Her heart ached; their lips were almost touching. “But we’re not. So when you’re back, forget about me. You have Margaret, and I want you to take care of her and be a good husband to her, you understand? I’ll be watching you,” her lips trembled, “from wherever we are before we’re born.”
If she looked at him any longer, her actions would belie her words. Pam patted his chest, then stooped to pick up his jacket. She didn’t protest when he took it from her and draped it around her shoulders, or when he put his arm around her and pulled her into him. She slipped her arm around his waist, laid her head on his shoulder, and blinked out at the blurred lights.
*****
Margaret stroked Mitzy’s head and cooed at her when she purred. For the first couple of weeks, Mitzy had wanted nothing to do with her. Now she leaped onto Margaret’s lap at every opportunity. Margaret was especially grateful for Mitzy’s company now, and kept her attention on the purring cat while Robin pulled on the knitted sweater. When Robin said, “It fits,” Margaret lifted her head.
Robin stood with her hands on her hips. “What do you think?” That Robin looked gorgeous in the snug sweater that accentuated her small breasts and matched her blue eyes. “Is it too tight?”
“No. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Try on the tuque and mitts.”
Robin picked them up from the coffee table and pulled on the tuque, then the mitts. She flexed her hands in front of her. “Wow, I’m actually colour coordinated,” she said with a laugh.
“I love them. I’m not usually big on hats, but I might actually wear this one. Wise decision, not adding a pom-pom.”
Margaret inwardly smiled. If she’d knitted the tuque for anyone else, it would have a pompom.
But Robin? No. “There will be a scarf and socks to go with them by the time I leave.” To her dismay, Robin’s smile wilted. “If you don’t want them—”
“I do want them. I know I’ll love them. It’s just that . . .” Robin rounded the coffee table, plunked down on the sofa, and shifted position to face Margaret. “Well, I have to admit, I’ll feel a bit sad whenever I wear anything you knit. You are leaving, and you’re going somewhere I won’t be able to email or phone you.” She paused a second. “I bet you’re eager to get back.” For the most part. Her family and friends—her life—were in the past. Margaret dearly missed them and looked forward to seeing everyone again. Jasper was here, but though they’d lived under the same roof for weeks, she felt less close to him than she had in their own time. But with Pam and Robin no longer in their lives to distract and occupy them, Margaret was confident they’d easily resume their socializing and comfortable friendship, especially with all the fuss their engagement would bring. Jasper’s . . . dalliance with Pam, Margaret’s . . . fascination with Robin—both would soon be in their pasts, despite having taken place in the future. Their brief stay here would forever bind them together, and perhaps infuse their relationship with the passion it had thus far lacked for her. She fervently hoped so. If she could feel for Jasper what she felt for Robin . . .
She believed that returning to 1910 would remedy her abnormal feelings for Robin, but couldn’t deny that, right now, those abnormal feelings made the thought of returning home almost unbearable. She’d worry about Robin, someone who hadn’t been born, and wonder how her life would turn out. Would she finish her degree, marry, have children, work out her problems with her family? When the items Margaret had knitted wore out, would Robin keep them or toss them aside, her visitors from the past a distant memory, or perhaps forgotten?
Margaret hoped Robin would always remember her, as she would always remember Robin.
She shook herself. No, when she returned to 1910, she’d be normal again, remember? She’d never forget Robin and Pam and her time here, but Robin wouldn’t monopolize her thoughts, as she did now. Jasper and their impending marriage would.
The motion of Robin’s hand stroking Mitzy brought Margaret back to the conversation. “I am looking forward to returning. But I’ll miss the two friends I made here.” She wanted to add,
“I won’t forget you,” but didn’t want to sound sentimental.
“I’ll have all these beautiful things you’ve knitted to remember you,” Robin said, making Margaret wonder if she could read minds. “If you could take something back with you to remember me by, what would you want?”
You. Margaret pushed the inappropriate and impetuous response from her mind. Robin in 1910 was the last thing she’d want. “A photograph of you and Pam.” As long as it was a good photograph of Robin. No, that wasn’t fair. Pam had been a gracious host and, despite her friendship with Jasper that was stretching the bounds of propriety, Margaret liked her. But a photograph of the two of them still wouldn’t be her first choice.
“Really? That’s what you’d want?”
No, it was her polite answer, and one that wouldn’t betray her feelings. If she could, she’d have a more personal item of Robin’s.
“Is there anything else you’d want? You’ve practically made me a whole outfit, here.” Dare she? It could be a way of expressing how she felt without explicitly saying it, and would be obscure enough that she could deny her feelings, if Robin somehow guessed at her true motivation for wanting the items. Margaret stroked Mitzy for moral support, then plunged ahead.
“I’d want a page of your study notes. One that’s handwritten.” When Robin didn’t react, she continued. “And your leather jacket.”
Incredulity was written all over Robin’s face. “My jacket? That’s the last thing I expected you to say. Why would you want that?”
Because she’d never forget the moment she’d slipped her arm through Robin’s—the delicious sensations that had stirred when she’d felt the warmth of Robin’s body, and the smoothness of the leather under her hand as it had rested on Robin’s sleeve. Nor the way her heart leaped every time Robin came through the front door, waved hello, and took off her jacket, and the longing she felt after Robin had slipped on her jacket and left for a day at university.
