Home in Time for Christmas (15 page)

Melody sank down on the porch steps, trembling.

She looked up to the sky, at the North Star, burning brightly in the night.

“Please, please, let him be okay!” she prayed.

 

“Hello!”

Jake Mallory found Mark Hathaway sitting on the arched buttress that was part of the outer castle wall. By day, it would have afforded an unbelievable view.

At night, it was cold.

And all that could be seen was the darkness of the water below.

It took Mark a minute to turn around and look at him. When he did, he offered a rueful and crooked smile, lifting his large plastic glass. “Wicked Wiccan Willy, or some such thing. I had a few. I think it might be poison. I can't get up.”

Jake came around and sat next to him on the stone wall.

“It's all right, my friend,” he said gravely. “It isn't poison. It's just alcohol. In certain quantities, it can be the same thing. Are you sure that you're all right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mark said, staring at the sea again.

“It's quite cold up here, you know,” Jake said.

“Can't feel it. But then, I am a New Englander. We are tough, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But, there's a warm bed waiting for you. Hot chocolate. A place of comfort.”

Mark shook his head. “She doesn't want me,” he said. He turned to Jake. His eyes focused for a minute. “Nope, she doesn't want me. And you know what? I don't get it. She wants you. And they're right. You look like me. Or I look like you. So—what's the difference? I give to
charity. I love kids. By God, I played football for U-Mass once!”

“Mark, I have a ride back to the house for the two of us,” Jake said. He hesitated. “And I'm not going to be around long, so don't worry about me, huh?”

Mark shook his head, not ready to get up. “Haven't you ever seen the way she looks at you?”

Yes, and I know that I look at her that way, but you don't understand that we're not really existing on the same plane, and I could never stay, be what I wish I could be, touch her again. What a fool, I can never touch her again….

“Mark, these are very good people who care about you and they're worried sick,” Jake said. “We've got to get back there.”

“Friends,” Mark said glumly.

“Pardon?”

“She wants to be friends, I'm sure. Friends. That's the kiss of death!”

“Look, Mark, there's a lot to be talked out and figured out. But freezing up here all night isn't going to help anything. Come on, let me get you back,” Jake said.

“Witches—swear to God, they were trying to kill me,” Mark slurred.

Jake had to laugh. “I swear to God, I don't think so.”

Mark, with Jake's help, managed to stumble to his feet. He held on to Jake, shaking his head. “I just don't understand. Whatever happened to family values? I mean, what I'm looking for isn't something bad, or negative. Just a home. A wife who cooks. A family. I
want to work hard and provide for them. That's not bad, is it?”

“No, it's not bad, Mark. I think it's what many men want,” Jake said.

“So, what am I missing?” Mark asked.

“Belief?” Jake suggested.

The breeze moved through the cold night air as they stood there, Jake supporting Mark, and Mark honestly lost.

Far more lost than I am,
Jake thought.

“Belief?” Mark asked. “Like in—Wiccans?”

Jake shook his head. “Belief in the one you love,” he said.

But Mark wasn't in a state of mind to comprehend. “I do believe, I do believe. I believe she can be the world's most wonderful wife.”

Jake thought that he could explain that yes, indeed, Melody was beautiful and kind, and she loved her home, pets, kids and family. She was a ball of energy and didn't mind work in the least.

But she was more.

Maybe tomorrow he could try to explain. Not right now.

“My friend Donald is waiting with the van. Come on. Let's get back.”

They started down the slope of the lawn together. Jake was good with snow, and he was decently strong, but carrying most of Mark's weight down the slippery slope wasn't easy. He moved down carefully.

“Ah, there y'are!” Donald called. “Friend had a few too many of those Wicked Willy things, eh?”

“A few,” Jake agreed.

Donald met him as he reached the pavement and
slipped an arm around Mark, as well. Between them, they got him into the van.

“Brother? Cousin?” Donald asked.

“No, just a friend.”

“Y' don't need to be embarrassed. I'm Irish. We've had a few in m' family known to take one or two too many,” Donald said.

Jake laughed. “No, he's a friend. Just a friend,” he said.

As he settled into the van himself, he heard the melodic chimes of Keith's cell phone ringing. He answered it.

