Love and Gravity

by Samantha Sotto

  Isaac held on to her hand. “My calculations told me that you were coming back tonight, but I did not dare to believe them. When I saw a white light glowing in the barn, I ran here as fast as I could. I had prayed every night for two months to catch the faintest glimmer—”

  “Did you say two months?”

  “That is correct.”

  “It’s only been two weeks for me.”

  Footsteps shuffled outside the open barn doors.

  “Hide,” Isaac whispered.

  She ducked behind a bale of hay.

  “Isaac? Are you in here?” The voice warbled midsentence.

  “Yes, Benjamin.”

  Andrea peeked from behind the hay. A thin boy in his early teens raised his lantern higher. His angular brow and jaw resembled Isaac’s, but his brown eyes, even in the lantern’s light, were not as bright.

  Benjamin raised his head to peek over Isaac’s shoulder. “Is there someone in here with you?”

  “No. I am alone.”

  Benjamin narrowed his eyes at him. “I heard a woman speaking.”

  Isaac shrugged. “It was probably just the wind. Did you want anything?”

  “Mama sent me to fetch you for supper.”

  “I shall be along shortly.”

  “What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I am collecting a few of my old things for a project.”

  Benjamin rolled his eyes and slipped out of the barn. Isaac shut the door behind him and waited for his footsteps to fade. “Andrea, you can come out.”

  She stood up. Hay clung to her jeans. “You better go inside.”

  “Supper can wait. I shall stay here until you leave.”

  “No. Go.” She adjusted her backpack’s straps over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I think I’m going to be here awhile.”

  —

  Andrea leaned against a barn post and hugged her knees to her chest. They didn’t stop shaking. Isaac had been gone for more than an hour, and every leaf that rustled behind the barn’s doors made her jump. She dragged her cello to her side. It was the first thing that she had decided to take with her through the wall and the one with the least practical use, but it helped her hold on to the belief that she could go home anytime she wished. The second item was her backpack. Though she knew that it was not going to help her blend into the seventeenth century, it was the most convenient way to carry the last, and the most important, items on her packing list.

  “Andrea?” Isaac slipped inside the barn like a cat. A rough sack was slung over his shoulder. “Where are you?”

  Andrea stepped out of the shadows. “Over here.”

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting for so long. I could not leave until everyone retired to their rooms. I gathered a few things we might need for the journey.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Journey?”

  “There will be no shadows in Woolsthorpe to hide in come morning. We cannot stay here.”

  “Where will we go?” Her heart pounded faster.

  “There is a village a half night’s ride from here.” He dug through the sack and pulled out a long gray dress and a cream-colored coif embroidered with tiny flowers. “These belong to my sister. They look to be about your size.”

  —

  Woolsthorpe’s gables disappeared into the fog rolling behind the carriage. Andrea shifted in her seat to face the road. Isaac shook the horse’s reins, urging the animal into a trot.

  “Won’t they look for you?” she asked.

  “I left my mother a letter. I told her that I needed to fetch some things at Cambridge for my projects.”

  “Do you think she’ll believe you?”

  “No.”

  “But…”

  “Do not let this trouble you. This is not the reason you are here. I have not forgotten about your request.”

  Her chest tightened. “You’ve come to a decision then?”

  “What you ask of me is no trifling thing. It goes against nature and God. I wanted to be ready with my answer when you returned. I devoted all my waking hours to crafting a math that could predict when the crack would let you through.”

  “Fluxions.”

  Isaac twisted toward her. “How did you know?”

  “You told me.”

  “In one of the letters I have yet to write and send?”

  “Yes.”

  A smile flitted over Isaac’s lips. “I do not think that I shall ever grow accustomed to you knowing of things that I have only entrusted to my notebooks, but my new math has helped me come to understand it.”

  “It has?”

  “When I was a boy, I imagined what your life was like behind my wall. I prayed every evening that you would break through it more often. God did not answer and I now know why. He could not. The crack did not open because you were not behind it.”

  “That’s not true,” Andrea said. “I was there. I played our song. Every night for years. I was there.”

  “No, Andrea, you were not.”

  She shook her head. “I know where I was.”

  Isaac pointed to the side of the road. “Look over there. What do you see?”

  Andrea peered into the night. Moonlight outlined the tops of tall trees. “A forest. I think.”

  “And what do you see beyond it?”

  “Nothing. It’s too dark.”

  “An old Roman road lies beyond the shadows. No one uses it anymore. It is a good distance from here, but there are points where the wall of trees between that road and this one thins.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because the same is true for the worlds we are from. Your time runs near this one, but our paths are not parallel roads. They twist and turn. Sometimes they are closer to each other; at others, they are farther apart. This is why your song does not always work. It can open the crack only when the wall between us is at its thinnest. While we may both swear that we spent every day of our childhood planted in front of our wall, on most of those days, only an endless stretch of nothing was on the other side. It did not matter how flawlessly you played your song. I was too far away.”

  “But how does music open the crack?”

  “The circumstances of your appearances suggest that it is linked to your instrument. The way its strings vibrate could affect the barrier that keeps our worlds apart, the same way certain sounds can shatter glass. I would need to hear your song and study its notes to be certain.”

