“You don’t have to.”
“I would like to.” Earnestly.
Robin hesitated. “Okay.”
“I’ll knit something for Pam, too.” Margaret pondered a moment. “Perhaps a shawl.” She cocked her head, felt the beginnings of a giggle. “Would you like a shawl?” She wanted to laugh when Robin started to stammer a response, and controlled her mirth with difficulty. “No, I don’t suppose you would.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you teasing me, Margaret?”
“Perhaps.”
They gazed at each other, Robin’s amused expression mirroring Margaret’s. “Winter’s coming. What about a tuque and mittens?” Or a sweater, scarf, or nice warm socks. “I’m sure I can knit something that will meet with your approval.”
A smile spread across Robin’s face. “I’m sure you can.” Warmth flooded through Margaret, and it wasn’t from the tea; the cup was now cold to the touch. She could grow fond of this odd woman from the future and wished they could be friends, a prospect she never would have imagined when she’d first set eyes on her.
“Shall we walk a little?” Robin asked.
“Yes.” Margaret stood and deposited her cup in the wastebasket. They strolled along the boardwalk in companionable silence. More people walked, cycled, and ran along it than before, out enjoying the afternoon sun. A woman with two dogs straining against their leashes hurried past; Margaret wasn’t sure who was walking who. She glanced over her shoulder and watched the woman’s receding back, then faced forward and stopped. A young man was heading toward her, but he wasn’t walking, he was standing on a board . . . with wheels? One of his feet left the board; he pushed it against the boardwalk, then stood on the board again. Margaret watched him race past, then followed him with her eyes as he wove around people. She suspected it took some skill, but he made it look effortless.
When she could no longer see him, she turned to Robin to ask—Robin! Where was Robin?
Frantic, Margaret searched for her, but found only strange faces. Her heart pounded. Recalling Robin’s instructions, she dug her hands into the coat pocket, feeling for the map and phone.
“Margaret!”
She shook with relief when Robin was suddenly there, and resisted the urge to grab onto her.
“I—I’m sorry. I stopped to look—” Her voice choked off.
“No, I should have noticed you weren’t next to me. As soon as I did, I backtracked.” Robin peered at her. “Are you okay? Do you want to go home?”
Yes! Home! To 1910! She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I’m all right.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “Let’s continue our walk.” It really was a beautiful day and, quite taken with the idea of knitting something for Robin, she wanted to visit a craft shop. “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t stop again.”
“Well, that’s no fun. Why shouldn’t you stop if you see something interesting?” Robin shoved her hands into her pockets and extended her right elbow. “Here, take my arm and don’t let go of it. If something catches your eye, I’ll know right away.” Margaret slipped her arm through Robin’s and rested her hand on Robin’s leather sleeve.
Her breath quickened; her free hand went to her throat. They walked, but Margaret no longer took heed of her surroundings. She couldn’t, not when all she could think about was Robin next to her, the warmth of Robin’s arm, her body . . . good Lord, what was wrong with her?
Margaret’s face burned. Her heart raced. She felt as if she might crumple to the ground at any second.
“I could hardly breathe! I felt as if I was dying! If a doctor had taken my temperature, he would have rushed me to the hospital!” All her friends had squealed and nodded, and so had Margaret, even though she’d never reacted that way when strolling with Jasper, or any other suitor. She hadn’t related at all to what her friends described, had never experienced it . . . until now. But—it didn’t make sense! Robin was—she— Margaret should let go of her arm—
immediately! But she didn’t want to, and not only because she was afraid they’d be separated.
Dear Jesus in heaven, she was attracted to Robin.
But this wasn’t the first time she’d slipped her arm through a girlfriend’s when out for a stroll, yet she’d never, ever felt like this. Something terrible must have happened to her when she was pulled through time! She wasn’t one of those wicked people she’d heard whispers about.
Depraved, sinful creatures! She wasn’t one of them! Back in 1910, she’d be normal again.
Robin pressed against Margaret when she sidestepped to avoid bumping into someone. Heat flared in Margaret’s chest. She tightened her grip on Robin’s arm.
Chapter Six
Pam groaned when her ball landed far short of the target green. “I told you, I’m terrible at this.”
“That’s why I suggested we end the afternoon on the driving range.” Jasper leaned on his club. “It’s your posture.”
“My posture?”
He nodded. “Your back isn’t straight. Look.” Jasper slipped his club behind him and held it with both hands just underneath his bum, parallel to the ground. “Now if I hang onto the club and then lean forward, my back will remain straight.” He demonstrated. “Do you see?” She lifted her sunglasses and eyed his firm ass. “Uh-huh.” It looked damn good, considering it was technically 130 years old.
“This is the position you want. You want to bend from the hips, and you don’t want to be back on your heels. If your posture is right, everything else will follow.” Pam sighed in disappointment when he slid the club from behind him. “If you have the right posture, just let your arms hang and that’s exactly where you should grip the club.” He assumed a golf stance and smiled at her. “Do you want to try again?”
“Only if you won’t be disappointed when I hit the ball exactly where it just landed.” He frowned. “You have to have more confidence, or you’ll never improve.”
