by Louise Clark
In return he brought her organically grown fruits and vegetables packed with flavor Faith had never found in modern factory farmed produce. When the harvest came in Faith and Liz would eagerly await his arrival and Andrew would laugh as he watched them wolf down his offering.
Liz bustled in holding a fine bone china cup and saucer. As she poured the coffee, she rattled the cup on the saucer. Andrew opened his eyes and sat up, visibly shaking off his fatigue. After she added cream and a spoonful of sugar, she handed him the cup.
A man from a more formal age, Andrew thanked her with practiced ease. He expected certain rituals to be observed, no matter what the time or place. “Ahh,” he said after taking a sip. “So civilized. Thank you, lass.”
“You’re late tonight,” Faith said. She nodded toward Elizabeth. “We were just talking about it.”
“One of the cows was in calf, early I might add. It put a cramp in my style, as you lovely lasses might say.” He drank deeply and sighed again. “Birthing a calf makes a man’s bones ache, it does.”
“Think of how the cow feels,” Elizabeth muttered.
Andrew flashed her a wicked grin, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief. He wagged his finger at Elizabeth. “Mind you don’t mock your old uncle, now, when you’ve no notion of what he must endure in his own time.”
Elizabeth wiped a nonexistent tear from beneath her eye. “Ah, poor Uncle Andrew.”
Andrew wagged his finger again, pretending to be stern. The sleeve of his white linen shirt, which had been rolled up to the elbow, loosened. As it slid down to his wrist the flounce that took the place of a cuff fluttered around his hand. He lifted the coffee cup, but before he sipped, he said, “Mind your manners, girl. Without me you wouldn’t be here.”
For a moment, as he observed them over the rim of the cup, Faith had a sudden uncomfortable memory of Cody Simpson watching her over his much more pedestrian mug that morning. The two men were of an age—she knew Uncle Andrew was just past his twenty-eighth birthday and she guessed Cody was somewhere between that and thirty. Physically they were completely different, however. Cody was tall and lean while Andrew was medium height and stocky. There was something in that look, though, something that linked the two men in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint. A sense of confidence, perhaps? Of knowing yourself and feeling comfortable in your own skin?
Unsettled, she stood up to get herself a refill on the coffee. She held the beaker up, offering to top up Liz and Andrew. Both shook their heads. “So how is the cow?” she asked as she was once more curled up on the end of the sofa.
“A proud mother. Both cow and calf are doing well,” Andrew said in a satisfied way. “Did you replenish the liquid soap, Faith, the way I asked you to last week?”
Faith laughed. “What if I forgot? Would you go home and use the basin in your room to wash instead of my shower?”
Andrew placed his cup in the saucer with a click. “Now you know I enjoy the use of your wonderful bathroom, girl. It’s a luxury to me, truly it is. The cranberry soap is just…a little bit more of a luxury.”
Faith shook her head, but she was smiling. “Andrew, the next thing you’ll tell me is that you come visit me for the pleasure of my company, not to use the bathroom.”
“We’ve been friends for years,” he said, a little defensively.
“I was thirteen when you traveled here for the first time,” Faith said. “I can still remember thinking you were wearing funny clothes.”
“And I thought you had long hair like a girl’s,” Elizabeth added.
Andrew straightened, looked down at the white linen shirt and the brown breeches below it, and said, “What’s wrong with how I dress? My clothes proclaim me for the substantial landowner that I am.”
“You’re a farmer,” Elizabeth said.
“There’s nothing wrong with what you are wearing.” Faith smiled at him mischievously. “Unless you’re traveling through time and you’ve come over two hundred and forty years into the future. Then you look a little odd.”
Andrew rubbed his cheek, which was dark with evening stubble. In addition to his shower, Andrew usually shaved when he visited. “You’ve a point there, lass. Still, I don’t leave your house, so no one is the wiser.” He nodded, satisfied he’d dealt with that issue. He turned to Elizabeth, now prepared to answer hers. “In 1772 it is not your occupation that makes the difference, but the size of your property. And mine,” he added with considerable smugness, “is extensive.”
