Threaded Through Time, Book One

by Sarah Ettritch

“I’m sorry that you’ll have to rearrange your schedule.”

  “No, it’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”

  Margaret’s grip tightened on the book. “Are you working on something for your class?” Robin nodded. “I’m reading a scientific paper. I have to critique it.”

  “Oh.” Margaret swallowed. “I won’t keep you. And I’ll try not to disturb you on Friday.

  Good night.” She turned away.

  “Margaret.”

  Margaret turned back.

  “Let’s do something on Friday.” Robin smiled. “Not a movie. I’m sure we can find something else to do.”

  “But your work . . .”

  Robin shrugged. “I’d normally be in a lab, and I’ll have the weekend to do homework. So let’s spend the afternoon together. Even if we just talk.”

  “I would like that.” Margaret’s heart was pounding so fast that she barely got the words out.

  Robin wanting to pass the time with her was the last thing she’d expected—a wonderful surprise!

  “I’ll look forward to it. Good night.” Robin’s head bowed.

  “Good night.” Margaret’s step was light as she walked to the bedroom. The heavy spirit she’d dragged up the stairs now soared.

  *****

  From a window, Margaret watched Jasper and Pam walk down the front path. When she could no longer see them, she let the curtain go and turned to the empty living room. Her heart sank.

  When Robin had come home, she’d eaten a quick lunch, said good-bye to Pam and Jasper, and gone upstairs. No mention of spending the afternoon together, just a wave as she’d passed the living room on her way to the kitchen.

  Margaret fought her disappointment. She and Jasper were imposing. Robin and Pam led busy lives, though Pam seemed eager to make time for Jasper, who would never golf alone with another woman if they were in 1910, not after their engagement was announced. Margaret should be upset, but she wasn’t. Since Pam would send them back to their own time in mere weeks, nothing would come of her friendship with Jasper. But if Pam failed and they were doomed to remain in the future—no, Margaret refused to entertain that possibility. Pam would succeed.

  They would return to 1910, announce their engagement, marry, and eventually wonder if this interlude had been a dream, a shared temporary madness.

  Margaret was almost grateful for Pam’s willingness to occupy Jasper’s time. He was running out of ways to busy himself and they both felt awkward, residing under the same roof and becoming too familiar with each other’s habits before God had joined them together. When they returned home, they must never breathe a word of this time to anyone, not only because nobody would believe them, but because Jasper’s family might refuse to accept her, even though she’d committed no impropriety. Oh, why couldn’t it be a full moon tonight?

  With a sigh, she went over to the bookcase, and was debating whether to try someone other than Dickens when footsteps thumped down the stairs. “They gone?” Robin asked.

  Hope rising within her, Margaret nodded.

  “I just wanted to get a few emails—letters—out of the way, so my afternoon would be clear.”

  Pam had explained how people could instantly send letters from one place to another.

  Margaret could appreciate the efficiency of the method, but not its impersonal nature. When she wrote a letter, she always selected the stationery with great care. Each letter she sent was personal, and she always valued the ones she received, viewed them as keepsakes.

  Robin went to the window and gazed out. “They certainly couldn’t have asked for better weather.” She spun around. “Would you consider going for a walk?” Margaret gulped. “I—I shouldn’t. I know Jasper wants to experience . . . the present, but I feel I should remained sheltered, so it won’t be such a shock when I go home.” Nor potentially disappointing.

  Robin folded her arms. “That’s prudent of you. But I’m not suggesting we go downtown or anything like that. We’re not that far from the lake.”

  “I know.” She often strolled along the boardwalk with her friends.

  “Of course you do,” Robin said sheepishly. “So you know we can walk there. You won’t see anything spectacular. You’ve seen cars. Um . . . people will be dressed differently to what you’re used to. Signs, maybe? But that’s all. So what do you say?” She wanted to please Robin, and couldn’t deny the excitement that mingled with her fear of stepping out into the future.

  “You’ve been here a week. You must be tired of being cooped up inside.” She wanted to—but no, she couldn’t. “You can go for a walk, if you like. I’ll be all right here on my own.”