“Hey!” It was Keith, calling from Melody's phone.

And answering the incredible piece of technology was quite easy.

“I've been trying to reach you,” Keith said. “Mark isn't here—”

“It's all right. He's with me. Donald is giving us a ride home now,” Jake said.

“Thank God,” Keith breathed. “We were worried sick.”

“We'll be there soon,” Jake said, and hung up.

He thought that Mark might have passed out. He hadn't. His eyes were still blurry, and he wasn't doing an exceptional job of trying to sit up straight.

There was a gravity in his eyes—despite the shimmer in them.

He wasn't a bad fellow at all, not really.

Maybe, when he had made his way back home…

Jake was startled by the pain that seemed to sear through him.

Going home meant leaving Melody. It meant never seeing her again. And it seemed that the sound of her
voice was engraved in his memory, the scent of her perfume, the joy of her laughter. He could forever close his eyes and see her face. And now, he could remember the taste and the feel of her lips, and the fact that touching her skin felt like a brush with silk.

He looked away.

Serena could very well die because of him.

George and Mona seemed to have figured something out—or so they had told him excitedly. Yes, even George. Potions—and waves. Sound waves? Had that been it? He didn't know, but he knew that he had suddenly appeared, and that they believed in him, and before too long, he'd be gone.

Mark's eyes were closing now. Jake winced, and he leaned close to him.

“Just believe,” he said softly. “Just learn to believe in those you love.”

They pulled up in front of the house.

Donald helped Jake get Mark out of the van without destroying any equipment. By the time he had done so, Keith and Melody had raced down to help him.

They all thanked Donald.

“Hey, Jake, it was grand, working with ya,” Donald said. “We'll be giving you a call again, somewhere along the line.”

“Thanks. I'm honored. I'm afraid I won't be here much longer,” Jake said.

“We'll give you a try, anyway!” Donald said, then waved as he got in the van.

Melody looked at Jake anxiously, trying to balance Mark's weight between herself and her brother.

“Thank you,” she told him.

He smiled. She was so beautiful, and her heart was
where it should have been. Beautiful and full of life. She was energy and motion, dreams and magic, even if she didn't know just what magic the very fact of her being created for him.

“My pleasure,” he said. “Let me get him up the stairs with Keith, you'll never manage.”

She nodded again, realizing the sense of his words.

As they walked up the stairs, Mark mumbled, “Witches!”

“Wiccans,” Melody said.

“Witches— Wiccans. Wicked witches—what did they put in those drinks?” Mark asked mournfully.

“A whole lot of booze, buddy,” Keith said.

They got Mark up the stairs, and into the guest room. “I got this one,” Keith said. “You took care of me already, Jake. I'm just getting his coat and shoes. He can sleep in his clothing. Sadly, it's not something most of us haven't done at least once.”

Jake nodded. “Where are your folks? Did they get to bed?”

“Yes. Mom and Dad were both concerned about getting enough sleep,” Keith said.

“Well, then, good night,” Jake said, heading down the hall for Keith's room.

But Melody came after him. She touched his arm, and he turned around.

“It's not what you think,” she said. “Please…I was never engaged to Mark. We—dated. We're working on a project together. But when he grew serious, I knew that we couldn't make a life together. Our dreams are different. I…I should have been far more clear with him, but…”

“He's a good fellow. He cares for you deeply,” Jake said.

“And he is my friend. I want to be his friend. Just not his wife or his lover,” she said.

“Melody, you don't owe me explanations,” Jake said.

Don't!
he warned himself.
Don't touch her.

But he did. He had to. He reached out, and his fingers brushed over a length of her hair that was like a stray strand of gossamer silk, trailing along her cheek.

And he smiled and stepped back.

“Good night, Melody.”

Goodbye.

No. That would be unbearable.

“Good night,” she said.

She turned to leave him, but she spun back around.

“No! Not good night. I have done nothing wrong. I haven't been firm with Mark because I didn't want to hurt him. But I care about you so much. It's all quite insane, but it's all there, and—”

Her arms were suddenly around him, drawing him to her. He didn't know if he kissed her or if she kissed him, but he knew the infusion of electricity and heat that filled his body, and the warmth of her mouth, the passion of her movement.