Faith finished her coffee. She set her mug on a side table then regarded her ancestor seriously. “Which is why no one is surprised that you wash frequently with soap delicately scented with the tart fragrance of cranberry. We hope. Andrew, isn’t this regular trip to the future dangerous? Don’t you ever worry that people will start to wonder what you do on Friday evenings when you disappear from your house?”
Andrew impaled her with a sharp, assessing gaze that made her think, once again, of the way Cody Simpson had looked at her today. “Are you trying to tell me something I am not supposed to know, Faith?”
You must never reveal the past. Faith could hear her mother’s warning ringing in her ears as clearly as it had the day Chloe Hamilton had watched her best friend and distant ancestor return to her own time and a certain death from an infection that could be easily cured in the twenty-first century. The weight of knowledge, the despair of a loved one lost were there in Chloe’s voice and they echoed in Faith’s mind now. She shook her head. “I don’t hint, Andrew. We’ve been friends too long for you to think that I would.”
He grinned at her, unrepentant. “A fellow can try, can he not?” He stretched and his shirt tightened over his muscular chest. Yawning, he said, “Now then, I must make my ablutions and be off. If I remain on this wonderfully soft settee of yours, Faith, I am certain to fall asleep.”
“Because of the cow, no doubt,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“Ah. Well now, not quite.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and made a waving motion with her hand. “Come on, give. What’s up?”
Andrew looked from one sister to the other. Then he too leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial way, “I was trysting with Mary Elizabeth Strand last night. A fine, bonny lass she is and full of the sauce.”
Elizabeth drew back in horror. “You mean you got her drunk?”
“Would I do something like that?” There was indignation in his voice.
“He means that she breaks the rules and gives people a hard time, Liz. As in the phrase ‘a saucy wench’.”
“Aye, that she is. ’Tis driving her father mad, she is.” He grinned.
“Who is her father?” Faith asked, carefully casual.
“George Strand. He is an agent of the King, collects the taxes in Boston town.” Andrew sniffed, making his opinion of George Strand’s occupation clear. “Bought himself a section of old man Abnernathy’s farm adjacent to mine and moved his wife and daughters there a month ago.”
“Were the Strands the neighbors you mentioned last week?” Faith asked, hoping she only showed polite interest.
“Aye, they are. I think Strand’s got himself a mistress in Boston town and wants his family safely tucked away while he plays,” Andrew added in a disapproving tone. “I’ve no proof of that, mind.” He cocked an inquiring eye at Elizabeth and then Faith. Both women kept their expressions bland. Andrew sighed. “Well, it’s not as if I’m gossiping, now, is it? Neither of you ladies can tell the neighbors what I’ve said.”
He stood, picking up his bag. “Time to bathe and be gone. I thank you for the coffee, Faith, lass.”
Faith and Elizabeth drank coffee and talked about Liz’s paper until they were sure the shower was running and there was the sound of Andrew singing lustily under the spray. Then Elizabeth turned to Faith. Her eyes were dancing with excitement. “We were right! Mary Elizabeth Strand is the woman he marries, isn’t she?”
“Yup.”
“Oh wow,” Elizabeth said. “And if history is
right, while he’s busy trysting with Mary Elizabeth…”
“Her tax collector daddy is arranging for his daughter to marry someone who works for the King…”
“And not an independent colonist like Andrew. So daddy sets his thugs on Andrew…”
“But Andrew escapes his pursuers, proposes to Mary Elizabeth…”
“And they elope to New York City where they are married a month later.”
“They have three kids and also bring up his sister’s children—including our great great great grandmother—when she and her husband die from an unnamed disease.”
Faith set the coffee cups onto the tray and headed for the kitchen. Liz trailed along behind. There was just room in the dishwasher for the everyday cups. Faith quickly finished the loading.
