Wishes & Tears (15 page)

“I know. I saw them in Triangle Park when I returned.”

He began to pace the floor as he spoke. “Since the cataclysm I have been out doctoring those in need, an overwhelming task. I came home for additional supplies only to hear Bridget screaming hysterically about your return. You were prone on my foyer floor, a heavy sack tied to your back. I have seen many a strange sight, but you were one to behold.” He paused, turned toward her and took a deep breath. “You believe in adding drama to your comings and goings, don’t you? The way you vanished before Andrew and I was quite remarkable. If not for my son and other witnesses, I would have thought it a trick of my imagination.”

She interrupted. “I somehow was sent back to 2006 where I was found on the street with a gash on my head. It was considered strange that I would appear on a major thoroughfare wearing 1900’s garb and babbling about the Great Earthquake.”

“I still don’t understand this talk about 2006.” He pointed his finger at her.

“I can explain. If you would retrieve my backpack, I’ll show you some of the things I brought back.”

“You make it sound as if you were away on some holiday.”

She snickered, curling her lip. “In a way, I was. Just bring me my pack … unless, of course, you already examined the contents?”

“The pack, as you call that monstrous bag, has not been touched. In this house we have viewed it as a Pandora’s Box.”

“I can assure you it doesn’t contain snakes or plagues.”

He walked over to the rosewood wardrobe. Opening a narrow door, he reached down and retrieved her heavy nylon backpack. Carrying it by the straps, he deposited it at her side on the bed. The bag sunk into the feather mattress. He pulled up the wicker chair and sat, analyzing her every move.

Faith glanced up at the doctor and down at the pack. She was inwardly amused at his interest and fear. He seemed genuinely concerned about the contents of her pack. In an era of tiny reticules and bulky steamer trunks, the nylon backpack had to be an unusual sight. The fabric nylon had yet to be invented and zippers were rather new.

As she unzipped the perimeter of the bag, Doctor Forrester sat back as if in fear of the contents leaping out at him. Faith smiled as the tightly packed contents began to pop out.

Doctor Forrester jumped in his seat, startled as three padded bras landed on the bed before him. Faith watched his face turn crimson as he stared at the leopard print and lace one. Corsets never looked like that, she surmised.

Beneath her “unmentionables,” Lycra tights and pantyhose, a cosmetics bag, were books, she reached in and withdrew a book on San Francisco. The heavy, oversized volume featured a color photograph of the Golden Gate Bridge on its cover. Like a child presenting “Show and Tell,” she held up the book as if displaying it. The doctor stared at it, stroking his chin in contemplative silence.

“This is a book chronicling the history of San Francisco from the Gold Rush up until 2006,” she explained. “On the cover is a color photograph of the famous Golden Gate Bridge, built in 1937.”

“Impossible,” he murmured.

She smiled, opening the book. Turning to the copyright page, she pointed out the year. “This book was published in early 2006.”

He squinted, leaning forward to read the fine print.

“Here.” She snapped the book shut and handed it to him. “Look through its pages to catch a glimpse of the future. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked as he gingerly accepted the book.

“That no one else be shown this book or told about me. The book and my past have to remain our secret.”

“Are you afraid someone might have you committed?”

“Or display me in a circus sideshow?” She sighed. “Doctor, we can’t chance altering any part of history, good or bad, just because of my arrival.”

He shook his head, staring down at the book and up at her.

“Doctor, do you promise?”

He met her gaze. “I’m a man of my word.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

For a moment, she thought time stood still as their eyes melded together. She wondered if the promise spoken was the same as the promise implied. She focused on him as he opened the book to the first page. Before him was a printed timeline of major events in the history of the world as well as in the city. His hands trembled as he fingered the words.

“Airplanes? A Titanic ship? World War? Women voting? Negroes as equals? Man on the moon? This … these things are not possible. It cannot be. The early history is accurate but the future predictions … oh my.” He looked up from the book, beads of perspiration forming on his brow.

“They are not predictions but fact. Those things will happen.” She met his gaze, steady and assured. At least he was questioning and not arguing.

