Two days before it was time for Jonathan to leave, he insisted that she make a trial run to the grocery store.
“But we have enough food,” she said. She didn’t like driving the truck. She didn’t like the other trucks – Jonathan had informed her that some of them were called cars. She hadn’t thought far enough ahead to worry about what would happen when she didn’t have enough food. Indeed, there was so much food in the pantry, she imagined that she could live off of it for at least the whole year.
Nonetheless, he insisted that she would need bread, milk, eggs, and other perishables. Since he had no chickens and no cows, she assumed he knew what he was talking about and acquiesced.
“Pretend I’m not with you,” he said as he climbed into his side of the truck.
“How can I do that when you distract me?”
Even with him watching her, the drive went much better this time than it had when she’d driven him to the hospital. Mostly because she didn’t have to go into town. The store was on the outskirts.
She had worn her yellow dress and blended in nicely with the other ladies in the store. That much, at least, was a relief. Jonathan had helped her figure out what to buy and stood quietly by as she wrote out the check – just as he had shown her earlier at home.
The clerk, Mrs. Lawrence, had raised her eyebrows at Jonathan.
“She’s good,” he said.
“Then you need to take her over to the bank and put her on your account. I might not be here next time she comes in.”
Jonathan and Vaughn put their groceries in the truck and using his directions, Vaughn drove them to the bank.
“You’re a natural,” he said, when she pulled into the parking lot and parked the car.
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “Maybe you can drive home.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “I’ll gladly drive us home. Come on, let’s make you official.”
He took her hand and led her inside the bank, walking up to the third of four tellers. “Hey Bob,” he said.
“Hey Jonathan. I heard you were shipping out again.”
“In a few days,” Jonathan said. “This is my girl, Vaughn. I need to allow her access to my accounts.”
“All of them?” He asked.
Jonathan thought about his friends who hadn’t come home from the war. He thought about how he had no family and no heirs. He looked over at Vaughn, who smiled sweetly every time he looked at her, and was overwhelmed by the urge to protect her and take care of her. If not her, his money and property would go to the state.
He turned back to Bob. “Yes, all of them.”
Jonathan and Vaughn sat in the lobby while Bob typed up the signature cards and other documents for Vaughn to sign.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“I need to. You need to have access while I’m gone.”
“I don’t need much. Just give me a few coins and I’ll be good until you get back. The pantry has more than enough food.”
“If something happens to me while I’m over there,” Jonathan said. “I want you to be taken care of.”
“But why?” she asked.
He tucked her hair behind her ear and gazed into her green eyes. It was a question he couldn’t answer. The decision was based strictly on emotion.
He’d begun falling for this girl the moment he’d seen her. “You put butterflies in my stomach,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Oh dear. Is that dangerous?”
He laughed, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. “It is dangerous,” he said, tapping his leg where the saw had nicked him.
“I don’t. . .”
Bob called them up to the counter. Jonathan stood up and held out his hand to help Vaughn up from the couch.
He watched her as she signed her name to the documents that essentially gave her everything he owned.
Others would probably say he was insane.
When he got back from this interminable war, he would have to convince her to be his wife.
Chapter 30
Biting her lip, Vaughn signed her name with the magical pen that held a never-ending supply of ink. She no longer questioned such things. She caught only a glimpse of the words neatly printed on the documents, but it was enough to tell her that Jonathan was a wealthy man.
He was putting an inordinate amount of trust in her. Perhaps she should tell him that she wasn’t from this time. Somehow it seemed like he had a right to know.
He would doubtless think her insane.
When he returned from the war, she would tell him. She didn’t want him to worry while his life was in danger. Already, she’d caused him enough distraction with the Skil-saw incident.
Jonathan, it seemed, was easily distracted.
She wondered what he would want in exchange for allowing her access to his money. Did he want her to be his mistress?
She knew of many women from a similar penniless background who led that kind of life. Mother Agnes had told her that women did what they had to do to survive. She did not pass judgment.
If only she could talk to the nuns, they could help her understand this time travel predicament and help her understand what she should do.
They signed the papers and started home. Vaughn sat quietly as Jonathan drove home. It was growing dark now, and she looked in awe at the bright lights. When she asked Jonathan about them, he said they were Christmas decorations.
Only twenty minutes after they got inside, two cars pulled up in front of the house, and about ten people stood at the front door when Jonathan opened it.
Vaughn heard the singing and went to investigate. He pulled her close and whispered, “They’re caroling,” in her ear.
When they began singing Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, Vaughn felt a rush of familiarity shoot through her. It was a song she had sung every Christmas with the nuns. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she raised her chin to smile at Jonathan.
When God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen came next, Vaughn felt a tear slide down her cheek. Her heart swelled with happiness that she had found Jonathan here in this unfamiliar world. A world where some things, like familiar Christmas carols and love had not changed.
