Somewhere in Time

by Alyssa Richards

  The room tilted. “That’s…Otto. That’s who he used to be. In—in that lifetime,” I stumbled.

  “Otto and Addie and I shared a difficult past life together in the twenties,” Blake said. “Addie has seen that Otto and Gary are the same person.”

  Grace swallowed hard. “You’re certain?”

  “There’s no doubt.”

  “I have to write a letter,” she said as she dashed out of the room.

  Chapter 38

  The young Civil War soldier in the gray uniform ran in front of Blake and me when we walked to the pier behind the house. He cocked his long gun under his right arm, steadied it with his left hand, and took aim at some unseen enemy.

  “Down!” he yelled to us, and we moved to the side to let him pass. The soldier flopped on his belly and began shooting, his gun surprisingly loud, and I placed my hands over my ears.

  Blake walked over to me, and I leaned into him. We watched the soldier disappear. “Never a dull moment,” he said with a warm smile, and tucked a piece of windblown hair behind my ear.

  I relaxed into the embrace of the only man who had ever fully understood me and loved me because of who I was. Not counting, of course, my father and grandfather.

  Then I closed my eyes and braced myself for the crippling worry that came next. It was the follow-up act to my realization of Blake’s abiding love, that I would be without him someday, that the abandonment was inevitable—as it was for every woman in my family.

  But it didn’t show.

  In its place was a peace and an opening, one made wide by compassion and forgiveness, and the knowledge that my father and grandfather were alive. I watched a brand new light thread the infinity symbol between his heart and mine.

  As if he’d seen it, too, he tipped my chin up and he kissed me as though forever was ours to enjoy, as if now was all we had.

  “This is not quite the visit I thought it would be,” I said. The wind teased the water into waves and turned the leaves bottom side up. A storm was coming.

  “Me, either,” Blake said.

  Hand in hand, we walked to the large water oak and I sat in my childhood swing. Blake leaned against the brown as dark leather trunk while I coasted gently on the thick piece of birch my father had so lovingly sanded all those years ago. My sight traveled along the familiar scene of sparkled sunshine on choppy waters, and I felt eight again—ensconced in my perfect world, oblivious to the threats that once laid ahead.

  I lifted my feet, tugged on the ropes, and cast myself gently into the breeze. “I thought by now I would be on my way to William’s office with Grace and Isabella’s blessing, about to find my father and grandfather again, as well as the Gardner art.”

  “With or without your red cape?” Blake said.

  I raised an eyebrow at him, then chuckled. The toes of my black boots lifted over the horizon. “Well, I probably should have guessed that there was a catch wherever Otto was involved.”

  A pang of regret zinged through me when I said it. I had thought I could right the heinous wrong of our patriarchs’ absence. Part of me still did.

  “Though I don’t think either of us could have guessed what that catch was,” he said.

  “No, but, I do think we can help them. It is possible and I know they want to come home. We just have to find another Wentworth to get them here. Otto may or may not have one. Even if he does have it, we probably can’t get close enough to it right now without him knowing it. We’re too hot on his radar. And I can’t trust him to guide me through that painting. I could end up lost in time forever, just like my father and grandfather. Traveling through the Monet isn’t an option, not after what I saw.” I shivered at the memory of the emotional crosswinds that nearly capsized my sanity. “Stuck in a tortured reality like that has to be what crazy feels like.”

  I watched the Civil War soldier sit on the grassy bank, several yards from Blake and me. My swing slowed to a stop and I dug my heels in the soft dirt. “We either have to hire someone to find Otto’s Wentworth, or we have to find one of the other ones. They’re the only way.”

  “Remember what Grace said, that even with a Wentworth, the trip wouldn’t be without its dangers. Carolena said the same thing when I called her this morning.”

  “Couldn’t Carolena get us through the painting? She’s obviously done it before,” I said.

  “That she has.” Blake nodded slowly.

  “Or maybe you don’t want her to do that since Otto may still have one,” I said. “I mean, could we run into him somewhere along the way if we were all traveling at the same time?”

  “I have no idea. She did say that Otto could lay traps in the Wentworth to trip up another traveller. Maybe even kill them.”

  “Of course he could do that. Because the trip itself wouldn’t be dangerous enough.”

  “She also said that she wanted to do whatever she could to make this up to you and your family. She feels responsible for what happened to John and Campbell.”

  “I don’t blame her for this. I blame Otto, but not her.”

  Blake nodded, but the grimace on his face told me that he blamed both his parents for what happened to my family.

  “Did she say where the rest of the Wentworths might be?”

  “She said she found the one in the basement of the Met. She doesn’t know where the others are. Black market or private ownership, most likely. William could have some old files on stolen art that might offer some leads.” Blake broke a small piece from a twig and pitched it to the ground. “And Otto isn’t that young. The life he leads isn’t conducive to old age, and the company he keeps is pretty shady, so maybe he’ll be gone soon.”

  “One can only hope,” I said. I tore my eyes away from the mesmerizing currents in the water and Blake rounded the swing and stood in front of me.

