The Locket

by Brenna Todd

  "Of course, Mrs. Munro. I'll bring him immediately." Mrs. Phillips disappeared through a door Erin thought must lead to the children's quarters or dormitories that she and Waits had seen as they'd approached the home.

  She glanced at Waite, trying to read his expression. He had been silent for most of the trip, and Erin had wondered what he thought of all this. Was he still close to believing that Della and Erin were two separate people? Or had this last revelation convinced him the injury to her head had sent "Della" over the edge?

  At least he was here, and that said something.

  "She knew my face, Waite. And she's gone to get the little boy. It really happened as Della wrote it."

  One brow lifted as he regarded her. "Did you think I didn't believe you?"

  "I don't know what to think." She bit her lip, and began to pace, needing an outlet for her nervous energy. "You were so quiet the whole way here. I guess I could use a clue or two."

  "I'm in the same situation. A clue to this puzzle would be nice," he said. "Honestly? I'm very much afraid that all you've told me isn't true. I want you to be Erin. As crazy as your story is, I want it to be real." His voice lowered to a husky whisper. "Because I love Erin. Everything about her. I can see myself with her for the rest of my life."

  "I love you, too, but it's not possible—"

  The door swung open, and Erin spun around. The woman came back into the room, a carrot-topped boy of about three in her arms.

  Erin heard Waite's quick intake of breath. Her own caught in her throat. Oh, Lord, she thought when the child's eyes lighted with happiness upon spotting her. She had known who this boy might be, but all she could think at the moment was, How? How on earth is this possible?

  He scrambled out of the woman's grasp and ran to Erin, who stooped down in time to catch him in her arms.

  "You comed back," he said, wrapping his small arms around her neck. "You always do."

  Tears burned behind Erin's eyes. For Della. For this child. For herself. She blinked to keep them back as she held his tiny body tightly, not wanting him to see her tears.

  "Yes. I came back," she said, her voice trembling. "Here, let me look at you." She leaned back, smiling into his moss green eyes—so like Della's ... so like hers. Here was the connection, she thought with awe, taking his sweet face between her palms. Finally she knew why she and Della looked so much alike. Her grandmother. Della was her grandmother !

  She shook her head in wonder, then chuckled when he imitated her action with a mischievous grin. "Such a comedian." She swiped at his nose with her thumb.

  "Who's he?" Henry asked in a stage whisper, pointing in Waite's direction.

  Waite stepped forward, and held out his hand. Henry took it with his smaller one and shook it. "My name is Waite," he said, then glanced at Erin with a raised brow.

  "This is Henry," she told him in answer to his silent question.

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Henry."

  The boy grinned from one cute little ear to the other, continuing the handshake with vigor. And Erin's heart turned over in her chest. She loved that adorable smile.. .had loved it forever. Her thoughts turned to Della again, and she ached anew for the woman's loss. Damn you to hell, J. B. Munro, she thought. Damn you for taking her son from her.

  "That's some handshake, Henry." Waite pulled his hand away and gave a mock wince. "Some grip."

  "Yes, sir. I think I'm the strongdest boy here."

  Waite chuckled. "I don't doubt it for a minute."

  Henry grasped Erin's hand in his. "We gonna play, today? Like always?" he asked her, anticipation shining in his eyes.

  "Well... yes. Of course we are. Like always."

  "Come on, then. You know how I like them swings."

  ERIN HADN'T WANTED IT to end. She could have pushed Henry on the swings, played chase, and dug in the dirt with him for hours more, but the sun had started its descent and Henry's tummy had begun rumbling for his dinner. She thought about asking Waite if they could stay in town and do this again tomorrow, but she knew it was only delaying the inevitable.

  Waite held her hand in his as they walked back to the office. She glanced up a time or two, noticing the concern in his eyes. "I'll be all right," she said, her voice husky with tears she refused to shed. She had been given a miracle... the chance to see her own father as a boy. And Henry had gotten to see his "mother" again. A miracle. It was a joyful experience, not an occasion for tears.

  When they reentered the reception area, Mrs. Phillips was there to meet them.

