Miracle of Love

by Victoria Chancellor

  Maria served a pureed soup with some kind of toasted bread. Grant noticed that Erina again seemed nervous. She waited until he took his first spoonful of soup before tasting hers.

  "Grant just signed the contracts for the new management firm in Phoenix," Brian announced.

  "I didn't know you were changing companies." Grant's mother turned to him.

  "Occupancy rates were down," he explained.

  "But the company is doing well, isn't it?" she asked.

  "Very well, Mother. Brian and I are meeting with my people next week to discuss the Dallas properties. Their rates are up, but Dallas is having another building boom. We'll have to be positioned to take advantage of existing properties."

  "I'm sure you'll do what is necessary," she said, dismissing the subject of business as she always did when she realized that the company and her income were not in danger.

  They finished the first course and the plates were removed. While Maria was gone, Grant said, "I want you to meet Colin as soon as possible, Mother. He's in UTMB at the moment, but should be released tomorrow."

  "Well, of course. I just . . . this has caught me by surprise."

  Grant imagined the idea of being a grandmother was as upsetting as the thought of him fathering a child. Of course, he hadn't fathered this child, but that was a minor point. Colin would still be his son, no matter who the biological father was. "Why don't you come down Wednesday?"

  "To your condo?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm surprised again. I didn't know you invited anyone to your weekend hideaway."

  "I don't," he said emphatically. He'd never invited anyone from work or any family member to Galveston. That was his private place, now his and Erina's. Since her arrival, the condo had become hers . . and Colin's as well, with the addition of the baby furniture. "But this is a special occasion, isn't it? Would Wednesday be convenient for you?"

  "I suppose. What time?"

  He turned to Erina. "What would be best for Colin?"

  "He takes a nap after lunch, but he's usually awake by two o'clock. Or you could come in the morning, before lunch."

  "Morning would be best for me. How about ten o'clock? That way I won't interfere with his schedule."

  "That would be fine. We'll be expecting you. Brian, you're invited also, of course."

  "I may just take you up on that," he said, looking at Grant's mother.

  Maria served the next course, some type of chicken dish. His mother watched her weight and cholesterol very carefully, every meal. She'd once told him that an extra two pounds looked like ten in a photo. And Virginia Kramer Kirby had her picture in the society pages very often.

  "Good. It's settled then." He turned to Erina. "Our first guests, sweetheart."

  He watched a wealth of emotions flash across her expressive face. Dread, excitement, fear, hope. As always, Erina was a surprise. He felt exhilarated by her presence, ready for each new day with anticipation that he had never experienced before except during a challenging climb. Then, the feeling was fleeting. With Erina, he thought perhaps it could last a lifetime. If only she'd tell him the real story.

  All in all, he thought as they finished dinner, the evening had gone pretty well. His mother hadn't fainted or thrown a fit at the idea of a grandchild. Of course, he hadn't informed her that he and Erina may get married. One thing at a time. Perhaps he'd break the news on Wednesday. By then, he should have Erina's documents.

  He hoped the ink was dry.

  While everyone else relaxed, as much as possible, in the living room, Grant excused himself for a minute. He was sure that they believed he was going to the bathroom, but he slipped into the empty dining room instead.

  When he was sure that no one was around, he bent down on one knee and looked at the leg of the table. No initials there. He tried another one, feeling increasingly stupid. He didn't believe such a claim by Erina. She'd never been in his mother's house before. She probably never expected him to verify that the initials were there. So this was just an exercise to satisfy his curiosity.

  But as he knelt by the third leg and looked up high, two age-darkened initials were obvious. "J.K". stared back at him, a message from the past.

  How in the hell did Erina know? Could she really have seen those initials when they were freshly carved, over a hundred years ago? Of course not. What was he thinking? She might have a good reason for making up her story, but if he bought into the fantasy, he'd be crazy.

  #

  Erina didn't know what to say on the way back to Galveston. Grant was quiet, steering the Jeep with one hand as he rubbed his chin with the other. He'd placed a round silver object into a slot, filling the interior with music like she'd never heard before. At first, she didn't like the mixture of sounds and voices. But soon she grew accustomed to the music and tried to understand the lyrics of the songs.

  Before she knew it, they were driving over the bridge. Lights from along the bay reflected in the water, creating a beautiful picture that made her forget how afraid she was of the height.

  "Would you like to stop by the hospital?"

  "Yes, I would," she said, startled to hear Grant's voice after such a long silence.

  He drove down Broadway, past the Kirby home, closed now to the public but lit so people could see the architecture and the sign out front. She had mixed feelings about her three years there; she'd enjoyed Mrs. Kirby and the girls, but Jerrold Kirby had destroyed her dreams in the servant's quarters upstairs. She'd never expected to go back, but maybe she could visit it in this time. Perhaps now, when it was bound to look different, she could put her own ghosts to rest.

  Grant remained silent as they drove into the parking garage of UTMB.

  "Are you angry with me for tonight?" she finally asked. "Did I say or do something wrong?"

  "No!" he said quickly. "You were great. I'm sorry. I've just had a lot of things to think about."