Elizabeth handed her the box of dishwasher powder. “This is it, then,” she said, flashing a grin.
Faith nodded. “It’s all begun.” She switched on the dishwasher.
A minute later there was a bellow from the vicinity of the bathroom. “Oops,” Faith said. They both giggled as she put the washing on hold, a little edgy because of what they’d just realized. They went out into the hall. Faith yelled up the staircase, “Sorry Uncle Andrew!” The shower pounded on.
A half-an-hour later, Andrew reappeared in the living room where Faith and Liz were again sitting. He was wearing a freshly ironed linen shirt, tied at the neck with a black band and ornamented by a fine lace fall. Over the shirt he had donned a white silk waistcoat. His breeches were black, the buttons on the outside a gleaming silver. He crossed to Faith. “Thank you, my dear, for the use of your delightful bathing chamber.”
“I thought you were tired,” Liz said, as she watched him kissing her sister on the cheek.
He straightened. “The elegant surroundings have revived me.”
Faith watched him as he sauntered to the centre of the room. His square jaw was clean-shaven, his dark hair still damp from the shower, and he smelled tantalizingly of cranberry. There was no way poor Mary Elizabeth would ever be able to resist him, even if she wanted to.
“I have left my breeches and two fine shirts in your bathroom, Faith. Would you mind having your cleaners see to them?”
“No problem.”
“My thanks.” He stepped back and shrugged into the coat he had on his arm. It was dark green velvet picked out with silver braid. “How do I look, ladies?” he asked, as he flicked the ruffles that finished his shirtsleeves free of the deep cuffs of the coat.
He looked what he was—not just a hard working farmer, but a prosperous eighteenth century gentleman fashionably dressed for an evening out. The clothes should have looked ridiculous, but they didn’t. They suited him, giving him a devilish air that was extremely appealing.
Elizabeth shot him a glance that was close to a leer as she watched him pick up his bag. “I think you’ve got a hot date with Mary Elizabeth again tonight.”
Andrew shot her one of his roguish smiles. “Or something.” He executed an ornate bow that involved much bending and hand waving. “Your servant, ladies,” he said.
“Bye Uncle Andrew,” Elizabeth said, blowing him a kiss.
Andrew grinned.
Faith said, “See you next week, Andrew.”
He nodded, turned, took two steps…
And disappeared.
Faith sighed. “That man is heading for trouble.”
Elizabeth laughed. “He is so great. He makes me wish I was born in the eighteenth century, just to meet a guy like him.”
Faith sighed again. “Don’t get me wrong, Liz. Andrew is a very dear friend, but he’s why I can never be normal.”
“Why would you want to be normal, Faith? You have a special ability. You’re a Beacon. Enjoy it! In fact, think of me. I’m the only one in the family who doesn’t have the ability and I wish I did.”
“Dad doesn’t have it.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Faith was able to guide people through time, a family talent she’d inherited from her mother. Those who moved through time, like Andrew, were Travelers. To shift from their own time period to another they needed a light—a beacon—to guide them.
Daniel Hamilton had never been comfortable with his wife’s talent and when Faith reached her teenage years and began to exhibit the first signs that she too was a Beacon, the fragile bonds that kept the marriage together broke. Daniel walked away from his eccentric family, keeping in close touch with his normal daughter, Elizabeth, but limiting contact with his odd ex-wife and equally strange older daughter, Faith. The pain of that abandonment still haunted Faith and was at the centre of her need to fit in. Chloe never mentioned it, but she did everything in her power to avoid being in the same room with her ex-husband.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and scrutinized her sister. “Okay. You’d prefer not to be a Beacon. So what are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do about it?”
“Good question. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to stop being a Beacon, sis.”
“Or if they have, they haven’t explained how they did it,” Faith said gloomily.
“Cheer up. Life with Andrew is about to get pretty interesting.”
“So is life with Cody Simpson.” Faith groaned and closed her eyes. “I feel like I’m in a car with no breaks. My life is suddenly out of control and there is nothing I can do about it.”
