Timeless

by Alexandra Monir

  The next morning, an anguished scream jolted Michele awake. She jumped out of bed, terrified. That was when she saw that she wasn’t in her bedroom—she was in Stella’s. Michele raced to the desktop calendar and saw that it was June 7, 1944. For a moment she stood frozen in surprise. She had never gone back in time in her sleep before. What was happening?

  The scream turned into a howl. Michele raced out of the room and down the stairs, praying all the way that nothing was seriously wrong, that everyone was okay. But she found Stella in a heap on the floor, screaming Jack’s name over and over. An army officer stood in the doorway, his face ashen. Clara, Sam, and Lily were huddled around Stella, their faces scrunched up with grief as they tried to comfort her. Little Walter stood behind them in his pajamas, his face frozen, his tiny body shaking.

  Michele watched the scene in horror, her heart in her throat. Stella dropped the telegram and Michele read the devastating opening sentence: We regret to inform you that Private Rosen has been killed in action.

  Suddenly, Michele had never felt angrier in her life. What was the point of loving when the people you loved were taken from you? When Death or Time were always looming and poised to strike, why did love even exist? She squeezed her eyes shut and Marion’s and Philip’s faces filled her vision. Why must we spend so much of our lives missing people instead of being with them? Michele wondered. Her eyes were filled with tears as she approached Stella and wrapped her in a hug.

  Throughout the rest of the day, the Windsor family holed up in the drawing room, rallying around Stella. Michele sat beside her on the couch, holding her hand protectively. Clara sat on Stella’s other side, stroking her daughter’s hair. Lily was in the rocking chair beside the couch, holding Walter on her lap. Stella couldn’t speak, but the others all talked proudly of Jack. There was much emotion when a telegram arrived from President Roosevelt himself, reporting that Jack had died in combat while fighting the Nazis in Normandy the previous day. The president would be awarding Jack a posthumous medal of honor.

  Sam read aloud newspaper articles praising the success of D-day and stating that it signaled the beginning of the end for Nazi Germany. “Your fiancé died for his country, Stella, and his mission was a success,” Sam said earnestly. “There’s no more noble way to go.”

  Stella nodded slightly, her face still looking glazed and shocked.

  Suddenly, the sounds of a distant parade were heard: trumpets blaring, people shouting and whistling, feet stomping. Michele looked anxiously at Stella. As the parade came closer on its route down Fifth Avenue, the music became loud and clear:

  Over there, over there,

  Send the word, send the word, over there,

  That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming,

  The drums drum-drumming everywhere …

  Stella slowly got up and moved toward the front balcony, the others following closely. She stood at the railing, watching silently. As the parade approached Windsor Mansion, with its blue and gold stars hanging in the windows, it stopped and directed the rest of the song to the family on the balcony.

  So prepare, say a prayer,

  Send the word, send the word, to beware

  We’ll be over, we’re coming over,

  And we won’t came back till it’s over, over there!

  Michele watched as Stella, her eyes spilling over with tears, began to mouth the words, mustering a brave smile for the parade crowd. Stella gazed at the people, seeing the HOORAY FOR D-DAY! signs, and posters bearing blue and gold stars.

  “I’m—I’m so proud of him,” Stella gasped, and fell sobbing into Clara’s arms.

  As Michele watched the patriotic scene both inside and outside the Windsor Mansion, she realized her pride at being an American. It was the American drive for a better world, and its spirit of survival in the face of crisis, that had propelled Jack and thousands of other young men to risk their lives every day for their country and the Allies. It was that same spirit that led Stella to suddenly say, “I want to finish out Jack’s mission.”

  “What do you mean, sweetie?” Clara asked, helping her back inside.

  “I mean … I want to do something major to help,” she said, pacing the drawing room. “We have to win this war. It’s the only way Jack won’t have died in vain.”

  After a few minutes, Lily spoke up. “What about a fundraiser, or a drive? There’s always a need to sell more war bonds and collect rubber and metals for the army.”

  Stella stared at Lily. “That’s it! A fund-raiser concert—with you as the star attraction! Instead of tickets, people will have to buy war bonds and donate materials for the military.”

  As they discussed the idea, Michele stared at Stella in amazement. I wasn’t sent here to help her, she realized. I’m here to learn from her. I’ve lost my mom and Philip, but I need to be brave like Stella, like all the men and women who lose loved ones but keep going with life.

  Michele was suddenly overcome with pride at being a Windsor. The Windsor women had all been through tragedy and heartache, but they always held their heads high, moved forward, and never lost hope. They were the strongest, most inspiring women Michele knew, and she was stirred by them, motivated to follow their example.

  Michele pulled Stella aside. “I know Jack is so proud of you right now,” she said. “I’m proud just to know you.”

  “Thank you,” Stella whispered.

