could this be true?  How could it have happened?

Waneeta returned to the bedroom, and
after sitting, she lifted the book again. Brown spots dotted various leaves of
well aged paper and the spine was now warped. A large, wet circle told her that
one of her tears had landed there.

What had happened to Thomas? Had he
married? The man who had owned all of Thomas’ things had been a grandson, Doris
had said. Yes, Thomas had married, raised children-

Been with another woman
.

Jolted by that, Waneeta gripped the
journal more and read on.

Chapter 10

To pass the time, and take my mind away
from where it shouldn't go, I told Waneeta the story of the Wendigo. She was
fascinated and I enjoyed telling it to her.

After the story, she flirted with me
unlike any other woman had. I must admit to enjoying it, however inappropriate
it was.

This tantalizing banter should have
warned me, but again I reiterate. She fascinated me. As I helped her to get
comfortable on my bunk, because she was still hurt, she quite unexpectedly
kissed me. I was shocked! It was a difficult night, I think, for both of us.

Yes, we spent two nights together,
although I confess to impure thoughts about her, I must say I was more of a
gentlemen than I've ever been. Or imagined I could be.

Waneeta and I remained inside the whole
day, as it was quite stormy out. She'd forecast the bad weather, saying she
went to the 'Weather Channel'. I'm unfamiliar with this waterway and its
prophetic abilities, but she was correct. Waneeta is most unusual. She asked me
if my furniture were replicas. She likes to watch ice hockey, and was again
surprised that I'd support the team for which I'm playing! She's even traveled
to Toronto just to watch a game.

Sometimes I found if hard to follow her
strange language, terms like Teevee and hydro. I was intrigued. Teevee must be
a corruption of a Indian term, and hydro, which would infer water, is odd, it’s
almost as if she was indicating electricity, the way she spoke. But science
isn't my strength. When I return in the summer to Kingston, I shall ask my
professors.

 It was later that morning that I
discovered she is a working woman. This disproves my theory of her being a lady
of the local gentry. She actually works in a sports equipment store! Whatever
do the patrons think?

Just when she'd convinced me of her
practical nature, Waneeta became entranced by my quoting Wordsworth to her. I
had to. In the morning light, her hair had highlights the color of daffodils.
Again I must confess to being enthralled. I caught her up in a rather lively
polka, but was forced to stop, as she could not follow the music in my head.
Then I kissed her. I shouldn't have taken such a liberty, and immediately
apologized. What kind of boar did she think me? She swooned in my arms, and I
had to help her to a chair. It was most unfortunate, and I feel even now that I
should make amends. But as you'll soon read, how can I?

That night, I told her a story of the Madawaska
River. I could feel the tension my kiss had caused. I wanted nothing but her. I
believe the feeling was mutual. Once more, it was a long, difficult night.

To end this, I must keep writing, while
my mind is fresh and can sort out the unusual events. How could I begin
explaining the bizarre twist my adventure took today? Being a practical man,
I've never believed in ghosts, but today, I may change my thinking. Waneeta
wanted to show me her ‘skidoo’. Since the storm has passed, we went outside.

Other things were also on my mind. It
was wrong to let Waneeta go without offering to assuage the situation her visit
created. She spent two nights alone with an unmarried man. She’ll be ridiculed,
and I'm concerned for her reputation. I am more than concerned! I'm in love
with her, and acted on that! I proposed to her, and was surprised when she
shied away from the idea. I know she is not married, so I have no idea why she
acted as she did. I suppose my austere lifestyle here was a shock to her. I would
have returned to Kingston for her and foregone my father's dream of educating
the Indian children if she'd wanted me to. I've been offered a teaching
position there, and for her, I would gladly leave this shanty. Indeed, should I
decide to stay here, I'll have to move closer to the river where the children
will be able to travel along to school. And I may not want that. I don't know
yet. That's why I am here.

In all fairness to Waneeta, I gave no
indication of my feelings for her before that time, so I shouldn't be surprised
by her answer. We did, however, compromise. In fact, she insisted on meeting me
here in May. With that much, I was forced to be satisfied. But my thoughts are
moving too quickly for my pen, and I need to get back on track.

When we entered the woods, my mind went
to her 'skidoo' and her missing cousin. I wasn't as interested in her cousin as
I should have been, hoping we could return that evening to my cabin, having not
found the man.

But now my story takes an odd twist. We
traveled for about a quarter of a mile until we reached her machine. It was an
ugly conveyance of rusting white iron sitting on a black tread with two skis
out front, one obviously damaged. She asked me to help her turn it around.
Although I questioned her ability to get back to the town of Pembroke on it, I
did as she bid me.

When the meteorite came up in the
conversation, she pointed to a forked tree a few yards away. But the tree was
unharmed. I can't explain this discrepancy. I love this delightful woman, but I
failed to find proof of her extraordinary tale.

