A Time To Dream

by Sherry Lewis

  So he did feel something for Agatha. That gave Shelby hope. She tried to walk faster and catch up with him, but her skirts hampered her. “Why must you be so stubborn?” she shouted.

  “Me?” He wheeled about to face her. “You’re calling me stubborn?”

  “Yes. Stubborn. Or should I say bullheaded. Obstinate. Mulish. Take your pick.” Her skirt snagged on a piece of undergrowth and brought her to a screeching halt. Determined not to lose this opportunity, she struggled to loosen it but the twig held fast.

  “Perhaps you recognize the quality because you’re so intractable,” he called back.

  It was a little thing, but Shelby took heart from the fact that he’d indulge in the volley of name-calling. She tugged harder on her skirt, but she only succeeded in getting herself more tangled and she nearly lost her footing on the slippery leaves underfoot.

  Frustrated, she gave another yank and at the same time let loose with, “Oh, this stupid, damned dress.”

  Zacharias had turned away again, but he stopped as if she’d jerked on a chain, and turned slowly to face her. “What did you say?”

  She bit her tongue and the slow flush of embarrassment crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She’d tried so hard to sound like a woman of the 1870s, and now she’d blown it. “I— I’m stuck.”

  “So I see.” He started back toward her, his movements almost lazy now. “But I want to know what you said.”

  “I don’t remember,” she hedged.

  “You said damned.”

  “Okay. Maybe I did—”

  “You. Agatha Carruthers Logan.” To her surprise, he tilted back his head and laughed aloud. “Now I know you’re telling the truth.”

  His reaction stunned her. “Why would hearing me say a little thing like that convince you?”

  “Because as long as I’ve known you, you’ve very nearly expired of apoplexy every time I said anything remotely similar.”

  “Oh.” She bit back a smile and cast a longing glance at her skirts. “Then, would you please help me get loose? I can’t believe you’d go back to Winterhill and leave me stuck out here.”

  He sketched a bow and closed the distance between them, hunkering down so he could see her skirts and petticoats. “Will you tell me what happened to rob you of your memory?”

  “I don’t know.” She watched as his huge fingers struggled with the delicate fabric. “One minute I was myself, and the next. . . ” She left the rest unsaid. She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

  He glanced up at her with eyes the color of the sky and all the anger and bitterness seemed to have vanished. “You don’t remember being ill, or getting hurt?”

  Heat tore through Shelby—heat that had nothing to do with the temperature or humidity.

  “No.”

  “You don’t remember anything?” He managed to extricate her from the annoying bush and dropped his hands onto his thighs.

  Shelby let her gaze follow them and noticed the swell of muscles beneath the finely woven fabric. Her mouth dried and her pulse picked up a notch. Horrified by her reaction, she tore her gaze away again and forced herself to respond to his question. “I don’t remember anything.”

  “What about your life before you married me?”

  “A blank.”

  “Our wedding?”

  “Nothing. Zip. Nada.” She longed to sit on the ground beside him, but the stupid corset she wore wouldn’t let her.

  He stood slowly, brushing off his pant legs. “But you remember who you are?”

  “Yes.” She kept her gaze locked on his. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. A shattering awareness of him shot through her and left her off-balance and confused.

  His lips curved ever-so-slightly. “And you obviously remember who I am.”

  His smile gave Shelby another jolt but she told herself to get a grip. She was here to salvage his marriage to another woman. “Yes, but I don’t remember anything about our life together, and I certainly don’t remember why we no longer have one.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Most interesting.”

  “Most upsetting,” she said. “So? Will you help me?”

  He shrugged and turned away. “Perhaps it would be best to simply let that time in our lives fade away.”

  “And take up where we left off?” she asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “But why?” Shelby wondered if a man more bullheaded had ever been created. If so, she’d never met him. “Maybe you don’t want to discuss what happened between us, but the least you could do is help me fill in some of the blanks in my memory.”

  He gave that a moment’s thought then shook his head. “No.”

  She bit her lip and tugged a loop of hair loose from its pins, relieving some of the pressure on her scalp. “But why not? What’s so horrible that you won’t tell me about it?”

  “I said no, Agatha. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Thoroughly frustrated, she propped her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to leave it. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask someone else.”

  He stiffened and all the anger and bitterness came flooding back. “Are you blackmailing me?”

  Oops. Too far. “Blackmail? No, of course not.” Shelby managed a thin laugh. “I just want to know what happened, that’s all. But if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m sure someone else will fill me in.”

  “Ah,” he said, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  She lifted her chin and stared back at him. “I doubt it.”

  “Oh, but you are. No one will tell you anything at all, my dear, because you and I are the only two people alive who know the entire story.” And with that, he backed away from her and strode away.

  Shelby thought about running after him again, but decided that maybe she’d pushed hard enough for one morning. She watched until he disappeared into the trees, then turned toward Summervale with a sigh. She’d do better next time, she vowed. She could hardly do worse.

  Still frustrated by her meeting with Zacharias that morning, Shelby carefully descended the staircase and tried not to trip over the hem of her gown. She could smell something cooking, something rich and wonderful and beefy. Though she rarely ate red meat anymore, she had a feeling she’d wolf down anything Meg placed in front of her.