  The doorbell rang, and a moment later, a group of Stella’s classmates hurried inside, their faces stricken as they rushed forward to hug their friend. Michele made her way to the staircase, sensing that it was time for her to return. But before she had made it to the third floor, she felt Time pushing her forward, and she held on to the railing as she was sent flying.…

  She landed on the mezzanine, still clinging to the staircase railing for dear life. Through the glass door she saw Walter in his office, writing behind his desk. His head was bent low and he didn’t see Michele. As she watched her gray-haired grandfather, all she could see was the little boy he had been, his small body shaking, his face terrified, at the horrors of war. She felt a sudden rush of affection for him—and sadness. She was beginning to realize what a tragedy it was that Marion and her parents had never repaired their relationship.

  Michele remembered Irving Henry’s funeral service and shivered. So Walter had seen him buried in the ground nearly fifty years before his relationship with Marion began. How was that even possible? She wondered what her grandparents knew about him, how much they knew. But as she glanced back at Walter’s office, she knew she wasn’t ready to ask just yet.

  The next afternoon, Michele slowly walked into the library, seeking out the old photo album. She needed to see the photo of Irving Henry again. My dad, she reminded herself. It still didn’t feel real.

  Opening the photo album, she saw an inscription in the front cover: Merry Christmas, Mother & Father! I hope you enjoy the photos as much as I do. With love from Stella, 1940.

  Just as it dawned on Michele that Stella was the one who had put together the fateful photo album, she felt Time’s choreography take hold, sending her back.…

  “Why, it’s you!”

  Michele jumped back in surprise. Stella was standing in front of her, wearing a dark evening dress, purse in hand, and looking as though she was just about to leave the house.

  “You’re back!” Stella exclaimed, her eyes bugging out.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” Michele said, looking around her. “How are you? Are you okay?”

  “Yes. We’re actually just about to leave for the fund-raiser concert Aunt Lily and I organized. Would you like to see it?”

  “Of course I would!” Michele followed Stella outside, where Clara and Sam were waiting for her in the Chrysler, the two of them in evening wear. As Sam drove into Times Square, Michele noticed that the thoroughfare’s famously bright, animated signs were all dimmed, making the area seem like a ghost of itself. But the Square was packed, and the Chrysler sat in a traffic jam of cars and ca
bs.

  “This is the most crowded I’ve seen any New York street since the gas ration and dimouts began,” Sam commented. He caught Stella’s eye in the rearview mirror. “They’re all coming for you, sweetie.”

  “They’re coming for Lily and to support the war effort,” Stella corrected him, but she looked proud all the same.

  As they walked toward the Palace Theater on Broadway, Michele drew in her breath at the scene in front of her. Outside the theater was a long line of people handing bags of precious war materials—rubber, tinfoil, paper, nylon, and silk—to two volunteers standing in front of huge boxes labeled VICTORY SCRAP DRIVE. Sam carried their own scrap bag, and Michele followed the family into line. Once they’d handed in their war materials, they moved into the lobby, where two tables were set up with volunteers selling war bonds. After they had bought three bonds, which acted as tickets, they made their way to their reserved seats in the center orchestra.

  And what a show it was! Michele stood in the aisle next to Stella’s seat, watching in amazement as Lily emceed the star-studded V for Victory concert. The show began with Lily leading a chorus of soldiers in a rousing rendition of “Over There.” Then the Andrews Sisters, the famous harmonizing trio of the day, performed their hit swing number “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” as the audience stood up and danced in front of their seats. Louis Armstrong came onstage to massive cheers, and he and Lily performed the wistful ballad “The White Cliffs of Dover,” a song symbolizing England’s optimistic hope for a return to peace. Lily, Louis, and the Andrews Sisters performed several other patriotic songs, from “Remember Pearl Harbor” to “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition!” As they reached the end of the show, Lily stepped up to the microphone and announced, “This last song is dedicated to my cousin Stella’s brave fiancé, Private Jack Rosen, who died fighting for our country on D-day. He is a hero and he will be greatly missed.”

  The audience erupted in applause and cheers for Jack, and when Michele turned to Stella, she saw that she had tears in her eyes. Michele squeezed her hand.

  “I have a special guest star on this song,” Lily continued. “Everyone, please welcome Phoenix Warren.”

  The audience once again burst into cheers and whistles, and Michele leaned forward, eager to catch a glimpse of the famed man whose composition had inspired her name.

  He stepped onstage amid the massive applause, and Michele stared at him. He stood tall and proud in his navy suit adorned with a V for Victory pin, and even with salt-and-pepper hair, he was the type of man who looked handsome and debonair in middle age. As he smiled at the audience, Michele felt a jolt of familiarity. Where had she seen that grin before?

  Phoenix strode purposefully to the piano, and that was when Michele saw his deep blue eyes. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Phoenix Warren was really Philip Walker!

  As Michele was reeling, Lily began to sing to Philip’s accompaniment, their two instruments echoing together beautifully inside the theater.

  “I’ll be seeing you

  In all the old familiar places

  That this heart of mine embraces

  All day through.

  In that small café

  The park across the way

  The children’s carousel

  The chestnut tree, the wishing well …”

  As Michele stared dizzyingly up at Philip and Lily onstage, she realized how true these lyrics were. None of these people are alive in my lifetime—but I can still see them, still find them. If her time travels had shown her anything, it was that 2010 was not the only present time. Other time periods are all around us, and the spirits of those we’ve loved and lost still surround us. We just have to be able to see them and feel them.

