A Time To Dream

by Sherry Lewis

“Whether or not you agree, those children need a mother.”

  Zacharias clenched his jaw tightly, as if he were making an effort to control himself, then wheeled around and pulled her back into the gardens and away from the children and their nurse. He set such a rapid pace, she stumbled in her efforts to keep up, but he didn’t slow his step.

  Once safely away, he released her and lashed out again. “Are you still so angry with me that you’d purposely try to hurt them?”

  “I don’t want to hurt them,” Shelby insisted, rubbing her arm gently. “I just want to see them. And since you’re so determined to keep me away, I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

  He clamped his mouth shut and studied her intently for several long seconds. His eyes, a clear, icy blue, seemed to bore into her and his mouth became nothing more than a thin slash in his bronzed face. “I forbid you to do this again, Agatha. I forbid it, absolutely.”

  “Haven’t we been over this already? You have no right to forbid me anything.”

  “I most certainly do,” he snapped. “Especially when it concerns Andrew and Mordechai.”

  “Why?” She put a little distance between them and kept his hands in view. He had a grip like a steel trap and she wasn’t interested in suffering it again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this notion that you can order me about simply because you’re a man and I’m a woman. It’s absolutely archaic.”

  “That would be reason enough,” he said, his voice tightly controlled, “even if there weren’t other considerations to keep in mind.”

  “What other considerations? Obviously, there’s something I don’t know, so why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because I won’t discuss it again, even with you.” He paced a step away, rubbed his face, and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve humbled myself to you in the past, Agatha. I’ve apologized as many times as I’m going to. Maybe you truly don’t remember, but you will eventually. Dr. Messing assures me of that and, God help me, I believe him. I can’t take the chance that you’ll hurt the boys when your memory returns.”

  “But why would I hurt them?”

  “Because you hate them, Agatha.”

  Shelby recoiled as if he’d slapped her. If that was true, maybe Agatha was crazy. How could any sane woman hate two innocent children? She had no answers, so she voiced the question aloud. “How could I possibly hate them?”

  “Shall I quote you?”

  She nodded slowly, not at all certain she wanted to hear his answer.

  “As you told me many times,” Zacharias said with a bitter twist of his mouth, “the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children.”

  Shelby’s shoulders sagged, her eyes filled with tears of frustration and hopelessness. How could Agatha have been so hateful, so wrong, no matter what Zacharias had done? “I said that?”

  “Indeed.”

  She tried frantically to hide the tears, but all her efforts were in vain. “I’m sorry, Zacharias. Truly, truly sorry. I don’t know how I could have said such a horrible thing.”

  Silence stretched between them for a long time. Shelby watched him, holding her breath, waiting for him to respond. He shook his head in disbelief and sent her a thin smile. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Agatha, but in all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize for anything.”

  She took a hesitant step toward him. “Then doesn’t that prove that I’m not the woman I used to be?”

  “I knew that the first time I kissed you.” His smile warmed slightly and something she couldn’t read darted through his eyes. “If I thought there was a chance that you’d remain as you are. . . ” He let his voice trail away for a moment, then turned to face her. “Can you assure me that you’ll stay this way? Can you guarantee that you won’t go back to the woman you were?”

  Shelby longed to give him what he asked for. She ached to promise that things wouldn’t change once Agatha returned. But she couldn’t give him that promise, and she wouldn’t lie. That would only make things worse in the long run. She might stay here forever, but she might just as easily zap back to her own time.

  She shook her head slowly. “I can’t promise anything.”

  Zacharias straightened his shoulders and the coolness returned. “I thought not.”

  “But neither can I guarantee that I won’t stay exactly as I am. And maybe—just maybe—letting me spend time with the children will make a difference once my memory returns.” She held out a hand toward him, pleading with him silently to give Agatha another chance.

