Whispers from the Past (17 page)

“Yeah, right?” She laughed. “I’m so happy. I’ve dreamed about going there since I was a little girl.”

“You didn’t really doubt you’d get in?”

“Yes, I did.”

Whatever. If she wanted to be humble, that was fine with me. I focused on the off-ramp to the airport.

“I ate breakfast at Lucy’s this morning.”

Anger tightened me into a fuming statue. “You did what?”

“I had a talk with Susanna.”

An idiot would’ve been able to read my reaction, and Benita was no idiot. Was she bold to the point of stupidity? “Why?”

“I warned her about the photo in
Teen Trash
.”

Holy shit. I swerved into the parking lot of a convenience store, threw the truck into park, and faced Benita. “What were you thinking?”

“She deserved to know.”

“She doesn’t deserve any damn thing.” I was so mad that I was having a hard time breathing. “That was wrong, Benita.”

“Would it have been better for a co-worker to surprise her with the news?”

It would’ve completely sucked for Susanna to be ambushed like that at work, but I wasn’t ready to give up on how pissed off I was. “Drop it.”

“She hates the idea that you might be dating Gabrielle.”

The statement felt like a punch to the gut. “Did she actually say that?”

Benita’s brow creased. “No, but I could see it in her face.”

“No, you didn’t. Susanna doesn’t show emotion.” I straightened in my seat and let my head drop onto the seat back. “Our breakup is off-limits. Don’t talk to her about it again.”

“I don’t think I need your permission.” Benita sniffed. “She said something about love not being enough—”

“Shut. Up.” I slammed the palm of my hand against the steering wheel. Susanna—my Susanna—had confessed something that personal to Benita? Seriously?

I put the truck into gear and pulled back into traffic.

We didn’t speak again until I stopped at the correct terminal at the airport. I walked around to help her out and then set her luggage on the sidewalk.

“Mark?” she started.

“Back off, Benita.”

Her chin thrust forward. “I was just going to thank you for the ride.” She grabbed her stuff and stalked through the swishing doors.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

A F
REE
C
ONSCIENCE

Writing letters to my old friend was quite difficult. I couldn’t put a date on them, for she would not understand. I couldn’t write of anything that hinted at how often Dorcas and I exchanged notes, for I couldn’t be certain into whose hands the letter would fall.

My message had to be plain and direct, hopeful yet promising nothing.

My hand faltered, the word “husband” wavering before my eyes. I had to include him. She would expect nothing less. Yet it grieved me to think of him, to write his name, to mention a dream I no longer had. Perhaps Dorcas would not notice the lack of details.

I waited until the sun was high in the sky before venturing into Umstead Park. When I approached the Worthville cemetery, I stopped and checked the tombstones. They lay in their quiet pile of rubble, no sign of any changes since I had last checked. I rode on.

Several mountain bikers passed me going the other way. They were serious about their sports, like Mark, with their expensive machines and full gear.

I braked at the point where the Umstead trail connected with the greenway behind Mark’s neighborhood. On a hill opposite me, a tractor rumbled through the forest before disappearing below the ridge. I took the opportunity to sip from my water bottle and dab my face with a scarf. It had become unseasonably warm this day.

I pedaled along the greenway, stopped and locked my bike near the rutted track, and walked down to Rocky Creek. Whisper Falls sparkled in the sunlight, alerting me to its willingness to have me return to the past.

My camera revealed plentiful water on the other side. A quick listen on my favorite rock assured me that humans didn’t disturb the creatures of the forest. I was safe.

No glimmers of white awaited me in the cave, yet I searched the crevice anyway. I shook off the small twinge of disappointment and wedged my letter securely, with only a tip of the corner peeking out. I turned to go.

A horse thundered from the cover of the forest and drew to a stop downstream at the creek’s edge.

The rider shifted forward, peering with intensity toward the falls.

I had no doubt that it was Mr. Pratt.

Fear had my heart beating so fiercely that I felt faint. I had worn a white shirt this day. I must be clearly visible—a pale shadow amongst the darker ones.

I inched away from the mouth of the cave, taking slow, careful steps toward the waterfall. Merciful heavens, how could I have been so foolish?

No, I must remain calm. He watched from atop the horse. At my current pace, I would be through the falls even before he could dismount.

But what if I fell? If he did capture me, how would he exact punishment? How might his revenge manifest itself?

“Susanna?” he shouted, jumping from the horse, his boots splashing in the creek.

That voice—that awful, rasping voice—launched me into action. With a shaky breath, I darted from the rock and leapt across a chasm of two centuries. Once I’d reached the other side, I collapsed on a fallen log, clutched my hands to my waist, and shuddered at the terror of what could have happened.