When the carolers had climbed back in their cars and driven off, Vaughn took his hand and pulled him into the parlor.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
Chapter 31
When Jonathan had joined the Air Force, he’d wanted to see the world. He’d wanted to get out of Natchez, Mississippi and see what else was out there. He’d even imagined that he’d meet the perfect woman, marry her, and have perfect kids.
That was eight years ago.
Now he didn’t want to leave his family’s home. He didn’t want to go back out in the world.
He wanted to stay right here.
With this woman.
Forever.
He now knew that the rest of world, no matter how big it was, was no better than his corner of the world.
His corner of the world had Vaughn in it. And that was all that mattered.
It was just one year. One year and he would never have to leave again without her.
“You’ll be here when I get back?” He asked for the hundredth time.
“Yes,” she said.
“You promise?”
“I promise,” Vaughn said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
Despite her promise, he knew it was one she may not be able to keep.
They’d talked about it one time. One time was enough. As his grandmother always said, Don’t buy trouble.
Simple words from a simple woman, but no truer words were ever spoken. Don’t worry about things that may or may not happen.
He pulled her against him into a hug. “You’ll call me if you need anything,” he said.
She nodded against his chest.
“The number is on the refrigerator.”
“I know.”
“I love you,�
�� he murmured against her ear.
“I love you,” she said so faintly, he wasn’t sure he heard.
The clock inside the house chimed five times. It was much too early to be up, much less headed out into the world. But he had to go.
“Wait for me,” he said, pulling back, looking into her green eyes.
“I will,” she said, but the tears were falling down her cheeks now.
He took both her hands in his and squeezed. He turned, still holding her hand. She took two steps with him until she reached the top of the stairs. He squeezed her hand again and released it.
Her hand falling from his, he walked down the front stairs of the house with a lump in his throat. Nothing had ever felt so very wrong to him. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned around and, walking backwards, raised his hand to her in a wave goodbye. She lifted her hand in return. He would hold on to this memory of her standing there. Someone to come home to.
A flurry of movement to his right caught his attention. He turned to see a covey of quail bolting into the sky. He didn’t know what had startled them. They made an impressive image with the fog swirling all around them as they rushed toward the sky. Just as he would be doing in his airplane.
He turned his gaze back to the porch.
Vaughn was gone.
Epilogue
December 1839
“It’s going to storm,” Camille Becquerel said, her gaze on the dark clouds above.
Vaughn Dupree followed the girl’s gaze. Yes. It was going to storm. But it wasn’t just the clouds. There was an electricity in the air.
A danger.
Just like it had been so very long ago – another lifetime, but Vaughn’s nerve cells tingled with the memory of life and death.
The storms like this one came every few years. There had been two last year. All from the southeast. Vaughn suspected that they were the result of hurricanes. But with no weather channel, she was limited in news from the outside world.
“Do you want to go inside?” Camille asked.
“Not yet,” Vaughn said, enjoying the cool wind on her face. There was nothing she liked better than a storm.
A storm brought promises. And memories. And options.
When the rain started, the first fat drop falling on her hand, Vaughn went indoors, Camille on her heels.
Vaughn went into the bedroom of her little cottage and opened the armoire. On the second to the bottom shelf, beneath her nightgowns, was a hatbox. The hatbox blended in with her collection of gowns, crinolines, shawls, and other personal clothing items.
Camille sat on the bed and watched as Vaughn pulled the hatbox out and set it on the bed.
It had been many years since she’d opened the box. Her hands trembled a little as she removed the lid and set it aside.
First, she picked up the stockings. A little outdated according to her granddaughter, Erika, but nonetheless, a staple in Vaughn’s mind.
Next she picked up the little black sheath dress with its sweetheart neckline. So simple, yet so elegant. And so very modern. The smooth, thick cotton felt foreign to her hands as she held it against her. Would she still be able to wear it? Things had… shifted a bit with age.
“Is that your chemise?” Camille asked.
Vaughn’s lips curved in a smile. “This is my dress.”
Camille’s eyes widened. “Not much surprises me anymore,” she said, running a hand along the short hem of the dress. She lifted her eyes to Vaughn’s. “But you wear this in public? With nothing over it?”
“It’s quite fashionable,” Vaughn told her.
Camille had become a most interesting friend. Vaughn’s granddaughter, Erika, was busy with her newborn infant while her husband oversaw the cotton crop. Vaughn’s grandson, Bradley, Camille’s husband spent much of his days on his steamboat ferrying people and supplies from dock to dock. She smiled at the unlikely occupation of her grandson who had been an airplane pilot in another time.
So Camille had her days to herself. And, it seems, a fascination with Vaughn. Vaughn had lived many years of her life here in the nineteenth century, but she had also lived many years in the future.
Vaughn smiled to herself as she considered this. Perhaps someday she’d tell Camille about how she’d started out in France in the 1700s. An orphan seeking her place in the world.
Thunder crashed in the distance. There may not be time, though, Vaughn thought. She needed to make sure her diaries were placed in good hands.
