He spread his arms in a gesture of conciliation, then let them drop to his sides. "I haven't asked for a thing, Erina, except this."
She seemed to consider that for a long time, but in truth, it must have been only seconds. "Oh, very well. Grant. Now, are you happy?"
"No. I'd like to hear you say my name in a sentence. Like, 'I really like my new clothes, Grant.'"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm not sure I can be wearin' these clothes. The skirt's a wee bit short."
He glanced at the hemline, which almost reached her ankles. "Actually, it's a little long."
"I know other women wear their skirts short, but I'm not feelin' comfortable showin' my ankles. I need my boots, at least. These shoes are no help at all."
"You want to blend in, don't you? Why not be practical? You do need to wear hose, probably, or your legs and feet will be cold. The temperature is still pretty cool."
He watched a faint pink blush work into her cheeks. "There's also a bit of a problem with the . . . hose you brought to me. I cannot understand how to wear them. So if you'll just return my boots and stockings, I'll be gettin' dressed."
"Oh, for Pete's sake, Erina, you can stop acting when it's just the two of us. Every woman knows how to get into a pair of pantyhose. I think they do it just to irritate men, but that's another story."
"I'm tellin' you, Mr.--"
"Grant."
"Grant. I'm tellin' you that I do not know how to wear that infernal garment. I want my own things back."
"Your dress needs to be cleaned, you boots could use a good polish, and you've been wearing the same stockings for at least two days. Now put on the pantyhose and we'll go to the hospital."
"I don't know how to get the blasted things on!"
Grant stalked into the guest bedroom and picked up the offensive hosiery from the bed. He was a thigh-high stockings man. He especially liked black ones with wide lacy tops. But he wasn't going to think about that right now. He'd be better off concentrating on the fax Brian had sent earlier, then one that told him his balance sheet was going to take a serious hit for those balloon loan payments.
"Look," he said to Erina, who'd followed him to the doorway of the bedroom, "you just wad them up like this, all the way down the leg, and put them on, one leg at a time. Don't stick your fingernails through the material. I understand that's a problem. And make sure the tag is in the back."
She folded her arms across her chest. "And where did you learn so much about ladies' undergarments?"
"Commercials. Plus, I've taken off my fair share in the past. Now why don't you try it, unless you'd like for me to do it for you?"
She unfolded her arms and marched into the room. "I'll try the blasted things, but I cannot imagine why women of your time would wear something that's so difficult, when a simple pair of stockings would work just fine."
"My sentiments exactly," he said with a smile. "Next time, I'll buy you some stockings."
"You'll not be buyin' me another thing!"
"I don't know how you're going to stop me."
"I'll just not see you again," she said, thrusting her chin in the air.
"Oh, really? And how are you going to keep me away?"
"I'll tell the hospital not to allow you in the room."
"I'm paying for that room."
"Then I'll move to another one. I'll put Colin in the charity ward, as long as the doctors will save him. But I'll not be ruled by any man, especially one so bent on bein' contrary."
"I'm not contrary. I'm one of the most reasonable, even-tempered people I know." That was the truth. His attorney, accountant, and property managers often told him that he was as businesslike as they come. He'd always thought that was the highest compliment they could give him.
"I doubt you're too fair-minded about your own traits."
"I'm fair-minded about everything."
"Then understand that wearin' these clothes does not feel right to me," she said with passion. "I've never worn a dress so short. I'm not a woman of your society."
"You are now," he said, passing the pantyhose to her. "And for as long as you're here, you'd better dress and act the part of a woman of this time. I'm not sure of your game, or even if you're completely aware of the story you're telling. But I know that if the authorities think that you believe you're from another time, they'll take Colin away. He'd be saved, he'd have the surgery, but you might never see him again."
"No one's takin' my Colin away. I came a hundred years into the future to save him, and I'll be keepin' my son."
