Across the Winds of Time (28 page)

I crossed the living room and dragged myself up the stairs to the bedroom, ever alert for the sound of hooves signaling Darius’s return. I wondered what Darius would do to try to resolve the situation. It certainly didn’t sound like James was going to listen to reason...not that there was any “reason” to offer.

Restlessly, I entered the bedroom and sank down onto the window seat. Sara would be so worried. I didn’t want to imagine Sara’s terror when she saw us disappear, especially since I had disappeared with a man she didn’t trust.

I tried to steady my nerves with several deep breaths, my ears alert for the sound of a horse’s hooves. As my gaze roamed around the room, a wooden trunk at the foot of the bed caught my eye, and I rose to open it. Though the style of the trunk appeared old-fashioned, the brass latches seemed to be quite new, and they opened easily. I lifted the lid and peered inside.

The smell of cedar and some other scent, something sweet like lavender, drifted up from the inside of the trunk. Of course, I was snooping, but anxiety made me forget good manners. I wanted to know as much about Darius as I could before I left the nineteenth century.

The trunk seemed to hold mostly paper, not the blankets one would expect from a bedroom trunk. I picked up a stack of envelopes tied together with a blue satin ribbon. The handwriting was exquisite, much like Darius’s copperplate but smaller, more petite, more compact. The letters were addressed to Mr. Darius Ferguson, Lilium, Iowa, and the return address read Miss Molly Hamilton, Lilium, Iowa.

My hand shook as I looked at the return address.
Hamilton?
Her name was Hamilton? Like mine? My knees buckled, and I dropped down to the thick oriental carpet in front of the trunk. I hung onto to the side of the trunk, resting my head against the rim as I struggled for air. I felt like I was suffocating—as if my lungs would not even try to drag in air. My pulses pounded in my ears, and I looked down at the packet of letters in my hand again. This was no coincidence. It wasn’t possible. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, not the least of which were—was I adopted? Had
I
somehow traveled through time to the twenty-first century? None of these seemed likely. Sara and I looked alike, and I had very strong memories of playing in the backyard in Seattle with Sara when I was of preschool age.

I settled for some form of odd panting—one might call it rapid, shallow breathing—as I pulled open the ribbon on the letters. Was it okay to read Darius’s letters? No, but I really didn’t care at the moment. I ignored the guilt and opened the top letter.

The paper was thick, like the old logs and records I’d seen in my genealogical explorations. A date was penned at the top right hand: 1 June 1879. So, the letter had been written last year...in Darius’s time.

My dearest Darius,

I so enjoyed our picnic together yesterday. I miss you every moment that we are apart, and I cannot wait to marry you so that we may be together every day and every night for the rest of our lives. You and I have talked at length about our future marriage and how best we can approach my family with our good tidings.

Jack is a difficult situation to resolve, and I do not know yet how it can be done. My father and his father combined their farmlands many years ago, and they have always been set on seeing Jack and I wed. I never knew of these plans when I played with Jack and James as a child. But I am very certain that I would not have married him, even had I not met you! Marriage without love would never have been possible for me, though my own parents seem content with their arrangement. My mother once confessed to me that she did not even know my father when she came west to marry him. I cannot imagine living such a loveless life.

But that does not matter. I do not live a loveless life, but one filled with joy and the hope of a bright new day when you and I will be together forever. We will overcome these difficulties, and I believe with all my heart that you and I will live happily ever after. I am as certain of this as I am in your love.

Until tomorrow, my love, Your Molly

Tears flowed freely down my face, and I ran a tender fingertip along her signature. That she had loved Darius was unquestionable. I swallowed down a lump in my throat. And that I loved him was unquestionable. What woman would not have fallen in love with a man like Darius? Handsome, kind, intelligent, full of life, funny, affectionate, passionate, and straight out of the nineteenth century. It was only natural that I would fall instantly under his spell.

