Across the Winds of Time (29 page)

“I’d like to go to the cemetery. I’d like to see her.”

Darius stiffened and hesitated as he met my gaze.

“Is that wise?” he asked with a worried frown.

“Do you mean am I afraid to see her grave, the answer is no. It seems obvious that she and I are connected somehow. Maybe we’re the same person, I don’t know. But, yes, I want to see her.”

I stood, and he rose with me.

“Shall we?” he asked as he took my hand. “We will go out the kitchen door. Until I hear that James is no longer a threat to you, I am using all precautions.”

I followed him, my hand in his, as we crossed the lawn and climbed the path. The trees on the side of the hill had not yet grown to their full size, and marveled at how large they would become by the twenty-first century.

We arrived at the top of the hill, with me winded, and I came to a stop. Darius turned to look at me with a question on his face, but I shook my head while I caught my breath.

“This is what you must have felt when you first saw the cemetery full of stones...in my time.”

“Confused?” he volunteered.

“To say the least,” I answered.

The cemetery wasn’t really a cemetery at all. It was just a beautiful meadow on a hillside with several small oak trees adorning it. The wind blew as I remembered it.

“It’s beautiful up here,” I whispered.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“I think you already know,” he said quietly.

I turned to stare at him, as memories flooded in—the bright stone that first caught my eye, Darius avoiding questions about the stone, seeing the stone from the house as it caught the sunlight on the hill.

I turned toward the top of the hill, and there she was, basking in the golden rays of the late afternoon sun.

“I should have known,” I said with a smile. I pulled at him, and we walked across the meadow, which as yet had no paths. As I neared the top of the hill, I noted several more stones scattered throughout.

“Anybody you know?” I asked with a playful grin. I realized that my quip had been in poor taste though when I remembered that these were Darius’s contemporaries, possibly people he knew. They were not just tombstones of people long dead as they would be in my time.

“I’m sorry, Darius. That was thoughtless.”

He looked down at me, his eyes light with affection, and I was relieved.

“It is likely that I do know who they are, so I will not look at the names today. This time traveling business is confusing enough as it is,” he said with a rueful smile.

I squeezed his hand in empathy.

We came to a stop in front of Molly’s stone. The wind blew in earnest up here. She had no nearby neighbors...at least not yet. I kneeled down in front of the bright white sandstone to read her inscription.

Molly Hamilton

28 years 2 mos 4 dys

Born 1 April 1851 Died 5 June 1879

Beloved Daughter

“I was born on April 1
st
,” I whispered as I ran my fingers along the crisp lettering. “We’re April Fool’s Day babies.”

“I always played a joke on her for her birthday,” Darius murmured behind me. He continued to stand.

I looked up at him.

“What date is it now...in your time?”

“It is the 8
th
of June 1880.”

I turned back to look at the stone.

“So, it has been a year,” I murmured. Even though I was looking at Molly’s tombstone, I really didn’t want to use the term “since her death.” I knew Darius grieved, the tension in his body was evident, and I didn’t want to push him any further.

“Yes, a year ago.” He was silent for a moment. “I should have bought marble. I did not realize the sandstone would erode as much as it does.”

I wanted to lay my face against his knee as he stood so close, but I hesitated to touch him in his sorrow. It seemed somehow intrusive—especially coming from me.

“We’ll get a new one when we get back...if you like,” I offered.

Darius leaned down and smoothed my hair.

“That would be nice. She would like that.”

I gave the stone a quick sisterly pat and rose to gaze down on it. Darius wrapped an arm around my waist, and I hoped Molly didn’t mind—if she could see us.

“What day was it when you came to the cemetery... before you traveled?”

“The 5
th
of June 1880, the anniversary of her death.” He gave me a curious look, obviously wondering what I was getting at.

I turned to him.

“But Darius! That doesn’t make sense. If you left here on the 5
th
, and today is only the 8
th
, then you’ve only been gone three days. You’ve been in my time for almost three weeks.”

He nodded.

