Destined ~ A Time Travel Anthology

by Denise Alicea

  Elias came and stood behind his son, his hands crossed ceremoniously in front of him, his shadow casting long over the headstones before him. Elias made a small sound, somewhere between exasperation and confusion. Women die all the time, Elias thought to himself. Though he thought his daughter-in-law was a nice enough person, he couldn’t understand why his son carried on so. At least William’s wife lived through childbirth. William took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and stood. Quietly and surreptitiously he blew a kiss to his wife’s name, and turned around.

  “Oh William,” his father breathed, placing his large hands on William’s shoulders. “For years I could not get you to come here voluntarily. Now I can hardly keep you out.”

  “For years, Father, I had no reason to come here voluntarily.” William’s eyes met Elias’s defiantly. His hands curled and uncurled in loose fists as he fought to keep his mouth from running away with him. This argument was an old one, and one that William hated having to engage in.

  Elias’s hands dropped from his son’s shoulders and he gave an exasperated sigh. He looked down at the ground, and then turned to look at the weather worn stones behind him, motioning to them with one hand as the other hand returned to William’s shoulder.

  “Weren’t your mother and your grandfather buried here long before your dear wife and son?” Elias challenged.

  Elias steered William away from the shadowy corner and toward the stone carved with names he could no longer read. William looked at his mother’s monument reverently, reading the invisible name but unable to bring to mind a picture of her. He turned and looked over his shoulder again at the one headstone glinting white and brand new in the morning sunlight, the image of his wife and son appearing to his eyes as if they stood right before him.

  Turning back again, he lowered his head as he explained, “Your wife, my mother, has been here a long time, Father. And of course she deserves respect. As does my grandfather. But I did not and do not know them. As you have told the story many times, my grandfather died before you were even married. And my dear mother, though I do think of her at times was never part of my life, save for the creation of it.”

  He looked into his father’s face, looking for a small trace of understanding. But Elias’s face was as blank and cold as it ever was. Motioning back to the clean mound of dirt, William reminded Elias, “Charlotte and Conor were a part of my life for longer than either of them. They were taken from me only three short days ago. Does my wife deserve any less respect than yours does?”

  “Of course they do not deserve any less,” Elias huffed. “All I ask as her son, is that you do not forget the ones that went before.”

  William’s eyes went back to where small shadows that were once letters spelled out his mother’s name on the windblown granite stone. His shoulders slumped, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not missing more the woman who was his mother. It was not that he didn’t think of her, and wonder what it would be like if she had lived to take care of him. When he was a small boy, William used to sit on the rocking chair on the front porch where he was told that his mother sat all the time while she was pregnant, and she would talk to him and sing to him. He would close his eyes and imagine her voice in his ear, and every now and again, when the wind would blow from the direction of the small family cemetery he would swear that he could hear her call his name.

  His gaze shifted to the stone beside his mother’s, to the name of his father’s father. To the man who gave him his name. William Alistair McKay. He knew less about this man than he knew about his mother. And his father never talked about him much. But he didn’t know if that was because that was just not what a man did, or because there was no affection or love lost when William Alistair McKay died. William knew Elias was capable of love just by the way he talked about his beloved wife. But there was none of that love shown when he talked about William Alistair. And there was certainly not a lot left over to shower onto his only child.

  “All I am saying, son,” Elias drew William out of his thoughts, “is that both of our wives deserve your time and thoughts. Now come. The morning has just begun, but we have visitors already.”

  William and Elias walked silently side-by-side back up toward the house, a million thoughts running around William’s mind and hundreds of unspoken words on the tip of his tongue. The only sound between them was the noise of the gravel under their feet and the frogs strongly sounding their alerts in the lake, making sure that the two intruders understood who had control of what lily pad. The baby birds had evidently eaten their fill and were no longer complaining. Eventually they passed the pond, and the sound of the frogs disappeared as well.

  William stole sidelong glances at his father, wondering if Elias was as uncomfortable in the silence as he was. But his father’s face was set in determination, no doubt going over the list of chores that the day held ahead and mentally calculating what he had to pay the old man who shoed the horses. The silence was going completely unnoticed to Elias. Letting out a long sigh, William shoved his hands in his pockets, his head bowed low, looking very much like the scolded child being led to the switch. And that’s exactly what he felt like. His thoughts wandered, before coming to rest on Charlotte and Conor.

  He thought back to the day he and Charlotte had met. How he had fallen madly in love with her before dinnertime that very day. How he had not rested until he had made her his wife just six months later, and how their son had been born a mere nine months after that.

  “William. William!” Elias shook William’s shoulder and his voice broke abruptly into William’s thoughts as they reached the house. William shook his head, staring blankly at his father as though he didn’t recognize him or where he was and the memories cleared themselves from his mind. “Sorry, Father,” he apologized simply.