He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her dark blue eyes. "Then put on the hose. Put on the shoes. Don't worry that people can see your ankles. Most women wear clothes much less modest than these."
In a moment she slumped, the fight going out of her. "You're right. I must do whatever is necessary to save Colin."
"I'm sorry I've had to tell you what to do. I think maybe we're both just a bit headstrong."
She smiled ever so slightly. "I'm thinkin' maybe you're right."
"I'll try not to tell you everything to do, Erina, but I have to interfere when I feel it's necessary. I've come to care about Colin . . . and about you. I mean, I feel responsible for the two of you. Together. I don't want him to be taken away from you."
"I'll not let anyone take him away. He's my son."
"I know that. I'll do what I can to help, but you've got to cooperate. They could put you in the psychiatric ward and charge you with child abuse if you tell them Colin didn't get medical attention because he's from 1896."
"You're right," she said in a small voice, looking away. "I'll keep my thoughts to myself from now on."
"Good girl," he said, giving her shoulders a pat. He was trying his best to think of her only as a friend-in-need, a too-young mother, an off-limits, out-of-town visitor. Even though he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again and again . . .
"I'll put the hose on now and I'll not say another word about the skirt bein' too short. Then can we go to the hospital?"
"Of course," he said neutrally, giving her a smile. "I'll be ready whenever you are."
#
She stayed with Colin all night, rocking him back and forth on the cot, just like she did back in her rooms above Mrs. Abernathy's shop. And when he slept, she watched, leaning over the crib until her eyes misted and she had to turn away before she woke him with her sniffles. Toward dawn, she fell asleep in the chair, but jerked awake when the nurses came into the room.
"Is it time then?" Time to take him away, to cut open his chest?
"Not yet. I just need to listen to his breathing and his heart," the blond haired nurse said softly. She placed a metal disk on Colin's chest and the two connecting tubes in her ears.
"How is he?" Erina asked, leaning forward so she could watch her son sleep.
The nurse moved away from the crib. "He's fine. The anesthesiologist should be by in about thirty minutes."
Erina rubbed her temples. "Which doctor is he? There's so many, I forget."
"You really are from the country, aren't you?" the nurse asked with a smile. "The anesthesiologist makes Colin fall asleep and keeps him that way until after the surgery."
Erina walked into the hall with the nurse. "How do you know where I'm from?" she asked warily.
"Mr. Kirby. He explained how you've only been in Galveston a short time, and that you're from the countryside in Ireland. I think it's so romantic. I mean, meeting Mr. Kirby and all. I got the impression he was in Europe last year," the nurse said with a grin and a nudge of her arm. "He's a real hunk."
"A hunk of what?"
The nurse laughed. "Oh, honey, I don't have to tell you, do I? Did you know he was named one of Houston's most eligible bachelors? I wonder if he'll be on that list next year," she said with a smile and a wink. She walked away, shaking her head and chuckling.
Erina frowned, then returned to Colin's room. She wasn't sure what "hunk" meant, but she did get the impression th
at the nurse believed Mr. Grant Kirby could be her son's father. And that maybe they'd met in Ireland. Had he planted those ideas in the nurse's mind? Or had she come to those conclusions on her own?
She didn't have time to think of him right now. She wanted her thoughts to be of Colin, and the trauma he would soon undergo. She still had a hard time believing that his heart could be operated on, but all the doctors and nurses told her it was so. And the Blessed Virgin Mary had sent them here in a true miracle.
She sat back down in the chair, looping her arms around her knees as she leaned toward the crib. The soft fabric of the new skirt rubbed against her skin, reminding her of the way Mr. Kirby had brought home the bags full of beautiful garments. Even though the styles were foreign to her, she had to admit they were comfortable--especially the special corset-like device for nursing. How had he known to buy that particular item for her? The thought of him describing her needs to a salesclerk made her blush.