I decided Waneeta needed more rest and
was about to insist she return to the cabin with me when she assured me she was
fine. I wish I'd stopped her, but I'd no idea what would happen next. I find it
hard to believe the events that unfolded, even now.

Waneeta produced a small key from her
pocket and as she twisted it in a slit on her conveyance, I felt the ground
beneath me shiver. Never before have I felt such fear. The earth vibrated. I
looked at her and to my horror, she faded away before my very eyes, she and
that 'skidoo' of hers! I rushed forward to grab her, but all that remained were
her footprints.

It was long after dark when I finally
returned to the cabin. I had spent the day searching for her. Having no
appetite, I merely went about my chores and prepared for bed. I'm unable to
explain her disappearance and regret that I didn't drag her away from that ugly
locomotive. I should have told her how I feel, that I love her, and want her in
my life and would do anything for her. Although I'll wait for her to come back
in May, I can't shake the feeling I will be disappointed. Very disappointed.

Waneeta flipped the page. It was empty.
The rest of the journal, in fact, was empty. Stunned, she sank into the
pillows. Out of all the crazy events recorded here, one sprang from the page at
her. He loved her! Thomas was willing to leave the cabin and his father's dream
just for her.

Waneeta heard a noise on the floor above
her. Doris, preparing for bed. She bolted upright, remembering Doris’ words.

Tell me in the morning if there's
anything interesting in there.

What could she say? That she'd just
traveled back in time and spent the weekend with the man who founded her
village? In his time, Stafford Village didn't exist. Yes, Thomas didn't even
live here, yet. He'd wanted to marry her and was willing to return to Kingston
for a better life. Could she tell Doris that Stafford Village came close to not
being at all? Doris would recognize her name in the journal, and though she would
never believe Waneeta traveled back in time, there was simply too much to
explain, to consider, even.

Waneeta pressed the journal to her chest.
Doris knew Waneeta had it. It would be read. With words like 'Teevee' and 'Skidoo'
in it, even Waneeta's name, its authenticity would be questioned. Poor Doris
would be crushed. It was to be the highlight of her museum. All the artifacts
she’d collected would now be considered fakes. Her lifelong dream would be over
before it started.

And Waneeta would face accusations she
could never deny.

She looked down at the journal. It must
never be read.

Her knuckles whitened around the bend
and mouldy book. Thomas, what have you done? How could it be undone?

It couldn't. Abruptly, a shaky
inhalation put her on the verge of tears again. Thomas was dead. Wasn't he? But
a few hours ago, he was alive, falling in love. So was she. Indeed, she'd never
felt so alive as when she was with him. That's love.

Love could transcend death, Thomas had
believed.

And if it could transcend death, it
could transcend time
.

Without thinking, Waneeta threw off the
bedclothes and pulled on her leggings. There wasn't any question of what to do,
just a sense of conviction so strong it rivaled her love for Thomas.

She grabbed the journal, but when she
reached for the bedroom door, she stopped. She could change the past. She could
stop Thomas from writing those words that would put Doris’ dream in jeopardy.

With shoulders straight and jaw tight,
she set the journal back on the bed. If she was quiet, she could slip out the
back door without Doris even hearing her.

The outside air was crisp, her breath
streaming out in front of her. As she quietly closed the front door behind her,
she looked up. The moon had risen enough to light her way. It would be a long
walk, but Waneeta knew what would pull her along the crusty snow toward the
site where the meteorite had hit. Love. Her dream to be with Thomas. Getting
rained on by meteorite dust had somehow sent her into the past. Swiping the
dust off had returned her to the future. Yes, she knew what to do. She couldn't
explain why time had chose to bend to touch her with Thomas. Perhaps love did
it.

She glanced down at the snowy trail half
an hour later. Only her footprints and the snowmobile trail could be seen. No meteorite
hunters had come this way. Yet.

Urgency hurried her on. That and the
desire to stop any of those relic hunters from returning to the past, too.  She
plowed along, always searching, until finally, out of breath, she found the
nugget. It had sunk deep into untouched snow. Its crater was wide and crusted
with ice. After grabbing it, she wiped off the ice still clinging to it.

Here she and Thomas had lost each other.
Despite the crisp night, she could still feel the heat of his love within her.
Waneeta closed her eyes, allowing that warmth to wash over her and the barriers
of death and time. She held the meteorite close to her chest. Held it tight to
take it back with her.

That same peculiar feeling started, but this
time, Waneeta welcomed it, encouraging it to carry her back to him. When the
nausea faded away, Waneeta slumped to the ground.

In an instant, she was on her feet again.

"Thomas!" she called.

Silence. Only silence. She glanced
around. This was the woods Thomas had known. But they no longer frightened her.
The smaller forked tree, unsullied path, the hint of wood smoke, all embraced
her.

 It wasn't hard to follow the scent of
Thomas' fire, and the moon was bright enough to light the way they'd forged
only hours ago.