Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (22 page)

The other girl turned and started work on what Elizabeth assumed was her own bed.

“What's your name?” Elizabeth asked.

“Alison. And you're Miss Elizabeth,” she said. “I remember from when you come before.”

“That's right,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think we could talk? Just you and me?”

Alison looked at her shyly and then nodded. “I have to finish this first.”

Elizabeth picked up one end of the sheet and pulled it taut. “We'll have it done in a jiff.”

Once they'd finished making the bed and Alison had checked on Mellie one last time, she led Elizabeth outside to a bench under a shady oak. A tiny gray and brown sparrow pecked at the ground looking for seeds.

Alison smoothed out her threadbare calico dress, and sat primly and politely waiting for Elizabeth to begin.

“I was hoping you could tell me a little something about Mary Stewart,” Elizabeth said. “Were you friends with her?”

Alison thought about the question quite seriously, her little brow furrowing as she considered her answer. “She weren't here very long, but we was friends a little.”

“Did she ever talk to you about her mother or father?”

“Not at first. She didn't talk much to nobody, but when I started taking care of her—”

“When she got sick?”

Alison nodded. “She used to tell me about them then, but it was just the fever talking. It does that,” she added with a sad, knowing look.

Elizabeth gave her a sympathetic smile. “What did she say? Do you remember?”

Alison bit her lip and squinted to try to remember. “She said her momma and daddy lived in a big house, like a king and queen. Course I knew her momma up and left her. Everybody did. Some kids used to tease her about it. Her momma bein' a whore and all.”

Elizabeth swallowed her shock at the casual way the girl had said it. But then, perhaps here, sadly, it wasn't all that an uncommon a thing for a single mother to be. “That upset her?”

Alison shook her head. “Mary'd just say that weren't her momma anyway so they could say what they wanted, didn't mean nothing to her.”

Elizabeth felt a tingle. “She said that the woman who took care of her wasn't her mother? That Alice Stewart wasn't her mother?”

Alison shrugged. “That's what she said.”

Elizabeth tried to stop her mind from racing. What could that mean? “She said her parents lived in a big house?”

“She thought they was gonna come for her. Said her daddy told her he would.” Alison smiled up at her, sadly. “They never come.”

Elizabeth clasped her hands to keep her from taking the girl into her arms and comforting her. What could she say? Don't worry little orphan girl, someone will come for you? She knew it wasn't true. It wasn't true for any of them.

Alison sighed and Elizabeth's heart couldn't take much more of this. She heard Simon's voice in the back of her head.
We cannot save them all
. Understanding the reality of her limitations didn't help her aching heart.

“Dr. Walker and me took care of her,” Alison said proudly. “He said I was his best nurse.”

“I'm sure you were.”

“He gave me her medicine and I made sure she took it every day with hot tea,” Alison said. “One for her and one for her baby.”

Elizabeth's brows arched in question.

“You know how little ones is. She wouldn't take nothin' unless her doll took it too.”

“Ah, I see. I'm sure you took very good care of her.”

“She was always sickly, even before she come, Dr. Walker said. And sometimes, he said, there ain't nothin' nobody can do for the real sick ones. Sometimes a child isn't meant for this world.”

Those words felt like a physical blow. Poor Mary. Elizabeth forced a sad smile. Alison smiled back thoughtfully and then leaned back into the bench. They sat quietly together watching the little sparrow hop around in the grass, until it had its fill and flew up into the branches of the oak and landed in a small round nest.

