by BETH KERY
His brows furrowed when he noticed that the bedroom door was shut.
And the door on the wardrobe where the gilt mirror hung was open.
He scuttled up off the bed, shivering in the cool dawn. He opened the bedroom door and walked down the dark hallway. The bathroom door was partially opened, the muted light of morning casting it in gray shadow. It was empty. He turned around in the silent hall, a sense of panic rising in his gut.
"Hope?" Ryan shouted. His voice echoed through the corridor. He called her name again, but the truth already rattled hollowly in his bones.
He was alone in this tomb of a house. He raced back to the bedroom and opened the second wardrobe door. Hope's long skirt, high-necked blouse and lace-up shoes were gone.
"No, honey," he mumbled miserably. His gaze fell on the mirror. She'd tried to go back in it. He just knew she had. But what had been the result? Was it even possible without the corresponding mirror? What if she existed in some formless state of nonexistence and couldn't return to either world?
The thought of her leaving caused a dull throb of grief in his chest, but the thought of her disappearing from any time—her vibrant essence being wiped from history altogether—was a far worse consideration.
Something occurred to him. He hastily pulled on a pair of jeans and raced out of the room. He peered into the thick shadows as he descended the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing hollowly off the bare walls.
He'd hardly ever seen the entry hall darkened. The chandelier continually blazed to life of its own accord, no matter whether the switch was in the on or off position. Ryan flipped the switch to turn it on.
But the crystal chandelier hung cold and lifeless.
We'll leave on the entry hall chandelier until my daughter returns home.
Jacob Stillwater's voice reverberated in his head. Ryan fell heavily to a sitting position on the stairs, the wood creaking beneath him in protest. A strange, potent mixture of relief and grief struck him like a tidal wave.
Chances were Hope'd returned safely to the year 1906. The chandelier had finally gone out. She was in her world, where she belonged. He was here in his, where he belonged.
He glanced around the gray, barren hall. The life had gone out of the house. He felt every bit as empty and hollow.
Why had she done it? He thought of the previous night, of his volatile mood, of the manner he'd insisted upon making love to her when they returned home. Had he pushed her too far? Asked too much of her?
Regret settled on him like a weight. Of course he'd asked too much of her. He'd demanded that she give every last ounce of herself, insisting that she trust him wholly even though she was still shockingly innocent when it came to matters of sex.
Wasn't it best that she was back in the home she loved with her father and friends? What could he really offer her here? A woman like Hope deserved a husband and a family. If he'd lived in the year 1906 and had been as intimate with Hope as they had been, he would be expected to marry her. He would likely even expect it of himself if he'd been raised in a culture that dictated marriage as the honorable action given what he'd done with her.
But he didn't live in Hope's time . .. hadn't been raised in her culture. The idea of them marrying after he'd known her for less than a week was ludicrous.
Maybe that's why she'd gone. After she'd lived in his world for a while, she must have learned what he'd already known—their respective worlds were incommensurate. Their time periods and cultures couldn't meld even if Hope and he could. Time had stepped in and had the final say, cleaving their unnatural bond.
He rose slowly from the steps, his body feeling strangely achy and old. He reentered the bedroom and stared around dully. Something struck his eye and he walked over to the fireplace.
His heart seemed to forget to beat for several seconds when he saw the photos on the mantel. Hope must have found them in the secret drawer after they'd made love last night.
Jesus, what had she thought when she saw them? She must have been shocked . ..
Furious?
Ryan tossed down the black-and-white photographs hastily. She'd drawn all the wrong conclusions, that much was certain. She hadn't left him because she'd realized their values were too different. She'd left him because she found those pictures. God only knew how she'd rationalized their existence.
He spun around, suddenly galvanized into action. If Hope had chosen to leave because she saw the impossibility of their being together, that was one thing. But it was another thing altogether for her to have fled last night because she'd been disillusioned by those photographs.
Disillusioned by him.
He had to go back, Ryan thought frantically as he opened the wardrobe, looking for viable clothing to wear for the time period. If Hope had done it, surely he could. The thought of her existing back in her world and believing that he'd tricked her into having sex so they could be photographed was just too god-awful. He searched for something to wear, his impatience and frustration mounting.
The stark white of the dress shirt he'd worn last night with his tux caught his eye. He lunged for it but before he could get it on a buzzing noise reached his ears. He paused, at first not recognizing the sound as the doorbell since he'd heard it only a few times when food was being delivered in the evenings.
Who could be ringing it at six a.m. on a rainy, cold Sunday morning?
It didn't matter. He needed to get going, he thought irritably as he tossed on the white shirt. He needed to go back so he could explain to Hope—
The buzzing continued in an insistent manner. Whoever was out there wasn't going to be ignored, he realized.
He swung open the front door a few seconds later. His irritation quickly segued to incredulity.
"Warren?" he greeted Alistair Franklin's driver. Warren stood on the wet front steps as raindrops fell across his round features.
"Morning, Ryan. I brought Alistair over. He was insistent upon seeing you this morning.