“Yes, I have thought of that...discrepancy. It would seem that time does not necessarily run simultaneously in both centuries.” He shook his head with a puzzled expression—very similar to the one on my face. “That is to say, the length of time during the traveling does not correlate.” He sighed. “See how I struggle even to attempt to articulate the situation.”

I looked back down at Molly’s stone.

“I wonder how long we’ve been gone from my time. Sara must be so frantic. What if it’s been days?” I whispered, almost to myself.

The sun lowered in the sky, and dusk stole the light from Molly’s stone.

“Let us hope not,” Darius murmured as he tightened his arm around me and kissed the top of my head again. “We will return to your time tomorrow—as soon as I have seen the lawyer and settled my affairs.”

I nodded and pushed my hair back as it swirled around my face. The wind seemed to have picked up with the departure of the sun.

“Come, the night grows cool, and you are still not properly dressed. We should return to the house.” He surveyed my bare legs once again. He was right. It had grown cooler.

“I don’t think I planned on cemetery hopping when I put these shorts on this morning...a hundred and thirty some odd years in the future,” I noted dryly as we moved away and re-crossed the meadow.

Darius chuckled.

“No, I imagine not,” he murmured. “Perhaps Mrs. White has left some food in the ice box, though if I have been gone several days, she might well not have done so.”

He kept his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me against him as we walked in the direction of the house. We reached the house in the usual ten minutes and entered through the front door.

Darius closed the door behind him, and I stood in the living room, uncertain of what to do.

“Are you cold, my love? I will light the fire and make some of that hot chocolate that you like...if Mrs. White has kept some milk in the ice box.”

I nodded. Hot chocolate by the fire with a handsome man whom I loved. Such a romantic notion.

“Yes, that would be great.” I tried to keep my voice normal.

Darius opened a drawer of a side table next to one of the couches and struck a match to light a white glass oil lamp on the table.

“Sit and rest,” he murmured as he moved to the fireplace. I sat down on the velvet sofa, noting its surprising comfort, as I watched him handle the kindling and wood with expertise. A small flame flickered and grew stronger within seconds. Darius leaned on one knee, staring at the flames—as I stared at him. The fire highlighted the waves of his hair and accented his high cheekbones.

As if he knew I stared at him, he turned and looked at me over his shoulder. His eyes seemed to sparkle...or maybe it was the reflection of the fire.

“Are you still feeling cold? Can I get a blanket for you from upstairs?”

I shook my head. I could definitely feel no chill at the moment—not when he looked at me like that.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I said without telling him how much I loved him.

But I wondered if he could read my mind anyway. He rose and came over to the couch, placing one knee on it while he bent to press his lips against mine. I reached for him to pull him to me, and he captured my hands against his chest, lifting his head with a shaky laugh.

“Hot chocolate, I think. Are you hungry?” He smiled down at me as he ran a finger along my jaw. I wanted to grab his hand and hang on, but I held back. I sensed that Darius wasn’t quite ready for the passion he incited in me...for the physical expression of my love. He was definitely old-fashioned, as they say.

“No, I’m not hungry, Darius. Are you?”

He shook his head.

“I will return shortly. I do not have your microwave machine, so I must heat the milk on the stove.” He grinned and bent to kiss the corner of my mouth. He straightened, turned away, and walked into the darkened kitchen. I heard him strike another match and a glow came from the kitchen as he must have lit another lamp, a much larger one from the brightness of the light.

I wanted to follow him into the kitchen and hang around while he made the hot chocolate—just as I had only a few days ago—in my time, but I held back. I wanted to hang onto him, to wrap my arms around his waist and never let go. The image of me clinging to him while he attempted to make the hot drinks was ludicrous. It was best I stay in the living room and luxuriate in the plush, comfortable sofa that I would never again sit in as a new piece of furniture.

I slipped off my shoes, pulled my legs onto the sofa and leaned my head back to watch the flames, wondering if Darius had ever been intimate with a woman. I hesitated to wonder about Molly and him because it seemed too invasive. She was dead, and it felt wrong somehow to acknowledge that I was curious about the extent of their relationship. I was, but I didn’t want to admit it even to myself.