I put the packet down, unwilling to intrude any more on their relationship. I peered in the trunk once again. Several photographs caught my eye, and I picked up the top one. It was the portrait photograph of Darius—the one Cynthia and Laura had let me have. He had his mustache in this one. With it or without it, he was devastatingly attractive. I kissed the photograph and laid it aside. The next few photographs appeared to be of a couple—the man sitting, the woman standing next to his chair. I turned it over. Someone had written in black ink on the back. Mother and Father, 1879.

I turned it over again to study it. A handsome couple. The pose was typical for the portrait studios of the time. Yet the photograph looked new...for a sepia-toned picture, that is. Darius shared his father’s thick wavy hair and apparent height. The lean length of his father’s legs were apparent even when he sat. He seemed to have his mother’s generous mouth. Though she was not smiling, as was the custom in photographs at the time, I thought I could still detect a light in her eyes. I suspected he had inherited her sense of humor. I gave them a kiss for raising Darius and put that photograph aside.

The next photograph was a portrait of a young woman, and it was this picture that I supposed I’d been looking for. Before I looked at it closely, I turned it over, and was not surprised when I saw “Molly Hamilton, 1879” written on the back in the same script I recognized on the letter.

Lightheaded from holding my breath, I released it and dragged in some air as I turned the photograph over. Her face was in a partial profile. Dark hair was pulled away from her face and piled into some kind of bun high on her crown. Soft curls seemed to escape to hang down the side of her neck. Curly bangs adorned her forehead, making her dark eyes sparkle as she looked at the camera. Her full mouth showed no expression, and yet it appeared soft and given to easy smiles. The face was set off by a high-collared dark dress with a hint of lace just under her firm chin.

I supposed I noted all of this in a split second, because I stared in shock as I realized the face that looked up from the photograph was the face of the woman of my dream the other night—and that face was mine.

The sound of hooves caught my attention, and I pulled myself up with one hand by bracing myself on the trunk while I held the picture in the other. I ran from the room and paused at the top of the stairs. I crouched down on my knees so I could see the door. What if it was this James character back again? And for all I knew, I either was Molly or I looked a lot like her, and his brother had hung for her death.

I was debating on what to do, on the vague assumption that I would know if it was James by the yelling, when Darius strode through the door, still wearing his blue jeans and denim shirt, his hair appearing windblown. His gaze went immediately to the stairs, and he crossed over to look up at me. His grim expression told me things had not gone well, but he seemed unhurt, and that was all I needed to see.

“Molly, my love. Thank goodness you did not try anything foolish while I was gon—” He stopped when his gaze dropped to my hand. He stared at the photograph with an indecipherable expression on his face.

I held the photograph up with a shaking hand. “I can’t pretend to understand what this is, Darius, or how it happened, but I do believe that your Molly and I look alike.” I tried a grin, though my chin shook.

Darius moved to speak, but I rattled on.

“And this James thinks that I am your Molly. He thinks that I’m responsible for his brother’s death, is that right?”

Darius took a step up the stairs, and I put out a hand to stop him.

“I should leave, Darius! My presence here is endangering you. For all I know, they think you’ve been hiding me...Molly, that is.”

Darius’s shoulders sagged.

“He has already begun spreading the rumor that you are here—that
Molly
is alive—and that his brother died in vain. I saw the sheriff and denied everything. I said that you were a cousin come to visit from back East. I am not sure he believed me, but he has promised to watch for James and apprehend him if he makes any further threats.” He raised his gaze to my face with a grimace. “We are fortunate that Jack was not well liked in town, and his death was not unwelcome. But James has vowed to—” He bit his lip and stopped.

“He said he was going to kill me, Darius. I heard him.”

I turned cold and shivered, and Darius grabbed me and pulled me against him.

“I will not let him harm one hair of your head, Molly. If necessary, I will deal with James myself, as I did with his brother. They will not take you from me again,” he whispered. “But you are right. You must to return to your time...I cannot go with you yet. I have not had a chance to see to an attorney.”

