Emmie and the Tudor Queen

by Natalie Murray

  “Not nearly as afraid as I am of your coaches bereft of horses,” he said behind me. He scampered up the ladder with ease. We paused at the top, my feet hovering a few rungs above his. “I never go onto the balcony,” I explained. “It’s old wood up there, so I’m scared it’ll collapse.” I dropped down a few rungs until we were eye level and carefully snuggled close to him without disturbing our footing.

  Nick’s neck twisted in all directions. “Good God. Is this what you wish to show me? This gray matter?”

  I chuckled. “The gray rectangles are roofs. The big ones are probably farms or warehouses. But that’s not what I wanted to show you.” I pointed to an overgrown strip of runway in the distance. “There’s a small airport there…mostly for recreational flying.”

  “Flying?” His face crushed with a frown.

  I grinned. “Just wait. It’s a beautiful day, and there’s a family with a huge farm out that way, bigger than Mia’s. I’m pretty sure I heard their plane already.”

  I was supposed to be watching for the Cronin family’s light aircraft, but the sunlit flecks of green in Nick’s confused eyes were hard to look away from. The wind blew a wisp of hair across my face, and he brushed it away, my heart picking up speed. His fingertips drew a slow line down my cheek, his gaze becoming soft and intent. He tugged me forward without losing our balance on the ladder, and our lips and breath melted into one, tasting of heat and love. Despite our precarious position, my fingers instinctively dug into his pants, tugging at his shirt, when the sky growled. Our mouths parted, and our heads jerked up as the canary-yellow plane swooped past the tower with its wings outstretched.

  “Forget cars; this is how the well-to-do travel,” I said over the wind and distant propeller, a smile of pride in my voice.

  Nick blinked at me, his eyes enlarging. “Flight?”

  “Aye, Captain.” I felt my chin lift. “It’s another form of travel in my time. In a big passenger plane, we could get to England from here in less than ten hours.”

  His gaping face wouldn’t look away from the sky.

  Even while clinging to a dodgy fire tower in rural Massachusetts, it was impossible to deny how much more advanced the world was in my time. It was hard not to look at Nick and feel like I’d beaten him in the Olympics…again. Why was he so sure that he couldn’t live here? It was infinitely less tense, and the terrifying nobles were hundreds of years away. Plus, I could be so much more impressive in this place—I knew how to take the twenty-first century by storm, but in the Tudor world, I felt mousy and untalented. Did Nick really want that side of me?

  Regardless, his deer-in-headlights expression over the airplane was priceless. I was still giggling about it after we’d crawled back down the ladder, our calves cramping with stiffness.

  “It was like you were a kid with every single ice cream flavor on one giant cone,” I recalled, pausing to bend over and laugh again.

  “What is ice cream?” said Nick, and I howled so loudly that I couldn’t breathe.

  I knew I was acting insane—losing composure over something that wasn’t even that funny—but the months of unbelievable fear and stress had finally caught up with me. The sincerity of Nick’s dimpled smirk as we strolled back to my house reminded me of how I’d felt the last time he was here. I’d have given anything for him to feel this unburdened in his own time.

  It turned out that ice cream was already a thing in early Renaissance Europe, except it wasn’t called that yet. The spotlight shifted as Nick shared more stories about his world, including the impressive names of people he’d crossed paths with like Nostradamus and Catherine de’ Medici. It wasn’t until we reached my gate that I understood we were engaged in some sort of competition over whose time was more impressive. Surely it was a no-brainer who took the title on that one. How could Nick root for a world that was outdated by more than four hundred years?

  He was halfway through a story about Sir Francis Drake’s voyage around the world when I grabbed his arm. Our back gate was open, but I was sure I’d shut it. As we watched, Mom’s back appeared through the gap, a phone pressed to her ear.

  My instinct was to push my Tudor boyfriend out of sight and into the elm trees flanking the fence.

  “Can I just talk to her first?” I said with a breathless pounding in my chest. “Please. But you have to stay here. Don’t you dare leave without me.” We’d been in this situation once before: when I left Nick alone in the field, and he dumped me for Tudor England without a word.