  “I’ll write it down.” Andrea reached inside her backpack.

  “There is no need for urgency.”

  “Why not?”

  “The most important question has already been answered.”

  “And what question is that?”

  “I have always believed that our connection was meant to serve some purpose. Growing up, I could think only of selfish reasons for your visits. I believed that you came into my life to push me to solve mysteries beyond the problems posed by my professors. I was convinced that the universe sent you to be my muse.”

  “And now?”

  “I have come to see the real reason why we have been allowed to meet.” He looked at her. “We are meant to save a life.”

  Andrea’s heart lurched ahead of the carriage. She reeled it back with a slow breath.

  Isaac turned to her. “I asked myself a hundred times what harm would come of averting the death of your father. I could not come up with an answer. The only consequence I foresee from this choice is your happiness. If it is within my power to soothe your grief, I see no reason why I should not. If I had a chance to change the past and know my father even for just a little while, I would. I know how you feel. You are my oldest friend.” He drew a piece of folded paper from his coat pocket and handed it to Andrea. “There is nothing I would not do for you.”

  Andrea’s fingers trembled over the red wax that sealed her father’s new fate. The engraving on the vintage watch on her wrist fused into her skin. The etched words surged through her veins and found her lips.
For Isaac. Love, Andrea. She clamped her mouth shut. Isaac would not understand how she felt about him. He was a year away from feeling the same way. Andrea reminded herself that he did not love her yet. She leaned on his shoulder and whispered words that would be easier for him to believe. “Thank you, Isaac. Thank you.”

  —

  The Goose and Gander’s fireplace crackled over Isaac’s voice as he spoke with the graying innkeeper. He asked for a room for himself and his wife. It was a lie for the sake of propriety, but Andrea’s ears could not tell the difference. They burned beneath the coif that tamed her hair.

  “How long will you be staying?” Gossamer fluttered between the innkeeper’s words.

  “One night,” Isaac said.

  The old man’s cloudy eyes shifted Andrea’s way. She held her breath behind a stiff smile, certain that he had seen her sneakers peeking from the hem of her skirt.

  The innkeeper turned to Isaac. “That will be four farthings for the room and a halfpenny to stable your horse.”

  —

  A sweet mélange of hyssop, sage, and anise rose from the inn’s small kitchen garden and drifted through their bedroom’s sole window. Andrea leaned her cello next to the windowsill and took her fill of the breeze.

  Isaac shut the bedroom door. “I would love to hear it.”

  Andrea turned from the window. “Hear what?”

  “The song that brought you to me. I have tried to imagine what it might sound like since I was a boy. Will you play it for me?”

  Andrea stroked the cello’s neck. She had intended to use it to reopen the crack and return to her side of the wall, but standing a bed away from Isaac, she did not feel the need to rush home. “No.”

  A furrow formed between Isaac’s eyes. “Why not?”

  Andrea sat on the edge of the bed. “The crack might open. I don’t want to go back. Not just yet.”

  A blush rose behind Isaac’s collar. “You…uh…must be exhausted. I shall not keep you up. Good night, Andrea,” he said, spreading a blanket over the floor.

  —

  A dark angel, wingless and mighty, slept on the floor at the foot of her bed. His skin glowed golden in the firelight as though he were still smoldering from his fall. A traveling sack cradled his head. Its coarse, stained cloth was a sin against his smooth cheek. He didn’t seem to mind. His eyes shifted behind his lids, darting after a dream. Even from behind the veil of sleep, they pulled Andrea to him. Andrea forced herself to look away. She tiptoed past him, clutching his letter to her breast.

  Andrea sat by the fireplace and cracked Isaac’s wax seal. The letter’s paper was crisper than any of the ones Mr. Westin delivered, but Isaac’s tiny handwriting remained the same.

  My dearest Andrea,

  I know that I risk offending you by addressing you in such a familiar manner, but calling you anything less would be a lie. Though we had never spoken until your visit, you are, in truth, my most cherished friend. It is impossible for me to explain within the confines of one letter how you have steered the course of my life and so I shall not attempt it. There will be time for such stories in other letters. For now, I am writing you about a much more urgent matter.

  I do not know how or when you shall receive this letter, but I hope most fervently that it reaches you in time. My next words shall be blunt for I am at a loss for any other way to convey the dreadful message that you have requested that I send to you across time. If you are standing while reading this, I must insist that you find a place to sit. I beg you to be strong.

  Your father will meet his death soon after your twenty-second birthday. The nature and circumstances of this terrible event are not clear to me. All that I know of it are the words you have instructed me to convey. Forgo a stroll with your father after his concert. Seek a doctor and make haste. His life depends on it.

  Always,

  Isaac Newton

  Andrea exhaled. In three hundred years, Mr. Westin would stand at her door with a letter containing the words she had just read. Every ounce of grief she had hoarded pushed against her ribs, demanding to be released. They no longer had anyone to mourn. Andrea let them roll down her cheeks.

  “Is it as you hoped?” Isaac walked up behind her.

