Time to Love Again

by Speer, Flora

  A Time To Love Again

  By

  Flora Speer

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 1993, by Flora Speer

  Cover Design Copyright 2012

  By http//:DigitalDonnna.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Note:

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  My thanks to my daughter, Beth, and my son-in-law, Kevin, who are my advisors on the subject of computers, a subject upon which, like my heroine India, I do not know enough to keep myself out of serious trouble.

  To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose…A time to be born, and a time to die…A time to love….

  Ecclesiastes 3:1-2,8

  Chapter 1

  Connecticut, December, 1991.

  “India, you really ought to rejoin the twentieth century.” Willi put down her hamburger, wiped a spot of catsup off her chin with a paper napkin, and reached for her soda. “When Professor Moore retires at the end of the year and the new department head arrives, you will be expected to know how to use a computer. Professor Moore may tolerate you using that old typewriter, but I don’t think the new man will. He’s younger, he’ll be more up-to-date, so you’ll have to be up-to-date, too, kid.”

  Willi always called India kid, even though she was three months younger than India. And the question of who would replace India’s elderly, revered boss as chairman of the Department of History and Political Science had for months been the subject of speculation and rumor for every faculty member or employee at Cheswick University.

  “I know perfectly well how to use a computer. I did all that work for Robert using one.” India fell silent, wishing she had gone directly home after work instead of letting Willi talk her into this Christmas shopping expedition. She had bought Willi’s present weeks before, and there was no one else to buy a gift for this year except Robert’s cat, Charlemagne. Considering Charlemagne’s uncanny ability to locate his favorite mood-altering substance within seconds, purchase of his catnip mouse was best left until Christmas Eve.

  “That’s just what I mean,” Willi said. “Robert has been dead for over a year, but you are still living like a recluse in that big old house with only a cat for company and your job as your only social activity.”

  “We’ve had this discussion before.” India sighed. Her appetite gone, she pushed aside her salad and the crackers that went with it. She and Willi had brought their trays from the fast-food take-out counter to the quietest corner of the food court and sat down at a table near the oversized fountain that was the centerpiece of the Greater Cheswick Mall. The sound of falling water muffled at least some of the noise made by the crowd of Christmas shoppers, but India could still hear the music being played on the public address system. She reflected with gloomy cynicism that the song she most hated at that particular moment was The Little Drummer Boy. She sighed again, acknowledging that she was totally lacking in holiday spirit.

  “Hank says he’s willing to help you refresh your computer skills,” Willi announced.

  “Hank who?” India was baffled at first, until she remembered the man. “You mean the resident computer genius of Cheswick U? I’ve barely met him. Why would he do a favor like that for me?”

  “Well,” Willi looked a bit like Charlemagne after he had destroyed his catnip mouse, “I kind of like him, and he says he likes me.”

  “Somehow I don’t see you and Mr. Marsh as close friends,” India said. “I don’t think you are at all alike.”

  “Maybe that’s the attraction.”

  Willi looked so happy that India decided to keep to herself her reservations about Hank Marsh. She could see nothing at all romantic about him, or about his work, but then, Willi’s taste in men had always been different from hers. Not to mention her taste in clothing.

  Willi wore a silver-studded black leather jacket over a dark blue turtleneck sweater and a black leather miniskirt. Black opaque tights and high-heeled black leather boots encased her plump legs. Willi’s dark hair was styled in a spiky cut, her eyelashes were heavy with mascara, and her lips and fingertips were bright red. Next to her dearest friend, India felt like a dowdy old lady in her practical grey wool suit and bowed white blouse.

  The piped-in music shifted to a string rendition of Greensleeves. At the first strains of the ancient melody, India’s mood lifted as if by magic. She had a sudden urge to pull her hair out of its carefully arranged French twist and let it hang down below her shoulders in the style she had favored as a young girl.

  “It’s time for you to start living again,” Willi said, her words echoing India’s thoughts. “You have refused to touch a computer since Robert got too sick to work anymore, and heaven knows, his research was weird – all that seventh and eighth century stuff – and you were as immersed in it as he was. You need an update, professionally and personally.”

  “You’re right,” India said, sipping her tea.

  “I am? Without any more argument than that?” Willi stared for a minute before breaking into a grin, her old, irrepressible smile that India remembered so well from their childhood. “Well, it’s about time you came to your senses again.”

  “What I want,” India said, knowing her next words would be the best Christmas gift she could possibly give her friend, “is some of your good advice. I am dreadfully out of touch. When do you think Hank could make time for my first lesson?”

  “Nine o’clock Saturday morning, his office,” Willi replied without missing a beat. “Now, about your clothes. Grey is not your color, kid. I see you in a nice, deep red….”

  “Wow.” Hank Marsh stared at India, who was clothed in a cranberry wool jersey skirt, matching sweater, and stylish shoes. “When Willi talked about a transformation, she wasn’t joking. You look great, Mrs. Baldwin.”

