Time Sight

by Lynne Jonell

Will stared out over the fields to the hills beyond as Jamie went on and on, and Nan picked more gooseberries. The sun was warm on the back of his neck. Unaware, Will let his eyes glaze over. The air shimmered.…

  Nan looked at Will’s face. “What is it?”

  “Shh.”

  “Don’t open a window now!” Nan said urgently. “Wait until we get to Castle Menzies, so we can find Sir Robert.”

  “But Sir Robert’s here, he’s passing over this road, I can feel it. Hold on to my shoulder. See? I told you!”

  The others got behind Will, peering through the time window at a group of men on horseback. Jamie sighed with relief when he saw Sir Robert. “They really did let him go.”

  “He looks even paler in the sunlight,” Nan said critically. “And sicker.”

  “I thought Sir Robert’s own armed men came to get him,” Will said. “Aren’t those Stewarts?”

  James looked carefully through the dust kicked up by the horses on the road. “They must be seeing him off Stewart land.”

  Now the Stewarts were wheeling their horses away from Sir Robert and his men, not without a few catcalls and jeers. The Menzies rode off slowly, supporting their laird in the saddle, their faces grim.

  Suddenly Will realized the Menzies horsemen were almost past him. “Nan, are your parents still busy fixing the tire?”

  Nan glanced over at the car, where her parents were bent over the wheel. “Yes.”

  “Okay, listen. You and Jamie cover for us. Wave at your parents if they look this way. I’m taking James back to his own time now.”

  “Why not wait until we get to Castle Menzies?” Nan objected.

  “Castle Menzies was burned, remember?” Will did not take his eyes from the horsemen. “They’ll take Sir Robert somewhere else to live, but I don’t know where that is. This is our best chance.”

  “I wish I could go,” said Jamie sadly. “I miss Sir Robert.”

  “You can’t,” Will said, “not if we’re going to convince him that James is really you. Now, James!”

  James clapped Jamie on the shoulder, snatched Nan’s hand and kissed it, and then stepped carefully through into his own time. Will followed, and the window closed behind him, leaving them in a field of standing oats.

  Will pushed James down and knelt beside him, peering through the slender stalks at the passing horsemen.

  “Jamie did not explain everything I need to know,” James whispered urgently.

  “Just tell them the truth. Say you were captured by Neil Gointe Stewart and he kept you captive. You won’t remember everything that Jamie did at the castle in the past year, but that’s all right, just tell them you got hit in the head—”

  “The Stewarts did hit me in the head,” James said seriously. “Many times.”

  Will’s heart gave a painful twist. He did not regret coming back to rescue James, not the least little bit. He cleared his throat hurriedly. “You’ll know all kinds of things Jamie didn’t, though. Like—don’t you speak French?”

  James shrugged. “Of course. English and Gaelic, too. But what if they ask me how I escaped from Garth Castle?”

  “Just tell them you were rescued by three kids. Call us angels if you want. They’ll just think you’re—”

  “Befuddled!” James’s eyes were bright with laughter. “And truly, I do not understand at all what has happened. You might be angels, in truth.”

  “Kind of grubby ones,” said Will, brushing off his knees. “Anyway, you’ve got to go now. They’re only walking the horses—can you catch up to them? Or are you too weak from prison?”

  James tossed his head, and his gaze was suddenly proud. “I am a Menzies, and the nephew of a laird,” he said. “I am as strong as I need to be.”

  “Go, then, and—good-bye!”

  “God be w’ ye, too,” said James, flashing a weary grin.

  For a moment Will caught a suggestion of a dimple—it was in almost the same place as Nan’s—and then James was staggering forward, calling, waving.

  The group of horsemen stopped—turned in the saddle—and then one came riding back. Will didn’t recognize him.

  “What is it, lad?” the man demanded. “Do you have some message? Be quick about it!”

  “I must speak with Sir Robert,” James said grandly. “Take me to him, if you please.”

  The horseman stared—and then laughed. “Fine airs, from a dirty beggar’s brat!”

  James threw his head back, flushing. “I am Sir Robert’s nephew. Take me to him at once!”