  Meg’s cooking was definitely one of the bright sides of this whole experience. It was hands down better than the salads or frozen microwave dishes Shelby usually fixed for herself. If she had to stay for a few days, at least she’d eat well.

  She stopped partway down the stairs and sighed softly. Candlelight flickered from the chandelier high overhead and danced off the rich wood. It threw the corners into stark relief, revealing, then hiding again. But in spite of the beauty, something was missing.

  A pall hung over everything at Summervale. Sadness where there should have been laughter. Melancholy where there should have been an air of joy and contentment. Of generations linked together. Of continuity.

  But there was none of that. Only a yawning emptiness.

  Shivering in spite of the moist heat, Shelby walked into the dining room. There, too, candles in a chandelier overhead lit everything, reflecting off the china, crystal and silver. Eight chairs flanked the long mahogany table, but only one place had been laid for dinner. One lonely place, where there should have been countless more.

  Shelby closed her eyes and pictured the room as it should have been, with Zacharias at the head of the table and a dozen smiling friends and relatives anticipating a night’s entertainment and a spectacular meal. She imagined soft chamber music, and laughter, and the muted clink of silver against china.

  “Madame?”

  Meg’s worried voice brought her eyes open again. She folded her hands in front of her and smiled. “Just thinking, Meg. Wishing things were different.”

  Meg ignored that and bustled into the room to light the candles in the centerpiece. “I didn’t know whether you would come downsta
irs again or take a tray in your room as usual.”

  “Down here, please.” How could Agatha stand to isolate herself that completely? Shelby smoothed the folds of her skirt and tried to set Meg’s mind at ease. “In fact, unless I tell you differently, I’ll eat all my meals down here.”

  Meg sent her a sidelong glance. “If I may say so, Madame, that’s good to hear. Shall I serve now?”

  “In a minute.” Shelby crossed to the huge windows that ran from the floor to the high ceiling overhead and let her fingers linger on the rich gold fabric. “First, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Questions?” Meg sounded nervous.

  “About Zacharias.”

  “I hope. . . ” Meg broke off, gave an anxious cough, and started again. “I hope you’re not angry over what happened yesterday. Colin and I were concerned—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Shelby said with a quick smile. “I’m not mad at you. But I need to know why Zacharias is so angry with me.”

  Uncertainty darted across Meg’s face. What was it that had everyone acting like she’d poked them with a cattle prod whenever she brought up the subject of Agatha’s estrangement from Zacharias?

  Meg lit two candles and blew out the match. She straightened the flower arrangement in the middle of the table and started around to the other side where she would light the remaining candles. “I would think Mr. Logan is still upset over The Unfortunate Incident, Madame.”

  Well, duh! Shelby bit back her instinctive response and tried again. “I think you’re right, but what was the Unfortunate Incident?”

  There went that cattle-prod look again. Meg pulled back stiffly. “I’m sorry, Madame, but I daren’t discuss it with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Madame.” Meg busied herself with the linen napkin and readjusted the silver. “You have made it quite clear that you will dismiss us if we discuss it.”

  “Even with me?”

  “Especially with you.”

  Well, that certainly was emotionally healthy. Shelby scowled lightly. “I see. Well, I’ve changed my mind. I want to talk about it.”

  Meg pulled a cloth from her apron and vigorously attacked an imaginary spot on the sideboard. “You might think you want to talk about it, Madame, but what will happen when you are feeling more like yourself?”

  Shelby couldn’t make any guarantees, of course, so she didn’t offer any.

  “I wouldn’t dare to speak of it,” Meg went on. “I value my position at Summervale. Besides, Colin would never forgive me if I were to do something foolish and land us both out on our ears.”

  “But Colin raced off to Winterhill and brought back Zacharias without checking with you,” Shelby pointed out. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Colin did what he thought was best, Madame. I doubt very much he’ll be quick to repeat that performance.”

  “But if you won’t talk to me, and Zacharias won’t talk to me, who will?”

  The cloth fluttered from Meg’s hand and her mouth rounded in shock. “Surely you don’t mean to talk to someone else.”

  “Why not? I know I haven’t wanted to speak of it in the past, but I want to now.”

  Meg gripped the sideboard as if she needed something to hold her up. “Madame—”

  “Agatha,” Shelby reminded her.

  Meg nodded and hurried on. “You cannot discuss the Unfortunate Incident. Believe me, it would be the worst thing you could do.”

  “Why? If I can save my marriage—”

  “Your marriage?” Meg shook her head frantically. “You can’t— You mustn’t—” She took a deep breath and finally managed to string a few more words together. “Madame, you can’t be serious. With Mrs. Starling at Winterhill so often, you’d only stir up talk.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Starling?”

  “Patricia Starling, Madame. Surely you remember her.”

  “But I don’t.” Shelby didn’t remember ever running across that name in the accounts she’d read about Agatha and Zacharias, though the look on Meg’s face was starting to give her a few ideas. “Is Mrs. Starling a friend of the family?”

  A dozen emotions darted across Meg’s round face, all too quickly for Shelby to read. “If you want to call it that.”

