She leaned out the window, her gaze following the cat until he disappeared from sight, undoubtedly off to the barn to search for a rodent to eat. She envied Sebastian the freedom to come and go as he pleased. She’d never really known that kind of freedom, not as a young woman expected to behave as a lady, and not as the wife of a respected plantation owner.
It seemed women in Jamie’s time had more freedom. She’d had the devil of a time trying to figure out how to work the reading contraption he’d brought her, but now that she had, she enjoyed it. Some words and phrases she would have to ask him to explain, but it seemed women were no longer held by the tight societal constraints she was accustomed to.
He’d also taken the time to capture images of some of the things he’d told her about—automobiles, airplanes, computers, televisions. The one thing he hadn’t included was images of her house. His reluctance to describe it to her in detail worried her, made her fret over what had become of it between her time and his.
Her marriage to Bernard had been more about uniting neighboring plantations than for love, but she’d hoped to grow to love her husband in time. The war and his untimely death had robbed them of that opportunity, but she’d come to love his home. Her home, she reminded herself. She loved being lady of the house. Until the Union army had decided it would make a good headquarters.
She sighed, resting her forearms on the window ledge, enjoying the feel of the warm afternoon sunlight and fresh air. A noise below and male voices drew her attention. She opened her eyes. Two federal soldiers stood directly below her window, talking and smoking. Her skin prickled and she eased away from the window, intent on hiding just out of sight and overhearing whatever she could.
You’re a martyr. Jamie’s words, and his insistence that the south would lose the war came back to haunt her. Was she needlessly risking her life by passing along what information she could to help the Confederate army?
She hunched beside the window, no longer straining to overhear the voices. She was simply a Southerner doing her part to help the cause. She’d never once considered that the south might actually lose. Should that knowledge change things? She frowned. Her history had yet to be written, at least in her own time. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change the outcome.
The men below continued their conversation, talking mainly about wives and sweethearts left behind, about relatives who had died or gone missing during the war. Her heart ached as she listened, thinking of her own brothers, one older and one younger than she, who had lost their lives in the war, as well as numerous other young men she’d once enjoyed flirting and dancing with.
Tears stung at her eyes as she listened to their reminiscing. Like her, they just wanted the war to be over so they could get back to their lives, their loved ones. Most of those she held near and dear were gone, her father dead undoubtedly from the stress of trying to work his own fields after the slaves had run off; her mother had mourned him to her own grave. The war had dragged on for nearly a year now.
She closed her eyes as hot tears spilled past her lashes. “How much longer can this war go on?”
“About another three years.”
Her heart lurched and she opened her eyes to see Jamie regarding her with disappointment. “Spying again?”
She shook her head. “Just listening.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “And if you happened to overhear something useful, what would you do with the information?”
She rose to her feet, cheeks stinging with the knowledge that she had already imparted information once today. “What would you do if it were your home under siege, your land invaded by the enemy? Wouldn’t you fight back in whatever way you could?”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to debate those issues with you, Josette. They’ve been argued for a hundred and fifty years and no one has the answers even now.”
“With all the advancements of your time? Why I thought you had the answers for everything.” She strode across the room to her changing screen, picked up the chamber pot and carried it back to the window.
“Someone’s a little testy this afternoon.”
Methodically, she tipped the chamber pot to dump the contents on the intruders below, then pulled the window down, leaving it open just far enough for Sebastian to make his return. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“I suppose I would.” He sank down onto the bed, half reclining.
“Everything is changed, all my friends and loved ones are gone—I have nothing left but to wait in this room and hope—” her voice broke and she paused to swallow the emotion lodged in her throat.
“Come back with me.”
“Back to your time?” Though the thought gave her a slight thrill, it also sent a cold flash of fear down he spine. “No, thank you. I doubt I’d fit in.”
He grinned. “No, you probably wouldn’t.” He reached behind him to pull out a pad of paper and a slender, tubular shaped instrument. “I had an idea,” he said. “Since when I’m here I can’t really go wandering the halls of this house and taking pictures of all the rooms—though I’d really like to—I thought you could describe them to me.”
“Why?”
“So I can restore your house to exactly the way it looks right now.”
“I want to see it, Jamie. I want to see how it looks in your time.”
“Then come back with me, Lady Spy.”
“I can’t. I have work to do here.”
He took hold of her hand and pulled her down onto the bed to sit beside him. “Work that will lead to your death—and the south’s going to lose anyway.”
A thrill of excitement shot through her. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? “Jamie, you could help me! Tell me what changes the course of the war—tell me when and I can warn the proper people, I can change the course of events.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Josette—it’s wrong. We can’t change history.”
“Because you think the southern cause is wrong?”