“You’re right.” She teed up another ball, then felt a bit silly as she mimicked Jasper’s demonstration by holding the club under her ass and bending forward. Since she couldn’t hold the club in that position when she entered her stance, she didn’t see much point—except to please him. “I think I understand.” All right, pretend I’m hanging onto a club under my ass. She assumed her stance, hoped her arms were hanging right, then swung.
Jasper shielded his eyes. “It looks good.”
Did it? She watched in disbelief as the ball arced through the air and landed on the edge of the target green. “I did it! I did it! Oh my god!” She dropped the driver, leaped into Jasper, and hugged him. Oh shit! She pulled back. Wait, his arms were around her too, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to let her go. She reluctantly pushed away from him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away.” But given half the chance, she’d be in his arms again.
His eyes met hers. He looked . . . pensive. Confused. The moment passed. He tore his eyes from hers and stooped to pick up his club.
Pam cleared her throat. “I think we should call it a day.” But she didn’t feel like going home to play cards or watch a movie. Okay, maybe she wanted Jasper to herself for a while longer.
“Do you want to have dinner out? There’s a decent pub nearby. We can eat and then play pool, or darts.”
“Pool? You play billiards?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’ve never played with a woman before.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Then I’ll warn you that I’m better at pool than I am at golf. If you can’t handle being beaten by a woman, maybe you should pass.” He scoffed. “I’m not worried about being beaten.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” she said with a wink, thrilled that he was interested in playing.
“But what about Margaret and Robin? We said we’d only be out for the afternoon.” So they had. “I’ll call Robin. I don’t think she has any plans for tonight, so she probably won’t mind. Let’s take these clubs back.”
F
ifteen minutes later, she dug her phone out of her purse and dialled home while Jasper visited the men’s room. Funny, nobody was answering. “Hi, you’ve reached Pam and Robin. We can’t—” Pam hung up. Robin had better not be sitting upstairs with her damn headset on. She’d said she was going to spend time with Margaret.
Pam called Robin’s cell, and was about to hang up after eight rings—why wasn’t it going through to voice mail?—when Robin said, “Hello.”
“Why aren’t you answering the damn phone? I tried home first.”
“Oh, was that you? I was, uh, in the bathroom. I only heard the cell when I came out.” Pam could hardly hear her. “What’s that in the background?”
“What?”
She sighed. “Never mind. Listen, Jasper and I have finished golfing, but we want to go to the pub, have something to eat and play pool. You’re not going out tonight, right?”
“Nope.”
“Do you mind if we stay out, then?”
“Just a second.” Pam heard muffled voices but couldn’t make out any words. She waited for Robin to remove her hand from the phone. The background noise returned. “Margaret says she doesn’t mind.”
“Great, we’ll see you later, then.” Pam quickly rang off, guilt snaking through her for not considering how Margaret would feel about it. But it wasn’t as if she and Jasper were going on a date, and Margaret had him to herself while Pam was at work. She was probably grateful for the break.
Pam looked in the direction of the men’s room and waved when Jasper emerged. As she watched him approach, she felt herself smile. Margaret was one lucky woman. If not for Jasper’s engagement and that little “from 1910” thing, Pam would be working her charms on him. They had so much in common, more than he did with Margaret. And they weren’t doing anything wrong by enjoying each other’s company for a day. No harm would come from it. According to the announcement she’d found on the Internet, Jasper and Margaret wouldn’t waste any time getting married once they returned to their own time.
Hmm . . . did their brief trip into the future have anything to do with their quickie wedding?
Pam wouldn’t dare tell Jasper about the historical record; who knew how the universe would be affected? But curiosity drove her to dance around the subject as they enjoyed a beer after stuffing themselves on wings. “So have you and Margaret set a wedding date?” Jasper shook his head. “We didn’t have an opportunity to do so. I was in the middle of asking for her hand when . . .” He looked pointedly at her.
“When I rudely interrupted,” Pam finished for him. “I didn’t mean to, honest.” Despite the music and the myriad of chattering voices, she lowered her voice and leaned over the table. “I had no idea the rhyme had the power to transport people through time.”
“I wonder why it chose us.”
“Probably because you were in the same house, the same room.”
“But why not someone from another time period?”
Pam shuddered. What if a younger version of her parents had appeared in front of her—or herself as a child? No, her gut told her that only one of her could exist in the universe at a time.
But seeing her parents? As much as she missed them . . . creepy! “Maybe the one hundred year gap is significant. Jake might know.”
Jasper’s grimace clearly conveyed his opinion of Jake. “He belittled you, Pam. He doesn’t believe the rhyme holds any power, certainly not the power to move objects—or people—
through time.”
“But he told me about the rhyme only working once per lunar cycle.”
“To humour you.” Jasper glanced down at his beer, then reached across the table and touched Pam’s arm. She swallowed, fighting the desire to cover his hand with hers. “Don’t be upset with me, but I’ve—” His lifted his shoulders. “I’ve considered the possibility that Margaret and I may be here for good.”
“No, Jasper. I’ll send you back.”
