“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jack insisted. “You’ll stay right here. I have plenty of room. You guys take my bed. I’ll sleep in my office.”
“No, sweetheart, we’ll be fine. You’re getting things settled here. We should go . . . let you two young people get back to whatever you were doing.”
Samantha glanced at her watch. “I have to be going, anyway.” She turned apologetic eyes to me. “I hate to rush, but I have to leave for work for a few hours this afternoon. Jack and I have been doing research on the house. I work at the library.”
“I recall Jack mentioning that. This place has fascinated him since he was a boy. We had to drive by here every time we were in the area. To tell the truth, it speaks to me, too.” I laughed. “You will be able to join us tonight won’t you, dear? I’d love to hear all about the secrets you’ve uncovered.” I stretched out a hand, already warming to her.
“Yes, ma’am . . . you have no idea . . .”
Jack coughed nervously and stepped beside Samantha. “Mom. Dad. Please stay. How about I drive Sam to work and you guys get settled here? I’ll be back in thirty minutes—forty-five tops.” He gave me that pleading expression, the way he used to when he was a small child. I couldn’t resist it when he was little, and the same was true now.
“Well . . . we hate kicking you out of your bed,” I said.
“I have a fold-out bed in the couch. Not a problem. It’s settled. You’ll stay here with me.” Jack picked up his keys, took hold of Samantha’s elbow, and ushered her to the door before I could voice another excuse. “We’ve got to run . . . don’t want Sam to be late.”
“I guess . . . we could—”
“Excellent!” Jack interrupted me. He was already halfway out when he rushed back to brush a kiss across my cheek. “Love you! It’s great seeing you. I won’t be long.” With that, he sailed through the door.
Aiden and I stood gazing at each another, bewildered. “Is it me or did he seem eager to get Samantha away from us?”
“If you ask me, she seemed on the verge of spilling news he wasn’t ready to share. He steered her out of here pretty quickly.”
What news? Our eyes locked as the same thought occurred to us.
“You don’t suppose . . . he’s asked her to marry him already?”
“Too soon. He’s known her . . . what . . . a few months?” Aiden folded his arms. Although he denied it, I sensed he had the same idea.
“She seems nice enough, but I do hope he’ll let us get to know her first.”
“Not to worry, probably something else. Like I said, too soon. I’m going to the car to get the luggage. Then I believe I’ll take a nap. Trip wore me out . . . I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“Okay,” I replied, slipping out of my sweater. “I’ll have a look around.”
“You could always come with me.” Aiden wiggled his eyebrows.
I laughed. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass. I’m still spry enough that I don’t need to nap in the afternoons.”
“Uh . . . I wasn’t . . . never mind . . . you know where to find me if you have a change of heart . . .”
“Mm-hmm . . .” I suppressed a smile as I watched him open the door and pretend to sulk. Several leaves blew in, and for a moment, I had one of those Deja Vu moments. I could have sworn I saw them change to snowflakes swirling to melt on the floor. Wow, maybe I did need a nap.
I laid my purse down and turned to look around me. No wonder Jack had fallen in love with this house. The woodwork was spectacular. I took several steps forward and draped my wrap across the banister, running my hands along the edge as I stepped up on the first stair. It was cool to the touch. Yet a rush of heat ran through my fingertips like an electrical current. It felt as if the bottom of my world dropped out from under me as a shrill humming assaulted my ears.
A sudden murky darkness veiled my eyes . . . moonlight streamed in reflecting off the wood. The sound of breathing, hard and labored. My lips tasted of salt from my struggles. Hand over hand, I fought, tired and dazed. My limbs trembled with exhaustion. Weariness radiated through my body as my arms pulled me upward.
I released the railing and stumbled backward into Aiden’s arms.
“Janie? What in the world . . .”
I swallowed, trying to figure out what had just happened. “I’m okay. A little dizzy,” I lied.
“Why don’t you lie down?”
“I’m fine.” I patted his arm. “Don’t worry.”