Wouldn't let me talk him into waiting until a decent hour no matter what I said," the stocky driver explained with a rueful grin. He hitched his thumb out to Prairie Avenue. A black Mercedes sedan was parked at the curb. " 'Fraid you'll have to go out to the car to see him. Since his stroke he has to use a wheelchair and it might be kind of hard to get him up these stairs—"
"No, that's fine. I'll go out," Ryan interrupted distractedly, his eyes still on the black sedan. Something about his elderly friend's strange visit on the cold, rainy dawn felt eerily familiar— right somehow, like Alistair and he had scheduled the appointment, long ago and Ryan had forgotten.
"Just let me grab a jacket and I'll be right out to see him, Warren,"
***
Jacob Stillwater entered the brilliantly lit ballroom, his eyes immediately finding his daughter where she stood by the enormous fireplace. He looked very distinguished and handsome in his formal attire as he came toward her, smiling. Hope's return smile never faltered despite the fact that it broke her heart to see the slight drag in his left leg. Her father maneuvered extremely well using the cane Dr. Walkerton had left for him, however. Hope consoled herself that very soon her father's limp would be hardly noticeable to those unfamiliar with his recent illness.
The fact that he'd experienced a stroke while she'd been gone from his side would likely haunt her until her dying day. Still, she found strength in knowing for a fact that her father would live and prosper for many years to come.
"Happy birthday, Father." She gave him a kiss on the cheek when he reached her. "I'm so sorry we couldn't celebrate it with the party I'd planned. But with only you, Mary and Mrs. Abernathy knowing I'm here—"
"Oh, posh. I'd rather just have a nice dinner here with you. I'm too old for a birthday ball, anyway. Certainly can't dance around on this old clunker," he said matter-of-factly, tapping his left thigh. He offered her his arm and they slowly made their way over to the table Mrs. Abernathy had meticulously laid for their supper.
Hope had requested that her
father's dinner be served in the ballroom for several reasons.
First of all, the huge room usually stood empty and unused, making it unlikely that servants would disturb them. This was important since only Mary, Mrs. Abernathy and Jacob knew of her return to 1807 Prairie Avenue. That had been something she and her father had decided on the first evening she came back to her own time.
The second reason was because the grand piano was in the ballroom. She'd been working for several months now on a special composition for her father and she looked forward to playing it for him on a night that was poignantly special to both of them for more reasons than it merely being her father's birthday. Before they could take their seats, Jacob spoke.
"Show me again, dear, how they dance in the year 2008," Jacob said with a glimmer of amusement in his black eyes.
Hope laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. She obligingly walked several feet into the enormous ballroom while her father sat down at the table. She closed her eyes, perfectly imagining Gail and Ramiro moving in tandem to the unusual, exciting music.
She positioned her hands, picturing herself touching Ryan's broad shoulder while his big hand spread at the back of her waist. She began to softly hum a tune while she swayed to the music, occasionally inserting remembered lyrics.
Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars, da da da ta da, ta da on Jupiter and Mars . . .
The train of her blue satin gown and her petticoats swished behind her as she circled the ballroom floor in her solitary dance. She opened her eyes after several moments and looked over at her father, laughter curving her lips. He shook his gray head in amazed satisfaction as she came over to the table.
"Very unique and lovely. You were always as graceful as your mother on the dance floor." Jacob stood as she approached. "You know, I was thinking a good part of the night about something you told me about the future, dear. How is it that, do you suppose, these airplanes don't crash into those towering skyscrapers?"
"I'm not sure how they contrive it," Hope admitted after she'd puzzled on it a moment.
Her father moved to seat her and Hope put up her hand. "Wait. I have a special gift for you. Sit back down, Father."
She started over toward the piano, pausing when the light level in the ballroom seemed to magnify for a second and then return to normal. She experienced a prickling feeling on her neck and twisted around.
Her eyes widened in amazement. For a second she thought she'd been imagining the dance she'd never gotten with Ryan at the Field Museum so perfectly that she'd magically conjured him. He even wore his tuxedo. His greenish-blue eyes were trained on her but he didn't move or speak. Suddenly his dark brows rose as if in silent query.
"Ryan," she gasped.
"Hello." He glanced over at her father and nodded. Her father looked every bit as stunned as Hope felt. "I'm sorry for interrupting."
Jacob used his cane to stand slowly, his eyes never leaving Ryan's face. "Why .. . you're Ryan Daire, aren't you?"
Ryan glanced over at Hope. She didn't understand the trace of unease in his expression.
"Yes, sir. I am."
Hope's shock faded enough for her temporary paralysis to fade.
"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.
Ryan inhaled slowly. "I came to see you, of course." He glanced out the La Farge windows and his brow furrowed. "It's nighttime here. How long have you been back, Hope?"
"I've been back two days. This is my second evening," she answered as she came toward him. "How long ago did I—"
"Leave without a word?" Ryan finished the sentence for her. She couldn't interpret his expression, however. As she knew by this time, he could be impenetrable when he chose to be.
Even so, the sight of him literally stole her breath. It felt like an eternity since she'd looked into his singular eyes. He gave a small smile suddenly and she found herself relaxing.
"Since I'm not sure at what point you left, I can't say for certain. But it couldn't have been much more than three hours ago, by my time, anyway."