  The man leaned over the saddlebow, his face threatening. “Sir Robert’s nephew died in the fire. And even when he was alive, he wasn’t such a starveling skint creature as you. Now, be off with you, before I teach you some manners!”

  “I—I have been a captive in Garth Castle!” James stammered. “That is why I’m thin.”

  “Oh? And how did you get out, then?” The man grinned, showing two blackened teeth. “Neil Gointe Stewart escorted you to the gate, did he?”

  “Angels!” James burst out angrily. “Three angels let me out!”

  Another horseman detached himself from the group and came riding back. With a sudden lurch in his stomach, Will recognized the burly shoulders and broken nose of Ranald.

  “What’s the delay?” Ranald demanded. “Sir Robert is weary, and we must get him to a place of rest!”

  “Nothing much,” said the first horseman. “A gowky brat with a daft tale. Says he’s Sir Robert’s nephew, just escaped from Garth Castle.”

  Ranald gave the little boy a careless glance. “Aye, that’s likely!” He snorted and jerked on the reins, wheeling his horse around. “Neil Gointe Stewart’s been trying to tell Sir Robert he has his nephew for over a year, and now he sends the false lad after us. Begone, brat, and bother Sir Robert no more!”

  The two horsemen trotted off to join the waiting Menzies band. James stood with his hands dangling helplessly at his side.

  Will clenched his fists. They had to take James—they had to! Where else would he go? “Call to them again!” Will whispered through the standing oats. “Shout out something that only the real nephew would know. Like—I don’t know, say something in French?”

  James stared at him, his shoulders slumped. “That would not convince him. Many in Scotland speak French,” he said dully.

  Ranald and the other man had reached the knot of Menzies that surrounded Sir Robert. There was a brief exchange of words across the tossing manes of the horses. Any moment now they would turn and go—

  Suddenly Will smacked his forehead. “James!” he hissed. “Sing ‘Flower of Scotland’!”

  James looked at him, startled.

  “The song Jamie taught you in the dungeon, remember? He sang it for Sir Robert the night of the fire!”

  “O flower of Scotland,” James began obediently, his voice thin and wavering.

  “Louder! Put some muscle into it!” Will urged. “It’s practically your national anthem—in my time, anyway!”

  James took a deep breath. “O flower of Scotland,” he began again, more strongly, his clear voice piercing through the air like a bugle. “When will we see your like again? That fought and died for … um…”

  “Your wee bit hill and glen,” Will whispered, watching the group of horsemen. They had not ridden off. One or two had turned their horses’ heads and were staring in James’s direction.

  “Your wee bit hill and glen,” James shouted lustily. “And stood against him, proud Edward’s army—”

  The horsemen were coming now, all in a group, with Sir Robert in their midst. But one man came more quickly than the rest, his thick shoulders and belligerent expression seeming to urge his mount on.

  “And sent him homeward,” James shrieked, “to think again!”

  Will crouched, his legs tense and ready to spring. He should have waited until he could find Sir Robert alone—was it too late to grab James and try to escape somehow? But no, he would never make it, never stand a chance against Ranald,
who had already leaped off his horse and was running toward James, boots pounding heavily on the earth. Will watched anxiously from between the oats, his forehead damp with sweat as the guard grabbed James beneath his arms—swung him up—and embraced him, tears streaming down his grim bulldog face.

  “Forgive me, lad; I didn’t know it was you,” Ranald said brokenly. He set the boy down and looked him over. “And no wonder, you’ve gotten thin as a twig! Your face is different, too, not so full of laughter.” He looked up as Sir Robert approached, frail but upright in the saddle. “But there, it’s the same with the laird,” Ranald went on. “Months of abuse at the hands of that twisted, bitter weasel of a Stewart have changed him, too, almost beyond recognition. Eh, lad, but it’s good to see you again!”

  Sir Robert checked his horse and looked down, his eyes large and burning in his too-thin face. “Is it truly you, James? They told me you were dead.…” He raised a hand to his eyes as if to shade them from the light. “What happened? Where have you been since the fire?”