  The after-work shopping session had resulted in the purchase of two new outfits, a pair of elegant suede pumps, a pair of fashionable boots, and a complete makeover at a cosmetics counter. The following day, Willi had escorted India to a lunch-hour appointment with her hairdresser. India’s forehead was now covered by side-swept bangs and her hair hung in a straight fall of glossy golden brown that stopped just short of her shoulders, with the ends turned under in a casual pageboy style.

  “The change is mostly Willi’s doing. And call me India, please.” Aware of Willi’s interest in this man, India looked at him more carefully than she had on the few previous occasions when they had met. Hank was shorter than she was, and skinny in a loose-limbed, adolescent way. His youthful looks were deceiving. India had heard enough about him to know that behind the tousled blond hair and light blue eyes, behind the boyish face with its perennially suspicious expression, a brilliant mind never stopped working.

  “I can’t understand how you and Willi became friends.” Hank flushed a bit, as if he thought he might have accidentally said something insulting, but India understood what he meant.

  “We met in the fourth grade,” she said. “Our class was seated alphabetically, so Wilhelmina Jones was placed just behind India Johnson. We have been friends since that first day, and it has always seemed to me that the ways in which we are different only bind us closer together.”

  “Complementary opposites.” Hank nodded. “It makes sense to me. She told me how great you were after her father ran off with that waitress and left Mrs. Jones with four chil
dren younger than Willi to raise.”

  “Did she also mention the way she stood by me when my parents were killed in an automobile accident? Or all the helpful things she did while my husband was sick? Willi was wonderful to both of us for those two dreadful years, even though she thought my marriage to Robert was a big mistake, because he was so much older than I. Willi is the best friend I have ever had,” India told him.

  “I know about your husband’s work,” Hank said. “The early Middle Ages aren’t everyone’s meat, but he was famous here at the university for his interesting lectures. Willi tells me you were his research assistant, and that it was you who convinced him to use a computer, so you can’t be completely ignorant about my baby, even if you are a couple of years out of practice.” Hank caressed the keyboard of his own computer with a loving gesture.

  Only now did India look around his office. It was a monument to neatness, with books and papers precisely arranged and not a speck of dust to be seen. Willi had warned her about Hank’s insistence that no food or drink be brought into the room, lest spills disrupt the working of his beloved computer. This electronic wonder, which Hank had personally modified to suit his needs, dominated the room. India recognized the display terminal, keyboard, and printer, but most of the other components looked like nothing she had ever seen attached to a computer before.

  “Willi mentioned that you are working on a special project,” she remarked, taking in the curious additions to what appeared to be an ordinary office instrument. Thinking of the way in which her work with Robert had drawn them closer together, she added, “Does Willi help you?”

  “She’s far happier in Art History,” Hank replied. Willi was secretary to the chairman of that department, her office just down the hall from India’s. “Willi is not interested in exploring the many mysteries of the space-time continuum.”

  “Space-time continuum?” India repeated, not sure exactly what he meant. Then, because Hank looked as if he expected some further comment from her, she added, “I remember something about that from my one and only college physics course. Wasn’t it Albert Einstein’s idea?”

  “I guess you could say so, but I’ve taken a different direction,” Hank said, blithely dismissing the great scientist. “I’m working on the direct manipulation of time. Have you ever wanted to change something in the past?”

  “That sounds dangerous.” A chill shivered up India’s spine. “If you could change the past, wouldn’t you change the present and the future, too? Hank, you can’t be serious about this.”

  “Don’t look so scared,” he said, laughing at her objections. “So far, it’s all just speculation, the sort of thing people like me sit around and talk about late at night. It stimulates the imagination, but unfortunately I haven’t been able to prove my theory yet. Incidentally, there is another theory that the further back in time those changes are made, the less likely you would be to alter the present. Does that calm your ethical fears?”

  “It might if I could understand what you have been talking about,” she replied, strangely disturbed by what Hank had just said.

  “It’s too complicated for me to try to explain any more than I have,” he told her with a touch of arrogance in his manner. “Willi can’t understand what I am trying to do, and neither could you.”

  She had the oddest feeling that Hank thought he had revealed too much about his work. But if that work really was purely speculative, then it could be of no concern to her. What mattered to her at the moment was learning to use the computer again.

  “O.K.,” Hank said, gesturing to her to sit in the chair placed in front of the keyboard, “let’s see what we can do about making you better at your job before the new boss gets here.”

  “Theodore Brant, PhD,” India murmured, relieved to find the conversation veering away from Hank’s incomprehensible work and back to solid ground again.

  “Brant—Brand? As in firebrand?” said Hank. “That sounds interesting. I wonder if his personality matches his name.”

  Hank proved to be a surprisingly good teacher. After a long Saturday morning with him India felt she had come a long way toward updating her computer skills, but still she wanted to practice on her own for a while, with no one looking over her shoulder to correct any mistakes she might make.

