The Changeling Bride (34 page)

He slowed to a walk, now only ten feet from where she stood with the boy and Tatiana. “Elle, do not go,” he said, continuing to move towards her. He took in the landscape behind her, and saw that there was no one waiting, no place she could hide from him. He was faster than she was, but his sense of urgency had not lessened.

“Stay back, Henry!” She put up her hand, palm out, as if the gesture could hold him. “This is the only way. You’ll see that when you have the chance to think about it. You shouldn’t have to live with a wife who is a burden, and I most certainly shouldn’t have to live in an asylum.”

“Elle, I was wrong, let me explain—” he said, stepping yet closer to her.

“No!” There was panic in her eyes. “Stay back!” When he did not obey and took yet another step forward, she reached into a small brown bag and then threw a cloud of gold dust at him. “Don’t move!” The youth at her side slapped his hands to his face, his jaw dropping open.

“Elle . . .” Henry said, trying to step forward again. His legs did not obey him. He tried to look down at them, but could not move his head. “Elle?” he questioned, fear that he would be powerless to stop her rising in his throat. “What . . . ?”

“You didn’t believe me,” she said, and tears spilled from her eyes. She did not seem to notice when the boy took the little bag from her, peering inside to check the contents. “Not that I could expect you to, I suppose. How could anyone believe the unbelievable? Maybe some part of me thought that you would take my word on faith alone. I think it takes love to do that, though. And you don’t love me.”

“You are wrong, Elle—”

“Don’t lie now, Henry,” she said, stepping up to him. He could feel her body warmth through the air between them, could see into the rich depths of her eyes. He had to say it, it was his only chance now.

“I do not lie. I—” she stopped him with a hand over his mouth, the same hand that had thrown the dust, and he felt the tingle of it on his lips.

“Quiet,” she whispered.

His mind silently finished the sentence that the powder forbid his lips to utter, “. . . love you.”

Elle rested her hands on his shoulders and stood on her toes. She looked into his eyes for a long moment, and he put everything he felt into them, praying she would see the truth there, but then she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. Every muscle in his body strained to be released, to crush her in his arms, to keep her there with him forever, and every muscle failed to
break the bond of the spell. He could only call to her in his mind, and accept the soft warmth of her lips against his own, deathly certain that it would be the last time he felt them.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She stepped away, and turned and spoke with the boy. “I’m ready now. Sorry I had to use your powder.”

The boy pouted at her and gestured unhappily at Henry. “Not good, not good. Only fairies use dust. Humans, no.”

“I said I was sorry.”

The fairy boy wrinkled his nose at her, then gestured at the ground. “Sit.” Elle sat and brought Tatiana to sit beside her. “Hold tight to dog. This be quick.” The fairy sprinkled dust over them both.

Elle’s eyes move from the fairy to Henry. Her eyes locked with his, and he saw a pain there that he knew mirrored his own, only she was resigned to it while he stood frozen, fighting against the invisible bonds that held him.

“Back to beginning,” the fairy said, and a black hole opened in the ground behind them. “Gone!” The pair, wife and dog, disappeared into the blackness.

The boy turned and looked at Henry. “Sorry, so sorry. Bargain not fulfilled. Will try again.” He made a gesture with his hand, then followed Elle and Tatiana into the hole.

In the space of an eyeblink, the hole had closed and was covered once again in meadow grasses. Henry’s muscles were released, and he dropped to his knees with a shuddering breath.

He crawled the last few feet to the place where Elle had disappeared, his fingers pressing deeply into the grass and dirt, searching for what he knew was no longer there.

He bent his head down to his knees, then flung it back, his cry echoing across the valley below.

“Where did they take her?”

Lady Annalise looked up, her mouth parting.

“She is gone. That creature, that fairy boy, took her away,” Henry said and did not care that his voice was cracking. “So you can stop playing your games with me and help me get her back.” He dropped to his knees beside her chair, some of the energy draining from him. “Help me.”

“He was not supposed to take her back,” Lady Annalise said.