  As he looked up toward the house and took a step, William noticed a large carriage covered in black silk with the picture of a Scottish thistle flower in the middle of Celtic knot work painted in gold on the door as it stood empty at the bottom of the porch stairs. A pair of beautiful black stallions stood stock still, the swish of their tails at invisible yet pesky flies the only indication that they were more than mere lawn ornaments. There was only one person besides his own father that he could think of that could have trained black stallions that perfectly. Looking at the carriage he suddenly recognized, William drew in a breath and held it as long as he could. He thought about just turning and running, but he was not going to give Charlotte’s father the satisfaction of knowing that he scared William away from his own house.

  Samuel Mitchell had a complete disdain for his daughter’s husband and had never kept his hatred for William a secret. The day that William and Charlotte were married, it was the darkest of Samuel’s life and he made sure that William was going to be aware of it. Samuel whispered something to him that day, and though he could barely hear it, William would swear until his dying breath that his very life had been threatened that day. And not just threatened in the sense that if he ever hurt Charlotte, Samuel would kill him. But threatened as in now that he had uninhibited access to William on a daily basis as he accompanied Charlotte to Samuel’s home, the first chance he got he was going to end William’s life.

  When it was announced to the families shortly after the marriage that Charlotte was pregnant, you could actually hear Samuel’s blood begin to boil. His face had gone from pale to crimson, and you could see the veins in his forehead as they popped. His eyes went wide, and for a moment William was concerned that the man’s heart might truly stop beating right there on the parlor couch.

  He could picture that day in his mind, plain as if it had happened only yesterday.

  And now he was here. Just days after William lost everything that meant the world to him, Samuel was back. Samuel had not gone to his own daughter’s funeral and had sent no condolences, opting instead to let the hatred of his son-in-law based on his heritage alone completely blind him to everything and keep him from saying goodbye
to his only child.

  William was pretty confident that commiseration was not the reason for Samuel’s visit today, and he prepared himself to fight. Charlotte was gone. And William had no reason now to show her father anything other than the contempt and loathing he felt for the man. There was nothing left for him to lose. William’s hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep from running up the front stairs and through the house to find the man he now had it in his heart to kill.

  William’s jaw was set and his shoulders squared as they walked through the front door, and he breathed hard and even through his nose, trying to keep his mind clear and his impulse to run like a berserk Norseman straight at Samuel and be done with him. But when he and his father turned the corner into the parlor his posture softened and his pace slowed. It was not Charlotte’s father that stood waiting for him, but her mother, Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth was not quite as against William as her husband, and was truly pleased when the two were wed. When she had learned of the baby, she was over the moon though she was not allowed to express any happiness or show any support. Samuel kept a tight rein on his wife, and she was forbidden by her husband to offer any congratulations to her daughter, or to be there for her when the baby was born.

  William stood shocked for a moment, his hands relaxing from their tense fists. Slowly he walked straight toward Elizabeth, dumbfounded, his head cloudy again as he was quite unable to reconcile this sight before him. His father dropped back and left the room with nothing but a nod and a slight bow to Elizabeth. William was a bit taken aback by his father’s rare moment of understanding and compassion, and silently he thanked him. Elizabeth held out a hand, beckoning for William to come join her by the sofa.

  “Oh, William, I am so sorry,” she said as she sat on the edge of the overstuffed cushion. He looked at her, his brows knit in complete incomprehension. What could she possibly be apologizing to him for? “I am so sorry that I have not come to see you sooner,” she continued, seeing his confusion. “And my daughter,” she added solemnly.

  His face softened and his eyes clouded. His hands trembled and he rubbed them on the legs of his pants to keep his mother-in-law from seeing. He could see the pain in her face and the sadness in her eyes, and he knew that she truly meant what she said. Elizabeth put a hand to William’s cheek and his hands shook more.

  “William, I know how much you hurt. My heart aches. And though you have no reason to believe me, Samuel’s heart aches as well,” she whispered soothingly. William could feel his eyes brimming with the tears he had been fighting so hard not to shed. The feelings he’d been looking to share with someone since the horrible day he lost his precious family came rushing at once up to the surface. He wanted desperately to grab Elizabeth in a tight embrace, to share his pain with someone who would finally understand. He squeezed his eyes shut and his shoulders shuddered with emotion. As if sensing his torment, she took a step toward him and put her arms around his neck. His arms instinctively went around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. But he still fought back the tears. He had a sudden urge to comfort her instead of being comforted by her.

  “Come. Walk with me,” she breathed as she pushed away from him and held out a hand. He did not move to take it, and simply stood there, his eyes never leaving hers. She wiggled her fingers in invitation but still he did not move. “Oh. fine, William,” she said with resignation. “Take my hand or do not take my hand, but either way walk with me. I have not seen my daughter and I wish to say goodbye. Escort me to where she and her child rest.”

  He looked at her a long moment, then resigned himself. “After you.” He lifted his arm toward the door. She lifted the hem of her skirt and walked slowly in the direction he indicated, nodding her head slightly and lowering her eyelids as she passed.