  "If you're havin' second thoughts, I understand," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

  "I'm not having second thoughts about getting involved with you or with Colin. But I am a little confused."

  "About what?"

  "Things like the initials under the leg of the table. I know you didn't have time to look for those ahead of time because you were with me before dinner."

  "Of course I didn't look. I just remember seeing the initials and asking Jerrold Kirby about them when I first went to work for Mrs. Kirby . . . your great-great-grandmother, that is."

  He was silent for quite some time, turning off the music and the engine. "Erina, you know I can't believe your story. Time travel isn't possible."

  "I know you refuse to let yourself believe."

  "Whatever. The fact is, I don't believe in miracles."

  "Oh, but you should," she said softly. "The world is a much better place because of them."

  "I've read stories about paranormal happenings. I've enjoyed movies where something fantastic occurs. But I've never know anyone who experienced an actual miracle."

  "Of course you do," she said.

  "Who?" he asked, turning toward her.

  "You know Colin and me."

  Grant shook his head and smiled. "You never give up, do you?"

  "I'll never deny my faith. If you could believe in the power of God, you could believe in miracles."

  "I can't believe in miracles," he stated again.

  "I cannot make you believe. Perhaps someday you will."

  "I believe that you're here, and that you're real, and that I want you very much," he whispered as he leaned toward her.

  She should have pulled away, pushed him back, done something to make him stop. But his eyes held her fast, his clean masculine scent entranced her until she could only welcome his warm, firm lips. As always, his kiss was like visiting heaven. She allowed herself to float and swirl in the passion he created, forgetting everything but his touch. His hand stole to her breast and she whimpered, part in longing and part in pain.

  "What's wrong?" he asked
, pulling back slightly.

  "I'm . . . I need to . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence. The reason was too embarrassing.

  "You need to nurse Colin," he said for her.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Let's get you inside then. I didn't mean to hurt you."

  "You didn't," she said, not able to look at him. "I'm just not used to . . . you know what I mean."

  "You're not used to a man's touch."

  "Of course not."

  "Erina," he said, leaning closer so his lips hovered close to hers, "I'm glad. I want to be the only one who makes you hot. I want to teach you about passion."

  "Grant, please, don't," she asked.

  "Yes. If you want to wait until we're married, I understand. But I'm beginning to think that whether we need to marry for INS or child welfare, we should just because I'll lose my mind if I can't make love to you soon."

  "Perhaps it's not me. You might feel this way about another woman," she answered weakly.

  "No, I've never felt this way about another woman. The closest thing I've ever experienced was being a teenager with a car, a girlfriend, and no place to go. But that was just hormones. This is . . . something else."

  "What do you think it is?" she asked tentatively, afraid of asking but wanting to know the answer more than anything.

  "I don't know," he said, brushing he fingers across her cheek and through her hair. "But I don't want it to stop."

  She leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and for the first time, she initiated the kiss. He allowed her the time to mold her lips to his, to taste him, to stroke him with her tongue. Then he encouraged her, parting his lips, letting her kiss him as he'd kissed her. The feeling of excitement and power was overwhelming. She wanted to sink inside, to lose herself in him until they became one.

  She eased away from the kiss before she gave in to her own desires. Now was not the time; this was not the place. Besides, she truly believed in the sanctity of marriage, not in fleeting passion.

  Was this love? She knew she'd fallen in love with him, but how did he feel about her? Did he feel the same passion, hope, and joy?

  "We'd better go inside before we fog up the windows," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "A heavy make-out session in a car often produces fog on the windows. It's another one of those teen-age memories that you're bringing back in me."

  "Oh. Then I suppose we should go inside."

  "Okay," he said, still not releasing her. Although the car was dark, Erina imagined that he could see her clearly, that he was memorizing her features, her smell, her very essence.

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sat back in his own seat. "I'm going to need a cold shower when we get back to the condo."

  "Why would you take a cold shower? Do you have no more hot water?" she asked, unfastening her seat belt.

  "Another expression," he said, opening the door of the Jeep. He walked around to her side of the car and opened her door. "It means that I need to cool down a specific part of my body." He lifted her from the seat with his large hands under her arms, then slid her down his body. Her tight breasts brushed against his chest, sending tingles throughout her body. He eased her lower, until she brushed against the hardness that pressed against his slacks.

  Erina had the totally inappropriate and shocking urge to wrap her legs around his waist and hold tight. Just the idea made her hot, but not just her cheeks. This heat was all over, throbbing low in her body where she wanted to be joined with Grant.

  Her toes touched the ground and she sagged against him. Breathing hard, she looked up into his gleaming eyes. "I think I need one of those cold showers too," she whispered.

  He smiled, then laughed, hugging her close. "Maybe we'd better get inside the hospital before we embarrass ourselves and a lot of other people."

  "Yes, I think that's a good idea." She stepped back, smoothing her clothes and pressing her flaming cheeks. At the moment, she needed to nurse Colin, calm her racing pulse, and forget that Grant Kirby was more temptation than any woman should have to face.

  #

  While Erina was at the hospital the next morning, the documents arrived in a plain brown envelope via an equally plain courier. Grant passed the man an envelope filled with hundred dollar bills after checking the quality. He was no expert, but the Irish birth certificate for Erina and Colin looked authentic.