And he had been more than generous with his money. Did he have enough money to buy her such expensive gifts and to pay for Colin's surgery? If a cup of tea cost five dollars, what must this room and the services of all the doctors be worth? Surely more than Mr. Kirby would earn as a laborer.
Somehow, she would find a way to pay him back, even if she had to work for years after Colin recovered.
Would she stay in this time? She had no idea. The longer she stayed, the less odd her new surroundings seemed. Only in her dreams of Mrs. Abernathy had she re-visited her own time, and then she'd felt like a stranger looking in on the rooms of the dressmaking shop, gliding up the narrow, dark stairs to her own rooms, seeing the place she'd stayed for nearly a year, the place where Colin had been born and had almost died before she took him to St. Mary's Cathedral. She'd seen herself, working on the quilt, which seemed much more finished than when she'd left. Was it a dream, or a premonition that she would return to the past?
Or would this be her home? A part of her hoped that she could stay. There were so many wondrous things. The experience was similar to her reaction to arriving in Galveston after living all her life in the Irish countryside. The island had been so . . . alive. So bustling with activity. People working, warehouses under construction, loads of cotton arriving by train, then processed and shipped around the world. Wagons crowded the streets near the docks and business district, while trolleys made their rounds on Broadway.
She'd loved Galveston from the moment she'd stepped off the boat. Her da had also, jumping into his job landscaping the Kirby estate with such enthusiasm that Erina had laughed each night as he explained the new plants, the variety of flora that could grow in this climate. He'd loved his job, right up until three years ago, when he'd dropped dead between the bushes he was planting in Mrs. Kirby's new rose garden.
She'd like to see more of Galveston in this time. If she did stay, she'd need to know the customs and the town. And if she went back to her own time, well, then she'd have the memories of what was to come.
And memories of Mr. Grant Kirby, great-grandson of the man who'd taken her innocence, a cousin, many times removed, to her own son.
Colin moved restlessly, stuffing a little fist in his mouth. Erina sat beside the bed, leaned on the rails of the crib, and smoothed his downy hair.
#
"How much longer?" Erina asked, fidgeting in her waiting room chair. "He's been in surgery for three hours."
"There's really no way to tell. The doctor said three to five--"
Erina jumped up and began pacing the waiting room floor. "I need to know! I cannot stand the waitin' a minute longer."
Grant watched her as she echoed his own feelings. He'd arrived at the hospital that morning just in time to see the little guy before the anethesthiologist arrived. Erina had drawn within herself, obviously terrified of the surgery her son was about to undergo. Grant had held Colin, put his arm around Erina, and stood with her as they carried the boy away.
He felt as though Colin were his own son. He felt like a little bit of his heart had gone with the boy.
"What can I do, Erina? Do you want me to get you something to eat or drink? Or I can ask the nurse for a sedative for you, if you're too upset."
She whirled back to face him. "I just want my son, whole and healthy, and not cursed for what I--" She cut herself off with a fist stuffed to her mouth. Her face showed the distress of a mother in pain, but not just for her child.
He got up and walked to where she stood, placing his hands on her upper arms. "What are you talking about?
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's my fault that Colin was born with a bad heart. He's bein' punished because of my sins."
"Your sins? What could you have possibly done that would be considered a sin?"
She broke away from his hold on her arms and turned toward the window. "I encouraged his father. I thought he . . . I was a foolish girl."
"You've said something like that before, only I got the idea that he took advantage of you. What did you do, smile at this guy? Flirt with him? Ask him to your place and then change your mind?" Grant wondered who Colin's father really was. A high school sweetheart? A one night stand? Was he tall, short, dark, light? But what did it matter? No matter who the biological father might be, Erina obviously had received no support from the jerk.
"I . . . I did smile at him. I allowed him to think that I would welcome his attention. I was angry before when I talked about him, and you might have noticed that I have a bit of a temper." She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. I should not have looked at him, or been more than polite. I was a servant in his home."