  He took my hands. “Of course, you must. I will wait here. Besides, you have the ring, Emmie.” He gave me a nod of encouragement. I’d broken out in a cold sweat.

  My sneakers crunched the grass as I pushed through the back gate. Mom spun to look at me, blood leaving her face. She said something into the phone and hung up before shakily sliding the handset into her pocket without moving her eyes from mine.

  The next few moments happened in slow motion: Mom pressing her forehead with both palms, turning away and then back to me, before crumbling to her feet and hitting the grass. I dashed over and helped her up while she mumbled that she was okay through pallid lips. Ruby was running in circles nearby, snapping the air with frantic barks.

  “Mom, it’s okay…I’m here,” I repeatedly said as I guided her through the screen door and onto the couch. Ruby was now licking my ankles like they were carved from peanut butter.

  Mom squeezed my forearm so tightly that I winced. “Emmie, you’re okay.” She stared at me with a face I hardly recognized. Had she aged that much over the weeks I’d been away—had I stressed her out that much? Or had I already forgotten the spidery lines sprouting from her eyes, the crooked front tooth that people found so attractive, or the fact that she’d given up using makeup? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

  She was muttering again. “I saw you were here already, but I was—I was taking Ruby to the vet and, I…well, I always knew if you came back, it would be when I wasn’t here; it’s just my luck, you know? I was saying that to Kevin…Kevin what’s-his-name the other day.”

  “Is Ruby okay?” I asked, sitting beside Mom.

  “She’s fine. Just her shots for the year.”

  Guilt grabbed my chest and shook it hard. I usually took care of Ruby’s medicine.

  The mumbling had stopped, and Mom was now gaping at me. Man, she looks tired.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, the words inexcusably deficient. “I know you must’ve been so worried.”

  Her eyes flared wide like they could shoot lasers. “Worried? I called the police! There’s a case file…they searched for you for days. Mostly at the river.” Her voice broke, unlocking a trickle of tears.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, this apology no more forgivable than the first. “Should we call them?”

  “Of course I will,” she snapped like I’d overstepped on something. “As it turns out, missing adults who have taken off before are not considered a critical emergency.” She brushed both eyes with her knuckles. “So, where on God’s green earth have you been? I truly can’t believe this.”

  The question wrapped a taut rope around my neck and squeezed.

  I was in Tudor England, with Nicholas the Ironheart. He’s actually a good guy, by the way, and we’re getting married. I’m going to be a Tudor queen. Surprise!

  When I didn’t answer—not sure how to—Mom shrugged. “I know you never caught the plane to London…never arrived at college. Your bag is still here. What were you planning?” She was starting to hyperventilate.

  “Nothing. I was going to go to London, and college, and to do everything we talked about. But something happened with someone, and I had to go somewhere else for a while. I wish I could explain it all to you, but it’s…it’s a lot.”

  Mom’s face distorted with disgust. “Something…someone…somewhere. You sound like your dad when he left.”

  My jaw fell open. My first memories of my dad were of laughter and adventure when the three of us drove through England f
or his history doctorate. But after we moved back to America when I was ten, he traded Mom—and me—for his coworker within five months. Since then, I’d barely seen him. I wasn’t even sure I could call him Dad anymore.

  “Please don’t compare me to him,” I said gently, but inside that shot had hit home, like she knew it would.

  “Don’t?” Mom threw a cushion at me. “You’re doing just what he did, except worse—giving up all your dreams to chase some selfish person who is clearly more important to you than your own family! Don’t treat me like an idiot, Emmie. The second you walked through that gate, I knew you’d been off with that boy from the summer. I can’t believe you would be so stupid!”

  I slunk away from her. “I’m not treating you like an idiot. I came back here for you!”

  “You’ve been gone without a trace for weeks and weeks! Have you not heard of a damn phone!” Her shoulders shook with tears, a wet tissue balled up in her fist.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said through a sob as I reached out to her, but she shoved my hands away. “Believe me, I would’ve called you if I could have, but there was no phone.”

  Every part of her face twisted before she cried into her palms, greasy clumps of her unwashed hair falling in front of her face.