  He hoped they were good enough for Sam Reynolds.

  The birth date they'd chosen was her own, December 6. The year he'd selected, based on her claims that she'd be twenty-one on that date. She said she'd been born in 1875, which he changed to 1975. Just looking at the date made him shudder. She really was too young for him, but dammit, she didn't feel like a girl when he held her in his arms. She didn't seem immature when they talked. Whatever her true background, he was sure she'd worked and been on her own, giving her experience with life that most teenagers never experienced. And she was a mother already, aged beyond her years by that experience.

  He slipped the birth certificates back into the envelope and placed it on his desk. They'd still have some explaining to do when they met with INS. Their hands would no doubt be slapped for Erina entering the U.S. illegally. But if they could just show the bureaucrats how serious Colin's condition had been, how wonderfully he'd recovered, then they had a good chance.

  Perhaps they should have Dr. Cook attend the meeting. No, that was too much too soon. First, they needed to get an idea of how much trouble they were in.

  And, he thought, picking up the phone, he'd better check on the procedures were for getting married. He assumed they'd need a blood test and a license from one of the county offices, but beyond that, he hadn't a clue.

  #

  Erina had Grant take her to St. Mary's Cathedral for the noon mass on Tuesday, although he hadn't been excited about coming himself. He'd shown her the documents that had arrived that morning, which gave her even more reason to go to church. She chided him for his lies and made him feel guilty, and he sat with her as the priest said the holy words.

  She wished that she could give her confession then, but the priest was busy. She vowed to herself to come back and confess everything so she'd be forgiven. Urging Grant to do the same had no effect, however. He said he would think about it, which meant that he had no intention of telling all they'd done to a priest.

  After mass, she felt better. She and Grant ate a quick sandwich at a restaurant by the pier. A ship named the Elissa was docked nearby. Grant called it a tourist attraction, and while they ate, Erina saw people walk across the polished decks, go below, and emerge to stare up at the tall masts.

  "Have you been there before?" Grant asked, looking at her intently.

  "No, of course not."

  "That's where they have the database of immigrants."

  "Really?" she said, excited. "That's the listing of all the people who came to Galveston, isn't it?" At his nod, she asked, "Do you think my da and I are in this database?"

  "I already checked there and at the Rosenburg library. Most of the records were destroyed in the hurricane."

  "Oh." She felt a little sad that there was no documentation of her arrival in Galveston. So many immigrants had come in those years, and now no one could discover who they were.

  "I just thought perhaps you'd gone to the Elissa or the museum."

  "No. It wasn't here in the last century," she said automatically, used to Grant's attempts to show her a fraud.

  She'd arrived on a steamer, not a schooner, so the ship didn't evoke any memories in her. However, she had to smile at the fascination of the public for old things. In her time, unless an item had true value, there was no sentimentality. The Victorian society embraced the modern, as long as items conformed to rules of taste. The vulgarity of the previous periods was quickly discarded. In Grant's time, people seemed to love anything from the past.

  She realized that she would be considered an "expert" by some of these people. She knew how ite
ms worked, how homes were decorated, how Victorians dressed. Was there a use for this information? She'd have to ask Grant--if she stayed in this time.

  After lunch, they returned to the hospital to meet with Dr. Cook. He was going to tell them if Colin could come home today.

  "Well, doctor," Grant asked as they stood beside Colin's bed, "has he recovered?"

  "He's done very well. I'm going to release him as long as you don't take him away from the area. If he has any abnormal responses at all--rapid pulse, trouble breathing, or loss of appetite, for example--I want him back at the hospital immediately."

  "I can really take him out of the hospital?" Erina asked, a sense of excitement welling up inside her.

  "Yes. Just be cautious of his incision and watch his fluid intake. I'll give you a prescription for some antibiotics he'll take for ten days. I'll want to see him then."

  "I'll do whatever you say. Oh, doctor, I'm so happy to be takin' my baby home!"

  "Our baby," Grant said, smiling down at her. "We're going to take our baby home."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Late Tuesday night, Erina slipped out of bed at Colin's whimper. She'd barely slept, anticipating every heartbeat, listening to his breathing as he slept in his new crib. The night light that Grant had purchased, an oddly dressed mouse with large eyes and a smiling face, glowed in the darkness so she could see Colin clearly. Sitting atop the mattress in the corner of the bed was a soft, furry toy that Grant called a stuffed animal, similar to the night light.

  She smiled down at Colin, who opened his eyes and blinked several times. Then he screwed up his mouth in anticipation of a full-bodied cry.

  She picked him up quickly, mindful of his incision but anxious to keep him from waking Grant. As much as he seemed to enjoy Colin, she'd been told by both Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Kirby that men did not want to be bothered by a baby's demands. That would be especially true since Colin wasn't even Grant's child.

  Opening the bodice of her nightgown and settling into the rocking chair, she put Colin to her breast before he could do any more than give a few weak cries. He latched on, thankfully hungry since she was full with milk. With a push of her foot, she set the chair in motion and leaned her head back.