  For a moment, she thought he might actually agree. But in the next breath she saw that she’d lost again. “I’m sorry, Agatha. It’s too late to make amends—for either of us.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Nevertheless.” He sketched a mocking bow. “I must insist that you stay away from Winterhill and from the children.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “If you don’t,” he warned, his voice ominous, “I’ll take steps to see that you do.” With that, he pivoted away and left her.

  Shelby stood there for a moment, rubbing her arm even though she could no longer feel the pressure of his fingers. She toyed with the idea of ignoring Zacharias’s warning and returning to the pond. But he’d meant what he said. And the laws of 1871 would probably be on Zacharias’s side, even if Agatha hadn’t deserted her children. She couldn’t risk goading Zacharias into taking legal measures—especially when he was half convinced she was crazy.

  Even so, she couldn’t give up the fight. Her life—and Agatha’s—depended on it.

  TEN

  Meg carried the tray carefully up the stairs, wondering if this was the day the missus would return to normal. She’d wondered the same thing every morning for the past two weeks, yet every one of those mornings the missus had greeted her with a smile and had tried to engage her in idle chit-chat. Perhaps someday Meg would trust this change. Perhaps someday she’d be able to accept that this new Agatha was here to stay.

  But not yet.

  Balancing the tray on one hip, she knocked softly on the door and prepared herself for the worst. But again, the missus called out a cheery “come in.”

  Smiling to herself, Meg pushed open the door and let her gaze travel around the bedroom. Sure enough, the new Agatha was propped up in the bed, hair tousled as if she didn’t care who saw her that way.

  She smiled when Meg entered. “Good morning, Meg.”

  “Good morning, Madame.”

  “Mmm, that smells delicious.” Agatha stretched carelessly and rubbed her eyes. “What have you brought me?”

  Meg watched her, still amazed at the changes in her. Agatha never rubbed her eyes. It caused wrinkles. And she never allowed Meg or anyone else to see her in such a disheveled state. The missus had always been tightly controlled and pulled together.

  Now, she tossed back the bed covers and swung her legs over the side. “I need your help with something, Meg.”

  “Of course, Madame.”

  “I’ve decided I’m going to invite guests for dinner.”

  Under other circumstances, Meg might have thought that wonderful news, but she knew only too well what the vultures of Hannibal society would do to Agatha. She lowered the tray to the drop-leaf table, carefully and framed her reply with equal care. “Maybe you should think about it a while first.”

  Agatha waved away her suggestion. “I have thought about it, Meg. I’ve been locked away for far too long as it is.”

  “But. . . ” Meg thought quickly, frantically. “But you can’t do that, Madame.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because people will talk, Madame. And you hate gossip.”

  “Let them talk,” Agatha said with a wave of her hand. “They do anyway.”

  “Well, yes, Madame. But—” But it would be ever so much worse, Meg thought in despair.

  “I’ve realized that there’s only one way I’m going to convince Zacharias to trust me, and t
hat’s to show him how much I’ve changed. And what better way than to come out of hiding?”

  “It’s a terrible chance you’d be taking,” Meg warned.

  Agatha stood quickly and crossed to the hearth. “I’ve tried everything else, Meg. Nothing’s working. He’s not mellowing at all.”

  “I still think you should reconsider.”

  “You think I should give up.” Agatha scowled so deeply, a ridge formed between her eyes. “But I can’t do that, Meg. I just can’t. Those children need me.”

  Meg couldn’t understand what had suddenly made the Missus care so deeply about someone besides herself. Not that she didn’t like seeing it, mind you. But it was such a change, she didn’t know what to make of it. “Is it really so important to you, then?”

  “Important?” Agatha laughed softly and let her fingers linger on the brass candlesticks on the mantle. “You might say my life depends on it. If he still doesn’t believe that I’ve changed, I’ll simply have to change more.”

  Lord above. Meg took a hesitant step toward her. “Do you really think this is wise?”

  Agatha glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t know if it’s wise or not, but I don’t know what else to do. Please don’t argue with me. I don’t need you against me, too.”

