Ivy was not a warm presence. She never spoke to Ava about her situation—never demonstrated any physical affection. But she had seen and understood. She had given Ava an escape, a way forward.
For the third time in less than twelve hours, Odell held a crying woman in his arms. But for the first time, he felt his own self-control crack. He leaned his cheek against her hair, and tears leaked out from his tightly shut eyes. He slid down the doorframe and sat, holding her close. Somewhere in that suspended moment, it all changed; her arms held him, and he gave vent to his grief and bitter failure.
Finally, they sat back and looked at each other.
“I think it’s only fair to tell you, I may be arrested at any time,” he said in his calm, collected way, as if the last few moments had never happened.
“You’re kidding.” She blinked at him disbelievingly and sat up on her knees. “The police think you killed your own mother?”
“I’m being set-up,” he explained succinctly.
She leaned back against the cabinet and marveled at how much everything had altered in only a few short hours. Just the day before, she had thought him certifiably insane. Now…? She brought the heels of her palms up to press against her eyes and slowly shook her head.
“What?” Odell asked with some concern. He scrambled over to her and, grabbing her wrists, brought her hands down so he could look at her. “What has happened?” he repeated.
She told him. From her attempts to contact Ettie to the painting and her encounter with Knightly Davis.
“I still don’t know what to think,” she concluded. “Are you crazy? Am I?”
He got up off the floor and held his hand down to pull her up next to him.
“I almost wish it were that simple,” he replied as he walked back into her small living room. “At the risk of further illustrating my madness, there is a complicating factor I didn’t tell you about yesterday.”
His narrow escape from the police had required navigating a maze of connecting rooftops. Odell had found this labyrinth to be a particular characteristic of the alternate reality and had explored it extensively during many of his involuntary trips there.
The dramatic leap into the elevator shaft had been just that, mere drama. He had landed squarely on one of the concrete ledges that served as perches for elevator maintenance and grabbed at the cables for balance. As he scrambled up the shaft, he could only hope the officers were running to the basement anticipating the discovery of a gruesome corpse, while he made his getaway over the rooftops. The laser graze alongside his head bled copiously, but otherwise did not impede his progress.
Many of the catwalks, ladders, and ledges that constituted the rooftop byways were old and rickety, but it still surprised him that the police had no patrols through the area. He supposed it was too dangerous even for them, the rooftops being the last refuge of some of the most desperate members of this oppressive society.
Odell had almost become a crime statistic himself when first traversing the rooftops, one of many that were found on a yearly basis thrown from the tall buildings and smashed on the streets below. Only the fortuitous intervention of an old friend had saved his skin and given him safe passage.
He had just made Ava’s building when the time shifted again, and the fire escape by which he had gained entry, disappeared. Odell could never be sure how much had changed from one reality to the other.
He knew from Ettie where Ava lived and, while he was familiar with the building, he had never actually been in her apartment before. A quick survey of the room had assured him that this was indeed Ava’s home. The piles of books and old documents, as well as the shabby chic furniture and African art mixed with old photographs of suffragettes and famous ballerinas, gave credence to his certainty. Of course, the framed photo of her and Ettie, arms linked and smiling in front of the White Swan Dance Theater, was also a dead giveaway.
It was late, and he had been surprised she wasn’t home. He had sat down to wait, but exhaustion combined with multiple time shifts weighed down his eyelids and rendered him helpless in sleep.
Odell hadn’t known what to expect when he’d awakened to find her in the kitchen. It was impossible to tell from his outward calm, but that they had shared such a profoundly intimate and emotional moment shook him to his core. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, much less sobbed like a small child.
He took a moment now to gather his thoughts. He was soothed again by the comfortable clutter of the room. The familiar ambiance of study and research hung in the air, and he smiled to himself when he spied her stash of graphic novels shoved under an end table.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned to face her. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, but I honestly didn’t know where else to turn.”
She waved him to the faded, overstuffed couch and sat down on the edge of a heavy oak coffee table. Placing clasped hands between her knees, she blew out her breath and replied, “It doesn’t matter now. You may be crazy, but something is going on, and I want to get to the bottom of it.”
“You know most of it. Though what I didn’t tell you is that the timeline is shifting,” he explained bluntly, “from the prime timeline, the one we are in right now, to an alternate timeline, the one I told you about, the one in Odette’s—the other Odette’s—journal.”
She blinked and then nodded her head. “Okay. How do you know this?”
“I think I’ve known it for a while now,” he replied. “But, well, I wasn’t really aware of it. Before I received the journal and letter, I’d been having these dreams. At least, they seemed like dreams. I guess they could have been time shifts. It’s hard to know. And then after I read Odette’s message… well, I explained it to you before. I regained my memories and also became fully conscious of the time shifts.
“When I came to see you the other day in your office, before you turned around, you were sitting in an old wooden swivel chair. You had long hair piled on top of your head and wore a dress that would not have been out of place at the turn of the twentieth century.”