“I know you believe you can, and it’s not you I doubt. You’re a formidable woman. If anyone can send us back, you can.” His gentle tone, the warmth of his touch . . . if he didn’t move his hand away soon, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions. “But I have to consider the possibility that whatever happened when you read the rhyme was a fluke that won’t be repeated.”
“I’ll send you back,” she said firmly. “The rhyme will work.” The historical record proved it.
Jasper’s fingers tightened around her arm. “I admire your conviction.” Since she couldn’t grab him, she grabbed her beer and gulped some down. When he finally lifted his hand from her arm and leaned back, the sensation of his touch lingered. If the rhyme’s effectiveness depended on how strongly its reader wanted it to work, they could be in trouble!
But no, it couldn’t. She’d unwittingly brought them here, so her emotional state and desires weren’t a factor.
“You and Margaret will return.” They would marry. And Pam would continue to search for a decent, considerate man who could appreciate an independent woman and be gracious.
Unfortunately she’d measure everyone against the man across from her, and probably find them falling short. She inwardly sighed. No point wanting what she couldn’t have. Yep, Margaret was one lucky woman. “And you’ll get married!” She forced a smile. “I know you didn’t have a chance to set a date back in 1910, but I thought maybe you’d talked about it here.”
“No. Neither of us has broached the subject. I suppose we want to see what happens.” She knew he meant whether they’d make it back to their own time. “Assuming you do return, when do you think you’ll marry?”
“I’d like a summer wedding, and I’m sure the idea will appeal to Margaret, as well. So perhaps July or August.”
“July or August 1911?”
He nodded.
But . . . “Where do you think you’ll live?”
“Toronto, of course. Both our families are here.”
But . . . “Is there any reason you wouldn’t live in Toronto?” His brows drew together. “No. Why would we live elsewhere? We both like the city, and we wouldn’t want to leave our families. I’ll eventually take over the business from Father. That’s years away, I hope, but I need to be here.”
Maybe the marriage announcement she’d found wasn’t Jasper and Margaret’s. No, it had to be them. How many Jasper Bainbridges and Margaret Wiltons would there be in 1910 . . . and married to each other? “So there’s absolutely, positively, no reason you and Margaret would move away from Toronto?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m just trying to, uh, learn about the customs of your time.” She swilled around the remains of her beer and downed it.
“I can’t see any reason why we’d move. As for customs, generally speaking, people move for all sorts of reasons.”
“Is there anything that would make people move in a hurry?” Jasper drained his beer as he pondered the question. He set his empty glass on the table. “A scandal can sometimes force people to another city, so they can get a fresh start where tongues aren’t wagging.”
A scandal? God, Margaret wasn’t pregnant, was she? Pam dismissed the thought when she remembered how they’d reacted to the notion of sharing a bedroom. But now they were alone together all day. What if . . . even if they were, Margaret wouldn’t be showing in December. She wouldn’t even be sure she was pregnant. Did they have pregnancy kits in those days?
“Of course, we’d never be involved in a scandal. I would never dishonour my family, and I chose Margaret because she has an excellent reputation.”
“And you love her.”
He cocked his head. “I have great affection for her.”
That didn’t sound like love. “But you don’t love her?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Why would you marry someone you don’t love?” If Robin had accurately interpreted the last entry in Margaret’s diary, Margaret was in the same boat.
“Because I want a good wife, and Margaret will be a wonderful wife and
mother to our children.”
“But what about love?”
Jasper picked up his glass, even though it was empty. “Father says the ideal wife will put me and the children first, that it’s not necessary that I love her, only that I respect her.” He stared into the glass; his voice grew wistful. “That affection will always outlast passion. That marrying for love is a mistake.”
The way he suddenly aged before Pam’s eyes, the longing in his voice . . . “You wanted to marry someone else, but your father disapproved of her,” she stated.
He put the glass down. “Yes.”
She gasped. “Who? When? Why didn’t he like her? Does Margaret know?” Jasper shook his head. “I shouldn’t speak of this.”
“Why not? Come on, Jasper, you can tell me. Who am I going to tell that matters?” She leaned across the table. “I won’t breathe a word to Margaret, I swear. What was her name?” She watched his face as he struggled with himself. His shoulders slumped. “Emily.” His eyes grew distant for a minute, then brightened. “I met her at a baseball match. I couldn’t help but notice her. She sat right behind me and kept shouting at the players. I managed to ignore her, until she spilled lemonade on my shoulder. I turned around to express my displeasure . . . and fell in love.”
Pam hated her already.
“She insisted on having my jacket cleaned, I insisted on buying her another lemonade, and we were soon inseparable. Oh, she was wonderful, Pam. The spirited discussions we had, the matches we watched together, the rides around the park. She golfed, swam, shared so many of my interests, and never let me get away with underestimating her because she was a woman.” He met Pam’s eyes. “You remind me of her.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. She was sure he meant it as a compliment. “So what happened?
Why didn’t your father approve of her?”
His face slackened. “Because she was too independent-minded, as he put it. Emily and I discussed marriage. She wanted to marry, but not then. She’d just started university. Father said she’d always put herself before me. And he’d noticed that I was questioning my role in the family business. He blamed her for that.”
Threaded Through Time, Book One Page 8