Across Time: Across Time Book 1

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  He moves toward me, stopping only when we are inches apart, eyes on my face in a way I’ve seen only a few times before. He looks stunned, as if my presence here is some kind of miracle. Before I can ask him what’s going on, his hands curve around my jaw, and he kisses me.

  It's too much sensation to even process—the feel of his mouth, the firmness of his body against mine, his smell, his desire. I'm still holding the blanket around me but my body sways against his until there's not a whisper of space between us and his arms slide down to my back, gripping me harder, kissing me harder. Kissing me as if he would like to drown in me, as if I'm the only thing he's hungered for in a hundred years. And I am kissing him back. I want to kiss him hard enough to become a part of him, to sear my memory into his skin, sear his into mine.

  My arms climb around his neck and the blanket falls to the ground. His hands are on my bare back and I want everything from him, so much I can hardly stand to wait.

  Except...

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, stumbling as I back away from him.

  This isn’t now. This is fall, when I'm no longer here, and this shouldn’t be happening. Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend it shouldn’t be happening. I don’t know what I’ve just done, but I know I need to escape from it, especially given that I’m now standing in front of him naked. I vanish before I can give myself even a moment to change my mind, returning to the moment I bookmarked so fast that I barely manage to stop as I feel it approaching.

  I land and see my clothes resting in a pile, so I scramble back into them just as Henri pulls up. He’s climbing out of the truck when I emerge, and the sight of him there makes my breath come short. That kiss was like nothing I’d ever imagined. And I still don’t know what happened. He’s been restrained with me even at times when I would not have shown restraint. What the hell happens in the next week to change that?

  We make a mistake.

  If I stay another week or two as promised, he and I will make a mistake. We will sleep together or come close to it, changing things for us both. Why else would he kiss me the way he did?

  "You’re staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, his smile fading. "Is something wrong?"

  Yes.

  "No," I reply, looking away. "I just think it’s time for me to head home."

  My last full day with Henri and Marie is a sober one. Henri spends most of it outside and Marie spends it baking, worrying her lower lip with her teeth until it is raw.

  "What if you're not well enough to get home?” she asks. "Don't you think you should stay a few more days, just to be safe?"

  I watch Henri walk to the pump, his t-shirt clinging to him, drinking water he's cupped in his hands. "No," I reply, my voice a little faint. "I think it's best that I get back right away."

  Marie stays home that afternoon, so there is no evening picnic, no ride to the meadow to watch the setting sun. Somehow I didn’t think it would be over so quickly. I thought I’d have a chance to say goodbye to each of the places I loved with him, but I won’t.

  Dinner is painfully quiet, and before it’s even done, Marie tears up and excuses herself for the night. Henri and I clear the table, and every time his arm or hip brush against mine I’m thinking about that kiss in the orchard, and wanting it all over again.

  “Come on,” he says when we’re done, placing his hand at the small of my back.

  I let him push me toward the door. “Where are we going?”

  He laughs. “Where else?”

  We walk to the hay bale, the site of so many picnics and the infamous chocolate incident. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, wishing I could relive each of them.

  He spreads a blanket and we sit side by side, leaning our heads backward to glance at the sliver of moon visible through the clouds. “Tomorrow, that and the sun are going to be the only things we share.”

  My throat swells to the point of pain. I don’t want to live in a world where he is not. “It’s not enough.”

  “No,” he says softly. “It’s not. So are you glad you wound up staying here?”

  I laugh, brushing tears from my face. “Of course. Are you glad I wound up staying here?”

  He smiles, but his eyes are sad. “Of course. Although I’m going to be spending the rest of my life fielding questions about my beautiful cousin.”

  I shrug. “Beautiful? As I recall, you told Madame Beauvoir when I got here that you didn’t find me attractive but not all men could afford to be picky.”

  “That’s what you deserved for pretending you didn’t understand us. My God,” he says, his laughter a low rumble in his chest, “your face when I said that. I was certain you’d crack.”

  “You knew?! All this time?” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Why tell you? It was so much more fun to say awful things about you in front of your face and watch you try not to explode.”

  We both laugh and then it fades to silence again.

  “I’m sorry about the dance,” he finally says.

  “Which part?”

  “All of it. That I hurt your feelings. That I probably ruined it for you with my jealousy.”

  I let my head rest on his shoulder for just a moment. “You made up for in the end. I’m just sorry the only person I got to dance with the whole time I was here was André.”

  He climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to me. “We should fix that then.”

  My heart flutters, skips several beats. "Oh...okay."

  He places a hand on my waist, another holds mine aloft and begins to hum a tune I don't know.

  "If anyone comes out here, they'll see you dancing with your cousin."

  He gives me a small smile. “I’m sure you realize at this point they all think we’re doing a lot more than that.”

  My breath catches a little at the suggestion of it, but instead of holding myself back, I step closer and let my head rest on his chest, breathing in the smell of him, memorizing the rough feel of his shirt against my skin, his neck against my forehead. His arms tighten.