They watched the mother bird care for her chicks until Mrs. Nolan called them back inside.

~~~

Simon and Elizabeth met for lunch at a small restaurant in town and shared what they'd learned that morning. Simon wasn't quite sure what to make of Elizabeth's talk with the girl from the orphanage. Had Mary really known who her parents were or weren't, or was it just her imagination painting castles in the clouds?

Armed with the evidence that Alice Stewart was indeed the dead woman and concerned about Elizabeth's description of Mary the night before last at River Run, they decided to go see Old Nan again. The old woman had been vague the first time. Why couldn't psychics be straightforward, Simon thought irritably. Why must everything be masked in a riddle like they were the bloody Sphinx?

Abraham was kind enough to get them another audience with the elderly woman that afternoon. As they climbed the steps of her small cabin again, Simon was determined to get some actual answers this time.

Old Nan sat as she had before in her rocking chair, but this time she was talking to a small boy in tattered clothes. “You be sad now,” she said. “But it won't always be dat way.”

The boy nodded, but his lower lip trembled as he fought back tears.

“You listen to Old Nan,” she said kindly, but firmly. “She know best.”

Abraham shifted his feet nervously and tugged on his fingers. Simon noticed him looking around the room anxiously and then staring at Nan.

“Now, you run 'long,” Nan said. “Tomorrow be better. Hmm?”

The boy chewed his lip and then noticed Elizabeth and Simon for the first time. He glanced back at Nan who nodded and he turned and ran for the door, and right through it. Simon had suspected the boy might be a spirit, but seeing him run through solid wood still caught him off guard. He could see that Elizabeth felt much the same way. The same could not be said of Abraham, however. His eyes never left Nan, his expression unchanged, and Simon suddenly realized Abraham hadn't seen the boy, that he
couldn't
see the boy.

Nan leaned back in her rocking chair.

“Will he be all right?” Elizabeth asked.

Nan smiled and started rocking. “He be gone by sundown. Sometime dey just need a kind word to set 'em on dere way.”

Abraham swallowed and looked nervously between the two women. “Maybe I should just wait outside?”

He looked to Simon for permission and once he got it wasted no time leaving the small cottage.

Once the door was closed, Nan studied Simon and Elizabeth again, just as she had the first time. Her milky white eyes danced over them, seeing without seeing, and an odd smile came over her wrinkled face. “You is peculiar. Part of you is here and part of you later.”

While Simon found her second sight fascinating, it was somewhat discomfiting when it was turned his way. Despite that, he couldn't help but wonder if she could be sensing some sort of temporal wash from the watch? Simon had experienced it when the watch had first come into his possession, but it was nothing like this. As interesting as that theory was, he refocused. He was resolute about getting actual answers about Mary this time.

“Yes, well,” Simon said, “be that as it may, we're concerned about Mary. Mary Stewart, you remember?”

“I remember.”

Simon waited, but that was apparently all the woman had to say. He turned to Elizabeth silently entreating her to help.

“I saw her again,” Elizabeth said. “The night before last, and she was starting to fade. Like you said she might.”

Nan hummed and kept rocking.

“We were hoping,” Simon said, feeling his impatience grow, “that you might be able to tell us more. Help us, help her. Has she come to see you? Has she told you anything that might help?”

Nan smiled. “She chose you.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked, casting a quick glance at Simon. “Why us?”

“Why do any of us choose another?” Nan said. “We all has holes inside dat need fillin'. Dat child need you as much as you need her.”

“I don't understand,” Simon said.

“Your burden,” she said as she continued to rock back and forth slowly, rhythmically.

She'd said that the last time as well, but Simon still had no idea what it meant.

Nan nodded. “She help you heal your pain. Your loss.”

Elizabeth cast a nervous and curious glance at Simon. “What loss?”

Nan smiled sadly. “Your child.”

Simon shook his head in confusion. “We don't have any children,” he said and then looked quickly at Elizabeth. “We haven't had any children yet.”

Nan stopped rocking and cocked her head to the side. “You is peculiar.”

Elizabeth looked at Simon in concern. “What do you mean, the loss of our child?” she said, stepping forward and kneeling at the old woman's feet.

Nan leaned forward, her sightless eyes seeing something in Elizabeth's face. She reached out and Elizabeth took her hand. Nan looked off into the distance and covered Elizabeth's hand with both of her own.

Simon's sense of foreboding grew with every moment that slipped past in the quiet of the little shack. He stood there watching them, watching the old woman seek out answers only she could see.