  Robin shook her head. “Pam and Jasper would kill me if they found out. And I’d like your company.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “But if you don’t want to go, I’ll understand.” And be disappointed, no doubt. Margaret swallowed. “Jasper wouldn’t want me to go.” Robin lifted an eyebrow. “Who said anything about telling Jasper? He’s out playing golf.

  What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  Dare she? She wanted to. She was tired of her own company and would feel guilty if Robin had to share her confinement on such a beautiful day.

  “I promise I’ll stay right next to you,” Robin said. “I won’t let you out of my sight.” Her desire to not disappoint Robin was too strong to resist. “All right.” Robin smiled. “Great! Do you want to change into the pants Pam bought you? Okay, maybe that’s asking too much,” she said with a laugh; Margaret’s horror at the thought of wearing trousers must have shown on her face. “But put on running shoes, at least.” Running shoes?

  “Shoes like mine.

  Margaret looked down at Robin’s feet.

  “You can’t go out barefoot.”

  Robin must think her vain for wearing shoes that hurt when Jasper was here.

  “You can wear Pam’s old pair. They’re on the mat. I’ll get you a pair of socks.” Robin bounded up the stairs.

  Margaret went into the hallway and peered at Pam’s running shoes. Perhaps she should reconsider leaving the house, but what would Robin think? If Margaret changed her mind, Robin would never offer to pass the time with her again.

  “Thank you,” she murmured when Robin returned and handed her the socks. While Margaret pulled them on and squeezed her feet into the running shoes, she could see Robin hunched over one of the end tables in the living room, writing on a piece of paper.

  “A map from the boardwalk to the house,” Robin announced. “In case we do get separated and the route isn’t the same as it was in 1910.” She inspected Margaret; her mouth turned up at the corners. “All you need is a coat. Take one of Pam’s. It’ll be a little big, but who cares?” Margaret wouldn’t. The running shoes already made her feel mannish.

  Robin rummaged through the coat closet, pulled out a full-length fall coat, and held it out to Margaret. She slipped into it and hoped she didn’t look ridiculous.

  “Put the map in your pocket,” Robin said. “And I’m giving you my phone. If we do get separated, don’t talk to anyone, and don’t go anywhere with anyone. I don’t care how nice they look or sound. Either follow the map, or phone here. I’ll come back here and wait for your call.” Margaret quaked inside. This would be her last opportunity to do the sensible thing and stay here. But she wanted to go with Robin. “How do I—”

  “Here.” Robin showed her how to use the phone, then had her practice a few times.

  “Ready?” When Margaret nodded, Robin threw on a black leather waist-length coat. “Let’s go.” She followed Robin outside and paused on the doorstep to get her bearings. As she’d discovered the first time she gazed out the window, the surroundings were strange, yet familiar.

  If the cars weren’t there, the road cobbled, and the trees not so tall, she’d almost believe that the front door led to 1910. Her eyes settled on Robin. Except women dressed like women, where she came from.

  Robin walked to the end of the path and beckoned to her. Encouraged, Mar
garet walked down the steps. “You all right?” Robin asked when Margaret reached her.

  “Yes.” She fell into step with Robin. The warmth of the sun on her face and the light breeze in her hair were welcome sensations; she felt more alive than she had in days. Her decision to accompany Robin was reckless, but the alternative would have been to pass yet another afternoon reading by herself. She was outside and not alone! Robin’s desire for her company was rooted in politeness, but Margaret was grateful for her thoughtfulness and would tell her so later.

  She didn’t mind that Robin shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and only spoke when they had to cross a road. For now, she wanted to stroll next to her and imagine that she was out with one of her girlfriends.

  A wave of melancholy washed over her when she spotted the lake. If she blocked out the people, the strange noises, and the storefronts, she would forgive herself for believing she was home.

