by Izzy James
Grams sat next to Olivia leaving Max and Garrett across from them at the table. She couldn’t help but compare the two. The latter, a long time friend, had seen her through the tough time of her accident, not to mention college and grad school. But next to Max he was too thin like he’d not filled out to manhood. A boy sitting next to a powerful man though they couldn’t be too far apart in age.
“Whaycha havn’,hon?” Startled, Olivia looked down at her menu, getting a wink from Max as she glanced down. Had he guessed her thoughts or was he just teasing?
“So, Max. What kind of work do you do?” Garrett’s question sounded like Torquemada rubbing his hands before a particularly interesting inquisition.
“I’m a musician.”
“Where do you play?”
“Here and there. I’m new to this era.” He sent another wink to Olivia.
“What’s your instrument?”
“Violin, pianoforte, although I’ll give any instrument a try.”
“Is that how you and Olivia met?”
“No. We met at Ballard House in Yorktown.”
Olivia’s temper flared. “Why would you think we met at work?” Did he think Max had a screw loose or something?
“Well, you’re a music therapist, I just thought it made sense.”
“We met at Ballard House as Max said.” She turned toward Max. “Garrett is a computer scientist.” When Max looked puzzled she added, “He builds the little gadgets that make the world as we know it run.”
“It sure beats the family business.”
“What’s the family business?”
“Mortuary.” Garrett shivered.
“Undertakers?”
“Yes. Been in my family for generations—it’s not for me.” Garret kept his gaze down at his coffee.
Guilt squeezed Olivia’s midsection. She’d wanted the inquisition of Max to stop, but she’d not meant to embarrass Garrett.
“My family are merchants. They own a string of stores in Norfolk, Williamsburg, Richmond. They all wanted me to join them. Open up another shop in Fredericksburg. Extend our reach.”
Olivia quieted. There was so much she didn’t know about Max. “You didn’t want to?” she asked.
“No. I wanted to compose. Perform my songs.”
Garrett stopped swirling spilled sugar crystals on the table. “How did you get out of it?”
“I didn’t. I figured out a way to help them and compose too. I was getting ready to move to Fredericksburg when—”
“Biscuits and gravy?” A plate clattered in front of Grams. Once they’d been served, Grams blessed the food.
“So how did Fredericksburg go?” Garrett scooped a pile of hash browns into his mouth.
“Maybe you could help your family with their computer systems?” Olivia and Garrett had gone over this many times before, but this was the first time she saw a clear way forward.
Garret turned thoughtful eyes to her. “Maybe. My dad would see right through it.”
“Probably, but it seems like a good compromise to me. Then you could see them once in a while.”
“Are you estranged from your family?” Max asked.
“Not estranged, but I haven’t seen them in a while.”
“You only have one life, and one set of parents. Cherish them while they are here. Trust me, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.”
Olivia couldn’t stop the mist from pooling in her eyes. Max intent on Garrett gave her only a profile. She moved a little closer to her grandmother.
They didn’t linger over coffee and the sermon as had been their custom. Clever Grams picked up the bill for everyone, most likely to cover Max’s lack of proper funds. One could hardly gainsay the matriarch.
Max followed Garrett’s lead in a gracious thank you.
Garret escorted Grams to the vehicle which left Max for Olivia. He offered his arm and she took it.
“That was very kind of you.”
“I wish someone had mentored me sooner. There were a lot of hard feelings before we came up with a compromise.”
“Did it take a long time to see the solution?”
“No, just a knock on the head from my dear Mama. And I suspect that if Garrett comes up with a reasonable compromise he will find his mama ready to knock a head or two so she can keep her family together.”
“I thought we could drop Grams off first and then I’ll bring you home.”
“I thought you could bring me to see the conservatory.” Grams’ ears like a hound-dog’s nose didn’t miss a whisper.
Max grinned. “I don’t see why not.”
“Unless it isn’t there.”
“If it’s not then it solves my problem.”
7
Grams held Olivia’s hand. Max took Olivia’s and led them to the outside entrance of the conservatory. There it stood.
“I don’t see anything.” Grams said.
“Just follow Max.”
Max stepped up onto the porch. The women stumbled as if they could not see where they were going.
Grams did not let go of Olivia’s hand. “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” She walked the length of the room touching things like a small child. “It’s real.”
“It is very real to me, ma’am.”
“I understand that, but it’s real.” She smiled a broad grin. “What’s that?” She pointed to the windows.
“The back of my property.” He pointed out each dependency and its function.
“Where are the people?”
“I don’t know. In my time there were people running back and forth across there all the time.”
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“The day of my curse. I went to the house, but I could not get in. I could but stand outside and look in. I couldn’t even see the street as it changed down through the years. It stayed the same. I could only see the people living in the house.”
“You must have been terribly lonely.”