Finally, Nan shook her head and released Elizabeth. “Most peculiar. Only de ones dat have lost a child can see de children.”

Simon helped Elizabeth stand, and squeezed her hand tightly in his. He remembered Isaac that afternoon at River Run when he'd thought Simon had been talking to the flowers, and just a minute ago, Abraham — it made sense now. “Some people can't see them.”

Nan nodded.

“But we haven't lost a child,” Elizabeth said and then added with a nervous laugh, “I'm pretty sure I'd remember that.”

Despite her laughter, Simon could see and feel the tension in her body. He shared it.

“Perhaps it has not yet come to pass,” Nan said.

“Wait,” Elizabeth said. “Are you saying we will have a child and then…”

Under other circumstances, it would have been easy to disregard such a prognostication. In his experience, most clairvoyants were misguided souls at best and frauds at worst. But Old Nan was neither of those. He had seen her confer with dead. He'd witnessed her powers.

But he could not, would not, accept her words. Simon shook his head. “No. There's some other explanation. You're mistaken.”

Nan leaned back in her chair. “It is your burden.”

“No,” Simon said, more firmly. This could not be.

“I see what I see,” Nan said sadly.

Simon felt anger and denial bubble up inside him.

Elizabeth moved closer and gripped his arm. “Simon?”

He controlled himself and turned to her. She looked so pained. “No one can see the future,” he said trying to reassure her, and himself.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Nan said.

Simon spun toward her. He didn't want her misplaced condolences or sympathy. This would not be. He was ready to lash out at her when Elizabeth spoke. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“What happens?”

Nan smiled at her sadly. “Oh, child. I wished I could say.”

“You mean you can't or you won't,” Simon bit out.

Elizabeth laid a hand on his arm.

Nan turned her white eyes full of pity to him. “I see things here,” she said, laying a fragile hand over her heart. “And there,” she pointing a long, slender finger toward Simon's chest. “Your heart tell me it's so. I feel it in you.”

Elizabeth squeezed his arm tightly and he looked down into her eyes, already wet with coming tears. Simon shook his head. He would not accept that. “Impossible.”

Nan brought her hand back down and laid it on the arm of her chair.

“And Mary?” Simon said. “Can you help us help her?”

Old Nan began rocking again. “She chose you.”

Simon pushed out a heavy breath. The air in the little cabin felt thick in his lungs.

“Thank you for your time,” he said with a slight bow of his head.

Elizabeth started to say something, but managed only a weak smile of thanks for the old woman.

Simon barely remembered walking out of the little cottage. Gripping Elizabeth's hand tightly in his, he waved off Abraham as he started to stand up from his spot beneath a shade tree and come toward them. “A moment, please,” Simon said. “Give us a moment.”

Simon's breath came in short staccato bursts as he tried to rein in his anger and stop the fear that clawed away at the edges of his heart. He felt Elizabeth's hand grip his arm and saw the terror in her eyes. He stopped walking and held her upper arms.

Leaning down so he could see her eye to eye he said, “She's wrong.”

Elizabeth shook head, tears filling her eyes. “What if she isn't? She sees things, Simon. What if she really saw—”

“The future?” Simon finished for her, pushing down his own growing sense of panic. “No.”

“It's possible though, isn't it?”

Simon shook his head, trying to convince himself as much as Elizabeth. “Our future is not yet written. What she saw, whatever she thinks she saw, she's mistaken.”

“What if she isn't, Simon? I can do a lot of things, but I don't know if I could bare—”

Simon cupped her cheeks gently in his hands. “Elizabeth.” Her tear-filled eyes, wide with worry, met his.

He swept away a tear. “Nothing is fixed in place, not today, not tomorrow, not even yesterday. The fact that we're here, doing what we're doing, changing things, proves that.”

“There are some things even we can't change, Simon. You know that.”

“I know two things. That I love you,” he said, caressing her cheek. “And that whatever comes, I will find a way to protect our family.
We
will find a way.”

Elizabeth nodded, but he could still see the shadows of doubt in her eyes. She sniffled and pushed out a breath. “It's what we do, right?”

Simon pulled her into his arms. “It's what we do.”

Chapter Nineteen

Simon listened to the sound of Elizabeth's breathing as she slept. He'd always found it comforting, the slow, steady rhythm and the knowledge that she was safe by his side.

A half an hour ago, she'd finally fallen asleep, but rest still eluded him. They'd both been unsettled by the meeting with Old Nan, quiet through dinner, struggling to put aside what might be and deal with what was.