"Amazing!" Jacob declared. "Hope told me about this slight discrepancy between dates when one travels through time, Mr. Daire. Have you formulated a theory on why this occurs?"
Ryan shook his head. "I have no idea, Mr. Stillwater. I'm woefully ignorant on the mechanics of the whole thing. I am starting to realize it's not as much of a cut-and-dry situation as I thought." He met Hope's eyes. "Our being able to meet isn't just about the mirror. It's about this house ... or something."
Her father snorted. "My daughter had already figured that out, Mr. Daire. She realized the two of you had communicated in ways other than the mirror, and that while the mirror was a handy object on which the imagination could grasp, it wasn't the source of the magic. The true magic relates to the two of you."
Hope's cheeks flamed. She loved her father like mad, but his outspokenness could mortify upon occasion. She sensed Ryan's steady gaze on her and met it with difficulty.
"You didn't use the mirror to get here?"
He shook his head.
"How did you do it, then?"
He opened his mouth as if to speak and then glanced uneasily over at her father. "I just pictured you in my mind . . . Imagined you here, moving about a house that was filled with all the things I'd seen before, held your face in my mind, heard your laughter, thought of the way you walk ..."
His voice faded but he continued to hold her stare. She remembered what he'd said while they'd been in the elevator of the Sears Tower about her father. You can picture him with the clarity that only intense emotion can bring. That's how she'd known how to return.
"Love."
Both Ryan and she started out of their mutual stare and glanced over at her father when he uttered the single word.
"That's the driving force behind the phenomenon. Oh, maybe that strange man, Mortimer R Chase, built some of his magic into this house," Jacob said with a wave of his hand,
"but clearly it takes something very special to mix with that magic in order to create the miracle of time travel."
"Father," Hope said excitedly as she neared him. "Perhaps this means you will be able to visit me in the year 2008?"
"Excuse me?" Ryan asked sharply.
Hope turned toward him. He didn't look impassive at all at the moment. He looked like he'd just been unexpectedly punched.
"Oh, I didn't get a chance to tell you, Ryan. There's so much that I have to explain."
But Ryan didn't seem concerned with all the other details. "You were planning on coming back to me in my time? Even after—" He drew up short and glanced uncomfortably at her father.
Hope stirred restlessly on her feet. She hadn't meant for Ryan to find out this way. She'd rather have prepared him first by explaining about the plans she'd made—the plans that hopefully would help him not to feel trapped by her presence in the year 2008.
"You know," Jacob began, clearly following his own line of thought versus the exchange between Ryan and his daughter, "I don't think it's best that I breach the barrier of time, dear. You know I'll always be with you in spirit. But some things just weren't meant to be. I'm afraid my existence in the year 2008 just doesn't seem .. . right."
"And it does seem right to you, Hope?" Ryan asked her intently.
She nodded her head solemnly. "That's what I was going to tell you when I returned later on tonight. My father and I have made plans, Ryan. You won't have to look out for me. I won't be a burden to you—"
"You weren't going to be a burden to me," Ryan interrupted, scowling. "I was worried that you might feel uncomfortable with the way we do things in my time." Once again he glanced at her father, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't want to take advantage of you, Hope."
Hope's heart stopped and then resumed beating again in an ecstatic dance. "That was very kind of you to be concerned about me, Ryan. But I'd already decided to go back. I mean forward. Besides, I don't belong here anymore. They found my dead body yesterday, you know."
*
**
Ryan had experienced shock so many times in the past week that he would have thought the experience would lose some of its power. That was definitely not the case, however.
"What do you mean they found your dead body?" he demanded, feeling rattled.
"Well, it wasn't really her dead body, obviously," Jacob said.
"It was Sadie Holcrum's body they found in the river, Ryan. Remember the woman Jack killed in the Sweet Lash? The woman who helped kidnap me?"
Ryan came nearer to her and put his hand on her back, needing to touch her. The news that she'd been planning on returning to the year 2008 ... to him, had left him stunned.
He'd already known what he was going to do when he came back to find her, but the fact that she wasn't furious at him after finding those incendiary photographs, the fact that she'd decided to return to his time moved him deeply.
His fingers skimmed over the satiny smooth skin of her exposed back. She looked absolutely gorgeous wearing a formal blue satin gown with an ebony ermine border around the hem and over the shoulders. Once again he had to admit he'd been wrong about so many of his ideas concerning the culture of the 1900s, because the neckline of the dress was downright racy, displaying the creamy curves of Hope's beautiful breasts to jaw-dropping effect. The silver locket glittered on the flawless skin of her chest.
He blinked in shock, recognizing for the first time that she was dressed precisely in the manner he'd seen her on that first day he entered the mansion with Ramiro here in this very room . ..
"Ryan?" Hope interrupted his thoughts.
Ryan cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present. "How do you know it was Sadie Holcrum they found?"
"Her face and body were damaged by being in the river for days," Hope explained sadly,
"And she appeared to have been badly beaten, which is just awful, because ..."
"It must have been done after she was dead," Ryan finished grimly. He suddenly recalled what Jack had said on their first meeting in the Sweet Lash when Ryan had asked him where Mario was.