I had been quite foolish. Danger lurked in the past. I must never forget. I loved Dorcas—but not even she could save me from the wrath of her father.

As long as I was a fugitive in my century, I would return there at my own peril.

It was nearly midnight when Marissa slipped through the door. She frowned as she walked past me into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

I had been about to retire, but something about her demeanor caused me to stay. I sat at the table, a box of finished invitations at my elbow, a bit melancholy that I had nearly completed all of my promised handwriting projects. Soon, there would be nothing left to occupy me but my thoughts.

“Dustin dumped me tonight.”

“I am sorry.” I had never particularly liked the eighteenth-century rules of courtship, but I did not think that Mark’s world had improved upon it. “Dumping” was an appalling practice and shockingly frequent. It was a wonder people kept trying.

Marissa thumped a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table before me. She poured wine into both, slid one to me, and dropped onto a chair.

I rubbed my fingers along its stem. Had she forgotten my age?

She gulped her portion down. “He says I’m not his type.”

“Is Dustin correct?”

She exhaled. “Yeah.”

“Are you afraid to date your type?”

“Damn, Susanna. You’re so smart that it’s scary.” She shook her head. “You’d do great in college, you know.”

I scowled into the depths of my glass “There seems to be an endless supply of people who agree with you. I cannot understand why. And don’t say it is because I am intelligent. There must be many intelligent people who do not go to college.”

“We think you have what it takes to have a great career.”

“Except an interest in doing so.”

Her chair squeaked as she settled back into it. “What interests you?”

“Taking care of people.”

“Like you take care of me.”

“Yes.” I looked up at her, meeting her gaze squarely. “I like to cook, but I don’t wish to be a chef. I like tending to a person’s needs when they are ill, but I don’t wish to be a nurse.” Sherri had found a first aid class for me this winter, and I’d truly enjoyed learning about such care. I might have considered a profession in emergency medicine if there weren’t so many years of education required. “These are skills that interest me, but I’m not interested in the efforts to acquire the official documents to do them.”

“Sounds like you want to be a housewife.” Her tone held a hint of derision.

“Why is that bad?”

She rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. Her regard was steady. “It’s not bad, but it’s also not a career you can do on your own. Until you get married, you need to aspire to something else.”

“I have a job. I’m providing for myself.”

“If you had a college degree, you could be so much more. We have choices out here in the real world, Susanna. You can be whatever you want.”

“Apparently not. I have stated what I want, yet everyone is eager to tell me I’m wrong.”

“Whoa.” Her brow creased as if she were deep in thought. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“Do all women in this…?” The word
century
nearly slipped past my lips. I tried again. “Do all of your women friends feel the way you do?”

“Pretty much.” One of her hands reached out to clasp mine, her face soft with sympathy. “It’ll be years before my brother is ready for what you want.”

“Mark and I are not together.” I withdrew my hand and dropped my gaze. “The internet says that he has Gabrielle.”

“Gabrielle might dream about Mark, but she’ll never have him. No one will, not while you’re around.”

I shook my head at Marissa’s words and prayed they were not so.

She rose with a groan. “Would it hurt you to see him?”

“I don’t expect to.”

“You will at Gran and Granddad’s party next month.”

“I don’t think I shall attend.” I loved Mark’s grandparents, and I’d been looking forward to celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary with them, but too much had changed in the past few days.

“Susanna, you have to come. It will break their hearts if you don’t.” She drained her glass of wine. “You don’t have to stay for long. Please come.”

I did want to go. But seeing Mark? I could imagine the discomfort would be in the extreme. “I shall make no promises.”

“I won’t give up.” She pointed to my box of invitations. “Do you want me to deliver those to Mom for you?”

“It isn’t necessary. I can take them over.” The weather was supposed to be fine this weekend, and I ought to check the cave for more letters. “I enjoy biking through Umstead now.”

“Have you seen all the trees they’re clearing near the greenway?”

“Indeed. I have noticed that the forest seemed thin.”

“There’s a new neighborhood going up.” She hesitated on her way to the back. “Did you hear about the waterfall? I know how much you like it.”

Surprise gripped me like a vise. “What is wrong with Whisper Falls?”

“Rocky Creek is being diverted. The old creek bed will barely have enough water to trickle.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“The new neighborhood is planning a water feature near their clubhouse. They’re cutting a channel from Rocky Creek to a little lake. The creek won’t be much of a creek anymore.” She looked sad. “By May, Whisper Falls will mostly be gone.”

I sat in frozen horror long after Marissa left. The waterfall would disappear?

There would be no more journeys to the past. My letters to Dorcas would cease. Research through old documents would be my sole link to family and friends.

In as soon as five weeks, the past—and Dorcas—would be beyond my reach.