Ava remembered his hesitancy when she had seen him standing in her office doorway, the look on his face. She had attributed his uncertainty and awkwardness to a lack of social graces.
“Time shifts? Why don’t I feel them?” she asked. “Why are you the only one?”
“I’m not sure why I feel them.” He shook his head. “But I’m not the only one. It wasn’t until yesterday that I knew Ettie was aware of them too.”
“What?”
“She told me when we met at Café Lilli—our local hangout in the old neighborhood,” he clarified. “But more importantly, she talked about how our mother…” He faltered and then cleared his throat. “…how oddly she was acting, how she had met this very strange man in a cemetery. It just struck me in that moment that Ivy must have the answers. That maybe it was something familial or genetic.” He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a troubling memory. “When she lay dying, I… I had the feeling she wasn’t surprised, almost as if she had been expecting it.”
Odell pulled the gold necklace from his pocket, and Ava recognized it immediately as the one that Ivy always wore. The chain was very delicate. A flat, wafer-thin disk about the size of a quarter hung from it. There didn’t appear to be any engraving or decoration. It was just a plain golden disk.
“She gave this to me and said ‘proditoris aevus.’ Those were her last words.”
Ava raised her eyebrows. “Latin? What does it mean?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “‘Proditoris’ means ‘traitor’ or ‘betrayer. ‘Aevus’ can mean lots of things relating to time—a certain time of life, old age… passage of time.”
She furrowed her brow. “So, ‘old traitor’… I guess we can assume that there is some sort of betrayal going on.”
“Considering she was murdered, that is a reasonable conclusion. But I think it’s bigger than that.” She looked at him expectantly and he continued, “She gave me this neckla
ce for a reason. I think it holds answers.”
“The necklace?” She looked skeptical.
“No, not the necklace itself. I think it may be a key or maybe a map.”
Ava held out her hand, and Odell dropped the necklace into it. She turned the disk over and looked at it closely. “There doesn’t seem to be anything on it. I don’t know—maybe if we dunk it in lemon juice or throw it on a fire…”
Odell laughed, and the tension drained out of him. His face reflected back at her a relaxed and open expression. “You mean like ‘the one necklace to rule them all.’ ”
She smiled at him. “Something like that, I guess.”
He sobered, but still the corners of his mouth were lifted in amusement. “I have an idea where we might begin, but I’ve got to get back into the house.”
“What’s stopping you?”
He told her about his encounter with the police during the last time shift.
“I don’t know when it may happen again, and I can’t be sure they’re not on the lookout for me in this timeline.” He cleared his throat and looked at her a little sheepishly. “I left the hospital rather hastily.”
“What? They didn’t say you were free to go?”
“Well, they didn’t tell me I was being detained either.”
She gave an irritable shake of her head. “For real? So they could be looking for you?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t take the risk of getting picked up.”
Ava sighed deeply. “You need me to get you into the house.”
He smiled ruefully. “Not so much get me in, as create a diversion.”
Seven
Somewhere in the North Atlantic –Late April 1775
EVELYN PULLED THE instrument up by the sturdy string to which it was attached. She looked at the reading and then jotted it down on the chart Billy had given her. She noted other bits of information: wind direction, course, longitude and latitude, the hour, date, and water character. In the last few days, she had taken over the measurements from Billy, who either sulked in his cabin below or stared moodily off into the distance when on deck.
“What’s it say?”
She swung around to see him leaning against the mast watching her. It was the first time he had spoken to her in days.
Evelyn looked at him sympathetically, but merely replied, “It’s about twelve degrees warmer than yesterday evening.” She gazed out over the rolling waves and added, “I saw two whales.”
He walked up next to her, and they both stared out at the endless sea. It had been weeks since they’d left Portsmouth, and their destination was drawing near. Evelyn found it hard to believe they would ever see land again. She had begun to feel outcast, exiled to this small ship, destined to roam the seas forever. Only the confident actions and self-assurance of the crew and Doctor Franklin were able to convince her otherwise.
Evelyn had been fortunate in gaining her “sea legs” almost immediately. Billy and Uncle Hershel were the only two of the group to experience seasickness, and that, for only the first couple of days.
“He’s my grandfather,” Billy finally said, without looking at her.
She nodded. “Yes, I know.”
He looked at her now and challenged sharply, “Did you know?”
Evelyn reached over to clasp his hand warmly in her own. “Billy, how could I have known? I’m only a couple of years older than you. Mother told me only after your grandfather told you.”
He smile wanly and returned the pressure of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Evelyn was surprised by his reaction to the knowledge that Benjamin Franklin was his grandfather. William Temple, Billy to all but the adults, who called him Temple, was the illegitimate son of Benjamin Franklin’s own illegitimate son, also named William; who was now the Colonial Governor of New Jersey.