  James looked up at Sir Robert and told the truth. “I don’t remember the fire. I remember riding to Castle Menzies, but then I was attacked, my men were killed, and the Stewarts took me away. I have been their captive for long and long. But I have seen wondrous things!” he said, his eyes brightening. “Carriages that move without horses! And angels! Though without wings,” he added doubtfully. “They brought me away from Garth Castle, and I stepped through a sort of window in the air—”

  The Menzies men exchanged glances. “It’s the same nonsense that he was spouting before,” one of them muttered.

  “Hit on the head again, no doubt,” said another.

  James swallowed hard. “I was hit,” he admitted. “Many times.”

  “But you are back with us now, dear lad, so never fear.” Sir Robert’s voice, which had been so weak, rang out now with new strength. “Lift him up to me—he shall ride on my saddlebow. We will get well together, with food and rest, and soon his mind will return to him, as it did before.”

  Ranald hoisted James gently in his big, rough hands. “Would you believe, laddie,” he said, “that Cook made gooseberry tarts this very day?”

  James laughed out loud, his face alight, and leaned back against his uncle’s enfolding arms as they rode away.

  Quietly, amid the oats, Will opened a window to his own time and went through.

  * * *

  The flat tire was fixed. Nan told Cousin Ewen that the little boy had found his uncle on the other side of the field and gone home with him.

  Will sat between his brother and cousin in the back seat with his eyes shut. He was tired—he had never been so tired—but it was all over now, all the time travel and the worry about his mother and father. They would be here tomorrow, and meantime he would figure out what he wanted to say to his mother—

  “Goodness!” cried Cousin Elspeth, sitting bolt upright as the car rumbled down the castle drive. “Is that Andrew? And Margaret! Oh, thank God, thank God, they’re here, I don’t believe it—”

  “They must have caught an earlier plane,” said Cousin Ewen, his voice rasping as if suddenly hoarse. He turned in the seat, his eyes bright. “Do you see, lads? Your parents are here, safe and sound!”

  * * *

  At first it was just a babble of greeting—jumbled arms and laughing voices and cheeks wet with tears—and it was all so confused, like happiness multiplied until Will hardly knew who he was holding on to or who was holding him. But although he grabbed his mother and squeezed at least five times, it didn’t count, not really. He was hugging everyone, and so was she. She wouldn’t know, from that, how sorry he was that he’d refused to hug her before. She wouldn’t know how he wished he hadn’t turned away from her at the airport, when she’d said good-bye. But he was shy of saying anything about that now, in front of Cousin Ewen and Nan and everyone.

  There was one moment when he could have told her—when his mother drew back a little and just looked at Will, smiling—but he wasn’t ready for it, and he couldn’t think what to say. Then Gormlaith came galloping up, barking madly, and Cousin Elspeth herded everyone to the castle tearoom to give the travelers a quick bite, and everyone began to exclaim how big Jamie had gotten, and the moment was over.

  They all sat crammed around one table in the tearoom, talking and talking. Will said little, but he watched as his mother—thin, pale, but smiling and alive—pushed the hair back from her forehead in a gesture he had known all his life, and he had a sensation of lightness inside like a balloon expanding.

  He watched them all, his gaze going from face to face. It was strange but he could see glimpses of Sir Robert in both his father and Cousin Ewen. Cousin Ewen had the same kind, serious eyes; Will’s father had the laird’s strong, beaky nose and sudden flashing grin.

  Jamie leaned against his father’s chest, holding his Highlander toy in his right hand while his left reached down to play with Gormlaith’s ears. Nan was charming everyone, telling of their games in the woods and throwing in bits of history that made the grown-ups smile.

  Will smiled, too, but he was beginning to feel odd, as if there were a thin veil of gauze between him and the others. He wanted to be with everyone, but at the same time he felt the need for a breathing space.…

  Gormlaith padded over and licked his hand anxiously. “Good dog,” Will said quietly, stroking her smooth head. She wagged her big, plumy tail and opened her jaw in her version of a laugh.