“It’s my job to worry. You’re as white as a sheet. Come on, a nap will do us both good. With lunchtime traffic, Jack will be a while. We should have plenty of time.” Without waiting to hear more protests, he shepherded me into the room off the entrance. I slipped my shoes off and stretched beside Aiden. Within ten minutes, he was snoring softly.
There was no way I could rest. I eased out of the bed so as not to wake him, padded across the floor with my bare feet, and returned to the staircase. Nervously, I placed my palm on the railing . . . waiting.
Nothing happened.
I paused several moments, closing my eyes. Wonderful, I’m not losing my mind. With relief, I mounted the steps, a steep climb that made my thighs burn. The quietness of the upstairs landing caused a chill to trip down my spine. There was a noticeable difference in the temperature from one level to the other.
The door to the left remained closed, yet something drew me. I tested the knob, turned it, and stepped into the room. The faint aroma of sawdust hung in the air. Wallpaper peeled in long strips. The room was bare, and my footsteps made a slight echoing sound. From the subtle way my feet stuck to the floor, I guessed it had been newly varnished.
I meandered toward the window, admiring the view of the garden. A tall, thin man wearing a gardener’s hat threw up a hand in greeting. Surprised, I smiled and waved back. I blinked and the space was empty. I shook my head, trying to clear my vision. Prickles of cold-hot sweat needled me beneath my armpit, as I staggered backward.
Stunned, I wandered from the room, making my way down the long corridor. Despite the hallway being bare, I saw things—objects. Perhaps not there . . . but oddly as if it should be. A gilded mirror here, a small padded bench there.
As I neared the end of the hall, I found another stairwell—much narrower. I picked my way down the steps knowing without understanding how it led to the kitchen. A hint of Jack’s breakfast: coffee, bacon, and toast lingered in the air when I entered the room. The tile sent icy shivers up my leg. I moved silently across the floor. Water. I needed water.
I opened first one cabinet and then the other looking for a glass. Finding one, I held it under the faucet until it was halfway full and gulped it down. The tumbler made a clunk as I placed it in the sink.
When I turned, there was a small, stout woman pulling something from the oven. She stood, lifted the back of her hand to wipe her moist, red cheeks. She smiled at me, and I fell against the counter, grabbing hold to steady my weak knees. I realized no one was there, but where were these images coming from? They were haunting, much like my nightmares . . . bits and snatches . . . Shadowy edges forming around my mind similar to walking into a spider’s web. Gossamer strands of memories, clinging to me as I awoke, but I couldn’t unravel any of the sticky threads or make sense of any of it. Is this what King Nebuchadnezzar felt?
I wandered down the small hallway off the kitchen until I found my way into what must be Jack's office/living room. I needed to sit. That’s when I noticed the box sitting on the edge of the couch. It held an odd assortment of what appeared to be letters, handkerchiefs, and a yearbook.
I frowned, reaching for the book and noted the year. 1915? I seem to recall Jack saying he’d come across treasures left behind by previous owners. What remarkable shape it was in for its age! I removed it from the box, opened it, and flipped through the pages. Each young face stared out at me, looking so serious. One face, in particular, caused me to catch my breath. My pulse pounded in my ears. The expression I’d studied and pu
zzled over for years. Jewel!
What on earth! My mind scrambled trying to rationalize a plausible explanation why Jack would have this book. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Vaguely aware of the sofa behind me, I sank down. My legs refused to hold me another second. My eyes locked on the image. Beside me, on the cushion, was a manila file. I could see a black and white photo peeking out from the edge. On top lay a stack of papers stapled together . . . I shouldn’t, but there was no way I could ignore that picture. Besides, it was already halfway out.
My hand shook as I gulped in large amounts of air. The photo was a much larger version of the one Aiden’s grandfather gave to me. I turned it over to find it blank and then snatched up the police report, no longer caring if I was snooping.