She had thought he would be ecstatic. Evelyn had known him almost all her life. Each was the sibling neither of them actually had. Billy was smart and curious, and she could tell he wanted to please his famous grandfather. He was usually good at pleasing adults. By all accounts, even those of her generally perceptive parents, he was a typical boy. And so he was, but for one thing. She didn’t like to think of it as a weakness, more like a vulnerability. He sometimes exhibited a lack of resolve, and a need for something just out of reach. She didn’t know how to put it into words, but he revealed it in little ways only a contemporary would notice.
“He didn’t say anything about her.” Billy sighed.
Evelyn jerked her thoughts back from their meandering path. “About who?”
“My mother, ninny!” he replied hotly and then apologized again. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I want to be happy… I mean, I am happy. I… I just don’t understand how he can know nothing about her. I think she was a whore,” he choked on the word.
There it was… the raw spot, the thing just out of reach.
Evelyn looked out at the ocean, afraid to meet his eyes. Her mother had told her the same. Only Evelyn wasn’t to mention it to Billy. Mother’s great friend, Fancy O’Sullivan, had known his mamma.
Evelyn remembered Fancy’s words when dedicating a new infirmary at one of her transition houses in London.
“Prostitution kills women every day. It is an almost exclusively feminine consequence of poverty.”
Billy’s mother had been only one death of many. But years before, Fancy had tried to get her off the streets. The pretty daughter of a respectable country farrier, she had been tempted from her home by the handsome face and empty promises of a junior officer in the militia. In London, she had been passed from one of his friends to another. Too ashamed to go home, she stayed on and plied her trade in an exclusive London brothel. But her demons had led her to gin and, eventually, to the streets.
It was Fancy’s opinion that the sheltered daughters of the “decent folk” who fell into prostitution were harder to extract from the trade than those who were born into it like herself.
“I guess it’s the difference between falling from heaven and dragging yourself out of hell,” Fancy had once explained. “They had lost everything, and I had nothing to lose. Their spirits were broken, and mine was hardened.”
It was Evelyn’s own mother who had given Fancy the opportunity she needed to free herself from the bonds of poverty and the degradation of prostitution. But it was Fancy’s own courage and quick wit that allowed her to take advantage of her good fortune.
Far from keeping her background a secret, Fancy used her connections with some of London’s most progressive members to fight for the women among whom she had worked. The transition houses weren’t merely places where the prostitutes could find safety and kindness, although they could. They were also schools and training grounds for skills and trades.
When Fancy discovered that jobs were hard to come by for the newly educated women, her transition houses morphed into businesses that could employ them. Bakeries, laundries, dressmakers, and even art, for some of the women were talented painters and writers. It wasn’t easy. Finding a market for their goods was always a struggle, and many women returned to the often more lucrative business of whoring. But many didn’t, and some even broadened their businesses out into the surrounding communities.
Fancy would secure small loans from her benefactors for such efforts. One such patroness was Margaret Prime. Her late husband, Geoffrey, had been a close friend of Evelyn’s father. Evelyn didn’t know her well. Margaret on occasion visited her mother, and she was always present at any event connected with the transition houses. Left with four small children and her own vast fortune, Margaret was Fancy’s partner in all endeavors.
It was this work and this relationship that had kept Fancy in London as they traveled across the ocean to the colonies. She had stood on the pier with their family and friends to bid them good-bye. Uncle Simon and his wife and two daughters, Evelyn’s best friends, Tabitha and Sarah, were grouped together as if for a family portrait. Uncle Cyril, tall and thin, wasted from to
o much drink and illness, his cynical eyes sad and hooded, stood beside them. Aunt Barbara, her only blood relative, had come. Her good-natured husband, John, and their rambunctious brood of six were also there.
Yet, it was the sight of Fancy that stayed with Evelyn. She was heavily cloaked against the late winter chill, but Evelyn could still see her eyes large with loss, tendrils of short, dark hair escaping from under her hood. She walked down the length of the pier as the ship pulled out to sea. There she had stood, looking up at the deck and Evelyn’s mother, until she was lost to them in the mist and distance.
Later that night, Evelyn overheard her parents talking. She had quickly discovered the ability to lurk unseen in the profound darkness of a ship’s deck at sea. The swells were large, but her parents braced easily against the rail. Her father had an arm around her mother’s shoulders.
“She would have come,” he said, “if you had explained.”
Her mother replied in a voice rough from crying, “I know. That’s why I didn’t tell her. She has built so much, done so much good. Her life is in London… in England.”
“Odette, all she has built is in jeopardy. Fancy would be the first to understand that.”
Evelyn saw her mother’s silhouette give a firm shake of its head. “No, I won’t put her through it again.” She turned to wrap her arms around him and lay her head against his chest. “We can’t know for sure what awaits us in the colonies. But whatever it is, it is our fight—my fight.”
Evelyn crept back to their cabin and was left to wonder what exactly her mother was talking about. She had been told that their move to the colonies was an extension of her parents’ abolitionist work. Her father was to set up an office in Philadelphia. With the help of Doctor Franklin, he would establish a practice based primarily on challenging slavery using the framework of English law. It was something he had done with some success in London.
Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II Page 6