Elizabeth came over to the sofa to give her a hug. “I’ve got to be off, but listen, don’t sweat it. Everything will work out.”
“Sure,” Faith said, not believing it for an instant.
After Elizabeth had gone, Faith returned to the sofa and again curled her legs beneath her. Propping her elbow on the arm, she rested her chin on her palm and stared unseeing at the fireplace. As long as she continued to have her ancestor travel through time to visit her she would always feel different from those around her.
Hell, she didn’t just feel different, she was different!
So if she wanted to stop being different, if she wanted to fit into the normal world she must stop Andrew from visiting her.
She sat for a long time with only the light from the hallway to relieve the darkness of the room. The gloom matched her mood. Andrew was a friend and in his way, he depended on her. What she was thinking of doing was a betrayal. Yet, if she didn’t stop being a Beacon she would never have a normal life.
There was no easy answer. She hadn’t expected there would be.
Faith studied the spreadsheet on her computer screen. There was a discrepancy here, she was sure of it. She hadn’t found it yet, but she would. Part of her job was to check the expenses of the various NIT projects, ensuring the budget for each was followed. She also chased down suppliers, kept track of the staff and performed a myriad of other duties. Pretty much anything that had to be fixed went to Faith. And today that meant figuring out why a major project was two hundred thousand over budget at such an early point in its existence.
The variety in her job was what she loved best about it. That and the authority she’d been given when she started and the respect she’d earned since being hired straight out of college by Ralph Warren.
She had graduated with high marks, but little experience, a lot of enthusiasm and an enormous desire to contribute. On her first day Ralph had met her enthusiasm with a whole mountain of his own, told her she needed to create a filing system and asked her to hire an accounting clerk who could also answer the telephone. As an afterthought he asked her to okay a salary range for the accounting clerk with him before she made an offer.
In those early days there were no job descriptions at NIT and damn little structure. Everyone did what had to be done for the company to survive. Salary was a combination of a monthly paycheck, annual bonus and, when things were really tight, shares in the company in lieu of hard cash. In those days you had to believe in NIT to stick around.
Faith stuck. So did the clerk she had hired in that first week. June McGuire was now more of Faith’s
assistant than the receptionist, but she still kept an eye on staff comings and goings.
Faith tapped the desk with the tip of one finger. She still hadn’t found out how the project was so far off target. Budget estimates were what NIT used to create a project bid. If they won the contract they were expected to stick to their bid totals, unless the customer requested significant changes.
Maybe that was it. Maybe there were new requirements that were more costly. She contemplated the staff telephone list pinned to her bulletin board. Who was the project manager again? Oh, yeah, it was—
There was a tap on her door. Pulled from her reverie she looked up to see June hovering in her doorway. Perfect. “June! What do you know about the ArcPAC job?”
June slid through the door. Standing with her hand on the handle, she said, “They’re on time and over budget. Herb thinks they can make up the budget difference in the second leg of the project.”
“Two hundred thousand, June. That’s a lot over budget.”
June glanced out into the general office, then deliberately closed the door. “Herb says that his estimates were rounded down before the bid was submitted.”
That explained why June had shut the door. When NIT was preparing a bid, project managers created an action paper that included project strategies and outcomes, as well as a detailed budget. The executive committee, consisting of Ralph, Ava as the COO, the Chief Financial Officer and the Director of Sales, then reviewed and sometimes revised the action paper.
Evidently a mistake had been made in the ArcPAC project during the review process. That June felt she had to close the door to mention it spoke volumes about the way NIT was evolving as a company.
“Okay, we’ll keep an eye on it. If the project continues to be over budget I’ll have to talk to Ava or Ralph.”
June nodded. “Faith, have you got a moment?”
Faith sat back. June leaned against the door, her hands behind her, evidently still holding the handle. “Of course I do.” Faith pointed to a chair.
June remained where she was. She looked miserable. “I feel really bitchy doing this.”