He was not surprised that she spoke. “It is my fault, I drove her away.”

“But she seemed so happy here.”

“And she will be, if only I have the chance to tell her.” He took her hand between his own, pressing gently. “Where is she?”

“It is not so much the where of it, as the when. There is no getting there from here.”

He dropped her hand and stood. “I do not accept that.” He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the mantel. He looked like a wild man. He did not care. “If she could get there, so can I.”

“It is not for you to decide. It is not even for me to decide, now that I have used the boon.”

“She was right about you, was she not?” He was past surprises now. “You
are
the changeling in the tapestries.”

Lady Annalise sighed. “I would have been wiser to have let that cursed wish die with me.”

He strode to her and grasped her shoulders. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

“I do not see that it will help.”

“Humor me. How did this all start?”

“Why, it started with you, of course.”

He released her and stepped back. “Me?”

“You thought I was not listening. Do you remember, coming in to see me a month or so before your wedding?
Trying to talk yourself into thinking the marriage was a good idea. Telling yourself that the estates were more important than your personal feelings about the girl, when it was clear to anyone with eyes that you were miserable.”

“So you had her murdered and replaced?” he asked and fell back into the chair across from her.

“No, no, no one ever meant to harm Eleanor. That part was an unfortunate accident. My wish was for your marriage to Eleanor to be happy and joyful for you both. Nothing more sinister than that.”

“So what went wrong?”

“Well, as you know, Eleanor Moore had a rather nasty disposition. The fairies saw that a happy outcome was unlikely with her as she was, so they set about trying to change her. Their efforts weakened her, and when she fell ill, she did not have the strength to fight off the fever.”

“And that is when she died?”

“Yes. And my wish was unfulfilled, for how could you and Eleanor have a happy marriage if she was dead? So they sought someone to become Eleanor, a look-alike with a better personality, someone who would be happy to marry you. I am afraid they took my wish to literal extremes.”

“And the only such person they could find—”

“Was Wilhelmina March,” she finished for him. “From, I believe, the America of the end of the twentieth century.”

“And just how,” he said slowly, “do they think I am going to have a happy marriage with a woman not yet born?”

Chapter Twenty-five

Elle opened her eyes to the dripping underside of a sword fern. She was wet and cold, and when she pushed herself into a sitting position, her hand sank in the deep layer of muddy fir needles that was the forest floor. She shivered and looked around, recognizing the path she so often walked in the woods. It was raining, the light dim and gray.

“Is it over?” she asked Tatiana, and meant more than the trip through time. The dog had no answer for her. Her own heart was too numb to respond, to tell her if her return would mean joy or everlasting misery. She did not want to think on what it meant that she was back.

She stood and staggered a few steps down to the path. She wondered how close in time to her original departure Mossbottom had dropped her. Had her brother had time to miss her?

The thought of Jeff gave her something to focus on, and she continued down the path, Tatiana trotting at her
side. Her silk slippers, damp before, were soon soaked with mud. The rain that fell and dripped through the high branches overhead plastered her light cotton gown to her skin, and she shivered. She wrapped her arms about herself and started to jog.

Her patio was just as she remembered it, with the basket of aluminum cans for recycling and the sisal mat upon which to wipe her feet and leave her hiking boots. There were no boots there now. She stepped up onto the concrete, rain water trickling down her scalp, her teeth chattering.

Tatiana shoved past her legs, wanting to be let inside. The sliding glass door reflected back the scene of grass and trees, and her own pale shape. She grasped the handle and pulled, half expecting to find it locked against her. The door slid open on its runner, and Tatiana disappeared within. Her knees shaking, she followed the dog.

Everything was as she had last seen it. The apartment was warm, and there was a faint scent of toasted bagel in the air, left over from the breakfast she had eaten so many weeks ago. She flipped on the lights and stared at the living room and kitchen that were completely familiar, and yet utterly alien at the same time. They felt lifeless and small. Dreary, even.

The phone rang. She stared at the black contraption, the ringing setting the bones of her skull to vibrate in turn. On the third ring she regained enough of her senses to answer it.

