Falling For Henry (9 page)

“Ooh,
Robert
,” said Kate. “Will it be just you and him all by yourselves?” Willow didn't answer.

“What kind of soup?” Kate asked with some misgiving as she headed to the shower.

“A new kind,” said Willow, a hint of pride in her voice. “I mixed split pea with cream of cabbage. It's really good.”

Kate groaned and turned on the water as she heard the sound of the sewing machine. “Make the dress a lot wider!” she called. “So I can breathe!”

When Kate came out of the bathroom, Willow had already put away the sewing machine and was paging through her script. Kate hated running lines with her sister, and this play—
Henry VIII—was particularly hard. Shakespeare's language was so confusing, and Willow always stopped and explained things until Kate felt as if her head was going to explode. She'd much rather get out her math book and solve equations. At least with math, it was clear when you were done. She heaved a deep sigh and plopped down beside her sister.

“Read from there,” Willow indicated. “Scene four, where Queen Katherine of Aragon is supposed to be speaking up for herself after King Henry has denounced their marriage as unlawful. Basically, he's got the hots for Anne Boleyn, that's me, and he's been trying to find a way to annul his first marriage. In Tudor times, divorce wasn't permitted. Robert says …” her voice droned on as Kate reluctantly eyed the text. Katherine's speech looked really long.

“That's twice today you've mentioned Robert,” interrupted Kate, trying to distract her sister from the task at hand. “Is he cute?”

“Don't be silly,” snapped Willow. “He's Canadian. From Quebec. An amazing director. And he's too old for me. Okay, we don't have a lot of time—start reading. I need to determine my reactions to Katherine, and listening to this speech will help.”

“Age doesn't matter when you're really in love!” said Kate.

“Just start!” commanded Willow.

Kate began to read aloud. After a few lines, Willow stopped to paraphrase.

“So Katherine's saying that Henry should stay married to her out of pity because she's a foreigner and also that he should admire her because she's always been true to him.”

“Oh,” said Kate. “What about love? If he doesn't love her, maybe it's better he goes for this Anne Bowling.”

“Boleyn! My character's name is Anne Boleyn, rhyming with
pin
, as in
Pinhead
!” Willow rattled on about Anne Boleyn, but Kate was thinking about their neighbor.

“You never see Martin Brown with his wife,” Kate blurted. “I wonder why that is. Maybe they're divorced. First I thought he reminded me of a raven but, really, he's more like a blackbird with that shiny dark hair.”

“We're talking about the early 1500s,” Willow snapped, “when the church was very strict about marriage and there was no such thing as divorce if you were a Catholic.”

“So that's why Henry killed some of his wives?” Kate asked. “Because he couldn't divorce them? Why didn't he kill Katherine?”

“Their marriage was dissolved,” replied Willow. “Because Katherine had first been married to Henry's brother who died.
King Henry the eighth to six wives he was wedded: one died, one survived, two divorced, two beheaded
,” Willow quipped.

“What happens to you in the end?” asked Kate. “To Anne?”

“I get beheaded,” said Willow smugly. “For treason. They accuse me of taking other lovers.”

“And Katherine?” Kate asked, flipping through the script.

“She dies from cancer of the heart, if you can believe that. But she signs her name Katherine the Queen until the end.”

“Out of stubbornness?” asked Kate.

“Maybe. Or love,” said her sister. “Now, read me that whole speech again. Where Katherine's trying to convince Henry not to leave her.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Kate sighed. It felt as if they had worked long enough, but she couldn't argue with her stubborn sister. She wished again that they were doing math. They bent their heads over the script until Willow finally jumped up, looking at her watch. “Gotta go,” she said.

“Why was she called Katherine of Aragon?” asked Kate.

“She was the daughter of a Spanish king,” said Willow.

“Oh,” said Kate. “So if Dad had been a king, we'd be Willow and Kate of New York.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Willow, stuffing some things into a bag. “But you act snobby enough without having any royal blood.”