  “I’m not against you,” Meg assured her quickly.

  “Then help me.”

  “I’m trying to, Madame. But laying yourself open for gossip won’t help.”

  “It seems to me that I’ve been far too concerned about gossip in the past,” Agatha said firmly. “I’ve been more concerned with appearances than anything or anyone else. It’s cost me my husband and my children.”

  True enough, Meg thought, but she’d never expected to hear Agatha admit it.

  “If I have to subject myself to gossip to win them back,” Agatha went on, “then so be it.”

  Meg darted an anxious glance over her shoulder and thought about Victoria. What would she make of this? She voiced her concerns aloud, but Agatha didn’t seem convinced.

  “They already think I’m crazy, Meg. Even if I don’t rejoin society, that won’t change. Believe me.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing.” Agatha turned toward her quickly. “I have to do this, Meg. Please.”

  Sighing softly, Meg resigned herself to the inevitable. “If you insist, I will help you. But it will be against my better judgment.”

  Agatha beamed, oblivious to what lay in store for her. “Good. Then tell me who I should invite.”

  “In God’s truth, Madame, I don’t know.”

  “Patricia Starling?”

  Meg tried to pour Agatha’s tea, but succeeded only in sloshing it onto the saucer and tray. “Good Lord, no. If you must do this, do not invite that woman.”

  “Why not?”

  “Surely, Madame—”

  Agatha laughed as if Meg’s distress delighted her. “I know. I know. But if you don’t tell me, I may make a mistake.”

  “Then perhaps Orville and Lydia Englund.”

  “Englund?”

  “Orville Englund owns the largest bank in Hannibal,” Meg explained, “and Lydia is one of the undisputed queens of society. But they are kind people. You should be safe in their company.”

  Agatha nodded quickly and made a note of their names. “Who else?”

  “Is it necessary to invite anyone else? Perhaps you should start with a small party.”

  “And I will,” Agatha assured her. “But I want more than one couple here. Come on, Meg. Help me.”

  “You could invite John and Caroline Baxter, I suppose.”

  “Okay. Who are they?”

  Meg tried once more to discourage her. “If you don’t remember these people, why are you doing this?”

  “To win back my family.” Grim determination darkened Agatha’s eyes.

  Meg abandoned the fight. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. “Caroline Baxter was your closest friend when you were a young woman. Before your marriage to Zacharias.”

  Agatha smiled slowly. “My friend? Really?” She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself. “Do you think she’d come?”

  “Of course she would.” Meg let down her guard for a moment. “Anyone in town would give their eye teeth to get inside this house. That’s what worries me.”

  Agatha laughed as if Meg’s fears were groundless. “Then, that should make my dinner party an unqualified success.”

  Meg only wished that were true. She wished she could stop there, but the missus would bear the brunt of much speculation if the table wasn’t balanced. “You’ll need one more,” she said hesitantly. “A man.”

  Agatha nodded. “Zacharias, of course.”

  “Of course.” Would he come? Perhaps. But the potential for disaster was frightening. Meg tried once more to push aside her misgivings. “When do you want to hold this dinner party?”

  “Soon. Very soon. How much advance notice do I need to give?”

  “You could probably give an hour’s notice and everyone would still come.” Meg tried to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach and the mounting apprehension in her heart. “But I’d give it a week if I were you.”

  “A week.” Agatha sighed softly, but she nodded in agreement. “You’ll help me plan the menu, won’t you? And will Colin deliver the invitations when I’ve got them ready?”

  Meg smiled sadly. “Of course, Madame.” Colin would do as he was bid. And so would she. It was how they’d held on to their positions as long as they had. But she couldn’t lie to herself. This new Agatha worried her almost as much as the old one had.

  “A dinner party?” Victoria stared at Prudence Beaming’s benign face in disbelief. She kept her posture rigid and her face impassive, but her heart thumped ominously in her chest and anger began to boil just below the surface. “Surely, you’re mistaken.”

