“You breathe your life into me, Tomasso, now forever we are brothers,” he said in a weak voice, and everyone around the bed nodded and made sounds of agreement and approval.
Tom was embarrassed. He was also touched by the solemn proclamation.
Joe had a bandage half-covering his head, and his eyes were swollen and blackened from a broken nose, but he, too, had survived without serious injury. He introduced his wife, a tall, stately woman with an engaging smile and light brown hair. She, too, was pregnant. Her name was Sofia.
Chairs were found for Tom and Zelda, and in spite of their protests, they were seated like royalty between the two beds.
Glasses appeared from the depths of a handbag and wine was poured for everyone, including Joe and Augusto. Some people left and other arrived, and the events of the day were told and retold with increasing emotion.
The nursing sister, a tiny bird of a woman named Mary Nettles, came in several times and sternly reprimanded everyone for the noise while pretending not to see the wine. She was offered delicate pastries from a basket lined in a white napkin.
In quick succession, Tom and Zelda were invited to a christening, a picnic, and a communal dinner to celebrate the arrival of someone’s father and mother from Italy. It was impossible not to accept. The way the invitations were phrased, it would have seemed both rude and arrogant. They were urged to bring Virgil and Eli, and when someone remarked that Zelda had a photographic studio, great excitement ensued. She had to bring her camera with her to all the events and take pictures, everyone agreed.
The gathering had reached a noisy climax when at last Nurse Nettles came in again and, in a tone that brooked no argument, ordered everyone to leave.
Outside in the warm summer twilight, Tom and Zelda strolled home, still surrounded by a group of new-found friends, some of whom also lived in the rows of miners’ cottages on Alberta Avenue.
Cheerful voices called good night. Zelda was quiet as they rounded the corner and went up the back steps. Tom stopped her before she opened the door, gathering her into his arms, giving her the deep, lingering kiss he hungered for. He was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, but he wanted her with an urgency he couldn’t contain.
Her lips parted for him, and she returned the kiss with all the intensity of her being.
“As soon as Eli’s asleep, I’ll meet you in the barn,” she whispered. Virgil had gone to work that night, the way miners always did after an accident.
Tom spent the waiting time doing small chores - pumping water at the well, filling the animals’ troughs, chopping extra kindling for the fires, carrying in buckets of coal for the kitchen stove.
Next door, Isabella and Lars were sitting on the back steps, enjoying the evenings’ coolness after the heat of the day. Tom could hear the cadence of their voices as he worked.
Isabella giggled, and Tom smiled. It was a pleasure to hear her laugh in such a lighthearted fashion.
Silence fell and Tom glanced over at them, just in time to see their shapes silhouetted against the screen door of the lamp-lit kitchen. Isabella was locked in Lars’s embrace. His head was bent, kissing her. After a moment, they went inside, Lars’s arm tight around Isabella’s shoulders. The lamp went out.
After the initial shock of surprise, the knowledge that Lars and Isabella cared for each other made Tom feel good. But after a moment he frowned, thinking of Nestor Vandusen. Would the miserable little ass reappear or was he gone for good?
For everyone’s sake, it would be best if Nestor was permanently AWOL. Isabella and the kids were happier than they’d ever been with him around, and if she and Lars could make a life together, so much the better.
Tom felt protective toward them. They were good friends.
He seemed to have a lot of good friends here in Frank, he mused. Isabella had come flying over to welcome him home when he got back from the mine today, relief and concern for him overcoming her usual shyness, and Lars had hurried over as well when he got home from work, pounding Tom’s shoulder exuberantly, exclaiming how good it was he was safe.
Jackson had arrived at the same time, lightheartedly joshing Tom about being a hero. He’d gripped Tom’s forearm hard when he was leaving. “Damned if you don’t scare the living daylights out of me with capers like this one, old buddy,” he’d drawled, and Tom had seen the barely masked fear in his eyes. “Don’t do this to me again. I’ve gotten far too used to havin’ you around, you ornery cuss.”