Margaret would cherish that jacket until the day she died. “You said something to remember you by,” she said, sure that poor Mitzy must feel harassed by her incessant stroking. “Your jacket would certainly remind me of you.”
She held her breath when Robin stared at her, worried that she’d revealed too much. Then Robin smiled. “My lack of fashion sense, I suppose.”
Relieved, Margaret slowly exhaled and chided herself for losing her head. She must be mad!
“And considering you sit with me most nights, I can understand why you’d want a page of my notes.” She frowned in thought. “I’d gladly give you one, but I’m wondering if we should risk it. It might interfere with sending you back.”
“You’re right,” Margaret quickly said, hoping Robin would drop the subject.
Robin’s brow furrowed. “I wonder if your memory of being here will be wiped out.” She hoped not. Her feelings for Robin were wrong, but not remembering them . . . that would be wrong, too. She didn’t want to lose a month of her life and what she’d learned. Now she understood the conversations with her friends and knew what she’d eventually feel for Jasper. Being in 2010 had somehow twisted the experience—she wished those feelings had first stirred for Jasper, or another man. But no matter. Once home, everything would return to normal, and it was best that she not have anything of Robin’s with her. She’d probably wonder why on earth she’d asked for the items, then remind herself that her “2010 self” would have cherished them, but her “1910 self” didn’t.
Robin pushed herself away from the back of the sofa. “Well, thank you for your wonderful knitting. I really appreciate it. I think I’ll keep the sweater on for now.” She pulled off the tuque and mitts. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll put the kettle on.”
Margaret watched her walk from the living room. She couldn’t believe that in a mere week, she’d never see her again, that it woul
d be as if Robin had never existed. How could feelings so wrong be so precious?
*****
Concerned that she’d missed a couple of stitches, Margaret double-checked the sock pattern on her lap and groaned. If she wasn’t rushing, she wouldn’t make such stupid mistakes. She could afford to slow down; she’d already finished one sock and had the rest of the morning and the entire afternoon to finish this one.
A knock at the study door startled her. She jerked her head up. “Oh, is it time for lunch already?” she asked Jasper.
“Not quite.” He hovered a moment longer, then came into the study. Margaret’s mouth tightened when he sat in Robin’s habitual spot. She put down her knitting and waited while he cleared his throat and studied his hands. “We’re going back tomorrow,” he said, finally looking at her. Did her eyes look as sad as his? “I thought we should talk about that.”
“What would you like to talk about?” Was he going to call off their engagement because of Pam? That wouldn’t make sense.
“We should prepare ourselves for the possibility that nothing happens when Pam reads the rhyme.”
Margaret didn’t want to entertain the frightening possibility that she could be trapped here in her abnormal state, nor her suspicion that, should the future become their permanent home, Jasper would cast her aside for Pam. “Perhaps we should save that conversation until we need it, Jasper. It’s one we should have with Pam and Robin. We would need their advice.” And their help.
When Jasper slowly nodded, his ready agreement to drop the subject made Margaret wonder if he really wanted to talk about something else. “I think we did right, not spending every moment together,” he said, deepening her suspicion, especially when his attention shifted to his hands again. “I know I’ve spent quite a bit of time with Pam—”
“We’ve been caught up in unusual circumstances.” How could she resent the attention he’d paid to Pam? At least his feelings for her were normal! Being in the future had obviously affected them both. It was good that they’d limited their time alone together—their moral fibre was obviously distorted, so who knew what might have happened? She wished Jasper had isolated himself more from 2010, rather than stepping out with Pam and watching TV and movies, but it was too late to do anything about that now.
“I’d rather talk about what will happen when we do return. What if we suddenly appear in the middle of the drawing room and there are others present? What if we’ve been missing? What if we return in 1911 or 1912?” Sudden panic drove her to her feet. Her knitting slid to the floor.
Jasper came over and put his arms around her. She leaned into him, but felt nothing—and thought of Robin. If Robin’s arms were around her, Margaret would be a puddle on the floor.
Lord have mercy on her!
“Just as you didn’t want to have the conversation about what we’ll do if nothing happens, let’s wait and see where we end up,” Jasper murmured.
“But what if we end up somewhere with people who aren’t as hospitable as Pam and Robin?
What if Pam sends us further into the future?”
“Let’s assume we’ll arrive back when we left, or very close to it.” Jasper stepped back and smiled reassuringly. “No matter what happens, we’ll announce our engagement immediately, of course.”
She nodded, grateful, but not surprised, that he’d stand by her. If they didn’t arrive back exactly when they’d left, everyone would assume they’d been away together. Her parents would insist on a hasty wedding, and Jasper would have to defend her when his family questioned whether she’d still make a suitable wife. And what explanation would they give for running away together the moment they got engaged and then returning unmarried? It would be an absolutely rash and stupid thing to do. If they hadn’t eloped, why on earth had they run away? Or was that the answer? If they discovered that time had elapsed in 1910 while they were in 2010, why not marry before facing their families? They could then explain their absence in a way that made sense and preserved their moral character. To add authenticity to their story and account for the fact that nobody had seen them around town, they’d also have to leave Toronto and marry elsewhere, before returning home
Oh, what would tomorrow bring? If fortune smiled upon them, they’d end up in the drawing room in 1910, with Jasper on his knee proposing. And when she thought of Robin and he thought of Pam, it would be with innocent affection and the wistfulness one feels when missing friends, nothing more.