  “Please, I’m sorry,” I begged, forcing her to let me hug her. “I love you, okay? There’s a really good reason why I couldn’t call.” Her arms finally accepted the embrace, and I relaxed a little. “There’s so much to explain. I know I haven’t been myself.”

  She pulled away, dabbing her eyes with her soggy tissue. “Then it’s time to start because, God help me, I’ve hit the last straw. You need to tell me everything right now. All the someones and somethings.”

  My stomach folded over itself. I should’ve rehearsed this conversation. There weren’t many ways you could explain the reality of time travel to someone. But Mom leaned back into a cushion and crossed her arms at me, ready for the truth.

  I blew through my lips, my sweaty palms rubbing my jeans. “It all started when I found a ring. Actually, I bought it from that old hoarder, Jane Stuart.” I wiggled my thumb at her. “This one.”

  She leaned closer. “I remember it. Very dazzling.”

  It was hard to speak through my thick throat. “The first time I went missing for a day—when I was at Mia’s—I’d fallen asleep at her house wearing the ring. Then I…I woke up in a different time.”

  Mom barely blinked.

  “I was in the sixteenth century,” I spurted. “I’m not kidding. This ring is, like, magic.” As the words left my lips, I heard how side-splittingly ridiculous they sounded. “It makes people travel through time when they fall asleep wearing it…back to sixteenth-century England. Can you believe that? I’ve been hanging out with the freaking Tudors!” I barked a jittery laugh.

  Mom’s brow furrowed, and she began rubbing her thumb and forefinger together like a nervous tick. When she finally spoke, her voice was hardly louder than a breath.

  “Emmie, what’s going on? Are you on drugs?”

  “Of course not. Ew.”

  “What is wrong with you then?” she cried. She slid away from me. “Why would you tell such a stupid and weird story?”

  “It’s not a story. I know it sounds crazy—believe me—but it’s the truth.” Mom looked like she might barf all over my new sweater. “I can prove it to you,” I pleaded, instantly regretting the idea. I couldn’t keep shipping people back and forth between worlds like time-traveling tourists. But Mom looked like she didn’t even register the offer…she was too busy trying to breathe, her hand clutching her stomach.

  I grappled for something convincing to say when I remembered that I had another way to prove my bonkers story.

  “Just wait here,” I said, before rushing back outside to the field behind our house.

  Nick rested against the fence between the weathered roots of an elm tree, his athletic legs outstretched. The strong winds had brought the fishy smells of the river closer.

  “Come with me,” I said, wrenching him up by his arm. “I told Mom the truth about the blue-diamond ring, and she’s freaking out. You need to help me prove it’s true.”

  “What?” Nick exclaimed as he chased me through the back yard. “Christ, to what end? Do not trouble your mother with this; I beseech you!”

  I halted at the steps leading to the porch, gasping with tension. “Look, my mom has no idea who I am right now, and she is my only family, okay? You have your people and your kingdom. I have my mom. She is my people. Apart from you, she’s all I have. I have to make her understand what’s going on.”

  He pressed his lips together, squaring his shoulders. There was a shiver of movement at the screen door. Mom was gaping at Nick through the mesh.

  “Mom, this is Nick,” I blurted. “He’s from the sixteenth century.” After grabbing his clammy palms, I walked us into the house where he towered over Mom’s petite frame. Her cheeks were colorless, but her eyes expanded with awe as she took in Nick’s features. I made a snap decision that the whole Nicholas the Ironheart thing would be a step too far. It would be like bringing home King Henry the Eighth or Queen Victoria.

  I threw Nick a look, silently instructing him to listen carefully. “Nick and I met during my first visit back to the sixteenth century. He’s a courtier in the court of Queen Elizabeth the First. He can tell you anything you want to know about that time.” I reached for his hand, but our sweaty fingers struggled to lock. “He’s also the reason I’ve disappeared a few times—without a trace, Mom. I was with Nick, in Tudor England, where they don’t exactly have cell phones. And if you don’t believe us, well, you’ll have to come back and see it for yourself.”

  How exactly will you do that, Emmie? Will the three of you fall asleep creepily holding each other’s hands? Or will you leave Nicholas the Ironheart alone in modern America while you take your mom for a little jaunt back in time? Moron!