Tom pumped one last bucket of water to fill the chickens’ trough. He paused a moment, straightening and turning to look up at Turtle Mountain, its high peak silhouetted against the indigo night sky. The memory of those few moments when he’d been certain his life was over played again in his mind.
He shuddered. Was there some weird link between him and that damned, doomed mountain? He’d ended up living in its shadow, slaving with pick and shovel in its belly, making sweet, fierce love to Zelda in one of the caves.
And, he reminded himself with grim honesty, he was also biding his time until the fateful night arrived when the mountain would slide down over half the town and---he hoped---send him and Jackson back where they came from.
It seemed barbaric to anticipate and to use such a tragedy to gain his own ends. He thought of the people who would die that night and shuddered. Back in his own time, reading about the Slide, he’d been philosophical and detached about those causalities. There were only about seventy, he’d marveled, a small miracle when once considered that five hundred others had survived, and after all, it had happened long ago.
Now, he agonized over those deaths. He knew the names and faces of the people living in these cottages, all of whom were fated to be buried in the Slide. Daily now, he wondered if there was any possible way to change history and prevent anyone from dying.
The back door of the house opened and quietly closed, and in another moment Zelda was beside him in the darkness. He reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his lips, pressing a kiss in her palm, sensing the delicious shiver that ran through her body.
She’d told him today that she loved him, and ever since, the words had been there, underlying everything else he’d done or thought or said. She’d touched a tender nerve in him, satisfied a deep need, and brought to the surface an agony of doubt.
Zelda was a woman of deep conviction, of fiery passion, of innate honesty. She’d spoken of her love freely, without asking for a similar response from him.
He had feelings for Zelda he’d never had for any other woman, that was certain. Physically, he wanted her with this passion bordering on madness, this insatiable hunger that never seemed to be filled. But to commit himself entirely to her meant staying in these early 1900s, marrying and giving up all hope that he would ever return to his own life, to the financial security he longed to regain.
He couldn’t do it. He understood that complex, imperfect world he’d been born into. He belonged there. He needed the financial security he’d amassed.
Did he love Zelda? He shied away from an answer, because he couldn’t bring himself to make that commitment.
But what would happen to her when he left? Would she meet someone else, marry, bear children? Everything in Tom rebelled at that thought, even though he knew it was likely. She understood passion now, her body had awakened to its own potential.
Tom wrapped his arm around her and guided her toward the sweet-scented loft, his body already hard and throbbing. At the top of the ladder he turned and grasped her arms, lifting her up and into his embrace. He groaned as his lips closed on hers, his kiss nearly savage.
He needed her. God how he needed her! Tonight there wasn’t time or patience to peel away slowly her layers of clothing. He carried her down to the blanket he’d spread on a soft cushion of hay, shoving aside the barriers of skirts and petticoats. Her drawers maddened him, and he stripped them away, opening the buttons on his trousers, cursing at his clumsiness. At last, at last, he found her soft, wet folds and slid inside, groaning a
loud as her body’s silky heat enveloped him, her legs wrapping and holding him tight.
With his last ounce of control, he held back until he felt the tremors begin deep inside her. Then, at last, he exploded, her soaring cries, echoing in his ears as he spilled and spilled, and the darkness and terror of the day’s events slid away, purified by passion.
He’d cherish her for the time they had together, he vowed when reason returned. He’d take what each separate day had to offer, giving back everything he had to give, because, God help him, he couldn’t promise her forever.
A Distant Echo: Chapter Twenty-Three
In the weeks that followed, the community reached out wide, welcoming arms and enfolded both Tom and the Ralstons to its bosom.
From the day of the accident, Tom found himself an adopted brother to the Italian miners. He and Zelda attended the christening they’d been invited to, a celebration that began early in the morning in church, then continued throughout the entire day at the cottage of the proud parents. There were unlimited amounts of homemade red wine, huge tubs of spaghetti and meatballs, dandelion salads, loaves of fresh bread, and enough homemade ice cream to satisfy a small army.