I was a 28-year-old woman in the twenty-first century with all that implied. I was not inexperienced, nor naïve, although I expected Sara might disagree about the latter. I longed to be with Darius, but his values were not the same as mine. While he was passionate, he pulled back before our kisses went too far. He was flirtatious, but to use modern day vernacular, I suspected that was all hot air. I grinned and closed my eyes. My old-fashioned gentleman, I thought with affection. Someday, I would know the truth.

“Molly. Molly, wake up...” Darius sat next to me and shook me gently.

I opened my eyes to the continuing glow of the fire, and straightened up.

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry. I must have dozed.”

“I can imagine that you did. I hated to wake you, and perhaps I should not have.” He handed me a teacup on a saucer. “Drink your chocolate. It will help warm you. Then, I think you must retire to bed.”

I took the cup from him and sipped the chocolate. It was the same delicious chocolate he’d made only days before. I could almost believe that we were back in the twenty-first century, but my microfiber orange sofa couldn’t compare to the luxury of the velvet sofa.

“So, I suppose there’s no chance we can take the furniture with us.” I grinned as I ran my free hand along the sensuous material.

“I much prefer that orange affair you have,” he murmured with a bright smile. “It is very comfortable.”

We chuckled simultaneously and sat together in companionable silence as we watched the fire and drank hot chocolate. I leaned against Darius’s strong shoulder and kept at bay all my worries about Sara, our pending return, the wild man named James, and what the future would bring for us

I finished my cup and set the saucer down on the side table. He put his down as well and rose, holding out his hands to me.

“Shall I see you to your room?”

I looked up at him.

“Which room is mine?” I quipped, though I knew he would put me in the master bedroom. I wished he would not. It would be difficult to be in the room with Molly’s letters. I remembered with a sigh that her picture was probably still on the stairs.

I knew that I would sleep alone this night. There was no chance—no chance at all that Darius would volunteer to spend the night with me. Not one single, solitary, nineteenth century chance. Not with my old-fashioned conservative lover.

“I’ll take the spare room, if you don’t mind, Darius.”

“As you wish,” he said with a puzzled smile. He led me up the stairs, stopping to pick up Molly’s picture along the way. He opened the door to the spare room and stood aside as I entered. He followed me in and, as he had downstairs, he reached into a side table and struck a match to light the oil lamp by the bed.

“Just blow it out when you are ready for sleep. You know where the washroom is.” He bent to kiss me lightly on the lips and then turned away. I wanted to beg him to stay with me, but I couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He closed the door softly behind him, and I sat down on the bed feeling lonelier than I’d ever felt in my life. And why shouldn’t I, I wondered? I was lost by over a century. I missed Sara, I missed my mother and father, I missed Sassy, I even missed Marmaduke. And I would have let both Sassy and Marmaduke sleep with me in the bed if I could have had them with me.

I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed, listening to the sounds of the house in the night. I heard the wind blowing outside as it did even in my time. I couldn’t hear Darius in the next room at all...if he was even in there.

I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me. I needed Darius. I needed to be with him. I slipped off the bed to go to his room when I heard a light tap on the door.

“Molly,” he called in a low voice.

“Come in,” I said eagerly. I waited by the bed as he opened the door and stepped in. He wore a satin robe over some dark trousers.

“You are lonely and feeling a little lost, aren’t you?” He came to me and paused. “Somehow, I can feel it—even in the room next door.”

I nodded mutely.

He took me in his arms and buried his face in my hair, whispering in my ear.

“Come to bed. I will hold you, and you will sleep in my arms.”

He propped up a pillow for himself and half reclined on the bed as he opened his arms to me. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to get to sleep in his arms, but I climbed back onto the bed and nestled into his embrace. He held me to his chest, and I listened to the sound of his heart, steady for the most part, although it sped up occasionally. I was fairly sure my own heart was doing exactly the same thing.