“I do not!” said Kate, anger flaring.

“You do. Have you even tried to make friends here?” Willow looked at her sharply.

“I know lots of people,” retorted Kate.

“Who? Name somebody from school!”

“Well, Naomi!” yelled Kate, offering the first name that came to mind. Naomi had once asked Kate to join the school newspaper. That counted as friendship, didn't it? And Amandella seemed as if she'd like a friend.

“So, ask Naomi to Preview Night,” said Willow. “Ask anyone you like. There'll be lots of extra tickets. And why don't you go visit Gran today?” Willow's voice became even more amplified until Kate longed for the
off
button. “You could take the train and be back before bedtime. Do her some good.”

“I'm busy today,” snapped Kate.

“Doing what?” bellowed Willow. “What are you so busy doing?”

“Well … homework,” said Kate defiantly.

“Okay, well, that's good,” responded Willow a little more quietly and then picking up volume along with speed. “But you should really go up and see Gran sometime, okay? I'll be tied up for the next few weekends with the run of the show. But you should go up there. She gets lonely. And try on the dress, would you, to make sure it fits? I'll stay and grab a bite at the theater if we run late this afternoon. Now make sure you eat the—”

“Soup. I know!” Kate groaned, interrupting her sister's tirade. “Just shut up, okay? I'm not a baby. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, if you're not a baby,” said her sister bluntly, “you should stop acting like one. When was the last time you cleaned up around here or did anything, in any way, to help out?”

“Who died and made you King?” snapped Kate and then suddenly realized what she'd said. As a deep flush spread across her face, Willow went out of the room as if she hadn't heard, but Kate knew they both had caught the unintended reference to their father and their current circumstances.

“I'll leave the soup on the cooker, on
low
, so don't forget,” Willow called from the kitchen.

“Why do you call it a
cooker
?” said Kate nastily to cover up her own embarrassment. “Seems like we always used to call it a
stove
before. Are you trying to pretend you're British?”

Willow didn't answer.

“I bet you're trying to convince people here that you are a real Brit,” Kate said. “Actresses are so good at pretending.”

10
Disappearing

KATE FINISHED A little soup and a piece of toast and then licked the butter from her fingers before heading to her room to try on the dress. The light beside her bed had made the room hot and so she flipped the switch before draping the blue gown across the quilt and removing her sweatshirt. As she eased the silky fabric over her head, she felt the same panicky feeling as before, and although the dress slid down easily over her jeans without being tight, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Then it was on and she looked in the mirror. The dress did look nice. She turned sideways. Very nice, in fact. She wished Hal were there to see her. What had Willow said?
Live a little.

A sudden odor of burnt soup sent her racing to the kitchen, where the remains of the nasty concoction sizzled in the pot. She'd forgotten to turn off the burner. By the time she had finished cleaning up, Kate's arms ached from scrubbing. She wished she could just throw away the pot with the rest of the garbage, but it was their only one. After it was as clean as possible, she decided she'd better get rid of the burnt remains that were stinking up the kitchen, so she headed out with the garbage bag to the rubbish bin at the back of the building.

Stopping for a moment in the hall, she thought about returning to change her clothes, but then gave in to the moment.
Live a little
. She could go outside in this outfit just as well as in anything else. And sweeping about in this fairy creation did feel nice. She practically flew down the stairs and out the door, and then whirled elegantly as she heaved the bag into the trash can, enjoying the sensation of the fabric billowing out around her. Unexpected voices made her scurry behind the sheltering bins, peering out to see who was coming. Two people walked side by side toward the old cemetery that stretched out behind the lane, and one of them looked oddly familiar. She took a small step closer where she could get a better look. It was Hal. Walking with him was a girl of about Kate's age, with long blonde hair swept back in a French braid. The girl was petite—probably no more than a hundred pounds, Kate thought—and had a laugh like tinkling bells. With a sinking feeling, Kate wondered if the girl could be Hal's sister. As the girl laughed a second time, Kate saw Hal lean in and kiss her full on the lips. The girl stepped toward him and Kate turned away, a warm flush rising from her neck to her cheeks. The two-timer! Who did he think he was!