  They walked together slowly and silently, completely mirroring the walk he had just taken with his father. William kept his hands stuck in his pockets and his head down. Elizabeth took a couple of steps closer and hooked her arm through his, her other hand resting gently on his tensed bicep. He pulled his arm a bit, trying to free himself slyly from her grasp. He kept his eyes averted, his head slightly bowed and his body facing away from her. She attempted some small talk, remarking about the weather and the budding trees, but he said nothing.

  He was confused. Elizabeth did not show the grief that he would have expected from a woman who had lost her only child not even a week before. She acted as if they were walking together to join Charlotte and Conor at a picnic in the open field behind the house, and he was at a loss of what to say. He obviously did not share her enthusiasm for life at the moment.

  They had reached the small graveyard. The gate still hung open from his visit earlier, and he walked slowly but deliberately through it, going straight toward Charlotte’s grave. His arm was still tangled in Elizabeth’s despite his best efforts to discretely disengage himself. Even his not so discrete efforts failed.

  William paused, thinking to himself he’d rather just leave the little cemetery altogether and go back to the house. He was growing more and more uncomfortable with each moment he was in her presence and wanted only to be rid of her company as quickly as possible. She clearly was not here to offer comfort or condolences, or to pay respects to her daughter and grandson, and was clearly not worried about honoring the memory of either.

  However, Elizabeth did not pause. She continued to walk in the same direction, her arm finally slipping from his. William stole a look at Elizabeth, and saw her eyes fixed on something straight ahead. He followed her gaze, and saw her staring at Charlotte’s name. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were looking at Charlotte herself instead of just letters carved into stone. William quickly looked at the stone again; the irrational thought that Charlotte could actually be standing there was too appealing to his broken heart.

  “You know, William,” Elizabeth began, the tone in her voice deep and controlled. “I have always thought that you and my beloved daughter were a match made in Eden. I had never seen her happier, and even when her father ostracized her she still chose to have you.” She twirled suddenly on him, her eyes dark and her face pale.

  William started to turn his eyes to face Elizabeth but a wisp of mist began swirling above the headstone. His heart began to beat faster, his hands going cold and clamy. His mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes squinting to try and bring the mist into focus.

  Without realizing he was moving, William allowed Elizabeth to pull him forward. His eyes did not leave the swirl of mist that, to William’s mind began to resemble his wife with each pulse of his blood. Every rational cell within his body told him it was impossible, that it was a trick of the sun on the leaves of the forest just beyond the fence. “Charlotte,” he whispered. He saw the eyes he knew so well. He saw a smile come to the lips he longed to kiss.

  “But William,” Elizabeth continued. “You failed me!”

  The smile on the mystical Charlotte faded quickly, her eyes becoming pale and translucent as the vapor shimmered and blew away. William’s heart skipped a beat and he felt his breath leave him as he watched her disappear again.

  He shook his head to clear it and turned on Elizabeth. “What are you talking about?”

  The wind behind Elizabeth blew higher, but it seemed to only be around her. He felt a breeze, but nothing more. “You took my daughter from me, William Alexander McKay! It is your fault she lies here buried, her life taken from her before its time,” she accused, her voice rising with each accusation. He froze where he stood, unable to believe what he was hearing. He would have given his life for Charlotte and their son to still be alive, to trade places with them. His eyes flew wide, and a heat rose within him. He had felt nothing but anguish and guilt since that most horrible day, but hearing the blame put solely on him made something in him snap.

  Walking quickly in her direction, his ocean blue eyes swirling with revulsion and anger, hatred rapidly replaced any restraint or feelings
of loyalty he had toward this woman.

  “I do not know…” he started, but was quickly silenced.

  Elizabeth seemed to grow in size right in front of him, her feet apparently coming off the ground, making her float above him. She lost all color, even in her clothes, and she almost looked like she was glowing. The wind rose up behind her even harder, making her hair look like it was alive and writhing.

  “You swore to us, to her that you would protect her with your very life. You failed us all the day that you were not there!”

  William’s eyes stayed cold and angry as he stood against her. He could scarcely understand what Elizabeth was saying or doing. “And now, William,” she said a bit more calmly. “You will give me your life. You will give me your life, in payment for the one that you allowed to be taken from me!”

  His eyes grew wide as the enormity of what she was saying to him took hold of his conscience and he realized that he was going to die at the hands of a woman who did not even appear to be human. He glanced from side to side, looking for a way to get out of that cemetery. He couldn’t run back toward the house, the space was too open. He needed to go somewhere he could hide. Looking behind Elizabeth, he saw a small opening into the woods. If he could get over the fence, it was a short sprint to the first clump of trees. He could make it if he stayed low.

  “Have you gone mad, Elizabeth?” he questioned her. As he spoke he turned to the side, taking slow and controlled steps as though he were pacing in conversation. If he could just get behind Elizabeth, he could put his plan in motion and hopefully escape with his life. “Are you saying to me that you want an eye for an eye? And what would that bring to you, Elizabeth? Would that bring back your daughter… my wife? Or the child that she and I created together?” Her feet still did not touch the ground, but she seemed to be pacing with him. A glimmer of hope hit him as he thought that perhaps his plan might work.