“Don’t get that indignant tone, I’m not about to decide who was right and who was wrong—it’s not my war. But we’d have no idea the impact changing even a few minor things could have on the future. It’s wrong.”
She rose from the bed and folded her arms protectively over herself. He was right, there was no denying that. But she hated the idea, hated knowing that innocent lives would continue to be destroyed—for three more years!—and there was nothing she could do to stop it. And Jamie could stop it, but refused to do so.
She felt him come up behind her. The warmth of his hands settled on her shoulders. She indulged the sensation for a precious moment before shrugging away from his touch. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t come here to upset you.”
“Why do you come here, then?”
“Because I can’t help myself.” Warm lips brushed the back of her neck, causing feathery shivers to dance down her spine. His hands settled once more on her shoulders. “Have you ever wanted something so much it consumes your every waking thought? Dammit Josette, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I can’t think about anything but you.”
A pleasant trembling began deep in her belly.
He turned her to face him. “I’m trying to save your life, dammit.”
“What if saving me changes history, have you considered that?”
His expression sobered. “Yes. But I don’t give a damn if it does.”
“But you do give a damn about who wins the war, even though you say you don’t.” She stepped away from him. “So it’s all right to change history if it means having what you want—in this instance, me. But not if it means having what I want.” She crossed the room to take a seat at her vanity. Methodically she pulled the pins from her hair, shaking her head so the curls fell about her shoulders. As she picked up her hair brush she met his gaze in the mirror.
“You’re asking me to change something far bigger, Josette. You’re practically asking me to
commit treason. All I’m trying to do is save you.”
“So you can bed me?” She slammed her hairbrush down and swiveled to face him. “You’re no better than General Stillwater!”
“I never said I’d force you.” He folded his arms across his chest. “When we do finally make love, you’ll be willing. But I won’t touch you until you agree to stop risking your neck for a lost cause.”
“Then you won’t be touching me, Jamie D’Alessandro. Because I intend to continue aiding the cause the only way I know how.” She rose from her seat and strode purposely across the room toward the changing screen. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
“Like what? Pace across the room? Eavesdrop on private conversations?”
“Why are you being so hateful?” She raised a hand to strike him. He caught hold of her wrist as she swung, and took a step backward.
And everything changed.
Chapter Six
A bloodcurdling scream tore from Josette a split second before she went totally limp in Jamie’s arms. Only then did he realize what happened. He’d stepped backward into his own time and somehow she’d come along with him.
He lifted her fully into his arms, aware of the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Three of the restoration workers scrambled to a halt in the doorway, staring at him in confusion.
Directly behind them was Len. “Where have you been?” She elbowed her way into the room. “They said you were up here, but I couldn’t find you. When I call your cell I just get your voicema—who the hell is that?”
“The lady is a friend of mine,” Jamie explained quickly. Every one of the workers knew there hadn’t been a woman up here a few minutes ago. “She had a bad scare, that’s all.”
“I was just in here and the room was empty,” Len insisted.
“I can explain,” he said under his breath. “Just let me find someplace to—” Josette stirred in his arms and he glanced down at her. A wave of tenderness washed over him when her coffee-dark eyes fluttered open. “Can someone bring her some water?”
He breathed a sigh of relief as everyone but Len left the room.
“My house,” Josette murmured. “What have you done to my house?”
Jamie glanced around the room, at the walls stripped to the studs, the floor torn up on one side of the room, the paint that hung in strips from the yellowed ceiling. This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted her to see.
He heard footsteps again and then Len handed him a cold bottle of water.
“Her house?” Len repeated. “What does she mean her house—and why is she in that costume?”
Jamie uncapped the bottle and handed it to Josette. “It’s not a costume. And this is her house.”
Len said nothing. A quick glance at her showed she’d gone completely pale. “You faint and you’re on your own,” he warned. “My arms are already full.”
“Jamie,” Josette said, her voice thick with emotion. “What have you done to my house?”
“Shhh…” he said. “Don’t try to talk right now.”
“That’s the lady from the portrait downstairs, isn’t it?” Len knelt beside him, studying Josette with sudden interest. “Is she a ghost?”
“She’s as real as we are.”
Josette glanced at Len, then back to Jamie. “Am I…is this…”
“My time,” Jamie said gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you back in a few minutes.”
Len’s jewel-bedecked hand appeared between them to hesitantly touch Josette. She pulled back as if she’d been burned. “Saints preserve us, she is real.” She made an elaborate show of crossing herself.
“You’re Jewish,” Jamie reminded her. Still in his arms, Josette wriggled to a sitting position. He turned his attention back to her. “Do you feel dizzy?”
“I’m fine. Is this your mother?”
“Not by birth, but she’s more or less appointed herself that over the past ten years. She’s actually my CFO—Chief Financial Officer of D’Alessandro Real Estate. Josette Beaumont, meet Lenora Goldman.”