  "Mrs. Munro, I can't tell you what these visits mean to Henry. He's one of our more well-adjusted children. And I think that's due to you continuing to see him. None of the others' mothers do, you understand."

  Not for the first time since suspecting Della's child was her father, Erin wondered about Henry being in the orphanage. Had she known her father was adopted, she might have made the connection between Della and herself from the beginning. But either her father hadn't known it himself or he had kept it secret from the family. "He does seem to be a normal, happy child," she said.

  "Yes. He is. But I must ask you to reconsider releasing your rights as his mother, Mrs. Munro. I know how you love him, but this is such an unusual situation. You have been so generous in your patronage of the orphanage, and we appreciate it, as you know. We've kept our promise and made sure that Mr. Munro never got word of your visits. But we have two new couples who are quite taken with little Henry. Both families are wonderful, Godfearing people. I'm sure you'll approve of them. And they so want him for their son, Mrs. Munro. I think it would be in the boy's best interests for you to at least consider letting them adopt him. He needs a family."

  Erin stared at the woman, unable to form a single word. This was Della's son, but she was gone now. He was also Erin's father. But surely this wasn't her decision to make. It would eventually happen, of course. Henry became Shirley's brother, Charles and Esther Sawyer's son. But what if neither of these families were the Sawyers? What would she do then?

  Waite spoke up. "I need to talk privately with Mrs. Munro if you don't mind."

  The woman nodded. "I'll just leave you these files," she said, picking them up off her desk and handing them to Erin. "They're the forms both families filled out."

  When she'd left the room, Erin flipped open the first folder. Emma and Seth Johnson. She frowned, closing it.

  "Della." Waite took the files from her. "You don't have to do this."

  "Waite," she said, impatient, "it's Erin, not Della. And of course I have to—"

  "He already has a mother—you. You love him and want him with you. Don't go back to J.B. Take your son and come with me. We can raise him."

  Erin closed her eyes. "Oh, Waite...I thought maybe you were coming around. Maybe you finally believed me." She sighed and took his hand, leading him to a divan. They sat, and she gently took the other folder from him. "I want to show you something. Something that might finally make you understand. Don't you know who Henry is? Didn't it occur to you at all?"

  "He's your son. Anyone could see that."

  "He's not my son, Waits. He's my father." She opened the second folder, praying that the paperwork inside would back her up. It did, and she sighed with relief. There at the top of the page were her grandparents' names, the grandparents she'd always thought were blood relations.

  " 'Charles and Esther Sawyer,'" he read slowly.

  "And no, Waite. I didn't already know about these people, then use their name in my unbelievable story. You heard the woman. She told me all of this as though it were news, not something I was already aware of. It's all true, Waite. Everything I've told you. You wanted to believe it, and you can."

  He shook his head. It occurred to her suddenly that she had more proof. She reached into the pocket of her coat—Della's coat—and brought out the driver's license and money she had pulled from her jeans pocket before asking Waite to bring her here. At the time, she had thought only about using the money to get here on her own, ha
d Waite refused her request. She had been too preoccupied with thoughts of her father, the orphanage and Della's tragic past to remember she had evidence of her identity right here in her coat pocket.

  "Look at this," she said, placing the license in his hand. "It's a horrible picture, of course. They always are. But it's me." She pointed out her name, Erin Jane Sawyer, and her year of birth, 1966. "Color photography, Waite. If nothing else will convince you..."

  " 'Oklahoma, Native America,'" he read from the top of the card. Then he reached for the paper and coins in her hands. Spotting dates on the bills, frowning over a Susan B. Anthony coin, he looked up at her, then down at the names on the adoption form again. A smile dawned in his eyes, then reached his lips. "God, it's true."

  "Well, it took you long enough!" she teased, then reached up to place a kiss on his mouth.

  He chuckled, handing back her money and license, then captured her face with his hands. His lips moved slowly, warmly over hers, and Erin could taste his joy, his happiness. The guilt had weighed more heavily on him than she had imagined, because the tone and texture of this kiss was like none of the others he'd given her. She could feel his smile through the kiss, and yes, even his relief.

