“At least we got seats together,” I said. I passed over the part about the seats being in the back next to the bathroom.
Neither Henley nor I could sleep on the short flight. I suspected Henley had slept almost the entire way on the previous flight. I couldn’t sleep because my anticipation and anxiety kept me up.
We were going to be in Islamorada in only a few hours. What then? Find the Fountain of Youth—Henley would only have to take one sip. With Henley immortal, we could confront the killer, and then it was the end. We wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. It would be me and Henley, and the rest of time together.
We caught a taxi when we landed.
“The Creekside Pointe Resort in Islamorada,” I said, and we settled down for a forty-five-minute journey.
The bellboy greeted us as we arrived, but he backed away when he saw we didn’t have luggage with us, save for the overstuffed backpack I was carrying.
Henley was wearing his new shorts and looked suitably ready to spend time at the beach.
“Are you here to check in?” a man asked as we approached the desk.
“Yes we are. The name is Beauford,” Henley said.
“For four weeks?”
“Yes.”
The man didn’t look surprised at our lack of luggage. He must have thought the bellboy had already taken it.
I took out the credit card and handed it to the man.
The man typed the credit card number into the computer and printed a few forms before giving us back the card.
“Please sign in the indicated spots. Your card will not be charged until you check out.”
Henley signed for both of us.
The man handed us two copies of the room key. “Room 212,” he said.
“Second floor?” I asked.
“Yes. You’ll find the elevator and the stairs on your left. And if you need anything else, my name is Albert. Call me Al. I’ll be happy to assist you with anything.”
We took the stairs up to the second floor and walked down the hallway till we came to 212.
Each room had a doormat outside and a potted miniature palm tree.
“So many palm trees . . . ,” Henley muttered as he unlocked the door.
Our room was slightly bigger than the hostel room in which we had stayed in London, but only by a minuscule margin. But the sheets were fresh and the bathroom looked clean. That was all we really needed.
“The window’s so small,” Henley said.
I stood next to him to peer out of it. “At least it overlooks the pool.”
“And that’s a good thing? We’re in earshot of screaming children.”
“I think I’m going to go downstairs and ask Al what he knows about the lakes on Islamorada,” I said.
“Business already?” Henley said, but he knew we weren’t here to enjoy ourselves. “I’ll go with you.”
He walked to the door, leaving the backpack in the middle of the bed.
“I don’t like leaving that here,” I said, collecting it. “There are too many important things we depend on in it.”
We walked down to the lobby.
“Al,” I said, settling my elbows on the cold wooden surface of the front desk. “We’re looking to . . . hike a bit. What do you know about lakes in the area?”
“We’re looking to do a bit of swimming too,” Henley added.
“We have the most beautiful beaches—”
“We’re looking for lakes,” I said.
Henley jumped in. “She’s not one for salt water . . . sensitive skin.”
“I see, well, we have the pool on the property, which isn’t a salt water pool. As for lakes, you’ll find them farther south in the Keys, but not on Islamorada.”
“Not on Islamorada?” He couldn’t possibly be right.
“We’re a small island. All of them dried up a long time ago. If you’re looking for a lake, you’re a few hundred years too late.” Al chuckled.
All dried up? A few hundred years? Not a single lake?
I blinked, trying to clear my mind enough to think carefully. “Well . . . could we have a map of Islamorada then?”
“Sure thing.” Al got out a folded map with the resort’s name scrawled on the top. “Here you go. Keep it. You’ll definitely use it during your stay here. This map even has the good hiking trails marked in red.”
We thanked him and moved away from the desk.
There was an armchair set up in the corner of the lobby right next to a lamp. We moved toward that.
“Why don’t you sit down?” I said, handing Henley the backpack. I opened up the map fully.
“No, I’d rather you take the seat,” Henley said.
That was his old-fashioned nature talking. I doubted Henley would ever leave that behind.
I was too tired to insist on him taking the seat, so I took it myself and spread the map out on my lap. My heart thudded. We were in Florida. We were so close to the Fountain of Youth. We were so close to turning Henley immortal.
Ads of beachside boutiques and historical sites to visit framed the map. Creekside Pointe Resort was clearly marked with a red star reading You Are Here. I scanned the map for any bodies of water. I could hear my heartbeat.
Al was right. There were none. It was such a small island, and the only blue was the ocean around it. No lakes at all.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth. I had to get my heart to slow down.
“What if there’s a lake that few people know about, in the middle of the forest or something?” Even as I spoke, I knew it was a long shot.
“We’re really going to go tromping through the forest looking for a body of water that might not be there? We don’t know where to start.”
Henley was right.
Tears prickled in my eyes. “So that’s it.”
Henley looked down at me. “What?”
“That’s it. We’ve come all the way here for nothing,” I said. “There is no lake. There is no Fountain of Youth. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Yes it does,” Henley said. “The man at the front desk was right. We’re just a few hundred years too late. We could fix that so we’re in the right time period.”