The men played bocce out in the yard, and the women exchanged recipes and home remedies and hair-raising tales of childbirth.
Zelda had brought her camera, and she spent the afternoon taking one photo after the other. It seemed that everyone wanted a photograph of their family to send back to relatives in Italy, and everyone either paid cash or bartered a service in exchange for her work.
By the end of the day, she’d earned more in one afternoon than she’d made during the entire past six months. She’d also traded three enlargements to Mrs. Petevello, who was an excellent seamstress, in exchange for two shirts for Eli and a new dress for herself.
August came, and a series of picnics began, held in the clearing on the outskirts of town. Eli and Virgil accompanied Tom and Zelda. Again, there was always wine, quantities of delicious food, as well as laughter and good-natured ribaldry and teasing.
There were spirited ball games at the picnics. Tom was an excellent pitcher, and Zelda, tutored by him and Eli, was soon in great demand because of her natural ability as a player. She could hit the ball far out into the field and run like the wind around the bases, her arms pumping as she held her skirts shockingly high, laughing uncontrollably as her hair tumbled out of its bun and curled in mad disarray around her shoulders.
One hot Sunday in late August, Tom watched her fly around the bases and his heart seemed to twist in his chest at her beauty.
There was a subtle difference in her now, an awareness of her own sensuality. It telegraphed itself to every male in the vicinity and brought out a fierce jealousy that Tom had never suspected he was capable of feeling.
A tall, lean, and extraordinarily handsome cousin of Joe’s named Aldo couldn’t take his eyes off Zelda. Aldo was in his thirties, still single, always impeccably dressed. He had a head of shining golden hair, piercing green eyes, a classic aquiline nose and the type of aristocratic elegance and charm that had every woman from ten to eighty blushing and flustering in his presence.
He didn’t work, but he always seemed to have plenty of money. Joe had confided that Aldo came from the northern branch of the Petsukos, who were well-to-do in Italy. He was a businessman, in Frank to look into the possibility of building a luxury hotel and restaurant.
Everything about Aldo made Tom’s hackles rise. As he watched him watching Zelda, Tom recalled the scene earlier in the day when Joe had introduced him.
“You are betrothed?” Aldo had asked her, even with Tom standing inches away telegraphing a cool-eyed, lethal warning.
But the other man’s gaze remained fastened on Zelda’s face.
“No, we are not,” Zelda said coolly.
Aldo smiled. “Then perhaps you would take dinner with me one evening, Signora Ralston?” His English was almost perfect, with only the faintest trace of his native Italian lending a charming accent to his words. “The hotel dining room, it is not so very bad.”
Tom had had enough. “The lady’s with me,” he said softly, a slow curl of anger unfolding in his gut.
“But of course.” Aldo smiled. He shrugged, an elegant movement that displayed to advantage the muscles under the expensive hand-tailored shirt and vest. “But surely if you are not betrothed…”
Tom’s fists curled, and he met the other man’s challenging gaze with a cold, hard stare. Aldo didn’t flinch. From that moment on, the battle lines were drawn between them as far as Zelda was concerned.
Aldo made him angry, but what infuriated Tom was Zelda’s attitude toward the situation. Instead of freezing Aldo out or blistering him with her tongue, she actually openly flirted all afternoon, and when Tom confronted her, she laughed up at him, her sun-kissed, freckled face mischievous.
“Oh, phooey, for a plain Jane like me to have two handsome gentlemen sparring for my affections is both flattering and funny,” she stated, her brown eyes sparkling. “I’m certainly not going to spoil it all by insulting Aldo, Tom. He’s really quite a dear,” she purred, ignoring the way Tom’s eyes turned stormy and dark.
“You’re no plain Jane, Zelda. You’re very beautiful, and you’re mine.” His voice held a warning, but again she ignored it.
“But I am not betrothed, am I, sir?” she said with impudent emphasis, her chin tilted high.
Tom lost his temper. “Get your shawl, we’re leaving right now,” he ordered. By now he should have known better than to order Zelda to do anything.