Max turned his eyes to the floor. “Yes, ma’am. Olivia seeing me was a miracle.” He looked back up. “But the passage of time blurred. It didn’t feel like two hundred and fifty years.”
“May I sit?” He dusted off the piano bench. “I thought you said there were three keys missing?”
“Yes. C, A, and E.”
“I only see two.”
Max and Olivia arrived at the piano at the same time.
“You saw three keys missing, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Absolutely I did.” Olivia used her most assertive voice. “It looks like you got your C back.”
“Well, looks like you have your answer.” Grams looked at them both through her spectacles.
“You think he needs to do good deeds to prove he has changed.”
“Have you asked for forgiveness?”
“I have.”
“Were all three keys still missing this morning when you left?”
“I assume so.” He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the hair band he used to replace the usual ribbon holding it back. “I didn’t look at them, but nothing has changed in this room for a couple of centuries, so why would I notice?”
“Interesting.” Grams stood to leave. “I would think that you would notice it for precisely the same reason.”
“I concede your point, but I didn’t notice.”
Olivia moved to stand next to Max. “Well, the only problem with that is we can’t determine exactly what incident caused the key to return.”
Max slipped her hand into his own. He was grateful that she slipped a little closer to his side. He’d not realized how much he’d missed contact with another person. Each time he touched Olivia he wished to prolong the effect like a bean reaching toward the sun he couldn’t seem to get enough.
“Agreed,” said Grams, leaning on the outside door. “But I’m thinking it must have been the kindness you showed Garrett.”
“I did nothing so extraordinary.”
“You showed kindness to a young ma
n who saw you as his rival.”
Spoken like his very own mother. What was it with mother wisdom and sons? In this case other people’s sons? He did not need to keep secret his growing interest in Olivia despite the short amount of time they’d known each other. Perhaps his captivity played a role in his feelings. Mayhap even a large role, but what did it signify? He’d never felt this way about any woman he’d ever known. Not in 1769, not ever, and he was certain it would never change. All that remained was to decide what to do about it.
“I’m ready to go home.” Dr. Rita’s look left Olivia no choice. How well she reminded him of his own mother.
Olivia slipped her hand from Max. A chill remained in its place.
“Shall I come with ye?”
“You are welcome to come.” She gave him smile he was becoming to treasure.
Deep gray clouds hung over the York River. Constant wind on the bridge buffeted the tall SUV.
“Looks like a storm.” Grams spoke quietly while scrolling on her phone. “Sleet and freezing rain later tonight.”
Grams hadn’t always hated storms. She and Granddad used to go watch them from hotels when she’d been little. Always adventurous, Grams slowed down a little when he died ten years ago.
“Don’t stay out late.”
“I won’t,” she promised glancing at Max in the rearview mirror. “Perhaps Max should stay with us.”
Grams shot her a look of censure.
“I have everything I need,” Max offered. “I survived all this time, I’m sure I’ll survive a little bad weather.”
Grams nodded and centered her gaze outside the window.
“See you later.” Grams levied the pronouncement to both of them by giving them equal eye-time before releasing her seatbelt. Max slid out to help her alight. He took his seat in the front as Grams disappeared into the house.
Olivia backed out onto the street. Something had changed between them. Small talk failed to form on her tongue. Thin-lipped and quiet, Max kept his gaze outside the window.
“Has your grandmother taken a dislike to me?”
“No, but she is concerned that I will become over involved.” Max said nothing, so she plowed forward. “If all goes well you will be heading back to your century and I will stay here.”
“I see.” He reoriented himself to face her. “What do you think?”
“I think that I’m a grown woman capable of making my own choices.”
“There is wisdom in a multitude of counselors.”
“Are you insinuating I don’t know my own mind?”
“I’m suggesting that yer grandmother is wise.”
“As pertains to you or me?”
“Both.”
A tense silence fell between them. Max turned toward the window when they reached the bridge.
“My parents died in an accident on a stormy night. The forecast was nearly the same as tonight’s. My father, always fearless in storms, insisted we’d be fine. And we would have been if a drunk driver hadn’t hit a patch of ice. Grams fears for me if I’m out in it.”
“Are ye not afeared for yerself?”
“Not really. I guess I inherited that from my father. When I think about that night I see three things in play. The messy road, my father, and the drunk driver. The decisions made by three people—my mom could have stopped him—” Max nodded, “lined up the circumstances in just the wrong way and my parents died. But if the road was clear and the drunk still chose to drive, my parents could have still died. I beat the odds if I stay off the road when it’s messy out, and I do that for Grams, but if it were a real emergency, I’d go out anyway.”
Max wrapped his hand over hers and squeezed briefly. Warmth spread up her arm and strummed the excitement she felt when he was near. “So we need to come up with some good deeds for you to do so you can prove your sincerity.”
“Good deeds. Just how am I supposed to conduct such things? Walk around seeing who needs help and assist them?” He released her hand as she made the turn into Yorktown.