  “Come on.” He extended his hand to escort me from the swing and we strolled down to the water.

  As if it reached out to touch me one last time, the water lapped against the edges of the wooden pier where we stood, arms encircled around one another. Cold breezes tumbled over the warm when they reached the shore, a sign that change was afoot, an interloper on the status quo. I stared at the idyllic home that had taken care of our Montgomery clan for over a century. There seemed a yellow aura around the edge of it. “It still seems strong in spite of everything our family has been through.”

  Blake turned his sight toward our homestead as well, then kissed the top of my head.

  “I know you’ll miss it while we’re gone,” he said. “We’ll return when it’s safe.”

  I tried not to think about who else might not be here when we returned. “By then it could be…different.”

  “We’ll be the constant amidst the change. Still together, still in love. And maybe our sojourn won’t take as long as you think. This could all just work out better than we imagine,” he said as he stroked his thumb against the upper part of my sweater-covered back.

  “You’re right,” I said. “In fact, that’s the ‘what if’ I should ask every day. What if this all just works out?” I felt my perspective shift when I said it.

  “Speaking of what-ifs, what were the chances that my grandfather and past-life Otto would meet? They must be infinitesimal. And what impact does that have on our present? They shouldn’t have met then.”

  “Hopefully nothing,” he said simply. “Hopefully he’ll distance himself from Gary as soon as he reads Grace’s letter.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said.

  Noisy, nit-picky doubts knocked at the outer wall of my brain. I chose not to tell Blake about them. Maybe he was right. Maybe this would all just work out. It could, after all.

  Chapter 39

  It was his fifth trip to the once-bricked room and the man with the black baseball hat was finally at his goal. Smile and sweat glowed on his face when the heavy metal end of the sledgehammer shot through brick into empty space for the first time since he’d begun.

  He swung the instrument
twice more to knock out an entryway for himself. Not that he could walk through it at his height, but it would be large enough of a passage for him to remove what he’d come for.

  The room inside was not barren as the rest of the vacant space that surrounded it. Rather, it was arranged as a small living room, complete with a fireplace and mantel, an upholstered chair and couch, and a side table between them. A square frame with its edges jeweled in blue glass sat next to a lamp with a stained glass shade. He stared for a moment at the couple whose wedding day was captured on the imprint, and in a room that was very much like the one he was standing in.

  Her veil cascaded past her feet in an elegant vision, one ruined only by the possessive gleam in the eyes of her groom. A look he knew all too well. One he’d seen too many times to count.

  He placed the frame back into perfect alignment with its dusty outline on the table then searched the room for the item he needed. His shoes squeaked against the cement floor as he searched the walls for any sign that might reveal a hidden compartment.

  Nothing.

  Then he cocked his head slightly when he noticed the framed mariner’s scene that hung above the mantle.

  Perhaps…

  He lifted the painting from its nail, and felt the wall behind it. It was not the false front he hoped it would be. “Damn it!” he said. He sat on the edge of the two-cushion couch and searched the room for anything he might have missed.

  Nothing.

  He inspected the couch beneath him. Bounced a couple of times on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture he’d ever sat on. Then he stood and lifted the cushion.

  There it was, in silver shining glory, with a black dial buried in the center. The safe. It wasn’t very thick but it was plenty long enough to hold what he searched for.

  He had long ago guessed the combination. It was the same code he’d seen used as a passcode on many security options: her birthdate. With each turn of the dial he felt a tiny, victorious click. On the last click, the latch on the door released.

  The painting inside was an unframed oil on canvas. The artistic value alone was worth millions, but the Wentworth signature in the lower right hand corner made it priceless.

  He took the painting and placed it on the mantel. He was almost ready—he just needed to call a friend to help cover his tracks by hiding the painting after he left. Not that he ever cared about coming back—he’d dreamed for years of his escape. Now, before he left, he had one last thing he had to do.

  Chapter 40

  With sporadic storms battering the eastern seaboard, Blake’s pilot kept us flying above the weather. Blake worked on his laptop while I stared out the window and thought about everything I’d learned over the past few days.

  I had hope we could help my father and grandfather. Between the five of us I knew we would find at least one of the Wentworths.

  I would miss my family, especially Lex, who had chosen to stay in Savannah for a while longer. Thanks to Otto, and on Grace’s advice, Lexie cancelled her long-awaited show. She couldn’t be certain what Todd’s sister knew of the footage, or even if she were in on Todd’s scheme. The date of Alexa’s show was rapidly approaching and Piper hadn’t yet contacted Alexa about progress on her pieces or potential attendees, as was the custom craziness before a show. There was only quiet disinterest. So Lexie just stepped away from it all.

  Grace suggested Lexie leave New York altogether and move back home. Lex considered it. I encouraged it. She needed Grace’s protection. No one needed to be that close to Otto.

  I leaned onto Blake’s shoulder and felt the muscles in his arm tense.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  He glared at his laptop screen. “Our flight to Paris is postponed until tomorrow. Bad weather in Boston.” He got up and walked to the cockpit.