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said.
Len stared at Jamie, eyes wide. “All this talk in the past few days about doing research on this lady—and not wanting Ashley to get her hands on the house. Is this why?”
“I’ll explain it all later.” Jamie rose to his feet, then held out a hand to help Josette up. “Len, why don’t you send the restoration team home for the rest of the day? I think I owe the lady a tour of her house and I’d prefer not to have an audience.”
“Sure, Jame.” Len stared at Josette as if she expected her to levitate and float around the room at any second.
“I’ll explain everything tomorrow, I promise.”
The older woman’s expression suddenly snapped back to normal. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I mean, if she’s really from where I think she is—you can’t do this.”
“Trust me; I’ve been over all that. It’ll be fine.” He didn’t intend to take Josette off the grounds. Hopefully they wouldn’t encounter anything or anyone that could affect history while she was here.
****
The tour of the house went better than Jamie expected. Maybe because Josette had realized in a glance that the house had been neglected for a long time. As they went through the house room by room, Jamie made a mental note of each observation she made—what color things were “supposed” to be, what was missing or changed from when she’d lived in the house.
She insisted on heading outdoors, refusing to accept no for an answer when he hesitated. He was glad he’d hired caretakers for the grounds recently, otherwise they’d have had to pick their way through weeds and mud. But given her determined stride as she crossed the yard, he was fairly certain she’d have found what she was looking for even if things were still overgrown.
At last, after making her way around some overgrown trees, she stopped. She knelt down and parted the overgrown grass with her hands to reveal a white, weathered grave marker. ‘
A lump rose in his throat as she traced her fingers over the name. Time and exposure had worn much of it smooth, but he didn’t have to wonder whose name had been etched in the stone.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung back, giving her time to mourn or pray or do whatever people did at grave sides. The afternoon sun was strong, helping to ease the chill of an early spring afternoon. The rays illuminated shades of copper and gold in her dark hair, making her head glow like an angel’s halo. How was it possible that a few weeks ago he hadn’t even known of her existence yet now, the thought of losing her scared the hell out of him?
“I can’t believe how different it looks,” she said, half turning to look over her shoulder at him. “I tended his grave regularly.”
Jamie swallowed the lump in his throat. “You must have really loved him.”
She looked back at the stone, ran her fingers over the name once more. “I never really had the opportunity. He died before our affection for one another could turn to love.”
“Affection? You sound more like you’re talking about a sibling than a husband.”
“We grew up together. His sister was my dearest friend—she’s buried just a few feet over that way. She died in childbirth the same month Bernard and I were married.”
So many losses, and she was so young. The same age he was when his parents had passed away.
“So why did you marry him if you didn’t love him?”
“I cared for him. It was a business matter, really, to join neighboring plantations.” She gazed out in the distance as if searching for something. But all that was within sight was the interstate. “Bernard couldn’t marry the girl he really loved, so he didn’t object to marrying me.”
He knelt beside her, finding it hard to imagine anyone considering Josette second best. “Why couldn’t he marry her?”
“Because she was a house worker.”
“House worker…a slave?”
“Yes.”
/> “Was she African American?”
“That’s a strange phrase. I read that in some of the books you left for me. What does it mean?”
“A person of color—black or brown skinned.”
“Yes.” She looked back at the stone. “His parents sent her away before we were married. Bernard never got over the loss.”
She rose, brushing the dirt and grass from her skirt and moved on. She paused at her sister-in-law’s grave for a few moments, then pointed out the graves of both her in-laws and other Beaumont’s dating back to the 1700s. Most of the stones were illegible now, many crumbling and deteriorated.
He fell into step beside her when she was finished.
“Where am I buried?”
“What?”
“I don’t see a marker for me. So I’m assuming my remains were never brought back to Beaumont House.”
He winced. “I don’t know.” He didn’t want to know. Finding her grave would feel like losing her for good. He hadn’t Googled her lately to see if it the information had changed and it certainly had never occurred to him to look into where she was buried.
She stopped and grabbed hold of his arm. “What is that?”
“What’s what?”
“That noise—it’s so loud.”
Only then did he hear what she did, the roar of a jet flying overhead. “An airplane,” he said, pointing it out to her.
She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked upward. “Oh it’s magnificent, like a graceful silver bird.”
He smiled, enjoying her enthusiasm. “Maybe someday I’ll take you for a ride in mine.”
“Your what?”
“My plane.”
“You own one of those?”
They fell into step once again. “Yes. One for business use, and a smaller one I pilot myself.”
“Pilot—you mean you fly it?”
He laughed. It would be so much fun to introduce her to his world, it would be like seeing it through new eyes. His cell phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see who was calling. Len. She could wait.
This Moment In Time Page 6