“I’m not ready to leave. I’m having a wonderful time. If you want to go, I’m sure Dad will accompany you. He’s all done with his meal, and he’s looking a bit weary.”
Gritting his teeth, utterly furious with her, of course Tom stayed. It seemed that for the rest of the evening, Aldo was at his elbow, bringing Zelda a glass of lemonade, asking her questions about photography, brazenly ignoring Tom’s lowering glances.
Finally, Tom couldn’t bear any more. He leaned close to the other man, his nose a scant three inches from Aldo’s aristocratic face. “I warned you once, pal,” he said in a lethal tone. “The lady’s taken, so buzz off or I’ll plant my fist in the middle of your face.”
People nearby became suddenly quiet, and a dozen pairs of eyes fastened on the scene. Tension filled the air.
“Tom, really,” Zelda gasped in a shocked voice.
Tom ignored her, holding Aldo’s eyes with his own.
This time the other man interpreted the message correctly.
“Arrivederci, bella signora.” He sighed. He gave Zelda a little half bow, made a mock salute in Tom’s direction, and strolled off.
“How could you do a thing like that? I’m mortified,” Zelda hissed. They left soon after, and she wouldn’t speak to him all the way home.
That night was one of the times Tom cursed the fact that he boarded with the Ralstons. More than anything, he needed to haul Zelda off, probably kicking and screaming, to somewhere private where he could tear off her clothes and make passionate love to her until she couldn’t so much as remember Aldo’s name. He needed to fall asleep beside her and find her there, curled in his possessive embrace, when morning came.
Instead, he lay alone in his room, hot and prickly with desire, achingly conscious that she was only a few steps away. But so were Virgil and Eli.
That night, for the first time, he dreamed of marrying Zelda, of staying where he was, but reason returned when he awoke.
If he left, he would lose Zelda. If he stayed, there would be no financial security, not for a long time, perhaps never, only this grinding poverty that ate at his soul.
The fact was, Zelda had been born over a hundred years too soon.
A Distant Echo: Chapter Twenty-Four
Fall came late to the valley that year. The frost held off until the end of September. When it arrived, Virgil insisted on digging the last of his potatoes and carrots and parsnips himself, coughing an
d having to stop and lean on his shovel at intervals to recover his breath enough to continue.
Eddy and Pearl came into the yard and were helping him shake the dirt from the vegetables and put them into bushel baskets, ready to store in the root cellar under the house.
Zelda watched from the kitchen window, her own chest hurting each time he coughed. She ached to race out and snatch away the spade and dig the vegetables herself, but, of course, she couldn’t. Virgil would be humiliated. This harvesting of his family’s food was something he needed to do.
The summer had been good for him, Zelda told herself. She was sure he’d regained a little of his strength. In spite of Zelda’s outright nagging, he stubbornly went on working underground, but he missed almost as many shifts as he worked, too worn-out from bouts of coughing to drag himself out of bed.
Damn the mines. They’d injured her father, they were luring her brother, they’d endangered her lover…
The sound of her studio bell provided a welcome distraction.
Zelda hurried along the hallway to the front of the house, marveling at how often she was now summoned to take someone’s portrait. Her business was at last becoming a success.
“Leona, come in, what a pleasure. How did your singing engagement go?” Zelda hugged her friend, then took the other woman’s shawl and bonnet. It had been several weeks since they’d seen each other, and there never seemed time for a good long visit alone.
Leona was busy. She’d been hired by a hotel in Calgary to entertain a group of English visitors who were touring Canada.
She plopped down on the sofa now and rolled her eyes. “May God spare me from Englishmen. Their manners seem impeccable, but they are the most persistent pests when they want something.” She giggled wickedly and rolled her eyes. “And what they wanted was me, of course. Several of them were both handsome and filthy rich, Zel, which made it much less of a bore having to fend them off tactfully. Wouldn’t you know I’d meet that magical combination only after I’d fallen for Jackson?” She sighed. “Where on earth were they when I was still available?”
Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle Page 83