She backed further into the shadows, her face on fire. When she saw the two figures turn as if to walk her way, she squirmed over the low stone wall that bordered the alley and began to run. The last thing she wanted was for the two of them to find her mincing around in this costume. She soon got the hang of running in the flowing skirt, and as long as she held it well above her ankles, it caused no difficulty.

She headed along Guilford Street and when a double-decker bus stopped in front of her, she got on. There was an awkward moment when she hiked up her dress to retrieve the money she had in her jeans, but she quickly handed over the fare and then dropped stiffly down onto a leather seat. She didn't know where the bus was going and she didn't care. She just wanted to get as far away as she could.

After a few blocks of travel, possibilities began to creep into her mind. Perhaps she'd been mistaken. Maybe Hal was still making up his mind about who he really liked. Maybe he wasn't exactly her boyfriend, not yet, but maybe he could be. Maybe he'd tried to call her but since he didn't have her number, he'd gone out with this other girl, who, from what Kate had seen, was pretty pushy. Maybe Kate would just see how things went the next time Hal asked her out.

Kate realized that her throat felt raw and she could taste blood in her mouth. It had been a long time since she'd run like that. Too long. The beginning of a nosebleed sent her off the bus and into a tube station washroom, hunting for paper towels.

“Serves me right,” she thought, “for not staying in shape.”

As she left the tube station, her nose aching into her forehead, she noticed a sign with directions to Greenwich Park. She headed that way, crossing a bridge and then wandering through the streets, admiring the architecture of the buildings. She thought hazily of going to the Prime Meridian that Hal had talked about. The home of time. Might as well explore a bit, she decided. The weather was fair and she had nothing else to do.

The village of Greenwich, now considered part of London, boasted Tudor inns among Georgian and Victorian cottages, the mix of architectural styles intriguing. As if in a daze, Kate walked through the town center, up Nevada Street, and through St. Mary's gate into Greenwich Park. As a misty rain began to fall, she headed instinctively toward the Thames and soon found herself once again walking beside the landlocked
Cutty Sark
, her feet stumbling along the trail she had taken the previous day.

I wish I could just disappear
, she thought, shivering slightly, the familiar phrase beating a tattoo in her brain.
Disappear and never have to worry about anything again.
Her eye caught the knowing gaze of the figurehead of the ship, thinking that it looked both shrewd and compassionate. “What are you looking at!” she muttered as she passed, imagining its gaze boring into her back.

Rain began in earnest and she stepped quickly off the path and into the dry air of the same tunnel she'd been in yesterday. There was a strange throbbing at the back of her head and her hands and feet tingled. Turning toward the entrance, she was astounded to see a mirror image of herself—a girl in a long blue dress—and then realized it was another girl, the girl she'd seen in the clearing in that other world. Their eyes met and a current of something—electricity?— flashed between them. Suddenly drawn away from the girl, Kate tumbled to her knees, listening to the sound of her own captive heart as the world was once more rushing by. “Wait!” called Kate, her voice echoing in her ears. She was again swept headily into darkness, yet instead of the flat absence of being, this time, pictures filled her mind, foreign images that somehow seemed familiar.

First there were scenes of apple trees and flower gardens; then a tall black carriage, drawn by a dozen black horses; she next fancied herself standing at a door that she wanted to open, and yet, at the same time, a door she wished would stay shut. It was a large wooden door, ornately carved, with a huge brass doorknob. Someone was behind that door who would make a pronouncement that could change her life, if only he would. But he couldn't be rushed. She must stand and wait. And pray. Abruptly jarred back to the reality of the tunnel, Kate tried to stand up, but the pressure against her was too great and she fell back in a heap, black spots darting in front of her eyes. She seemed to be sweeping toward a crossroads where the tunnel divided left and right. Instinctively, she leaned her body to the right, and then everything went dark.