  She was a good dog—a very good dog, Will thought as she left him to snuffle at Nan’s knee and receive a caress. Then, satisfied that everyone was happy, Gormlaith flopped down at Cousin Elspeth’s feet with a deep sigh, laid her head on her paws, and closed her eyes.

  Will slipped away, mumbling an excuse. Once around the corner he leaned against the wall, his palms pressed flat on the cold stone. He was glad his parents were back again—he was overflowing with gladness—but everything had happened so fast, and now they would be leaving for America soon, perhaps the very next day.

  If this was his last visit to the castle, he wanted to walk its halls one more time.

  He mounted the circular steps slowly, memories rising at every turn. Here he had staggered up with a bushel basket of bread; there Ranald had tripped him. In this very hall he had first seen Sir Robert, and Jamie had sung “Flower of Scotland.”

  Sir David, the old man by the well, had been the laird in this castle once, too. He had gone away to be a hostage for his king, but then he had come back to be a monk. And even Breet had left the Picts and her own time to come to the castle—to see with her own eyes the proof that her people would outlast the Romans in spite of everything.

  They were still here, still part of him. Even the people from the Copper Age, perhaps more than all the rest, had had their effect on the people living now.

  He had reached the top floor. Will paused in the south tower to look through the window at the stone carvings on the castle face, and then out over the fields, golden and green. It hardly seemed possible that, just yesterday by his time, the ground had been covered in snow and he had almost been sacrificed to the sun.

  A soft step sounded behind him on the stone, and the clean scent of his mother’s shampoo drifted past his nose.

  “It’s a beautiful view,” his mother said, standing next to him. “I loved it when I was a little girl. I’m glad I got to see it again.”

  “I’m glad I got to see you again,” said Will, very low. He stared through the window at the stone pediment he had noticed before, with its carved hand pointing. I OWR TYME, it said with its backward N. It seemed oddly right, somehow; after all, he had gone backward in time.…

  Margaret Menzies took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “I’m sorry, Will.” Her voice held a ragged edge. “I’m so very sorry that I worried you. It must have been so hard not to know what was happening, and to wonder—to wonder if—” She faltered into silence.

  Now. He had to say it now. Somehow, Will forced the words past the a
che in his throat. “I deserved it, Mom. I wouldn’t hug you when you went away, I wouldn’t let you kiss me, I wouldn’t even say good-bye.”

  “Oh, son.” Her hand came up to stroke his hair. “You were angry with me.”

  Will nodded wordlessly.

  His mother fumbled for a handkerchief and pressed it to her face. “I shouldn’t have gone,” she said in a muffled voice.

  Will did not look at her. Instead he traced with his eyes the stone pediment with its carved letters and the hand, pointing. The letters at the very bottom were discolored with lichen and with time, but he could still make them out. PRYSIT BE, he read, and then the letters blurred.

  He rubbed his arm across his face. “It’s okay,” he said, not sure if he believed it or was just trying to make her feel better. And then all at once he was sure.

  “It’s all right,” he said. He curved his arm around her back and hugged her to his side. “I know why you had to go.”

  His mother laughed a little, wiping her eyes. “Why is that, then?”

  Will frowned in concentration, remembering how he had felt when he went back for Sir Robert’s nephew. “It’s because you knew something had to be done, and you thought you were the one who was supposed to do it.”

  “Yes,” said Margaret Menzies slowly. “That’s exactly how I felt. But now I wonder if I should have ignored that feeling. You needed me, too—you and Jamie and your father.”

  Will leaned his cheek on her shoulder as if he were a small child again. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. It wasn’t your fault.”

  His mother was silent.

  “It’s true, Mom. Look.” Will pointed to the pediment. “Can you read that? It says ‘in our time.’ You know what I think that means?”

  His mother shook her head.

  “I think it means you can’t worry too much about the future. Because nobody knows what’s going to happen, anyway. We just have this one time, see? Our time. And we get to choose what we’re going to do in it.”

  Margaret Menzies blew her nose. “We can light a candle in the dark,” she said at last. She tilted her head until it rested against his.