He shook his head as he turned the pages. He didn’t want to believe what he saw and read. The photographs were all too real and the steady stream of inventions and transformations began to make some sense. Everything, though, was so far removed from the world as he knew it. Was there nothing left untouched? Would the world really be turned upside down and inside out as revealed in the thick volume?

“Everything is so complex,” he muttered, unfolding the centerfold, revealing the city skyline in its 2006 glory. Buildings he couldn’t recognize gleamed from the pages, the Transamerica Pyramid looming like a sentinel amidst the shiny skyscrapers.

“Life is very complex.”

Faith sat up in the bed, bringing her knees up to her chest, hugging the covers against her. She felt more at ease, confident that he finally believed her. The book and its contents mesmerized him and she felt assured that showing it to him was a smart move. “I have never seen anything like this. It is like reading Nostradamus. The photographs, though, are so clear, magical, so real.” He gazed at her. “Where did you get this book?”

“Don’t worry. You can’t buy it now. It won’t be published for another hundred years.”

He looked inside the dust jacket flap. “$29.95? For a book?”

“Not a great sum in 2006.”

“2006? Humm.” He shut the book and set it on the bed.

“Well, do you believe me now?” she asked.

“I’m so confused I don’t know what to believe,” he admitted. He glanced at her open backpack. “What else do you have in your bag of tricks?”

“More personal items.” She pointed to the leopard bra that still lay in plain view.

He looked away. She could have sworn he was blushing.

“I brought you a gift,” she said.

He looked at her, snickering. “A crystal ball?”

She removed a Merck Manual from her pack and handed the heavy volume to him.

“Another book?” he asked, accepting the thick book with the navy blue cover.

“Not just any book, but a famous medical diagnostics book. Some bedtime reading for you.”

He set the book on his lap, keeping it closed.

“Aren’t you at least going to open it?”

“Not now. I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

She knew that the biggest surprises were yet to come and he hadn’t realized it yet.

Ever since Faith Donahue vanished in mid-air and reappeared on his doorstep, Ian Forrester had a difficult time doing anything but thinking about her and her unbelievable story. She was the most beguiling creature he had ever met. After having shown him the magical book on the futuristic San Francisco and a medical text that defied description, he didn’t know what to make of her. She claimed to be a product of the future. There was no logical explanation for the strange artifacts she brought back, for the unusual articles of clothing and cosmetics, or for the confidence and independence she possessed. Faith was so different from other women, her manner and intellect far more progressive. He wished Miss LaDue were more like her. Her actions so much more self-assured and liberated. He found her openness refreshing and her mind a challenge. She was unique but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that she was a time traveler.

Time travelers were a thing of fiction.

He had to get to the bottom of her mystery. The scientist in him was running out of theories. She wasn’t insane according to the medical texts. Her accounting of her life hadn’t varied. Faith was unwavering in her story. The fact that she vanished in thin air defied all scientific explanation. The contents of her bulky bag defied description. Perhaps more conversation would unravel the mystery. He was a man who thrived on problem solving. The mystery of Faith Donahue needed solving, which is why he’d decided to bring up her afternoon tea. Grasping the silver tray, he resembled a butler more than the master of the house. His mastery of serving, though, was not as smooth. The china tea service rattled, cream splattering from the pitcher, scones and treats balanced precariously on a tilted plate. He barely made it to the bedside table where he juggled the tray before setting it down.

“And what do I owe such special service?” Faith asked as she watched him struggle. She sat up in bed, tucking the quilt in to the high neck of her flannel gown.

He brushed a stray hair back from his brow. “Bridget was preoccupied so I thought I’d help.”

She eyed the tray. “I see. There are two china cups. Either I’m to expect a guest or you’re planning on sharing the tea and goodies?”

“You, Madame, are very observant.”

“Teachers have to be.” She smiled. “Why don’t you pull up a chair and join me.”

“Thank you.” He retrieved the wicker chair and slunk his tall form into it.

“Shall I pour?” he asked.

“Good idea. I’m still a bit shaky. The water in the bay can get awfully frigid.”

