A Time To Dream

by Sherry Lewis

  “I’m his wife.”

  “Yes, and it’s such a pity. He realized almost immediately after the wedding that he’d made a mistake, and he’s rued the day ever since. If you care for him at all, you’ll leave him alone and let him find happiness with the woman he truly loves.”

  “Patricia Starling?” Shelby forced the name out of her swollen throat.

  “She’s the one he loves, Agatha. She’s the one he’s always loved. He should have married her in the first place. I know it, you know it . . . and most importantly, he knows it.”

  “I am well aware of their relationship, Victoria. Zacharias has been completely honest with me.”

  “Has he?” Victoria pretended to be relieved.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then you know about Patricia.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know why they must marry.”

  “Maybe I should remind you that he’s already married.”

  Deep red splotches stained Victoria’s cheeks. “You’re a foolish woman, Agatha. You always have been.”

  And you’re a meddlesome old cow, Shelby thought. Aloud she said, “I’m a wife and mother, and putting my family back together is the only thing I care about.”

  “Your family.” Victoria’s mouth twisted. “You have no family, you stupid, stupid woman.”

  Okay, that did it. No more Mrs. Nice-Guy. No more game-playing. Shelby could tolerate a lot of things, but she hated being called stupid. “I have nothing more to say to you, Victoria. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” She tried again to step around the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “I don’t know why you’re pretending not to remember. Nor do I understand what made you change your mind about being a mother to Mordechai and Andrew.”

  “I am their mother,” Shelby reminded her.

  “You are not their mother.”

  “You might be a powerful woman, Victoria, but even you can’t change the facts.”

  “Nor can you.” Victoria’s eyes gleamed and the look of triumph on her face filled Shelby with icy dread. “I don’t know why Zacharias ever asked you to raise those children in the first place. I told him he’d rue the day he brought them to you.”

  Shelby’s heart gave a sickening lurch. Her stomach felt as if someone had turned it over. “What do you mean, he brought them to me?”

  “Exactly what I said.” Victoria smiled coldly. “If he’d listened to me, none of this would have happened.”

  “When did he bring them to me?”

  “When they were born, of course. Are you trying to pretend you don’t remember that, either?”

  Shelby’s hands trembled, her knees buckled, and the day darkened as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud. “Are you saying that I’m not the boys’ natural mother?”

  “That is precisely what I’m saying.”

  “Then, who—?” Her voice cracked, and she broke off to catch her breath. She didn’t want to believe it, but it made a horrible kind of sense.

  “Who is their mother?” Victoria’s lips curved into a smug smile. “Why, Patricia Starling, of course. Since you were unable to provide Zacharias with an heir, you can hardly fault him for turning to someone who could.”

  Shelby had never fainted in her life, but she could feel the ground rise up toward her and the gardens begin to tilt.

  “And now that a third child is on the way,” Victoria went on, her voice unrelenting, “Zacharias is understandably anxious to put an end to this charade between the two of you.”

  Shelby stumbled toward a stone bench on the edge of the path and sat. A third child? Bile rose in her throat and she thought for a moment she might be sick. She reminded herself over and over again that Zacharias hadn’t betrayed her but it didn’t help. Apparently, Agatha had no place in Zacharias’s life or in the lives of the twins.

  And neither did Shelby.

  “Where is she, Papa?” Andrew tugged on Zacharias’s coat and frowned up at him. “Where’s Agatha?”

  Zacharias glanced toward the path but tried not to let the boys see his mounting concern. “I don’t know, son. Perhaps something happened at Summervale to keep her from meeting us.”

  Mordechai’s little face puckered into a tight scowl. “Doesn’t she like us anymore?”

  “Of course she does.” Zacharias hunkered to their level and put an arm around each of their shoulders. “Didn’t she kiss your knee better yesterday after you fell?” He asked Mordechai, then gave Andrew’s shoulders a gentle shake. “And didn’t she let you tie her to the tree?”

  Andrew nodded slowly. “But then, why isn’t she here?”