*****
Pam kicked off her slippers and climbed into bed, but didn’t turn off the bedside lamp. Robin was lying on her back with her hands behind her head, staring into space. She’d been unusually quiet during supper, too—not that Robin was ever a chatterbox, but she usually threw more than a couple of words into the conversation. “Okay, I knew I’d feel like shit.” Pam rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow. “But I thought you’d be dancing around with joy.
This time tomorrow, they’ll be gone.”
Robin sighed. “It’ll be nice not having to make up excuses anymore about why I can’t go out. Everyone’s convinced I’ve fallen in love with someone online and I’m spending all my time chatting with them. And I’m sure my guild thinks I’ve quit the game.” She paused. “And yeah, when they first arrived, I couldn’t wait for them to go back.”
“But they grew on you?”
Robin hesitated a beat. “It feels like they’ve always been here, and now, poof, they’ll be gone. I’ll miss the nightly ritual with Margaret. It’ll be funny, not hearing the clicking of her knitting needles.”
“I can always bring you tea,” Pam said with a chuckle. “But don’t expect me to knit.
Anyway, I’m surprised you’ve tolerated that while you’re working.”
“She’s wanted company while you and Jasper are cuddling on the sofa, watching your movies.”
“We don’t cuddle!” Pam said indignantly.
“You don’t, huh?” Robin snorted. “Well, while you’ve been busy doing whatever it is you’re not doing, it’s been lonely for her. I haven’t minded keeping her company.”
“You were taking care of her, like you take care of everyone else? You know, children of alcoholics have a tendency to do that.”
Robin glared at her. “You know I hate it when you do that. You’ve been taking care of Jasper.”
Point taken.
“It’s good they’re going back tomorrow. Any more time here and we’d have a mess on our hands,” Robin said.
“What mess?”
“You know what mess. I hope you haven’t done too much damage already.” Pam opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. Guilty as charged. If she hadn’t known that Jasper and Margaret didn’t love each other—yet—would she have still spent so much time with him? Allowed herself to fall for him? Taken advantage of his fiancée’s predicament? She’d like to think not, and it took two. Maybe she should think less of him for not discouraging her, but he’d play the dutiful husband for the rest of his life. As she’d previously said to Robin, what was wrong with one last quasi-fling, one that couldn’t hurt him or Margaret in their own time?
“Okay, I admit it, I really like him, I’ve enjoyed every moment with him, and yeah, I didn’t think much about Margaret.”
Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “At least you’re honest.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re going back tomorrow.”
“You sound confident about that.”
“I am! You read the marriage announcement. Not only that, they had a daughter, and probably other children. What I’m hoping doesn’t happen is that they leave and others arrive.” She gripped Robin’s arm. “If my parents show up, I’m running out of the house screaming.
You’ll have to deal with them.”
“If your parents show up, I’m running out of the house screaming and staying with my mom until you send them back. They wouldn’t need us to take care of them. Even if they arrived from 1985, they could take care of themselves in 2010.”
Oh my god! “Mom couldn’t go out. Half the freaking street was at her funeral! Imagine the headlines,” Pam wailed.
Robin slid one of her hands from behind her head and patted Pam’s arm. “Don’t panic. I doubt your parents will show up. Margaret and Jasper will go back, and we’ll carry on with our lives.”
Pam closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself. If she’d kept up her nightly meditation time, maybe she wouldn’t fly into a tizzy at the slightest provocation. But that would have meant time away from Jasper. She let out her last deep breath with a groan and opened her eyes.
Robin stared at her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” she said briskly. “I think we should try to create the same circumstances as when they arrived, so you should be in your bedroom.”
“Okay.”
“And let’s do it around 9:00. We’ll have to have an early dinner, because I need time to do Margaret’s hair. It won’t be perfect, but good enough. And hey, if they arrive back when they left, everyone will probably assume they sealed their engagement with a passionate kiss and her hair got mussed up.” Her smile felt fake, and was. “The pictures I took of her will come in handy. Oh, will you take one of me and Jasper before they go? And let’s take a few of him and Margaret in their old clothes.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The less of them left here, the better.”
“I’m not dumping the shawl Margaret knitted for me. It’s beautiful.”
“I’m not suggesting you do. But pictures?” Robin frowned. “I don’t know. What would we say if someone else saw them? That they’re photos of long dead relatives? In colour?” Pam swallowed. She’d been trying to avoid the reality that the moment Jasper disappeared tomorrow, he’d literally be dead to her. “Do you want to do something on Sunday? We haven’t spent a day just hanging out together in a while. Let’s go out, stroll, have a coffee and tea somewhere and talk.”
Robin blinked at her. “Grieve together?”
Threaded Through Time, Book One Page 11