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to come back tomorrow,” she told Hank when they stopped shortly after one o’clock. “Actually, I’d like to bring in some of Robert’s material to work on. I ought to do something with all that data he collected. I’m sure the janitor will let me in, so you won’t have to be here.”

  “You can use my computer,” Hank said, “just as long as you don’t disturb these two piles of paper or turn on the switch on this component.”

  “I won’t touch it,” India promised, “but will I be in your way at all?”

  “I’ll probably be in late tomorrow,” he replied. “I have a date with Willi tonight.”

  “In that case, I’ll get here early in the morning, and work until you arrive.”

  “Fair enough. But be careful of my baby.” Hank sat down in the chair India had vacated. “I don’t let just anyone use her. This is a special favor, because of Willi.”

  “I understand, and I appreciate your generosity. I promise I’ll be careful.” She wasn’t sure he heard her, or even that he was aware of her when she said good-bye and left. All of his concentration was on the screen where, as she glanced back before closing the office door, India could see the strange swirls of three-dimensional color graphics and a series of numbers that looked like some kind of complicated mathematical equation.

  Chapter 2

  India was up early on Sunday morning. After feeding Charlemagne his favorite tuna breakfast and making a cup of black coffee for herself, she dressed with care. Willi’s fashion lectures during the past week, coupled with the process of trying on and deciding about new clothing, had reawakened the vanity she had so sternly put aside three years previously, when she had decided that nothing mattered except her terminally ill husband. She had always liked nice clothes and had relished the sensation of rich fabrics against her skin. This morning she put on a lacy bra and a silk teddy trimmed in matching lace. The salesclerk had called the pale color antique gold. It suited India’s golden brown hair and light brown eyes. She applied brown and green eye shadow, added black mascara to her naturally thick lashes, and finished her makeup with a warm peach lipstick. Then she pulled on one of her new outfits, a tunic and narrow trousers of dark green. The wristwatch Robert had given her was at the jeweler’s for cleaning, and none of her earrings suited her costume. At a loss for accessories, she rummaged through her small collection of jewelry until she found the necklace that had been Robert’s first gift.

  “I wish I could give you the real thing instead of just a museum reproduction,” he had said when she opened the box. “It’s from the eighth century.”

  The round pendant was about two inches across, its gold surface decorated with bright red, green, blue, and yellow enamels. The center design was a flower with four petals, arranged like a cross. The flower was surrounded by bands of color, each band divided into triangles and squares, and the piece was finished with a gold border. The chain was of heavy gold-plated links.

  “Perfect.” India slipped the chain over her head and adjusted the pendant, noticing that the green enamel exactly matched the color of her tunic. Then she stood still, looking at her left hand in the mirror. “Robert, you told me not to mourn you forever, and Willi has recently told me the same thing. It’s time I took the advice of the two people I love most. I’ll never forget you and the wonderful life we had, but it’s time for me to start living again.” With a feeling of complete serenity, knowing somewhere deep in her heart that what she was doing was right and Robert would approve, she removed her engagement ring and wedding band and laid them in the jewelry box, closing the lid firmly on them.

  Picking up her purse, she walked downstairs to the back parlor of the old house, to
the room they had converted into an office for Robert’s historical research. The shelves were still crowded with his books and papers, the only empty spot being the place where the computer had once sat. India had sold it shortly after Robert’s death. After a quick search she found what she wanted – a notebook and two floppy disks, which Hank had warned her were outdated, but he’d said his computer would still accept them. Stuffing both notebook and disks into her purse, she returned to the living room, frowning at what she beheld.

  The house needed some Christmas brightness. It was only three days until the holiday, and she hadn’t even hung a wreath on the door. Picking her keys off the hall table and heading toward the garage, India decided she would visit the mall again that afternoon. She wanted some new decorations, and she also wanted to buy a gift for Hank, who had been so patient with her the day before. She still did not think he was the right man for Willi because he was too involved with his work – work that India simply could not understand. She doubted if many people could understand what Hank was trying to do, which must have been frustrating for him. Feeling a bit sorry for him, she resolved to invite him and Willi to dinner one night during the coming week.

  She was in an upbeat mood as she backed her car out of the driveway. She had the feeling that something wonderful was going to happen. Her life had begun to change, and unlike her recent holidays, this was going to be a happy season.

  The university was not as deserted as she had expected. Most of the students had gone home for the holiday break, but as she followed the janitor toward Hank’s office, India met several professors she knew, all of them carrying armloads of the blue books that contained the students’ answers to the just-completed final exams. Grades had to be posted by Monday evening, so everyone she met passed her with only a hurried greeting. Remembering how distracted Robert could become at the end of a semester, India thought with some amusement, as the janitor opened Hank’s office door and let her in, that everyone except the janitor would very likely forget having seen her.