  “I don’t know.” Zacharias let his gaze travel to the arbor again, hoping against hope she’d be there this time. “I’ll stop by Summervale on my way to the saw mill and make certain everything’s all right.”

  “Can we go with you?” Mordechai’s eyes lit up with hope. “Can we?”

  Zacharias smiled at each of them in turn, hoped he looked less worried than he felt, and shook his head. “Not this time.”

  “Please?” Andrew could hardly contain his enthusiasm over the idea. He bounced up and down, jostling Zacharias’s arm from his shoulders. “Please, Papa. We’d be good, wouldn’t we, Mordechai?”

  “Very good,” Mordechai said solemnly. “‘Specially good. We wouldn’t even break nuthin’.”

  Zacharias laughed softly, but he couldn’t let himself give in. With the specter of Patricia’s news hanging over him, yet another confession to make to Agatha, and the very real threat that she might easily send him packing casting a giant shadow across his path, he didn’t think it wise to let the boys accompany him.

  “Another time, perhaps.” He stood again and smoothed the legs of his trousers. “For now, let’s—”

  “There she is!” Andrew interrupted. He darted away and raced across the lawn toward the arbor.

  Weak with relief, Zacharias turned to look. But it wasn’t Agatha who strolled through the arbor to meet them. And seeing Patricia there turned his relief into quick, sudden anger. For five long years she’d acknowledged the boys only in passing. She’d never once sought out their company or tried to spend time with them. Now, apparently, she’d been overcome with maternal urges.

  Clutching Mordechai’s hand, he started across the lawn and watched as Andrew’s realized belatedly that he wasn’t running toward Agatha. His little legs stopped churning and he ground to a halt several feet in front of Patricia who approached him cautiously, one hand extended.

  “That isn’t Agatha,” Mordechai said with a scowl.

  “No, it’s not.” Zacharias swung the boy into his arms and increased his pace. “It’s Mrs. Starling. You remember her, don’t you?”

  Mordechai nodded solemnly. “I don’t like her.”

  Zacharias’s step faltered, but he picked it up again. “Why not?”

  “‘Cause she don’t like us.” Mordechai sent another glare in her direction.

  “Of course she does,” Zacharias assured him, chucking him under the chin. “What’s not to like?”

  “No, she don’t. She wants us to go ‘way.”

  This time, Zacharias made no effort to keep going. He stopped walking and shifted Mordechai so he could see his eyes. “Go away? Where?”

  “Dunno, but she told Grandmama we should go ‘way soon.”

  To a damned boarding school, no doubt. Exactly the kind of school his mother had banished him to as a child, the kind of place he’d vowed never to send his own children. “Don’t worry about it, son. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

  Mordechai sent him a fleeting smile. “Neiver does Agatha.”

  No, Zacharias thought, she wouldn’t. Not now. He took an unsteady breath and sent up a silent prayer that he hadn’t destroyed everything through his dalliance with Patricia. He added another prayer that Agatha would forgive him—again—but he held out scant hope.

  Whatever price he had to pay was just and fair. If he had to spend the rest of his life alone, h
e’d earned every miserable minute. But it didn’t seem right that his sons should have to live without a mother—or that they should have to suffer because he’d chosen the wrong mother for them.

  Shelby stared at the spot of blood seeping into the linen in front of her. She stuck the finger she’d pricked into her mouth and swore under her breath. She should have left Agatha’s embroidery alone, but she’d been nervous and agitated ever since she ran back to Summervale after her encounter with Victoria, and she’d convinced herself she could manage a few of the simple stitches one of her foster mothers had tried to teach her.

  Now, she’d ruined the intricate sampler, just as she’d ruined everything else she’d touched since she arrived.

  She stood quickly and searched through Agatha’s dresser for an old piece of cloth she could use to scrub out the stain. And she tried to ignore the heavy weight that dragged at her heart. She’d expected Zacharias to come searching for her when she didn’t meet him. But the day had nearly slipped away, and he still hadn’t arrived.