“I’m not going without you, Darius!” A wave of nausea overtook me as I contemplated life without Darius. “Forget about James. Forget about the attorney. Come with me now!” I pulled his head toward mine and pressed my forehead against his. “Please come with me.”

“I am torn, my love,” he said with a shaky laugh. “I want to go with you now, but we will lose the house, the land, everything I built—for us—if I do not do the necessary paperwork to leave the house to my brother.”

“We’ll find other land,” I argued. “You’ll build another house.” I looked around wildly. “It’s just a house,” I surprised myself by saying.

He raised his head and kissed the top of my forehead.

“You may be right, Molly, but if I do not leave a will, my brother will not come and a chain of events may be set in motion that could alter the future. Cynthia and Laura are born here in this house. If this house is not in the family, and they are not born here, will they fail to exist?”

I gaped at him.

“Are you serious? I can’t even figure out where you and I will be tomorrow. How can I possibly try to guess the outcome of our actions on future generations?” My shoulders slumped. He was right, of course.

“I know your face too well, Molly. You realize there is truth in what I say,” he said as he leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth.

He hesitated, and I raised my gaze, waiting for further bad news.

“My attorney was away on an errand to Council Bluffs and due to return in the morning. I cannot complete the necessary paperwork until he returns.”

“You’re a lawyer,” I muttered. “Why can’t you do your own will and leave it on the kitchen counter?”

He chuckled and cupped my face in his hands.

“I am not licensed to practice in Iowa, my dear, an omission I should have rectified had I known I would be in dire need of an emergency will.”

I refused to laugh with him.

“I’m not leaving without you,” I repeated firmly. “I’ll stay here until you do what you need to do.”

He sighed and kissed the tip of my nose again.

“I am selfish enough to be pleased to hear it, Molly. I was trying to be noble and self-sacrificing when I suggested you should return at once—without me, but I do not want you to go. I do not know the mechanics of how I came to you in the beginning, and I fear that I will not be able to get back to you if we are not together when we travel.”

I buried my face against his chest.

“I know,” I said in a muffled voice. “It seems like I can leave your time, and you can leave my time just by stepping into the road, but if we’re separated—we will not be able to get to each other.”

“I cannot bear the thought,” Darius whispered against the top of my head.

I raised my face to look at him. His eyes were dark, and his face somber.

“How do you think you came to my time in the first place?”

He frowned in concentration.

“I do not know, my love. I was in the cemetery...” His voice trailed off. He turned to look out the window next to the front door.

“You said you were standing over a grave...” I prompted. I hadn’t forgotten that piece.

His gaze flickered in my direction and returned to his contemplation of the scenery in the front yard.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Whose grave, Darius? Can I ask?”

He returned his gaze to mine, the gold flecks seemingly gone from his dark blue eyes. He picked my hand up gently and brought it to his lips. I slid my fingers to his cheek, and he covered my hand with his own.

“Molly’s,” he said briefly.

Of course, I had known. I knew Darius.

“You had her buried on the hill,” I said quietly. “Is that why you turned it into a cemetery?”

He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it again before lowering it to his lap. He did not let go but held it firmly. He turned to me and nodded, his eyes less dark than a moment ago.

“As you love that hill, so did she. Like you, she would raise her arms at the windiest point and imagine she was a bird. The first time I saw you, you were doing that. I knew you were Molly then.”

I laid my head against his broad shoulder, and he put an arm around me as we continued to sit on the stairs, both of us looking out the window toward the front yard.

“We have the same name,” I murmured.

“I cannot explain it.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

“We look alike,” I added.

He tightened his embrace and ran the tip of his index finger lightly across my nose.

“Exactly alike,” he murmured. “The only differences between you and Molly are time and customs.”

I looked up at him again with a half smile.

“Oh, yes, the customs. Like these shorts?”

He surveyed my legs, his face bronzing slightly as it always did when he was embarrassed, and he nodded silently with a broad smile.