My eyes raced across the page, devouring typed letters. I shook my head. It couldn’t be. My thoughts battled. How would Jack have access to Detective Bishop’s statement from the night of the fire? Jewel’s missing person’s file . . . what did it mean? Gray spots danced and darted across the sheet of paper, blurring. A piercing, deafening whine inside my skull felt as if it would rip my brain apart.
Something soft brushed against my ankle. I looked down and blinked! Not possible. My mouth opened in disbelief. “Theodosia!”
Chapter 44
Jack opened the door and tossed his keys on the shelf. It had taken him twice as long as he’d anticipated driving Sam across town, dropping her off, and making the return trip. He’d puttered behind every little old lady in Lynchburg, and the lunchtime traffic on Memorial Avenue had been brutal. He hoped Mom and Dad would forgive his abrupt departure, but he needed to warn Sam against saying anything regarding Jewel, the report, or any of their research.
The resounding sound of steady breathing alerted Jack that his father must be taking a nap in the other room. He smiled, still marveling how Mom had convinced Dad to make the trip. It was so good to see them.
Jack eased around the corner to check on his dad—he lay on his back, one hand crossing his eyes and the other sprawled across his stomach. Where was Mom? Suddenly, he remembered the report left lying on the sofa. All their research had been forgotten when the doorbell rang. He quickened his steps and headed in that direction.
The house stood quiet—too quiet. He passed through the kitchen when he caught a sound coming from outside.
Was that . . . crying? He paused, straining his ears—definitely crying. Mom? He dashed to the window. What he saw made his heart stall. There, sitting on the bench in the center of the garden, her head bent, her shoulders hunched. Jewel!
She was alive! The door wouldn’t open quickly enough as he bounded into the courtyard. He careened to a stop when she lifted her tear streaked face. It wasn’t Jewel at all . . . and in that second he knew.
The garden spun. The ground beneath him felt like it had given way. Dear Lord! It wasn’t possible! Jewel and his mother were one and the same.
Their eyes locked. The moment—surreal. Everything else screeched to a halt as if they were the only two suspended in time.
“Jack!” she whispered.
Fear rooted him in place—scared somehow she might vanish before his eyes. Joy at seeing her made his heart feel as if it would beat outside his chest. All this time he’d searched for her, feared for her . . . she’d been safe all along. How had he not known?
In the excitement of the moment, it didn’t matter. She was here. Safe. He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her, needing to assure himself she wouldn’t disappear again. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. “I thought you were dead . . . well . . . not you, but . . . it’s all so . . .”
“Confusing, I know,” she finished.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?” She laughed through tears. “I had no idea myself . . . I’ve had no memory. Bits and pieces are still fuzzy, but it is becoming clearer. When your father rescued me all those years ago, my memory was completely blank.”
Jack noticed the letters she held and beside her was the box containing the yearbook along with Detective Bishop’s folder. “You found them.”
“I can’t believe you saved them. They are all here. It all seems so long ago.” Her eyes welled with fresh tears. “I still can’t quite accept it. It’s just so incredible.”
“I’ve been so worried . . . when they stopped . . . I assumed the worst. You have no idea what it's like knowing I’d failed you. I had this crazy idea that I could somehow save you.”
Jewel raised a hand to touch his cheek. “But don’t you see, Jack, you did. You saved us both.”
“How? According to Detective Bishop, you still disappeared.”
“No . . . well, yes, but I mean you’re the reason I realized I had to leave. I left to protect you.”
He frowned, failing to understand how his life had been at risk. “Protect me . . . from what?”
“He would have killed us. He came close—twice.”
Heat crept into Jack’s face. “Mom, you aren’t making any sense.”
She reached out and touched the back of his hand. “Jack, I never told you . . . but I found out I was pregnant. When I learned that, it gave me the courage I needed to leave. I couldn’t allow him to hurt you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. How could you be pregnant with . . . ?” He paused. “But that would mean . . .” He shook his head as understanding dawned on him. “No . . . don’t say it.”
She looked at him, her eyes filling with compassion. “Jack . . .”
“No! I’m not that monster’s son.”