  Logically, she knew it was for the best. But the thought of him married to Patricia tore at her like the claws of some wild beast, and the pain was as real, as physical, as the sting of her pricked finger—only a million times worse. Zacharias hadn’t married Patricia in the history she knew, so if they ended up together, it was because of her.

  She tried to force away the pain and guilt and to pull herself together. She’d been the worst kind of fool to let herself fall in love with Zacharias. She should be angry with him, not hurt and sad. She should be furious that he’d omitted that one important detail when he told her about his relationship with Patricia. But all the shoulds in the world wouldn’t change anything.

  Loneliness filled her. Melancholy dogged her steps. Pain weighted her heart. And fear rendered her almost unable to function. She wasn’t certain which she feared most—staying here and living alone for the rest of her life while Zacharias made a life with Patricia and the twins, or returning to her own time where she would never see any of them again.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She tried to dash them away, but they came harder and faster than she could fight. Lowering her face to her hands, she gave in to the wrenching sadness, the fear and the anger. To the hurt of Zacharias’s betrayal. Her sorrow began with losing Zacharias, moved to the twins, then shifted to encompass her whole pathetic, lonely life.

  She’d been foolish to dream that she could have the family she’d always wanted. She’d known for years that family and security weren’t in the cards for her. Yet the minute Zacharias had looked at her with those incredible eyes of his, the first time he’d wrapped his arms around her, she’d willingly tossed logic aside and rushed headlong into a situation that could only bring her pain.

  Maybe she could forgive herself that, but she’d also endangered the twins’ family and security. She’d come frighteningly close to keeping them from their mother. And that was unforgivable.

  Still battling tears, she crossed to the window and stared out at the rooftops of the town and the river crawling in the distance. Somewhere down there, Patricia Starling was carrying Zacharias’s child and waiting to be a mother to her boys. Maybe that’s why Shelby had been brought into the past—to make sure Patricia’s life played out the way it was supposed to and Shelby had nearly destroyed her chance.

  She caught her reflection in the glass and glared at herself for a long moment. Victoria’s words danced in her memory, the viciousness of her voice made her feel even worse. No wonder Victoria hated her. No wonder—

  Her brain came to a screeching halt and eyes widened as that last thought took hold. Victoria hated her. She’d vowed to do anything she could to drive Agatha and Zacharias apart. And she’d very nearly succeeded.

  But what if it wasn’t true? Shelby had accepted Victoria’s news without question. She’d tried and convicted Zacharias without batting an eye. But what if Patricia wasn’t the twins’ birth mother? What if she wasn’t pregnant? What if it was all a horrible lie?

  The least she could do was ask Zacharias and give him a chance to deny it. He might be angry with her for not meeting him that morning, but surely he’d understand after she explained.

  She turned away from the window and ran to the dressing table, checking her reflection in the mirror. She looked even worse than she’d expected—puffy, red eyes, swollen cheeks, and blotchy skin. Lovely. That ought to win Zacharias’s heart.

  Wishing for a little makeup—foundation and concealer, if nothing else—she splashed her face with tepid water left over from her morning toilette. But it didn’t make a difference. She still looked like something a cat had dragged home from a fight.

  Sighing with resignation, she bent forward to take a closer look. Without warning, the reflection changed. The blue eyes and ski-jump nose that were growing less familiar with every passing day formed in front of her. Masses of blonde “medusa” curls took the place of the smooth brown chignon.

  She froze with her hands on her hair, and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. “No,” she whispered. “Not now.”

  The reflection grew stronger, luring her closer, drawing her toward it.

  “No!” She closed her eyes and struggled to resist the mirror’s pull. “Not yet. Please. . . ”

  Dizzy with fear, Shelby spun away from the mirror and staggered to her feet. But she could feel Agatha there, hovering, just waiting to reclaim her life and her family. Her heart rocketed inside her chest, her pulse skipped, jumped then settled into a steady but too-rapid pace.