  Icy adrenaline painted the inside of my stomach.

  “Can we turn around or land somewhere else?” I asked when Blake took his seat again.

  “We’re going to reroute to New York.” he said, and the hollow sound of cloud-level thunder drummed around the plane. “International flights are still running there.” Blake gave me a smile that was intended to comfort, but I caught sight of his jaw muscles working.

  “I really don’t want to be that close to Otto,” I said.

  “We’ll never leave the airport, and we’ll only be there a short while to change planes. He has no way of knowing that we’ll be there.”

  “Okay.” I picked up a magazine and mindlessly flipped the pages until we landed in New York. I was too distracted to concentrate.

  Thirty minutes and two magazines later, the pilot walked down the aisle. He smiled a reticent friendly sky smile, his hands stayed in his pockets.

  “The airport isn’t allowing any flights to take off until morning. They’re playing it safe with the weather. Your next flight is delayed.”

  “Okay,” Blake said. “Any idea how long of a delay we’re looking at?”

  “They’re saying five to six hours. But I don’t think you’ll take off before morning. They want to see what this weather pattern is going to do first.”

  Blake nodded. The pilot did as well and disappeared into the cockpit.

  “A short delay. We’ll find a hotel so we can stay out of sight,” Blake said.

  “We should stay somewhere close to the airport, and someplace Otto wouldn’t think to check for us,” I said as evenly as possible.

  Blake gently ran the backs of his knuckles down my cheek. “We’re going to be okay,” he said. “As soon as the weather clears we’re on our way.”

  I swallowed against my tightening throat. “I hope you’re right.”

  When the plane began its descent, Blake took two dark baseball caps from his bag and handed me one of them.“Put this on with your sunglasses, and tuck the length of your hair into your jacket.”

  “Won’t wearing sunglasses at night make us look suspicious?” I twisted three lengths of my hair into a low, braided ponytail.

  “The less people see of our faces, the better,” he said, and pulled the cap low on his forehead.

  “Wait,” I said. Fear traveled through my nervous system. I held onto Blake’s arm.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “No, just— Something’s wrong.” A sick, nauseated feeling crept to my throat. The kind of feeling that told me our perfect plan had jumped the tracks. I tried to calm myself and took a deep breath, but calm wouldn’t come because my heart had a firm grasp on the muscles in my chest and wouldn’t let go. The pain spread throughout my chest and then that new tingling sensation shot down my left arm.

  “Addie—”

  I shook my head. “I just need to calm down.” I felt like we were flying down white water rapids with no safe way to get off the boat.

  Blake leaned close to me. “What do you see?”

  “I don’t know, specifically.” I tried to make sense of everything my body knew but my brain didn’t.

  Blake went back to his laptop and sent a message to Carolena:

  Might be nothing. Or Otto might be on to us. Bad weather. Can’t fly out tonight. Watch for my or Addie’s call.

  Then he sent the same message to William.

  “What’s this?” I asked and squinted at his laptop screen.

  “I’m lining up support for one or the both of us in case you’re right.”

  My throat closed in on itself at the thought of something happening to Blake. Memories of Jack’s death were thick and present around me as if they were about to repeat.

  Blake reached into his briefcase, tore off a small piece of paper, and wrote something on it.

  “Here,” he said as he handed it to me. “These are Carolena’s and William’s phone numbers.” He folded the scrap until it was the size of the head of a thumbtack. “Put this inside your sock. If you’re caught they’ll likely take away your phone and search your pockets, but they won’t search inside your socks.”

  My hand shook as I took the paper
and did as Blake said. I slipped my foot out of my short, black boot, slipped the sock off, and stuck the miniature note between my big and second toe.

  “What about you?” I put my sock and boot back on.

  “I have the numbers memorized.”

  My fear reached for an all-time high, but without something to touch, I couldn’t decide where it was coming from. Maybe it was just a result of being in the same town as Otto again. Or maybe it was because we were so close to getting away. Or maybe I’d never feel completely unguarded and relaxed for as long as Otto hunted for us.

  “We need to call William. Something doesn’t feel right. I can’t shake it, and I’m not going to take chances where our safety is concerned,” I said.

  Blake studied my face, then called William.

  Chapter 41

  We stepped into the bitter cold and a flood of tiny white flakes danced on the icy wind around us. The airport lights shone too bright and I flipped my coat collar up around my face for extra camouflage. “William is sending two men to guard us at the hotel. They’ll meet us there and stay with us until our next flight leaves.”

  I sighed relief. “Thank you.”

  “We’re here. We’ll meet you on the side entrance,” Blake said before he hung up a call I didn’t realize he had made.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Thomas. I’m going to shut the gallery down while I’m gone. There are several papers to sign and I’d rather do it before we leave. I don’t want any trails to our new location.” He searched the sparsely populated lobby of the private airport, and the ceiling lights reflected off of his sunglasses. I still wasn’t sure if these barriers to our identity brought more attention to us, or less, as Blake had suggested.