  "I love.. .Erin Sawyer," he said, wonder in his voice and in his eyes as he gazed down at her.

  She smiled, knowing this moment would be one she'd remember always. Wherever she ended up, those four words would reside in her heart and mind forever. "And I love Waite MacKinnon." She touched his cheek with her fingertips. "Remember that. No matter what happens."

  THEY WERE TRAVELING BACK to Oklahoma, back to the estate most likely, Franklin realized, as he kept a discreet distance behind them in the Maxwell.

  He had felt enraged when he'd watched them enter the orphanage. Henry had told him about the child when it was born, but he hadn't known it had been placed in an orphanage. Franklin had discovered that for himself... from Della.

  He had never imagined that Della Munro would visit the boy. How could that be when she didn't care about anyone besides herself? His heart pumped black venom when he thought of her still able to see their son while his brother lay cold in his grave.

  He had wanted to kill her then and there. But that would have been too risky. Too public. Better that he kill her at the mansion.

  WAITE PULLED THE CAR under the portico, waving away the servant who'd stepped out of the mansion, and approached Erin's side of the automobile.

  Erin. He took her hand, squeezing it in a gesture of comfort. Her sadness over leaving Henry had slowly lifted with the stories she began telling Waite about her father. The little boy in the orphanage had grown up to be the parent Waite had always longed for—protective, caring, loving.

  But a new emotion had claimed her just after they crossed the Oklahoma border. Waite had watched it increase with every mile that brought them closer to Munro. A different type of sadness had come over her. Deeper, more intense. She wouldn't talk to him, and seemed on the verge of crying at any moment.

  "Are you worried about telling him about Della?"

  She shook her head. "I was at one time. But not now. Now I'm more concerned about punching him out if he reacts the way I think he will. After reading the diary, I know it won't matter to him as much as it should that she's dead."

  Waite's jaw clenched. She was probably right. After all he'd learned, J.B. would be relieved to be rid of his wife. "Yes. I understand."

  "You're really not angry at her anymore, are you? After what she did to you, you do understand."

  He nodded. "I only wish I had known it then. Maybe things would have turned out differently."

  "Maybe." Her voice was quiet, her head bowed over their clasped hands."But then I wouldn't have met you, would I?" She looked up at him. "As selfish as it sounds, I'm almost glad things weren't different. I met you, had this time with you. And I'm sorry if my happiness was at my own grandmother's expense, but...

  "She had her Henry, and I had you. I'm glad for it."

  Waite's gut twisted. He sensed what was coming. "Had. You're telling me goodbye."

  She squeezed her eyes shut. One tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. "Yes. I have to go back."

  "Because of your father."

  "Yes. And because I don't think I have a choice here. I'm no expert at this time-travel business, but I'm not sure nature will allow it. Until I saw Pop, I didn't even stop to realize there's another reason why I can't stay."

  He brushed the tear away with his thumb, his heart breaking into tiny pieces. "Why, Erin?"

  "Because I'm his daughter. I can't exist here, in his time, when I was actually born forty-one years from now. You understand that, don't you?"

  "No," he said wryly. "I don't understand any of it, actually. I only know I want you to stay."

  She nodded. "You don't know how much I want that, too."

  "I'M going to change into theclothes I came in," she told Waite as they climbed the stairs to Della's room. "Then you can help me get into the tunnels so I can find the locket. Maybe J.B. will be back by then and I can tell him."

  "And maybe he won't." Waite held her hand tightly in his, memorizing the feel of it. There would only be memories, he thought, once she was gone. "You might have to stay longer."

  She gave him a sad smile. At the bedroom door, she lifted their joined hands to her mouth, kissing his knuckles before opening the door.

  "Qh, missus! You've come back!" Annie rushed forward. "He was so angry when he found out you left. Went wild, he did. I—I couldn't believe what I was seein'. He just acted like a madman! And he tore it up! Took a knife to it. Oh, she's gonna be so mad, I tell him, but he wouldn't listen. By the saints, I've niver seen the likes of—"

  "Annie, calm down." Erin took hold of the maid's trembling hands. "Now slow down. Tell me what happened."