“You mean time travel?” I squinted at him through the tears that had welled up in my eyes.
“Precisely.”
I left out another deep breath. “But you wouldn’t be able to come, since you’re not fully immortal yet. I’d have to leave you behind.”
“It’ll only be for a short while. You’ll go, and you’ll come back,” Henley said. “You managed without me before. You can do this.”
The way he said it made it sound so reasonable. As if there was no way his plan wouldn’t work.
“Okay . . .” I couldn’t believe I was agreeing. “Where do we start?”
We walked to the closest historic location listed on the map. It was called Sandy Cove. It really was quite close—just around the corner from the resort.
When we got there, I saw that Sandy Cove was nothing more than a large cliff jutting out over the beach. Despite the advertising, the supposed tourist stop was completely devoid of tourists.
“Look at this.” Henley walked up to a wooden sign staked into the sandy dirt.
ON JULY 25, 1532, THE THIRD SPANISH EXPEDITION TO FLORIDA SET UP CAMP HERE.
The sign was why we had chosen this location. The historical event had been mentioned on the map. It gave us an exact date I could travel to.
“Are you positive you want to do this?” It was Henley who spoke, not me.
“Of course I am. I’m doing this for my sake as much as for yours,” I said.
I took out the old linen dress Henley had smartly told me to pack. It would come in handy earlier than we guessed.
I pulled the dress on over my jeans and the T-shirt I was wearing. I looked silly now, but soon enough the jeans and T-shirt wouldn’t be there.
I gave him my copy of the room key. “Hid
e this under the potted plant next to our door.” Hiding it under the doormat was a little too obvious.
Henley handed me the clock but didn’t let go. “Don’t stay too long.”
“I’ll try.”
“When you’ve settled in and have your cover story ready, come let me know.”
“I will.”
“And be careful. Remember, someone’s after you. There won’t be too many people, so it won’t take the killer long to find you there.”
I gave him a kiss as my answer.
Henley finally let go of the clock.
I held it with both hands and crossed the road we had come on. On the other side of the road was the start of a thick tropical forest. I stood by the first line of trees, where I could see Henley.
Against the backdrop of big sky, Henley looked small and alone. I probably looked the same to him, against the trees.
Henley held up a hand. He might have meant it as a wave good-bye, but it looked as if he raised it to touch me from far away.
I raised my hand too. Then turned the hands on the clock.
EIGHTEEN
HENLEY DISSOLVED BEFORE my eyes. The trees on either side of me grew out their limbs and rushed to overtake the space in front of me. I was pushed aside as a tree grew where I had been standing just moments before.
I closed my eyes, feeling slightly nauseated as the ground rippled and changed. When I opened them, the world was stable again. But everything was different.
My dress hung limply on my body without the bulky jeans and T-shirt underneath. I looked down at my feet. I had forgotten about shoes.
I still held the clock in my hands. I hadn’t thought about what to do with it. I couldn’t afford to lose it again. I also didn’t want it taken from me. It was probably best to leave it hidden where no one was likely to come looking.
I took the hem of my dress and ripped an inch of it clean off. I tied the makeshift ribbon onto the closest tree branch I could find and buried the clock under a layer of dirt and fallen leaves at the foot.
I hoped to God it would still be there when I returned.
I took a few steps forward. My bare feet felt tender against the sharp leaves and dirt on the ground. I was in the middle of a dense forest. I could hear voices ahead of me, though I couldn’t quite tell what they were saying. The trees grew so thickly that I couldn’t see what I was heading toward.
“Hello?” I called.
I realized it would look strange if I looked so clean coming out of the middle of the woods alone.
I took some dirt and rubbed a bit on my face and arms. I caked some mud into my hair. I even took care to dirty up my dress.
I started to count my steps as I blindly thrashed my way through the trees, feeling the twigs and branches scratching my arms and legs. I tried to ignore the pain on the soles of my feet. I needed to keep an accurate count of how many steps I was taking away from the clock so I would have some hope of finding it again.
The voices had stopped and all I could hear was the occasional squawk of birds.
I called again. “Hello?”
I fumbled through the leaves and broke out into a clearing.
It looked like a camp. The camp.
There were tents made of leather and white cloth around an open fire in the middle of the clearing. There were also people. Faces were turned toward me in astonishment.
“Um . . . hello,” I said. “I-I’m sorry. I was . . . lost.”
I could see five men gathered around the fire. Some held knives in their laps. Almost all had swords by their sides. They were all looking at me.
I took a step to approach them.
They stood suddenly with their knives and swords, causing me to stop.
“Who are you?” one of them said in English.
He had a mustache that tapered down into a pointy-looking beard. He spoke with a thick accent.
I was so petrified, I couldn’t form words.
The men murmured among themselves. The sounds of their changed voices brought several new faces out from the various tents set up around the fire pit. A shaggy yellow dog also came out at the sound of the commotion.