  Michele hurried down the aisle to the edge of the stage, but Philip’s eyes were closed, as they always were when he played.

  I’ll find you in the morning sun

  And when the night is new

  I’ll be looking at the moon,

  But I’ll be seeing you.

  Philip opened his eyes. She watched as his face registered astonishment at the sight of her, and then those beautiful blue eyes filled with tears.

  As Lily and Philip took their bows, Michele hoisted herself up onto the side of the stage and waited for him in the wings. He dashed offstage after a quick bow and seized her hand, pulling her into an empty corridor backstage. They were near each other at last, but as they stood nervously facing each other, it was clear that something was different now. Philip was all grown up.

  “So you’re—you’re Phoenix Warren,” Michele stammered. “Would you believe that I was named after your composition?”

  “ ‘Michele,’ ” Philip said softly. “I wrote that for you.”

  And with that, Michele threw her arms around him and they shared a long embrace. But something was still different. She had last seen him when they were both teenagers and lovers—but the passage of time for him had waved its wand and now they could only be friends. Friends who had forever, irrevocably changed each other’s lives.

  As she pulled away, Michele said, “So you kept your promise to me, then. I had thought—well, I didn’t know what happened to you.…”

  “When I read in the paper back in ’27 that Uncle and Mother believed me to be dead, I realized … perhaps it was a divine mistake,” Philip said. “They were so determined that no Walker heir should be a performer, and did everything they could to wreck my career and life, even by proxy when I was in London. So I realized that I had lost everything that mattered to me but my music. And I decided that Philip James Walker would be no more, and be reborn as someone new—just as a phoenix rises from the ashes.”

  “Wow …” Michele clasped his hand. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to know that you’re all right, better than all right—that you’re living your dream.”

  Philip smiled. “I had to. I couldn’t break my promise to you. And now … will you make me the same promise? To always move forward with life, pursue your writing, and have a family?”

  “I thought you promised you’d come back to me,” Michele couldn’t help saying as tears stung her eyes.

  Philip gently wiped away her tear. “I will,” he said. “Somehow. It just might not be in the way you expect.”

  Before Michele had a chance to ask what he meant by that, she heard the sound of footsteps backstage. She turned to see a smartly dressed woman in her forties, with strawberry-blond hair and sandy brown eyes.

  “Darling, you were wonderful!” the woman exclaimed, hurrying to Philip’s side and wrapping her arms possessively around his neck. Michele shrank back, feeling as if she had just been punched in the stomach.

  Philip turned to give Michele an apologetic look, but Michele shook her head and said through her tears, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re not alone.”

  And with that, she ran onto the stage and down the steps to the audience, and there was Stella, looking for someone.

  “There you are,” she said when she saw Michele. “Are you all right? Why are you crying?”

  Be brave like Stella, Michele reminded herself. “I’m okay. Congratulations, Stella, you did a wonderful thing tonight.”

  Stella gave her a small smile. “Thanks. I just wish Jack had seen it.”

  “I know he did,” Michele assured her.

  Stella took her hand. “Come on. We’re going home.”

  On the drive back to the Windsor Mansion, Michele somehow instinctively knew that she was going home to her own time—to stay. Sure enough, when she climbed out of the 1940s Chrysler, she found that she was suddenly alone. She turned back to see where Stella and her parents were, but they had vanished, along with the vintage car. She was back in 2010.

  That night, Michele dreamt of her mother.…

  Michele was heading upstairs, smiling contentedly. She stopped in shock when she saw the vision at the top of the staircase—Marion, surrounded by a hazy white glow.

  “Mom!” Michele cried, running into her mo
ther’s outstretched arms.

  “You did very well, sweetheart,” Marion said, beaming at her daughter.

  “Mom! It’s so good to see you.” She buried her face in Marion’s shoulder, breathing in her mom’s comfortingly familiar scent. She looked up excitedly. “I’ve thought of something—by going back in time, I was able to change history. I’m going to find a way to go back to that day and save you!”

  Marion shook her head slowly. “No, sweetie, you can’t. It was my time to go. When it’s your time, there is nothing any of us can do to change that.”

  Michele looked down, her eyes brimming with tears. “But why—why was it your time? How can it be, when you were still so young? And I need you, so much.”

  Marion held Michele’s face in her hands.

  “But I’m always here with you, just as Philip is. And I’ve already fulfilled my purpose on this earth.”

  “What was it?” Michele asked, wiping her eyes.

  “Bringing you into the world, of course,” Marion answered, smiling. “Because you are a girl with the potential to change the world.”

  Marion threw her arms around her daughter, and the two of them shared a tight, tearful embrace.

  “Mom—I found out the truth about him,” Michele blurted out. “My dad.”

  Marion smiled tearfully. “I know. It’s such a shock—and yet it makes sense in a way. It explains so much.”

  “Have you seen him?” Michele asked breathlessly. “I mean, now that you’re both—”

  Marion shook her head, her eyes pained. “No. And I have this feeling that—that he hasn’t left the earth, not really. That he’s still traveling, still looking for … something.”