He kissed her, and he held her close. And he memorized the way that she felt in his arms, and the way it seemed that her scent was more than just part of the air he breathed. He held her closer and closer, and he felt as if he etched every curve and subtle crevice of her form into his mind and his being, and he cherished the seconds that seemed forever and far too short, and at last, breathless, his heart thundering, he stepped back.

“Good night, Melody,” he said.

“Good night.” She smoothed her hair and touched her lips. And whispered, “Do you believe me?”

“I believe you,
and
I believe in you,” he told her.

One more. Just one more.

And so he stepped forward, taking her into his arms.

They were both dimly aware that a door closed in the hallway.

“Ah, come on, break it up, kids!” Keith said. “It's late, you know.”

They broke apart. Melody gave her brother a quick hug, then escaped to her own room.

Keith looked at Jake. “Sunrise will come early,” he said.

“Right.”

Sunrise.

Melody's eyes flew open. The word was hovering in her mind.

Why?

She had woken up with the pleasant feel of the warmth of her bed and the comfort of her pillow. Then the word had popped to mind. Then the memory of a single Wicked Wiccan Willy, and the worry about Mark, and then…

Sunrise.

They had been talking about sunrise. Both of her parents. And Keith.

And Jake.

Had they all conjured up something, and had they chosen not to tell her?

The nerve of them!

Melody leaped out of bed and raced to her curtains, her heart thundering. What were they up to? Oh, thank God! The sky was still dark, though the first pink and pastel lights of morning were beginning to fight their way through the shadows of the night.

She turned, so anxious she was ready to run straight for the door. At the door, she realized she was barefoot
and in a cotton flannel gown. She found her fuzzy slippers and reached for the first cover she could find—her Wiccan cape from the night before. Throwing it around herself, she tore down the stairs.

The downstairs was empty. Okay, she was crazy and suspicious.

But she could smell coffee. Yes, there was coffee brewed in the coffeepot. She hesitated, poured herself a cup, then let out a little gasp.

Outside.

Melody hurried out the back and down the back steps.

There they were. All of them. Jake, Keith, her mom and dad.

George was busy walking a circle around the area of the old well. Mona was holding a steaming cup. Coffee?

Melody doubted it.

“What in hell is going on here?” Melody demanded.

They all jumped—like kids who'd been raiding the candy shop.

They stared at her with guilty faces.

All except for Jake. He stared at her with a level gaze and sadness in his eyes that threatened to break her heart.

“I have to go, Melody.”

“Oh, no, please! What is this? What's going on here? What kind of a pack of traitors are you?” Melody demanded, staring around at her family. “Dad, Mom—you could hurt Jake, don't you see? You could kill him. We can't do this, maybe he's even right, but we can't do this!”

“I found more of Serena's diaries, Melody. I know what herbs she used. We know where we believe the magnetic fields are,” Mona said.

“It will be all right. I'm not dealing with chemicals, radiation or anything harmful,” George said. “I swear!”

“Keith! You talk some sense into them,” Melody said.

Keith lifted his shoulders and offered a helpless grimace. “He's worried sick about his sister, Mel. I can't help it. I understand that.”

“Jake?” she pleaded.

He was dead center in front of the well. The two strange machines her father had been working with for the last months were arranged on opposite sides of the well.

Jake was standing in the middle.

“Melody, I have to go,” he said. “My God, Melody,” he began. But he didn't speak. They weren't alone.

“We'll lose the sunrise. Jake, the potion,” Mona said.

“Potion!” Melody yelled. “Mom, this is crazy. You're talking about black holes, and frequencies and waves—and
potions.
Please, please—”

She nearly jumped sky high when the door to the back slammed shut.

She turned around.

Mark had joined them.

Of all of them, he certainly looked the sanest at the moment. He had showered and dressed in dark jeans, a sweater and a warm wool coat. He was clean shaven, and his hair was neatly trimmed, and he almost looked as if he belonged in a
Men in Black
movie.

He was distressed; he was also strong and sure.

“Please! What in God's name is going on in this asylum?” he demanded.

“Mark, this doesn't concern you,” Melody said uneasily.

“Well, well, I'm afraid I came in early, and I'm sorry, I like Jake a lot, and you're not going to play any kind of dangerous abracadabra on him,” Mark said firmly. “Whatever you're doing, stop it. I'll call the police.”