  Tomorrow I will return home to a world in which Henri and Marie may no longer exist. But even if they do, I couldn’t bear to see them old and alone and infirm. I want them to stay just as they are. And I wish I could stay with them. I wish I could stay with him exactly the way we are now. Leaving is going to hurt more than anything has since I lost Kit.

  His hands splay across my back, as if trying to cover as much of my skin as possible, and for a moment I feel his fingertips press, pulling me closer.

  “I want your name,” he says quietly. “I want to be the one person in all of the past who knows who you really are.”

  I smile, blinking back tears. It’s been so long I’d nearly forgotten I ever had a name that wasn’t Amelie Durand. “Sarah,” I whisper. “Sarah Stewart.”

  “Sarah,” he says, resting a palm against my face. “My little thief.”

  His breath ghosts over my head, and when I glance up at him again, his eyes are fastened on my mouth as if he is hungry, as if he would devour me if he could. And I want him to so badly that I'm strung tight with it.

  His head descends, his mouth gently pressing to each cheek, to my forehead and my eyes, and I’m not sure I’m even breathing as I wait for him to find my mouth. I stopped him when he kissed me the last time, but I don’t have it in me to stop him again.

  But it doesn’t come. Instead he releases me as if he’s been burned, flinching. “Go,” he says, more to himself than to me. “It will have to be enough.”

  He walks off into the darkness without ever looking back and I watch him go, feeling sick with the loss. I know it makes sense—why start something with a girl who’s leaving forever?

  I always thought I’d be relieved to get home. Now I think it might break my heart instead.

  24

  I lie in bed that night exhausted and unable to sleep. I will miss the crickets. I will miss the silence behind them. I will miss open windows and the smell of heat-pressed
grass blowing in to wake me.

  I will miss Marie-Therese, who feels like a sister.

  And most of all I will miss Henri, who is everything to me. I can only hope it won’t still feel like this once I get home, because I’m not sure I can bear it.

  I wake feeling exhausted yet jittery, like I've had ten espressos after a night without sleep. My reflection shows that I am pale today beneath the tan I've gained in the summer sun, with blue circles under my eyes. It's not how I want to look when I say goodbye to him.

  I don’t want to say goodbye to him at all.

  If he’d asked me to stay…

  I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter. I can’t stay, and he doesn’t care enough to ask anyway.

  I begin sweating at the idea of leaving him. My hands shake, and the white dress I’ve put on for the last time sticks to my skin. I should be conserving every ounce of energy for the trip home but I can’t seem to help it. What should I say to Henri? How will I tell him goodbye? Should I warn him that I will appear in a few months? I guess it’s not necessary—if I leave now, then whatever would lead him to kiss me the way he did won’t happen. I just hope I don’t lose the memory. It’s one I’d like to keep forever.

  I strip the bed and carefully collect all of the items I've acquired or borrowed during my time here—a brush, some books, bobby pins, the hose and gloves—and place them neatly on the small bureau. I will never be in this house again, in this room again, and even that makes me sad, because this place has been more of a home than any I've ever known.

  When I get into the kitchen, Marie pushes me to the table where bread and cheese and fruit wait. "You need to eat, for strength," she says.

  I nod but I've got little appetite. I should be eager to return home—to television, to comfortable clothes and air conditioning and every food imaginable. I should be eager to return to a life where there are no chores, where nothing is expected of me and life seems to function entirely on its own without any labor on my end. But I'm not. There is nothing inside me that wants to go back.

  Marie paces while I pick at a piece of bread. "You've only made a trip of that length once and you're going back weaker than you were," she frets. "What will you do if you don't make it?"

  "I'll come find you," I say, forcing a smile, "and you will stuff me full of bread once more and send me on my way."

  Her own attempt at a smile falters a little. She swallows. "Do you think we'll be here then?" she asks quietly. "You think we'll survive this war you say is coming?"

  My eyes sting. The truth is I have no idea. Marie might survive, but how will Henri? Whether he remains on this farm or not, I know he’ll be fighting. If I were to visit again, even sometime in the next two years, he might already be gone.

  "I can't imagine you not surviving just about anything," I tell her. "But I wish you'd consider going to the south of France. The farm will still be here when the war is over, I'm sure."

  She smiles sadly. "I need to stay for my mother, and also Henri."

  I nod, feeling choked up. "I guess you can always break the Germans' ankles and refuse to go back in time to fix them if they arrive at the farm."

  "I owe you an apology for that,” she says. “My logic won’t make much sense, I suppose, but my mother…she thought you were in love with Henri. She said it was the reason she told you what she did when you visited. So when your ankle broke…”

  “You thought it would give us more time together,” I conclude. I’d suspected as much already, but I can only admit to myself now that I was grateful for it.

  “I see how ridiculous it was now,” she says. “Even if things had worked out, you'd have to give up far too much to stay back here with us."

  I swallow. If Henri had ever tried to convince me to stay, he might have changed my mind. I suppose it's for the best that I'm leaving now, before it can happen.

  I stare at my lap. “Maybe not as ridiculous as you think. But love requires two people in your time, just like it does in mine. Is he even coming to see me off?”