"Listen, Erina. I don't know where you've been for the last ten years, but let me update you: This is not your fault. You have every right to say 'no' at any time, even if you're both naked and breathing hard. If you were out on a date and he didn't stop, that's called 'date rape.' And if you were an employee . . . well, what he did goes way beyond sexual harassment. Men know the bounds, even if they don't want to admit it. "
"No, you don 't understand. He didn't know any such thing. He was just takin' what he thought was offered."
"You're making excuses for this jerk."
"He's your own great-grandfather! You should not speak so ill of the man."
"My God, I can't believe this! He raped you."
"The truth is that he would not have done so if I hadn't encouraged him."
"Erina, I can't believe you'd defend his actions. What happened to that spunky girl who called him a slippery eel? And quit saying my great-grandfather was the one. We both know that's simply not true."
"It is the truth."
Grant shook his head. Maybe she had been raped. A violation of that sort could certainly cause her to want to forget the facts surrounding Colin's conception. The guy needed to be prosecuted, if he'd gotten away with the crime, and to do that Erina would need to recall the actual events. But perhaps she wasn't able to distinguish the truth at the moment. She might need time or professional help. He could provide both, if only she'd give some indication she was willing to cooperate. At the moment, she was sticking to the impossible time travel story with a frustrating determination.
"Look, let's not argue about that now. How about we go visit Kirby House after Colin has his surgery and gets better? You can show me where all this allegedly occurred."
"The house is still there on Broadway?"
"It's a historic home. People tour it every day. Maybe you've already been . . ." He let his words trail off, hoping she'd admit to visiting the house, coming up with her outrageous story, and seeking him out when she discovered a Kirby heir still resided in Galveston.
"I've not seen the house as it is now. When I last saw it, your great-great-grandparents were still livin' there, and Jerrold Kirby was just becomin' a lawyer."
Grant sighed. There was just no shaking her story. "Okay, whatever you say. I'll take you to the house as soon as possible."
"I'd like to see if Mrs. Abernathy's shop is still there on Post Office Street."
"Sure. We can drive by, stop in. I'll even take you to the Galveston Historical Society if you'd like."
"Do they have information on the past?"
"Yes. A lot of it focuses on the hurricane of 1900, though. Much of the island was wiped out. I forgot how many thousands of people were killed."
"Oh, that's so sad. I'm sure many of the people I knew lost their lives. I hope Mrs. Abernathy survived. She was a dear, sweet woman. I do miss her so."
"I'm sure you do." No telling who was the model for the fictitious Mrs. Abernathy.
"And what of your family? Did they survive?"
"Yes, they were fine. They moved everything of value upstairs, then stayed on the second floor when the water rose. Almost everything downstairs was ruined."
"Even your granny's beautiful piano, I'd suppose. That piece was too heavy to move."
"My granny's piano? You mean the huge monstrosity with the claw-footed legs?" He'd heard that it had been damaged in the storm surge, but refinishers had done a remarkable job restoring the enormous piece to pre-hurricane splendor.
"Aye, that the one. I've dusted those keys many times, wishing I knew how to play. Mrs. Kirby was a wonderful talent. She had a voice like a lark."
"She did?"
Erina's face took on a dreamy quality that made her even more appealing. "When they had folks over, she'd often play and sing after dinner. I'd listen from the upstairs, just thinkin' how grand it would be to have her talent."
"You did?"
"Aye. She was a fine woman to work for. Very fair to us, because her family was from Ireland and she understood how hard it was to come to another country with more dreams than money. That's why I thought her son . . . but never you mind. What's done is done."
"You thought her son would marry you and take you away from your life as a servant."
She blushed and looked away. "I've already admitted that I was a foolish girl, Mr. Kirby. You don't have to be remindin' me."
"There you go, calling me 'Mr. Kirby' again. Shall I kiss you now to remind you of my name?"
"I'm askin' you not to kiss me again. If you're a gentleman, like you said men should be, I'm hopin' you'll honor my request."
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