  “Then maybe I’ll go talk to her.”

  Meg took a step toward Shelby and lowered her voice as if she worried about someone overhearing them. “Madame, you must not call on Mrs. Starling.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. . . ” Meg shook her head as if she couldn’t find the right words to explain. “Because.”

  “But if she’s a friend of ours, perhaps Zacharias has confided in her.”

  “Patricia Starling is no friend of yours,” Meg blurted, and immediately looked contrite for letting it slip.

  “I see.” And Shelby had the distinct feeling she did. So, Zacharias had already moved on to someone else, had he? Well, that only made it even more imperative that she figure out what happened between him and Agatha. “Are you saying that she’s a friend of Zacharias’s but not of mine?”

  “Almost certainly, Madame.” This only a low mutter from Meg as she turned her back.

  Shelby hurried after her. “You can’t say that and then walk away, Meg. It isn’t fair.”

  “I’m sorry, Madame.” Meg turned back to face her again.

  “So, tell me.”

  Meg hesitated for a long moment, then her shoulders slumped and she gave in. “If you must know, Mr. Logan has been . . . friendly . . . with Mrs. Starling since the death of her husband.”

  “By friendly, I assume you mean they’re having an affair?”

  Meg’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m sure I don’t know that, Madame.”

  Shelby suspected she did know, and probably half the town knew as well. “Before I lost my memory, did I know about this?”

  Meg’s gaze faltered. “Yes.”

  “And did I mind?”

  “Mind?”

  Meg was stalling for time, but Shelby pressed harder. “Tell me the truth, Meg. Do I care that Zacharias has started seeing Mrs. Starling?”

  The older woman’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I wouldn’t know, Madame. We never discuss it.”

  Shelby had no idea how Agatha felt about it, but for some strange reason she minded very much. “There seems to be a lot that we don’t discuss,” she said, trying to push aside the ridiculous feeling that Zacharias had betrayed her in some way. “But I think it’s time for that to change.” She sat on one of the chairs and patted the one beside it for Meg. “Sit down, Meg. Let’s talk.”

  Meg backed a step away. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

  “Well, I do.” She patted the chair again and waited.

  Meg glanced nervously at the chair, then back at her.

  “I won’t bite you, Meg. Sit down. Please.”

  The older woman gave in so reluctantly, Shelby’s heart went out to her.

  She kept her voice gentle, but firm. “Tell me about Zacharias and Patricia Starling.”

  Meg let out a heavy sigh. “I only know what I hear, Madame. And you know how people talk. That’s why you mustn’t even think of talking to Mrs. Starling.”

  “So I’m just supposed to turn my back and pretend that my husband isn’t seeing another woman?”

  “I think it might be best.”

  Shelby propped her chin in her hand. “Well, I don’t. Why should I pretend that I don’t care?”

  Meg held her gaze steadily for the first time. “But Madame, you don’t care. You’ve made that quite clear.”

  Shelby lifted her head slowly. “I don’t?”

  “No, Madame, you do not.”

  “But—”

  “For the past five years, you’ve forbidden us to even speak of Mr. Logan, Madame. You’ve wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. You’ve resisted every effort he’s ever made to reconcile with you. You’ve even said he’s dead in your eyes.”

/>   “So he’s turned to another woman.” Shelby supposed she could understand that, even if it did disturb her in ways she didn’t want to think about. She thought for a moment and clutched at the only straw she could find. “Then why doesn’t he just divorce me? I mean, he could get a divorce, couldn’t he?”

  “Probably.”

  “Why doesn’t he?”

  “I don’t know.” Meg stood slowly, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. “Only he could answer that.”

  “But he won’t.”

  “If you really want to know,” Meg said, crossing to the door to escape, “I suggest you ask him again.”

  The following morning, Zacharias’s heart twisted painfully as he watched Mordechai and Andrew playing contentedly on the nursery floor, surrounded by a staggering number of toys. He’d given them everything he could, more than he should, perhaps, in an effort to make up for the loss of their mother. They didn’t seem to notice the lack of maternal care now.

  Their nurse, Jada, gave them time and attention and even a certain amount of affection. But every so often the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he’d made the wrong decision.

  Scowling, he forced that thought away. He’d made the right decision, dammit. The only decision he could have made under the circumstances. He wouldn’t start second-guessing himself now.

  It was Agatha’s fault, he thought as he stood abruptly. Entirely Agatha’s fault. He’d never harbored a moment’s doubt until two days ago. Until she’d changed so drastically. Until she’d sought him out and talked of reconciliation. Until she’d laid her hand so gently on his chest that he’d almost imagined an invitation in her touch.

  Invitation, indeed.

  He scowled a bit harder and forced the memory away with a harsh, silent laugh. Imagining an invitation from Agatha was like imagining the wooden soldiers in Mordechai’s chubby hands suddenly coming to life. Or the carved horse Andrew rode sprouting wings.

  Utterly impossible.

  “Look, Papa.” Mordechai held out a wooden soldier for his inspection. “I think he’s been killed.”

  Zacharias pushed Agatha out of his mind and took the soldier carefully. “I don’t think so, son. I think he’s just asleep.”