  Robin’s hands came out of her pockets. “I was thinking we could pick up a couple of teas and then find somewhere to sit. It’s breezier here, but if we get chilly, we can walk.” Margaret readily agreed, and stayed close to Robin in what appeared to be a café—once again strange, yet familiar, though her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she read the price list. Inflation, indeed. “Can I see that?” she asked when Robin pulled out a bill from what looked like a man’s billfold.

  Robin handed her the five-dollar bill. “That’s Sir Wilfrid Laurier,” Margaret said. “He’s the prime minister.”

  “Not anymore,” Robin said with a chuckle.

  Of course. How silly of her! But . . . “I saw him not too long ago. We were in Ottawa for the weekend.”

  “Your family?”

  “Yes! Not me and Jasper.”

  Robin took the bill from her and used it to pay for their teas. She pressed a hot paper cup into Margaret’s hand and they found a place to sit, on a bench facing the boardwalk. A woman sat reading a newspaper at one end. Robin motioned for Margaret to sit at the other end and settled in next to her.

  “Has it changed much?” Robin asked.

  “The lake looks the same.” Had it only been last week that she’d walked down to the lake with Mother? To her, yes, yet it had been a century ago! Mother was dead! Father, her brothers, everyone. Intellectually she understood that, but she couldn’t accept it. They were very much alive; she thought of them in the present tense. She could remember every detail of her walk with Mother. They’d spoken of Jasper, of what a suitable husband he’d make. Jasper had visited Father the very next day. Had Mother suspected that Jasper intended to ask Father’s permission for her hand? Father and the Bainbridges belonged to the same gentlemen’s club. So had Victor Tillman, until he’d been tossed out on his ear for defaulting on his dues.

  She gave Robin a sidelong glance. Was she related to that Tillman family? The Tillmans had been quite respectable, until Leo Tillman died. His sons were all misfits, especially Victor, the eldest. It hadn’t taken him long to gamble away his inheritance. From a stately home on a respectable road to a working class townhouse—what a comedown! Pam had been quick to say that Robin wasn’t related to Victor Tillman, but was she sure, or had she been worried that Margaret’s comment would cause offence? Normally Margaret wouldn’t dream of blurting out something so crass, but normally she wasn’t dropped into the middle of a conversation with two strangers from the future, either. “Do you mind if I ask you about your family?” she said to Robin. “We spoke about mine last time we took tea together.”

  “There’s not much to know.” Robin sipped her tea. “My parents are divorced, and I have an older brother.”

  Divorce? That must have been difficult for Robin’s mother. How had she managed? “That’s unfortunate about your parents.”

  Robin shrugged. “They divorced when I was fourteen.”

  “Are your grandparents alive?” Margaret asked, seeking a piece of information that would either connect her to Victor Tillman, or eliminate him as an ancestor. She didn’t want to remind Robin of her crass comment by asking outright.

  “My mom’s mom is still alive and kicking. My father’s parents are both around too, but I haven’t seen them in years. I’m not close to my father.”

  “Oh?”

  “He travels a lot. Me and Chris—my brother—we have dinner with him occasionally, when he passes through town. As a matter of fact, we’ll be meeting up with him in a couple of weeks.” Margaret wondered why Robin didn’t sound too happy about it. “You must be looking forward to seeing him.”

  Robin’s mouth tightened. “We don’t have a lot in common.”

  “Do you see your mother often?”

  “I try to drop in at least once a week, mainly to see my brother. They don’t live far from the university.”

  Why would Robin live with Pam when her family lived closer to the university? And how odd that Robin lived outside the home and her brother didn’t. “Why don’t you live with them?” Robin lifted her cup to her lips. “Boy, you don’t mess around with the questions, do you?” Margaret drew breath to apologize, but Robin shook her head and, after gulping down tea, tossed her cup into a nearby wastebasket. “It’s only fair. I asked you a lot of questions the other day.” She sighed heavily. “It’s easier living with Pam than living at home. And cheaper. Since Pam owns the house outright, she doesn’t charge me room and board. I couldn’t go to university when I was living at home. I had to work, to help out. That’s why I’m only in my second year, even though I’m twenty-six.”