“I need to show you something,” Vaughn said, beckoning Camille to her armoire.
With Camille standing beside her, she stood on her tiptoes and lifted a blanket from the top shelf.
Camille gasped. “What are those?” she asked.
Camille read everything she could get her hands on. Yes, Camille was the right choice for safekeeping her diaries.
“My diaries,” Vaughn said. “A chronicle of my life and my reflections over time.” Turning, she gazed into Camille’s lovely eyes.
1838 was Vaughn’s favorite time period so far. There would be a war soon. The war between the states. But Vaughn would be long gone before that happened. She felt fortunate she wouldn’t have to live through that destruction.
She’d been born in 1697 and had fond memories of the first seven years of her life. Once she’d gone to the orphanage, the world had become a cold dark place. But at seventeen, she’d escaped to America. That’s where her life had changed forever.
She’d spent most of her life in the last part of the twentieth century and early twenty-first century. Those had been interesting times and she had put down roots.
Those roots had followed her here, she mused, in the form of her grandchildren, Erika and Bradley.
And with them things changed. Vaughn had never really been accepted into the Becquerel family. She frightened people.
Not Nathaniel, of course, but others. Fortunately, Nathaniel had made provisions for her care before he died.
Vaughn couldn’t explain why she’d come back here in her later days. Perhaps to feel closer to Nathaniel. Or perhaps to be closer to her heritage.
Whatever it was, didn’t matter now. What was done was done.
But then Bradley had brought pictures. And Vaughn’s loneliness had become less bearable.
Once Erika had come through the rift, Vaughn believed that her time had passed. There was no science to her theory. She only went with her gut.
But then Bradley had come through. Bradley’s time-travel was clearly precipitated by love. The time travelling had always happened here in the plantation house. But with Bradley, it had happened the first time in New Orleans. That’s where he’d found Camille.
Camille was a sweet, loving girl who was open minded about just about everything. Vaughn truly believed that Camille would have been quite at home in the twenty-first century.
And then Bradley had gone and brought photographs. Vaughn’s heart had tripped at the sight of her husband, Jonathan. Even in the photographs she could see the sadness in his eyes.
He missed her.
And she missed him.
Vaughn could only speculate about her purpose here. Perhaps it had been to be here for Erika and Bradley. To help them adjust to the time period. Erika had struggled more than Bradley, but then these times were easier for boys. And Erika’s husband Charles had been betrothed to another. Bradley had done quite well on his own.
Vaughn was old. She wouldn’t be around forever. She had to do what was best for her.
Lightening flashed a few feet from where she sat next to Camille.
“It’s going to be a bad one,” Camille predicted.
“I agree,” Vaughn said. “In fact, let’s go up to the big house, shall we?”
Camille’s eyes widened. Vaughn never went to the big house – the main plantation house. She stayed there in her own little cottage. “Okay,” Camille said, using the language Erika had taught her. “We’ll have to hurry though or we’ll get soaked.” Already, the rain w
as falling steadily.
“Let’s go,” Vaughn said, and together they began the walk to the big house.
Vaughn pulled the hood up on her cloak and walked slowly. She was forgiven due to her age. But in truth, she wondered if this was last time she would walk in this time. She would miss the quietness.
They went up the stairs to the front door. As a member of the household, Camille was allowed to go inside without knocking. Vaughn followed.
Villars appeared in the foyer. His eyes widened when he saw her. “Mistress Vaughn,” he said. “Welcome.”
“Thank you, Villars,” Vaughn said. The servants were afraid of her. They believed she practiced the voodoo magic.
“Would you like to go into the parlor?” he asked. “Shall I summon Miss Erika?”
“No. No. Don’t bother Erika. She’s busy with the baby. Camille and I just wanted to come in out of the rain. The parlor will be just fine.”
“Would you like some tea or cool water?” he asked.
“Tea would be lovely,” she said.
Villars went down the hallway and Camille started toward the parlor.
Vaughn, however, stopped in front of the grandfather clock and tipped the hood back on her cloak. The steady ticking of the clock soothed her soul. It echoed in her head even when she was in her own cottage, though she knew she probably imagined it. She couldn’t possibly hear it so far away. The clock had marked the hours during the birth of her child and punctuated her lovemaking with Jonathan… and with Nathaniel.
The clock represented time itself. And time had played a more significant part in Vaughn’s life than anyone could ever imagine.
Turning, she followed Camille into the parlor. Villars brought cold tea and poured it into two glasses.
Vaughn took her glass to the window and watched as the rain came down in torrents now. They had barely made it here before the sky opened and the downpour started.
The clouds were dark. Some would call them angry, but Vaughn was drawn to the storms. In some ways, she’d been born from storms.
At the sound of a baby’s coo, Vaughn turned to her granddaughter and great-granddaughter. The very idea of having a great-grandchild was almost more than she could wrap her head around.
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