  “Not at all.” Prudence took an irritatingly slow sip of tea and smiled as if she enjoyed upsetting Victoria. “I believe the invitations are for Friday evening.” She fluttered a hand and pretended concern. “Oh, dear. Have I upset you? I thought surely you knew.”

  Victoria patted the back of her hair carefully. “Which unlucky souls has she invited?”

  “I believe she asked Orville and Lydia Englund.”

  “Lydia Englund?” The name escaped her lips before she could stop it. The idea of Agatha trying to get Lydia Englund on her side was simply too much to bear.

  Prudence smiled knowingly, which only made Victoria angrier. “I believe the others are John and Caroline Baxter. At least, that’s what Gloria understood from Emma White.”

  Victoria bit back a scathing comment about Prudence’s unfortunate daughter and her penchant for gossip. At least Agatha hadn’t compounded her error by inviting someone else of the Englund’s social stature. She should be glad of that. “Orville and Lydia will refuse, of course.”

  “On the contrary.” Prudence’s smile grew almost vicious. “I believe they have sent her an acceptance, as have the Baxters. But, then, Caroline always was fond of Agatha, as you know.”

  “Indeed.”

  “It presents a problem for the rest of us.” Prudence flipped open her fan and waved it in front of her face. “Gloria wonders if we’ll be expected to include her on the guest list for or ball at the end of the month.”

  “I shouldn’t think it will be necessary to include Agatha in future entertainments,” Victoria assured her. “I doubt very much she is seriously interested in rejoining society. You know how difficult it always was for her.”

  Prudence nodded slowly. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? You’ll pardon me for saying so, Victoria, but she simply doesn’t have the breeding. Not that I blame her, of course. One simply can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

  No one believed that more deeply than Victoria, but she loathed Prudence Beaming for saying it aloud. It was, she thought with a scowl, quite a tactless jab against Zacharias—against all the Logans, for that matter. �
��There is nothing you can say about Agatha that I haven’t said myself. Zacharias is well aware of the error he made by marrying her, but he is making plans to rectify it at once.”

  “Surely you don’t mean he would divorce her?” Prudence pretended shock, but Victoria could see the gleam of anticipation in her eye.

  “I mean exactly that.” Victoria picked up her teacup again and watched Prudence over its rim. “Zacharias has been more patient with her than most men would have been, but he has finally admitted that it’s pointless to continue this way. He’s thrown enough of his life away on a woman who, though I hate to say it, isn’t mentally stable.”

  Prudence lowered her fan to her lap. “Do you really believe she is unstable?”

  “Do you really believe she is not? Why would someone stable lock themselves away as she has?”

  “Well. . . ” Prudence tilted her head to one side and gave that some thought. “There was talk at the time that Zacharias’s . . . friendship . . . with Patricia Starling was at the root of her decision.”

  This was exactly what Victoria feared most. That Agatha’s presence in society would stir up all that ugliness again. “Zacharias’s friendship with Patricia Starling is far more acceptable than his marriage ever was,” she pointed out. “And even if there was some truth to that particular rumor, what man’s eye doesn’t wander from time to time? Any woman with breeding would have turned a blind eye to it.”

  Prudence sighed softly. “You’re right, of course.”

  Of course, she was. Hadn’t Victoria turned a blind eye on Hugh’s philandering? Didn’t every woman with class and breeding do the same thing? Of course, Zacharias had been the worst kind of fool to confess. What need had there been of that? But Agatha’s reaction had been the ultimate mortification and Victoria wouldn’t suffer anything remotely similar again. She wouldn’t sit idly by while Agatha thoughtlessly brought more shame upon the Logan name.

  She forced a smile. “When did you say this dinner party was?”

  “Friday evening.”

  Victoria thought quickly, trying to decide the best way to minimize the damage. If only she could prevent Agatha from having her dinner party. If only she could convince Dr. Messing to do what he should have done long ago.