“I’m so sorry. This can’t be easy. I’m struggling to come to terms with it as well as you, but as I’ve always told you, nothing happens by chance. You and I have had an opportunity that most people never dream of having. I have no idea how it happened, or how I—we got transported fifty years into the future. I had no memory of my life before that moment.”
“How could I come from the likes of him?” He spat the words out like poison.
“You also came from me. It doesn’t matter who your father was . . . it only matters who you are. Besides, Aiden will always be your father. He loved you before you ever came into the world. He stood by me all through the pregnancy, and at the hospital the nurses had to keep running him away—he was crazy about you.” She laughed, her eyes growing misty at the long ago memory. “Jack, he raised you from an infant to the Godly man you are today. That hasn’t changed. That will never change.” She folded the letter she’d been reading and returned it to the box. “I’ve been sitting here thinking . . . pouring out my heart to God. I don’t understand it—can’t fathom how I came through half a century . . . but by some miracle, I did. I could never find a more perfect man. Do you realize what a gift we’ve been given?”
He snorted. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t do cartwheels. I need more time to digest it all. I mean finding out you’re the son of a murderer isn’t the kind of thing you want to celebrate. Wait! You said he almost killed us twice. What did you mean by that?”
She paused and looked at him with a puzzled expression. “It’s in Detective Bishop’s report. Didn’t you read it?”
“No. Sam and I were getting ready to go through it when you guys arrived. We never got a chance.”
His mother chewed her lip, appearing to regret having brought the article into the conversation.
“Mom . . . what’s in the report?” Whatever it contained he saw by her expression, he wouldn’t like it.
“Maybe you should read it yourself.”
“What’s with the serious faces?" Both heads turned at Aiden’s approach. “What did I miss?”
“Aiden!” His mom jumped up and ran to his father. “Jack and I were just discussing . . . uh . . .” Her gaze bounced from one to the other as she stumbled over her words. “Let’s go inside. I need to talk to you.” She linked her arm through his.
“Are you okay? You look as if you’ve been crying.” He refused to budge when she attempted to lead him toward the door. “Has
something happened?” Concern etched his father’s features.
“I’d rather talk to you in private.”
“Jack?” He turned questioning eyes to his son.
“It’s okay . . . Dad.” His voice broke at the word. “I need to be alone for a bit. You and Mom should . . . talk.”
His father pulled his gaze away from Jack and raised questioning eyebrows toward his wife.
“Aiden, just come with me. Jack needs a few minutes.” She nudged him, and reluctantly he allowed himself to be led inside, leaving Jack in the courtyard with his thoughts.
The sheer mass of information he’d learned weighed his limbs down like the concrete bench he sat upon. Insects whined around his head, not a breeze stirred. Perspiration beaded on his skin, but still he didn’t move. Only hours ago, he eagerly anticipated the evidence he thought might bring him some closure in this mystery. Now uneasiness gnawed at him. Did he want to know the truth? Nothing could be worse than finding out Hunsdon Wiltshire was his father. Better to get it over with.
His eyes wolfed up the words, searching, interpreting . . . trying to make sense of it all. He flipped through the pages, massaging his temples. He needed aspirin. What kind of nightmare had he stepped into? Would he awake in the morning to discover it had all been a dream? He let the papers dangle from his hand while he digested what he considered the most unfathomable set of events he’d ever heard. His mother escaped the clutches of Wiltshire, only to get tangled up with him again fifty years later. But she hadn’t known. He’d finally come clean and confessed everything, and no one had believed him. The whole thing was so surreal, he wanted to laugh . . . except it wasn’t funny. Thank goodness, Mom allowed him to read the report and hadn’t tried to explain it. It was too much . . . he wanted time to come to terms with it.
That’s what Detective Bishop had meant. But was that punishment enough for what the man had done? His mother had suffered a lifetime—even after his death, the man’s legacy was one of suffering. For years, he had still held her a prisoner of her unknown past.
Timeless Moments Page 32