“Hello?” The receiver felt strange in her hand.

“Willie! Were you in the shower?” a male voice asked.

Elle glanced down at her sodden dress, now dripping on the worn beige carpeting. “What? No. Who is this?”

“I was thinking we could go out tonight.”

“Toby?”

“Who else? Lady, lady. What am I going to do with you?”

“Not very much, by my reckoning.”

“Ha ha. Really, how about going—”

Why was she listening to this? “Toby, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression,” she interrupted. “I’m not interested in you.” She could hardly recall his face even as she spoke with him.

Silence met her from his end of the line. Finally his voice, considerably diminished, came through the hiss of space. “Oh. Okay. Sorry. I thought . . . oh, never mind. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.” The line went dead.

She hung up the phone, feeling no guilt. She should have been that direct from the beginning.

She looked around the apartment, feeling a roiling dissatisfaction grow in her gut. She thought of the job that she still held and would be expected to return to on Monday. Three years she had held that job, and it meant nothing more to her than a paycheck. She’d never had the guts to look for something more challenging.

Had all her decisions been motivated by fear? Afraid she wouldn’t get a better job, afraid she’d have no money, afraid a nice-looking guy wouldn’t give her a glance, afraid of transients on the street, afraid to walk downtown at night—afraid, afraid, afraid. Afraid to say no. Afraid she’d end up alone. Afraid no one would love her. Afraid to love someone else, because he might not love her.

She slipped off her muddy shoes and headed towards the bathroom. Tatiana was in the kitchen, sniffing at her dish of dry dog food. Eighteenth-century kitchen scraps had apparently made more appetizing fare.

She ran the hot water in the tub and looked at her bedraggled reflection in the mirror. She looked tired, and her eyes were empty. The fan whirred behind its vent in the ceiling, barely audible above the running water. She
looked around the bare, antiseptic white bathroom, so small and sterile, the light harsh on her eyes. So bright, so clean, so cold.

She stripped off the dress and undergarments, pulled the lever for the shower, and stepped under the harsh spray. She closed her eyes and let the hot water course down her face, the world cut off by the sound of the water.

Henry was now no more than bones in a mouldering grave. She would never see him again. She felt her face draw downwards, the muscles pulling her mouth into a painful grimace, and a high, almost silent keening rose from her chest. She sank to the floor of the tub and put her head on her knees, letting the water beat her, inhaling water as she sobbed.

Through the murk of her pain the thought rose that once again fear had been her dictator. Fear of being thought crazy, fear of living in a world where giving birth might mean death, yes, but biggest of all was the fear that Henry could never love someone like her. So she had run and lost her only chance to fight for what she wanted.

She squeezed her knees with her arms, rocking on her buttocks on the hard fiberglass. Stupid, stupid girl. She had thought she was being so decisive, so quick to act when she had forced Mossbottom to bring her back, when the truth was that she was in the full flower of her cowardice.

Exhaustion finally lessened her tears, and as she snuffled into her knees her mind skipped through the past several weeks. She remembered her wedding dance, which she had performed so poorly, and telling Henry she wouldn’t sleep with him on their wedding night. She remembered pulling Freddie to shore. A smile slipped through her pain. Maybe she had learned a little bravery along the way.

Unbidden came the memory of the last time they had
made love. Had it only been yesterday? Her lips began to tremble again, and she buried the thought. “I won’t think of that yet,” she whispered to herself.

She had made her choice, and she was going to have to live with it.

“Thirty,” Mossbottom said.

“Yes, I know. Thirty minutes.”

“I wait.”

“You had better,” Henry muttered under his breath and set off down the muddy path.

The forest was different from those he was used to, the trees taller and darker, but at least the rain was the same as at home. Did she really walk here every day?

The path spilled out of the woods and across a lawn that led behind a long, two-storied building. He stopped to look it over, seeing the small patios in front of glass doors, one after the other. At first glance they were identical, until he noticed the personal touches. Wind chimes hanging above one. Chairs and a small table on another.