  Still battling dizziness, Shelby sank onto the foot of the bed and held on as if her life depended on it. And maybe it did.

  All her life she’d longed for a place to belong. Now she’d found one, but nothing had changed. She could lose it at any moment.

  Somehow having experienced the sense of belonging only made the pain worse. Before, she’d endured a kind of wistful ache, now the thought of going back to the loneliness hurt as if someone had slashed her with the broad edge of a sword.

  If she returned to her own time, all these people would be dead. Zacharias, Meg, Colin—even Mordechai and Andrew. How would she get through each day knowing that Zacharias was gone, or that those two energetic little hellions had become old men whose lives had ended? If she went back now, there’d be no hope. No chance of ever seeing Mordechai and Andrew again or of ever spending another moment in Zacharias’s arms.

  Like someone drawn to the scene of a horrible accident, her eyes strayed back to the mirror. Her image hadn’t faded. If anything, it seemed even stronger. “Please don’t come back yet,” she whispered around the lump in her throat. “Don’t make me leave.”

  The blue eyes widened, and Shelby felt that same dizziness that had once pulled her through time begin to swirl around her again. Without thinking, she ran to the door and hurried out into the corridor. She wanted to get away from that mirror, away from the fate it decreed for her.

  Maybe she was making a mistake to run away from it. Maybe her effort would be wasted. Maybe she couldn’t outrun the pull of the mirror. But she had to try.

  Clinging to the bannister, she started down the stairs. To her immense relief, the dizziness began to fade when she reached the landing. Sobbing with relief, she sat on the window seat and leaned her head against the glass. She lifted her hand and traced the outline of Winterhill, barely visible beneath the bright moon, with her fingertips.

  But she knew now that it was only a matter of time.

  Exhausted and disillusioned, Zacharias climbed the stairs toward the nursery. He’d tried all day to keep his mind on business and forget, even for a time, the encounter that faced him. Soon—very soon—he’d have to tell Agatha about Patricia’s child. But not yet.

  He didn’t want to divorce Agatha and marry Patricia, but he’d be the worst sort of cad to leave Patricia paying the price for their choices on her own. No matter what he did now, someone would be hurt. He couldn’t bear the idea of inflicting mor
e pain on Agatha, couldn’t imagine his life without her, but he’d never be able to look himself in the mirror again if he turned his back on his child.

  He wiped his face with his hand and stretched his neck to work out the knots of tension that had been there all day. Just now, he wanted to spend some time with the twins. If anything could clear his mind, hearing their laughter would do it.

  Reaching the third floor landing, he started down the corridor. But just as he made to step into the nursery, the sound of his mother’s voice caught him up short.

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “A friend of Papa’s.” Mordechai sounded nervous. Almost frightened.

  Zacharias ducked out of sight, certain without being told that his mother was talking about Agatha. Curiosity made him hover there.

  “A friend?” His mother sounded relieved. “Nothing more?”

  “No, Grandmama.”

  “Good. Excellent. It’s very important that you two do not befriend her.”

  Zacharias clenched his fists in anger and forced himself to listen further.

  Andrew protested his grandmother’s warning. “But we like her. And Papa says—”

  “You mustn’t like her,” Victoria interrupted sharply.

  “Agatha is nice,” Mordechai argued. “She likes us.”

  “She doesn’t like you.” Agitation made his mother’s voice louder. “And you mustn’t listen to your father when he tells you to be nice to her. His brain has been addled.”

  Anger surged through Zacharias like a prairie fire. Though he’d long realized how bitter she was, he could scarcely believe she’d stoop this low. Again, he forced himself to hold his place and his tongue.

  “What’s addled?” Andrew’s voice, this time, filled with confusion.

  “Touched,” his mother explained. “His mind has been weakened, much like what happens when a lady spends time in the sun.”

  “Is Papa ill?” Mordechai sounded worried.

  “I think perhaps he is,” Victoria said, “but he isn’t aware of it. So we mustn’t let him know that we’ve had this discussion.”