“Mark, please, you're no part of this, and it's true—you don't understand,” Jake said.

“Clue me in,” Mark insisted.

“I'm not from this time, Mark,” Jake told him. “I told you last night—I'm not intended to be here. They're just trying to get me back home.”

“He was a Revolutionary soldier. Taken as a spy, about to be hanged,” Melody heard herself explaining. “He's just trying to get home.”

Mark looked at George. “You are kidding me?” he demanded.

George looked at Mona.

“The sunrise is coming,” Keith warned softly.

Mark started from the porch. “Hit the switch, Dad!” Keith warned.

Both men hit the switches and a humming sound touched the air. Melody wasn't sure, but it seemed as if she could
see
waves in the air.

“Jake, here!” Mona said.

“Mona, for the love of God!” Mark exclaimed.

And then, before anyone could stop him, Mark snatched the cup from Mona's hands.

“No!” she cried.

“Mark, please, no!” Melody begged.

“This is nonsense, just nonsense, and I'll prove it!” Mark said. “Hey, buddy, nothing ill intended. You did prove to be a damn good friend last night, though I had just met you,” Mark said to Jake.

“Mark, give me the cup and get back, please!” Jake begged.

But Mark pushed Jake aside.

And swallowed the contents of the cup.

Just as he did so, the sun burst across the pale pink horizon.

The home between the two machines became a sizzle.

And Mark Hathaway disappeared cleanly into thin air.

 

They all sat around the dining room table as if shell-shocked.

A thorough search of the yard, the house and all nearby premises had shown no sign at all of Mark Hathaway.

He was gone. Vanished.

“What do we do now?” Mona finally asked bleakly. “Oh, this is terrible, just terrible. We haven't helped Jake, and we don't know what we've done to poor Mark.”

“And it's Christmas Eve,” Keith said worriedly.

“You believe that we need the sunrise, Mona?” Jake asked. “Is that what my sister wrote in her journal?”

“I can show you the page,” Mona said. She shook her head. “Imagine, that book of hers has been up in that attic all these years. So much information, and still…no ending. Oh, dear.”

“This is crazy. All crazy,” Melody murmured.

“Crazy?” Jake came over to her and hunkered down
by her chair, taking her hands. “And you're so indignant when someone suggests that you shouldn't follow a dream.”

“This isn't a dream anymore, Jake. It's a nightmare,” she told him.

“Instead of whining and tossing about disparaging remarks, how about helping?” he suggested.

“I am not a scientist, nor do I know anything about potions,” she reminded him.

“But you can read,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, I can read.”

“I can't quite decipher all of the old lettering,” Mona said.

Jake lifted a brow to Melody and helped her to her feet. “Your mother said that you'd studied a lot of the old funerary art in school and that you could probably read my sister's writing easily.
I
can't even figure out all of her script,” he said.

“You know that I didn't want you to leave,” she said, alarmed at the huskiness in her tone.

“But you do want Mark back in this world where he belongs, right?” Jake asked.

Guilt surged through her. “Yes,” she said simply. She walked over to the book. Serena's thoughts on the war and the world in which she lived were certainly fascinating, but Melody skimmed quickly to the part of the book that had to do with what Serena had called the “black doorway” and how certain potions and events could be combined to open the door—and close it.

She shook her head after a moment, aware that they were all watching her anxiously.

“Sunrise—and sunset,” she said. “According to this, both times of the day lay open the possibilities of taking
a person through time and space, or through different dimensions, or alternate worlds.” She couldn't believe that she had said it aloud, explained it aloud.

Except that she had seen Mark disappear. After he had told Jake that he'd been a good friend to him, after he had proven himself, trying to make sure that nothing bad happened to Jake.

It wasn't that she had suddenly discovered that she was wrong, that she was in love with Mark. It was just wrong. He didn't deserve whatever had happened to him. At heart, he was a good man. And she understood as well—what Jake was feeling for Serena. He loved her; she had grown up with him, and so, they were brother and sister. And he feared for her.

As she feared for Mark.

“So, sunset, Mona,” George said. “Sunset, we set up, and try again.”