  "Mr. Munro," she continued, then shot Waite a wary look.

  "If s all right," Erin said, "you can tell us both."

  "He—he was calling you all kinds of names, and was shakin' me, wantin' to know where you were."

  "Are you hurt?" Waite asked.

  "No, no, but he scared ten years off my life, he did. And when I couldn't tell him where you'd gone, he went crazy. Throwin' and breakin' things. He tore it up, Missus."

  "What, Annie? What did he tear up?"

  "Your beautiful portrait, missus. The one in the ballroom." Annie stepped sideways and pointed to the bed. "He told me to bring it here. And all these other possessions of yours. And he wants this room locked up forever. He left the mansion. I'm wonderin' if you shouldn't do the same, missus. I wouldn't want to think of what he might do, were he to see you again."

  "Oh, God. No!" Erin cried, stumbling toward the bed. Her heart hammering in her chest, she touched the ruined canvas. Surrounding it on the bed were other pictures of her, jewelry, even a small sculpture of one of Della's beloved Thoroughbreds. "Oh, Waite," she said, looking at him over her shoulder. "What am I going to do?"

  He dismissed Annie, then hurried to Erin's side. The portrait had been viciously slashed with a knife, just as the maid had said.

  "You can't even see the locket. It's as if it wasn't painted into the portrait at all. Oh, God, what am I going to do?"

  "I'm so sorry, Erin." But was he really? This meant she couldn't leave, didn't it? It meant she would have to stay here—with him. One look at her devastated expression filled him with guilt. There had to be some way, he thought, to get her back to her time. He couldn't keep her here, no matter how much he wanted it. He picked up the other pictures of Della that lay nearby.

  "Maybe she's wearing the locket in one of these," he said, but quickly discovered that wasn't the case. He shook his head. "That might not work, anyway. Maybe the magic, or whatever it is, is in this portrait alone. And now that Della is... gone, the portrait can't even be copied."

  Erin's eyes widened. She grasped his arm. "But I'm here, Waite... and I look just like her," she said, excitement slipping into her voice. "It's a long shot, b
ut it's the only one I've got. The man who painted this portrait, does he live in Munro?"

  "No. But he's still here," Waite said. "He's in the artist's studio. J.B.'s paying the man to paint landscapes for me."

  Erin raced to the closet, flinging it open and searching through the dresses that hung there. "It's here!" she shouted. "The dress she wore to sit for the portrait. Thank God," she exclaimed, rushing back to his side. "This could work, Waite. It just might work!"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WAITE HAD ONIY BEEN GONE fifteen minutes when Erin heard the bedroom door open. She came out of the bathroom, tucking her denim shirt into the waistband of her jeans, and saw J.B. standing in the middle of the room.

  When he spotted her, his skin went parchment pale, his jaw slackened and he shook his head.

  "J.B.!" He looked as if he was on the verge of a stroke. "Are you all right?"

  He backed away from her. "You... you're dead...." He blinked red-rimmed eyes, then rubbed at them with the heel of one hand, still edging backward. "You were dead... in the cave—"

  Oh, God. He'd found Della's body. "J.B., listen to me. I... I'm not her. I tried to tell you that the night I came out of the tunnels." She moved toward him.

  His back bit the wall, and his eyes were wide, dazed. He shook his head again. "Not... her? But you... If you're not her, who—?"

  As angry as Erin had been with him over his mistreatment of Della, she felt sympathy for him now. It was obvious from his red, swollen eyes that he'd grieved for his wife. And now it seemed he thought he was seeing her ghost. She took slow steps to his side. When she placed a hand on his arm, he flinched, then stared down at it as though wondering if it was real flesh and blood.

  "Come on, J.B., let's get you over to this chair," she said. "Having a stroke at forty-something isn't your destiny. Trust me on this."

  She got him seated, then knelt in front of him and took a deep breath. "You're not seeing Della's ghost. My name is Erin Sawyer. And you're going to find this impossible to believe, but..."