  “What about your brother? Wasn’t he supporting you?”

  Robin snorted. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t work that way now, Margaret. And even if it did, he wouldn’t be able to support me.” Robin twisted to face her. “Do you know what schizophrenia is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a mental illness. Chris is schizophrenic.”

  “You mean he’s retarded?”

  Robin stared at her for a moment. “If you were anyone else—” She sighed. “No, he’s not retarded. It’s an illness, like any other illness. As long as he stays on his medication, he’s okay.

  And he does occasionally manage to hold down a job for a while, but the sort of job that pays him barely enough to support himself, let alone me. Mom doesn’t work, either. She’s an alcoholic, and not very good at hiding it. She was fired from one too many jobs.” Margaret hoped her dismay didn’t show on her face. Robin’s family sounded just like the 1910 Tillmans!

  “So after I graduated from high school, I worked. They’re on social assistance, but that’s barely enough to get by.”

  “What about your father? He should be caring for his family.” To Margaret’s surprise, Robin barked a laugh. “It didn’t take long for Mom to drink her way through her divorce settlement, and Dad’s,” she wiggled her fingers in the air, “obligation to me and Chris ended the second we turned eighteen. He remarried and had two more kids, so he has another family to worry about now.” She examined her fingernails. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve managed okay without him.”

  But Margaret could see that it did matter. Up to that point, she’d thought Robin unflappable.

  “You stepped into his shoes, tried to care for everyone.”

  “You sound like Pam.” Robin gazed out at the lake. “If you ask her about our living arrangement, she’ll make it sound like I’m doing her a favour, when it’s really the other way around. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be working two jobs and dreaming about going to university.”

  As far as Margaret knew, Robin no longer worked at all. “Does Pam pay your tuition?” Robin shook her head. “I have a student loan. And I make pocket change on the Internet.

  I’m willing to work part-time, so I can pay Pam rent, but she won’t let me. She said we’ll talk about rent after I graduate.” Robin smiled. “And she’s been very stubborn about sticking to that.” Her smile faded. “I wish we could have gone through university together. And I wish I cou
ld have gone to university while living at home. It’s not that I don’t like living with Pam, I do. But I worry about Mom and Chris.”

  Confused, Margaret opened her mouth to ask a question, then realized she hadn’t drank any tea. She took a sip, felt the still-warm liquid run down her throat. “I don’t understand. If you wanted to stay home to help your family, couldn’t you have worked part-time and gone to university? Forgive me if that doesn’t make sense.”

  “If I’d still managed to get a student loan, yeah, that might have worked.”

  “Then why didn’t you do that?”

  Robin avoided Margaret’s eyes. “I couldn’t,” she said quietly. “Please don’t ask me why.” Margaret nearly burst with curiosity but didn’t want to pry, especially when Robin shoved her hands back into her pockets and blinked out at the lake. She drank more tea and waited for Robin to speak.

  “Anyway, enough talk about me.” Robin straightened. “You must be sick of Dickens by now.”

  So Robin had noticed.

  “I could bring the newspaper home for you to read.”

  “No, thank you. I want to remain sheltered.”

  “Right. But you did watch TV that day.”

  “I wish I hadn’t. I mainly did because Jasper liked it.”

  “Okay.” Robin pursed her lips. “Last time we talked—” her mouth turned up at the corners

  “—last time we took tea together, you said you like to knit. Why don’t we see if we can find a craft shop? We can pick up whatever you need to make something.” The idea appealed, but . . . Margaret eyed Robin’s clothing: the leather jacket with its worn elbows and sleeves, the faded and frayed trousers, and running shoes that had clearly walked miles. How much of that pocket change ended up in her mother and brother’s pockets? “No, that’s all right. But thank you for offering.”

  “Oh, come on. You must want something else to do. It sounded like you really enjoy knitting.”

  She did; it soothed her.

  “Let me buy what you need.”

  Margaret could see that Robin wouldn’t allow her to decline the offer without an explanation, one Margaret didn’t want to give. “All right. But . . . would you let me knit something for you?”