He reached for the teapot and poured two cups of steaming jasmine tea, grateful that Bridget had measured and strained the tea leaves beforehand.

“Cream or sugar?” he asked.

“Neither.”

“I prefer my tea straight, too.” He handed her a cup and saucer.

“Thanks.” After taking the cup and saucer, she sipped the fragrant tea.

Observing her, he noted the delicate way she balanced the china cup and the way her pinky stood out just so as she grasped the delicate handle. For all of her idiosyncrasies, she was still feminine. He lifted his cup to his lips and sipped. After, he picked up and passed the plate of scones and tartlets.

“I didn’t realize how domestic men of your era were,” she commented. “I expected them to be quite chauvinistic. Sipping tea with and serving sweets to ladies seems out of character.”

He choked, handing her the plate, and took a swig of tea.

“Sorry if I’ve offended you,” she said.

She took a bite of scone. “These could use some Devon cream.”

“I don’t bake or milk cows, Miss Donahue,” he said, slanting his eyebrows.

She smirked, curling her lip. “I didn’t think so.”

“What am I to do with you?” he mumbled.

“Keep me on as Andrew’s governess.”

He sat up in rapt attention. “Can I trust you not to cast a magic spell on him or make him disappear?”

“As I said before, I’m a time traveler, not a witch. If you’d be kind enough to fetch me my pack, I’ll show you my credentials.”

Now this he had to see. Without a word, he stood, ambled over to the wardrobe, picked up her bag, and deposited it on the bed at her side. He sat in the chair in anticipation of what she might remove next.

Faith unzipped the bag and dug deep within it. She withdrew two rolled up diplomas and handed them to him.

He hesitated before accepting the parchment documents and unrolled them.

“Bowling Green State University, Bachelor of Arts in History and in Education. Notre Dame College of Ohio, Master of Education,” he read, adding, “I am not aware of these schools or their curriculum.”

“Unfortunately, they were not founded until 1910 and 1922 respectively.”

“How do I know that these are not fabrications?”

“Doctor, I do not know what else I can do to prove to you who I am and where I come from.” She reached into her pack and withdrew her eel skin wallet. She opened it and began to pull out cards, tossing them on the bed. “Here’s my identification: my driver’s license, credit cards, ATM cards, shopper’s cards, checkbook, cash!”

He picked up the cards and read them. They were documents, the likes of which he had never seen. They looked and felt as if they had come from another world. Even the currency had unusual engravings, though the denominations and the designation, “United States of America” were convincingly real. He felt a fluttering in his chest, a lump and dryness in his throat.

Faith took his cup and filled it with tea, handing it to him.

“You could use this,” she offered.

He looked up at her through glazed eyes. “I could use something stronger.”

His hands shook so badly that the china cup danced in the saucer as he took it from her. He could barely draw the cup up to his lips, he was trembling so much. After emptying the cup, he set it down.

“I … I don’t know what to say.” He rose from his seat. “You’ll have to excuse me. There … there’s so much for me to digest. I need to think.”

“I understand,” she said.

He backed away from the bed and from her. “Please, make yourself comfortable. No more vanishing acts, please. Our discussion about your employment here is not over. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

• • •

Bridget thought it odd that the good doctor would take a sudden interest in Miss Donahue. Ever since her miraculous return, he had treated her like a houseguest. Allowing her to recover in the guestroom, having meals sent up, and showering her with attention gave her pause. He even served her afternoon tea. When the good doctor descended the stairs, he was not carrying the tea tray. Instead, he was as pale as a ghost and rushed to his office where he slammed the door shut. Bridget decided that it was fine time she paid a visit to Miss Donahue.

“My, oh my, you about scared the daylights out of me,” Bridget said, hands on her ample hips as she waddled into Faith’s room.

Faith looked up at her as if perplexed.

“Did you think I’d just leave without saying goodbye?” Faith winked.

“You were right about the earthquake and fire. The good doctor was out of his mind with confusion after your predictions came true. What’s all this talk about your vanishing before his very eyes? Master Andrew kept ranting and raving about it.”