“English.” One of the men spat on the ground.
Since America didn’t exist yet, it made sense that they thought I was English. They were also making it very clear what they thought of the English.
A raven-haired woman came out of one of the tents, raising her voice. At first I thought she was shouting at me, but then I realized she was aiming her ire at the men.
I also realized that I didn’t know what she was saying. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand what any of the men were saying either. They were speaking Spanish.
The woman walked between the men until she was face to face with me.
“English?” she asked. She too had a thick accent. “No Spanish?”
I shook my head.
“Did you come from England? Who are you?”
That was a good question. It was time to try spinning a story that hopefully wouldn’t get me more hated by the men than I was already.
“Yes, I did. I came from England,” I started.
“An English ship?”
“Um, yes.”
“And what was your position there?”
“My position?” It took me a minute to realize what she meant. “I worked in the kitchen.” It was the first thing I could think of that might be needed on a ship. “Like a scullery maid.”
The woman frowned at me. “And how did you get here?”
I thought hard about this. I had known she was going to ask it at some point.
“I didn’t have much money, so I bought my way on board by working in the kitchen—”
She interrupted me. “What was an English ship doing in this part of the New World?”
“Colonizing.” Again, it was the first thing I could think of.
“So the English think that they can set up colonies in lands already marked for Spain?”
There was a grumble of dissent from some of the men. I realized that some of the men could understand English, although others could only speak Spanish.
I knew I had to turn this story around.
“They thought they could, but they soon realized differently. The land was too harsh for them. Disease struck . . . Native tribes . . . The English—my people—wanted to return. But too many died or became delirious from illness. So I fled.”
The woman crossed her arms. “You fled . . . alone?”
“Um . . . no?” I said. “Others ran too, but they died. Some might have survived, but I don’t know what has become of them.”
There was silence as I finished my story. The woman didn’t seem to feel the need to fill it. She just stood there, looking at me, her arms still crossed.
She didn’t give any indication of believing my story, but I also thought that she would have said something if she didn’t believe it.
Finally, when she spoke, it was to the men around us and it was in Spanish, so I couldn’t understand a thing. I kept listening for words that sounded like their English counterparts—people had told me Spanish was full of those and was therefore similar to English, but if that was true, I couldn’t distinguish anything in the woman’s heavy accent.
The men nodded slowly as the woman barked at them. I didn’t know if they were agreeing to kill me or have me stay.
“Come with me,” the woman said.
“Me?”
“I am speaking your language, aren’t I?”
The woman took long strides like the men, her skirts swaying around her ankles. As the men disbanded from the center of the clearing and went back to whatever they had been doing before I appeared, the woman and I went into one of the tents.
Inside was a hammock hung across two of the tent’s wooden poles. Besides the white hammock, there were wooden chests pushed into the corners, but that was about it. The chests had papers spread over them; they looked like hand-drawn maps with Xs marked on them,
but I wasn’t close enough to see what they were identifying.
The woman saw my gaze, and quickly put the maps away in one of the chests. She turned back to me and indicated for me to sit on the hammock.
I hesitated, as it didn’t seem to be sturdy enough to take my weight.
“Go on,” she said. “It’s stronger than it looks.”
I obeyed, gingerly sitting down.
“Wait here,” she said, disappearing from the tent.
When she came back she carried with her a basin of water, a folded linen sheet, and a smaller rag. She also brought leather shoes. She dipped the rag into the water and started washing my feet.
At first I pulled away—I didn’t know what she was doing—but she grabbed my ankle to hold me still.
“This will hurt a little bit, but the pain will be nothing compared to what you might feel later if these cuts aren’t cleaned,” she said, kneeling on the dirt in front of me.
From my spot on the hammock, I got a good look at her. There was something familiar about her. She looked like everyone’s older sister.
Her hair, coiled out of the way at the nape of her neck, which I had formerly thought of as pure black, had a reddish tint to it where the light hit it. She had a sharp nose, but that was offset by her heavier stature and plump, sure hands that worked steadily. Her cheeks and hands had a ruddy glow to them that showed through her olive skin, as if she had worked at scrubbing herself clean. Though her linen dress was brown and caked with dirt around the hem, I couldn’t see any dirt under her fingernails.
“W-why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean.”
It was probably not the question I should have been asking. These people hadn’t killed me yet; I should have been thankful.
“Some of the men believe you’re an English spy,” she said, not answering my question directly. “I told them that the English are at least smart enough to not send a bumbling young girl to spy on us.”
I gritted my teeth as she dabbed the wet rag along the scratches and cuts on the bottom of my feet.
“So you believe me?”
“I’ll help you stay here if that’s what you want.” She licked her thin lips in concentration.
Her answer was puzzling.
“You speak English very well,” I said, trying a different tactic to try to know and understand her better.
The Day Before Forever Page 25