“It sounds absurd when you put it that way, but yes. When Garrett was a Boy Scout he carried a penny around in one of his pockets. When he did a good deed he moved the penny to the other pocket.”
“Interesting. Would ye like to come in?”
“I think I’d better go on home. I don’t wish to worry Grams anymore than necessary.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss. Her heart rolled a staccato beat. “Until tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Of course I have to work during the day. And then there’s the weather.”
“Of course.” Damp seeped in when he opened the door. He made a little bow. She longed to open her arms and pull him back in. “Don’t worry, I have everything I need. And now I have much to read.” He wiggled his crooked brows up and down.
Olivia laughed outright.
Sleet dotted her windshield as she crossed the Coleman Bridge toward home. Ice sheeted across her driveway. Parking the SUV next to her car in the garage she thanked God for Grams’ wisdom. What she’d told Max was right, she would go out in an emergency, but she didn’t relish driving on icy roads even if it was an emergency.
Monday morning dawned icy with school and work delays. By Tuesday the roads cleared and Olivia headed back to work and Yorktown. Day after day she practiced her music by candlelight. Max listened appreciatively while he read through the books she’d gotten from the library. When he’d finished a small stack she returned them and brought him others. When she finished playing they talked and laughed. They asked questions and answered them as best they could.
The Christmas Open-Town was in a week, and it was time she pulled out her favorite piece. Max reclined on the settee with a copy of Zane Grey’s The Spirit of the Border. He’d offered no criticism of her playing. Why she felt nervous to bring out her favorite piece, she couldn’t fathom. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t watching as she placed the worn copy on the stand. A deep breath.
He arrived at her shoulder before she reached the second line.
“What?” She looked up into his looming face.
“Where did you get that?”
She fidgeted the papers. “It was found when this area was excavated. No one knows who the composer is, but it’s always been my favorite. I thought it would be a good linking piece while people mingle around before the performance starts. Don’t you like it?”
“May I?”
Puzzled, she moved down the bench to make room for him. “Of course.”
He arched his fingers over the keys and closed his eyes. The plaintive tone he drew from the keys moved her to stillness. Her eyes drifted closed to feel the peacefulness of the shore line, the chatter of birds. She opened her eyes at the end of her two sheets, but Max played on. The melody soaring even higher through the clouds then down past a murky pinewood before coming to an exhausting end on the shore once more. The last notes remained with them, wavering as they faded, lovers disappearing hand in hand into the resonance.
His eyes found hers when the last note fell silent.
“It’s you.”
Fingertips brushed a stray hair. “Aye.” His thumb brushed her lip. His eyes strayed down to her mouth. She tilted up to meet him. Cradling her face he slowly touched her lips with his own. It was gentle. A soft kiss that asked, not took. A kiss that left her heart aching for more, her head in a mist.
“Shall I teach you?”
The words made it through the fuzziness to her mind, but she didn’t know what he meant. She opened her eyes. His tender gaze sent another misty fog through her senses.
“Would you like to learn the rest of the song?”
“Yes.”
He left her there on the bench and returned with a sheaf of music. “Here ye are.”
She poured greedily over the notes. “I’ll make a copy and return them to you tomorrow.”
“Tis a gift.”
“For me?”
He cradled her face onc
e more. “Just for thee,” he said before catching her lips again. He pulled away and tucked her into his strong embrace. She could get very used to this. What would she do when he was gone?
“Was it hard to live back then?”
“Back then?” He chuckled. “It was yesterday. I grant ye we didn’t have yer cold storage box or electric lights, but people loved just as hard. We are not or were not so distracted by noise. This is the noisiest place I’ve ever been. How does one have time for contemplation?”
Often she’d bemoaned the televisions she encountered in every department store and office. All types of music playing absolutely everywhere she went whether she liked it or not. What would it be like to have none of those conveniences? Not to know where he was or if he’d make it home for dinner? No email? To wait weeks for letters to arrive? On the other hand how much important email did she get anyway?
“Do you mind if I play the piece for the Christmas Open-Town? What’s it called?”
“What is a Christmas Open-Town and it’s never had a name.”
“It’s a Christmas tradition. The historic houses open for the night, decorated for the holidays.”
“Yorktown decorated for Christmas.”
“Yes. Speaking of which, Friday is a Christmas party at my work, would you like to come?”
“Are you inviting me to a social engagement?”
“Yes, but it’s during the day.”
“I’d be delighted, provided I have the right thing to wear.”
“It’s casual. What you already have will do nicely.”
“Will there be dancing?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe.”
“Shall you wear a crimson dress?”
She giggled. “No. It’s an informal thing, a simple party for our staff and patients.”
“What is it that you do at this work?”
She sat up to gauge his response. “I am a music therapist.” His face blanked. “Music is powerful medicine. It often helps older people whose minds are no longer the same whatever the reason, and others who are suffering from anxiety and other ailments.”
“You play music for sick people?”