  She wiped her tears. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “My words have saddened you.” He reached for his letter. “I am sorry. I shall rip them apart and compose ones that are more to your liking.”

  “No. You don’t have to change a thing.”

  “Then why do you weep?”

  Andrea smiled through her tears. “Trust me. This letter is perfect.”

  The fireplace cast shadows over Isaac’s face. “But how shall it reach you in the future? Shall I slip it through the crack?”

  “You have to bury it.”

  “Bury it? Where? How will you find it? How will—”

  Andrea pressed her lips against Isaac’s mouth. There was a time for telling him about his apple tree and Mr. Westin’s deliveries, but on this night, they had a fire, a bed, and a letter that made everything right. Only their clothes kept them apart. Andrea led his fingers to her waist.

  Isaac searched her eyes for permission he didn’t need. “Andrea…”

  She clasped her hands behind his neck. “Do you want me?”

  “In the most hopeless and terrible way.” He undid the ribbon that laced up the bodice of her dress, taking slow breaths.

  Andrea slipped the dress from her shoulders and let it pool on the floor. “Then have me.”

  Isaac’s eyes wandered over Andrea’s body. Heat flared where his gaze caressed her skin. If he explored her nakedness a fraction of a second longer, she was going to burst into flames. She raised her hands to cover herself.

  Isaac drew her hand away from her breast. “I want to see you,” he said, sliding his hand down to her hip. “All of you.” He hooked his arm around her and lifted her off the floor. He carried her to the bed, kissing her fiercely and deeply. He laid her over the sheets and planted a trail of kisses from her ankle up to the curve of her neck. “You own me, Andrea,” he whispered behind her ear. “We do not stand beneath a church, but you are my altar, and in front of you, I make a vow as unbreakable as any blessed by a vicar. Tonight and always, everything I am and will be is yours.”

  —

  Andrea woke up, naked except for the warmth of Isaac’s arms. She exhaled into his chest. The morning had not stolen him away.

  “You are still here.” He stroked her cheek. “We have another day.”

  “But it feels like a trick.” She pressed herself closer to him. “I’m afraid that if we talk too loud…” She lowered her voice. “The crack will hear us and realize that I’m still here.”

  “You said that my letter told you that you would linger.”

  “But it didn’t say exactly how much time I have.”

  He sat up. “Then let us remove ourselves from this place. Let us live this day like two people with all the time in the world.”

  Andrea watched his lips intently, reading them as though he were still speaking soundlessly through the crack. She had not yet gotten used to hearing his voice. His words trembled through her spine just as the “Butterfly Lovers” Concerto did every time she heard it. Andrea rolled to her side and stared at the wall. “But that would be a lie.”

  He planted a trail of kisses over her nape. “I am willing to believe it if you are.”

  —

  The late afternoon sun dyed the winding brook with swirls of orange, red, and purple. The water gurgled in appreciation. Two leaves meandered through the brook, twirling to its song. A rock halted their dance. Isaac sat up from the pillow he had made of Andrea’s lap, leaving the shape of his head creased into her skirt. He dipped his hand into the water and nudged the leaves free. He rested his cheek over her thighs and watched them drift away.

  Andrea stroked his hair. She had read that his hair had gone snow white before he’d turned thirty and that he had blamed it on his extensive alch
emical experiments with mercury. That afternoon, there was not a single strand of silver on his head. His dark waves framed his handsome, unlined face, better than any of the ornate wooden frames mounted over portraits of him as an old man. He had yet to accomplish any of the great things that would secure his place in history, but she could not help but think that here, with his head cradled in her lap, his eyes on the water, and his lips curled in a lazy smile, he was most himself.

  “Do you think they will make it to the end?” she asked.

  Isaac craned his neck to follow the leaves as they drifted down the brook. “They are afloat.”

  Andrea sighed. “For now.”

  He reached behind her ear. A small wildflower crowned by intense blue petals appeared in his hand. “Gentiana verna. You can make a tea from it that eases digestion.” He handed it to her. “And doubt.”

  Andrea smiled. “You still do magic.”

  “You are magic.” He kissed her hand. “It is getting late. We should head back to the village.”

  The inn’s walls pressed against Andrea’s mind. “Do you…um…suppose we could spend the night here?”

  Isaac raised a brow. “You wish to sleep outdoors?”

  “Sure.” She patted the grass. “Why not?”

  Isaac smirked. “Is sleeping on the ground common on your side of the wall?”

  “Well, no, not really. Unless you like tents, bug bites, and s’mores.”

  “S’mores?”

  “Heaven between two graham crackers. Or biscuits. Or whatever it is you call them over here.”

  Isaac chuckled. “You are a strange one, Andrea Louviere. Come, tell me more about the world on your side of the wall.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to know about the future.”

  “I do not wish to know about my future, but I am curious about the rest of the world. I greatly wish to know more about where you are from.”

  Andrea chewed the side of her thumb. Isaac’s contributions in math and science were inextricable from the world he was asking her to describe. Man would not have landed on the moon if he had not understood gravity. Planes would not fly across the sky if people did not comprehend his laws of motion. Even rainbows would be a mystery without his experiments on the nature of light. “What would you like to know?”