“Try again? How will Mark be able to take a potion and stand in the right place at the right time?” Melody demanded.

They were quiet around her.

Then Jake said, “I'll have to go back. And when I'm back, I'll get Mark set up to return here. It's fairly simple. And my sister will—hopefully, oh, God, hope-fully!—be there. To help him, and guide him. Maybe I'll wind up back at the right time, and so will Mark.”

“At the right time? What are you talking about?” Melody demanded. “This is simple? There's a doorway. A doorway, a black hole, something that is there, in time and space. You're calling that simple?”

“Maybe,” Keith said.

“And maybe not,” Mona told her with a sigh.

“But can we take a chance and send Jake back in time?” Keith asked her.

“Do you see Mark anywhere?” George asked.

Silence followed.

“So, what are you all saying?” Melody asked.

“We try again at sunset,” Jake said.

“I have more potion,” Mona said. “I mixed a fairly large batch. Then, of course, who knows? Maybe we only need your father's machines. Maybe the ‘black hole' or the ‘black door' opens of its own accord upon occasion, and maybe it can be manipulated. After all, Jake was being hanged in New York, and he fell through time onto a roadway far north up into Gloucester.”

She looked terribly depressed.

“It's all right, Mom.” To her own surprise, Melody came to stand behind her mother and hug her shoulders. “It's all right. We will be able to fix everything. Everything will work out.”

Mona nodded. “I'm going to take a shower,” she said. “And…and make breakfast.”

“No, dear, we'll go out to breakfast,” George said.

“No, dear, you will stay with me. And the kids will get out of here. We'll stay here—just in case time decides to spit Mark out in the backyard,” Mona said.

“Mrs. Tarleton,” Jake said. “This is my dilemma, it has been from the start. You must go out, and I will remain behind, watching.”

“No,” Mona said. “George and I will stay. And you children will get out of here because you are driving me right out of my mind.”

 

Mark Hathaway lay on his back.

On something hard. A floor. A rug on a floor, he
realized. And there was warmth, coming from somewhere. The light was muted, but…

Wincing, he sat up. He was back in the parlor of the Tarleton house, but it looked different. It was dim—there were no lights on and the morning were just beginning to creep through the drapes.

Different drapes.

Different furniture.

He blinked furiously. For a moment, he thought he was still caught in a wretched hangover from last night's Wicked Wiccan Willy.

Then he began to wonder just what mushroom Mona had put in that potion he had swallowed.

But as he blinked furiously, thinking that he must have taken something very, very wild, he was startled by a sudden cry and he swung around.

The fireplace was just where it was supposed to be, of course.

But the mantel was different. And a fire burned in the hearth.

A giant cooking pot simmered with something in it over the fire.

Cooking pot?

Or witches' brew?

Immaterial at the moment. Because the woman who had let out the cry was standing next to the pot, staring at him.

“Jake!” she cried out, her voice a trembling sob.

She started to rush to his side.

“Jake? I'm not Jake,” Mark protested. He struggled to his feet and met the woman's gaze.

She stopped dead.

And he stared.

She was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. Her eyes were the blue of the sky on a perfect spring day. Her hair was the color of a raven's wing.

“Dear God!” she breathed. “You're not Jake. But—oh, my God. You must be some relation! Someone I didn't know…and, oh, God, dear God! Where is my brother? What happened to him?” She stared at him, his eyes searching his out with desperation.

Then, she jumped back. She took in the length of him, the clean-cut Armani coat and his Kenneth Cole boots. His hair cut, and everything about him.

“Where are you from? Who are you? Speak to me!” She backed away from him farther, and before he knew it, she had the fire poker in her hands. “Speak and speak quickly, and if you're part of the British army, sir, you had best explain, and you had best know that my brother lives somewhere, or your own life will be considerably shortened!”

“Hey, hey—please, wait! I'm not British, I swear it, although, to be honest, I have a lot of British friends. Wait, wait, wait, sorry, wrong thing to say at the moment,” Mark gasped out. “Your brother is fine, though I met him last night for the first time. We were at a party. In Gloucester…hey, wait. Where are we now?”

“Gloucester. Gloucester, Massachusetts,” the woman said.

“What—what year is it?”

“You jest,” she accused him.