  She swallows and stares at her feet. "He was gone when I woke and there’s been no sign of him. Just know that his absence is not due to a lack of feeling.”

  My heart cracks. He's not coming to say goodbye to me, which means I will never see him again. I don’t plan to seek either of them out when I get home. Maybe years from now, when it’s all more distant and my life has moved on enough, I’ll be able to stand to learn what became of them both. But it won’t be anytime soon.

  "I guess there's no reason to put it off then."

  I rise, taking a look around the small house that feels like mine. I wonder if I will ever have this experience again. Even if things work out with Mark, any home we have won’t be this: a place where every real piece of me is allowed to reside.

  Since I landed in the barn, I decide I should leave from there too. Marie says she'll come with me, and takes my hand as if I'm a child to walk me there.

  "You are the only sister I've ever known. I know things are so much better where you are. But please know if you ever decide you want to come back, whether to visit or to stay for good, no one would be happier than I." She smiles through her tears. "No, that's not true. I suppose Henri might be happier."

  I squeeze her hand. "Thank you for everything you've done. Please tell Henri—” my head drops and I clench my jaw to ward off tears. What do I want to say to Henri? Too many things, so I settle for none. I shake my head. "Just tell him I said goodbye."

  She nods and releases my hand, taking a step away. I close my eyes and begin to focus on home. The year, the place. But at the last minute I turn to take one last glance at the hillside where Henri and I spent so many nights. I look out over the field and try not to long for the sight of him. I let thoughts of home fill me instead, and at last I can feel myself growing light, the air around me dimming as if suddenly night is falling.

  And in the very last seconds, when the air begins to whip around me and my body feels the overwhelming tug of home, I see Henri running up the hill. And I’m not sure if it’s because I’m scared of what he will say, or if it’s just too late for me to stop, but the world goes dark and my body heads for home. The sight of his anguished face is the last thing I see before I go.

  25

  1987

  I land in a strange place, striking a brick wall hard. It's daylight, but beyond that I can't think. I don't recognize anything. And I'm too tired to figure it out.

  I know I need to fight the exhaustion, at least hide away somewhere. But all my thoughts and impulses are caving in along with my vision. I'm sucked into a spiral, and the truth is I don't really care. It feels like I left something vital with Henri, or maybe the vital thing I left was him.

  I recognize the astringent smell of a hospital before I realize I'm in one. I have no idea how long I was asleep, but a doctor is speaking to someone rapidly, and it occurs to me through my half-functioning brain that my French improved dramatically while I was gone. Despite his speed, I understand him. There is no longer that heavy pause while I pick through the words to make sense of them.

  We still don't know what she's taken, he says to the nurse. Have the police come up with anything?

  They think I'm on drugs. I suppose it makes sense, given how they must have found me.

  I try to speak but my throat is so dry it's a struggle to form the words. "I haven't taken anything," I reply, turning my head toward him. “Je n’ai rien pris.” He ignores me.

  I try to push my hair out of my face as I sit up and discover that I can do neither. I’m tied to the bed, long white bands securing my torso, my forearms, my ankles.

  A new fear arises. What if I have not made it back to my own time? What if I'm held captive in some strange middle era between 1938 and 1987 until my ability to leave is gone completely? I'm too weak to jump anywhere at the moment. This I know for certain.

  "Let me go!" I demand. My wrists shake against the restraints and go nowhere. My breath comes too fast. I know I shoul
d be calm and reasonable right now, but the onset of panic is making it impossible. “Laissez-moi partir!”

  "Mademoiselle, you need to calm yourself," he says, completely unmoved. He looks bored.

  Rage and adrenaline—they entwine together and I gasp with the effort of reining them in. I'm not strong enough to jump so they can do whatever they want to me, but it’s his ambivalence that upsets me most—a reminder of what I really lose by refusing to time travel anymore. It just takes one person—an angry cop, a pissed-off ex-boyfriend, a suspicious doctor without a shred of empathy—to strip you of your freedom entirely.

  “Why am I restrained?" I demand.

  "It's standard protocol for patients who come in high," he replies crisply.

  "I'm not high!" I scream, losing any semblance of calm. "Get me out of these things!" My heart begins to thud loudly in my chest.

  The doctor asks the nurse to hand him a syringe. They’re going to sedate me, and then I won’t have a chance of escape. I won’t even be able to talk my way out of this. "No," I beg. "Please. Don't."

  "You need to calm down," he repeats. The nurse hands it to him, and as the needle presses into my bicep I start to scream, closing my eyes to jump out of this bed, out of this skin.

  The cool liquid is seeping into my blood when a man comes to the room. He’s black, so large he seems to take up most of the door.

  “S’arretez-vous!” he orders. He grabs the doctor but it’s too late. I can already feel my eyes growing heavy. She is the granddaughter of Cecelia Boudon, he announces, and if you’ve hurt a hair on her head, you will be very sorry.

  I’m relieved to have someone, anyone, intervening. But I have no idea who Cecelia Boudon is. And I’m definitely not her granddaughter.