  Mom gawked up at him, her voice thin. “Go on then, prove to me that you’re a friend of Queen Elizabeth the First.” She spat a humorless laugh.

  Nick rubbed his lips together and fidgeted with his sleeves. I couldn’t blame him for being lost for words. How do you prove your identity to an alien from the future? I had to jump in—to get Nick out of this position I’d put him in—but when he found his voice, it was clear that he didn’t need my help.

  “Madam, it is my sincerest pleasure to be presented to you, the beloved mother of my dearest betrothed. May I humbly prostrate myself at your feet.”

  He dropped to one knee and kissed Mom’s hand before returning to his imposing height. “Most precious lady, what Mistress Grace claims is indeed true. The moment I laid mine eyes upon her—within the Palace of Whitehall—my heart knew two truths. The first: that our lady, most adored, was not of my realm. Her speech, her manner, her inclination was most certainly of another time.” His eyes moved to mine. “The second was that Mistress Grace owned every piece of my heart, and I knew that I would love her until my dying breath.”

  It was dizzying and dreamlike. In my dowdy living room, one of the most famous kings in history was speaking sweet nothings to me. Not to mention bowing to my commoner mom in her sweatpants.

  Mom tilted her head at me, a trace of a smile on her lips. “Is this one of those prank TV shows?”

  “Sometimes I wish it was,” I replied. Nick blinked at us, obviously lost.

  She groaned and pressed a palm to her hip. “Whatever. I’m going to figure this out. But for now, my daughter is home, and you, young man, are nothing if not well-spoken.” She sidestepped us to enter the kitchen. “Is anyone hungry?” she called weakly.

  “We had some toast, but I’m still pretty hungry,” I replied.

  “Sorry, but I think it’s going to have to be sandwiches.” She was digging through the fridge. “There’s not much else.”

  “That’s fine,” I sang out.

  For the first time since Nick and I had arrived back in the present, I could exhale
without effort.

  Nick gobbled up Mom’s overcooked grilled-cheese sandwiches dipped in ketchup, and his hands had finally stopped shaking. However, any hope that Mom believed my story about time travel was dashed when she asked if Nick and I had been living in the forest. She’d moved on from the reality television show idea and now thought we’d joined one of those historical fan groups that camped out in medieval costumes.

  The weird thing was that Nick and Mom seemed to get along. They chatted at the table for a while: all superficial stuff like preferred styles of cheese and the weather. Anything that Nick didn’t understand, he changed the subject to something else. When he said anything loopy, Mom looked at me and laughed, her eyes lighting up in the way only Nick Tudor could inspire. The whole time he sat with his fingers loosely clasped in his lap, breathing easily with a relaxed smile.

  Nicholas the freaking Ironheart is sitting at my ketchup-stained dining table, sweeping my mom off her feet. Yeah, nothing to see here, folks.

  Amazingly, Mom hadn’t picked up on the earlier ‘betrothed’ comment. Instead, the bigger issue was her evident belief that I was back home to stay. Nick had been away from his kingdom for hours, and we didn’t have much time left.

  “Where do you live, Nick?” Mom asked. “Do you need to sleep on the couch?” She side-eyed me like I better not consider having him in my bedroom.

  “Actually, we were just going to go upstairs and have a chat about that, weren’t we Nick,” I said, passing him a look.

  “Indeed.” He rose to his feet, tipping his head at my mom in a Tudor-style farewell. “This has been a pleasure beyond words, madam.”

  “It was good to meet you.” She turned to the window with a dazed expression, and we headed upstairs.

  “Your mother is dear,” said Nick as he took a tentative seat in my desk chair. It swiveled, and his legs shot out to steady himself.

  I chuckled. “And you make one heck of a twenty-first-century boy.” I slid into his lap and folded my arms around him. He murmured his delight and nuzzled his lips into my neck. A flash of yearning heated my spine. “You and my mom seem to get along,” I ventured nervously. “Why don’t we just stay here? There’s no war with Spain to fight; no scary dukes, or stressful council meetings. Just you and me. And ketchup.”