Forever, Lately

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “You could be arrested for driving without a license,” she said, smiling. But she had to admit that already Julian was turning smoothly, and had only moved in small starts during the first lap of the lot. He was amazingly adept for a newbie.

  “They’ll have to arrest me in 1816,” he replied. “For the moment they try, we shall take our shawls and vanish.”

  “Once more around the lot,” Claire said. “Then we can try a small spin on the road. But remember to stay on the right side!” She gazed at her handsome companion and felt amazingly at peace. How wonderful to know that with both pieces of the shawl they could return together and soon start their lives as man and wife!

  He came to a stop and then went into reverse. To Claire’s questioning look, he said, “I had to try that. Getting a horse to move backward is much trickier, you know. This thing”—he nodded at the wheel—“turns on a shilling!” Claire suppressed a smile. If only they could let him drive a really smooth car! But knowing Julian, that sublime experience would make him never want to go home.

  “One last time,” she announced, as they came around the lot yet again. He gave her a patient, amused look, but did as she said.

  Omar stared at Clarissa as if dumbstruck. He sat forward, his eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me—that shawl—that it really brought you here, from 1816?”

  She nodded. “It’s the truth.”

  He could tell she wasn’t lying. Everything about her told him she wasn’t. Her mannerisms, her speech—even her naïveté in the bedroom. He stared out the windshield. Across the parking lot, the Capri went by again, moving faster now. Suddenly, it seeped across his brain that the shawl—the unbelievable shawl, an item that would be worth millions, maybe billions—was right there in that car. People would pay big bucks to take a trip to the past. He came to attention as the Capri suddenly veered toward the lot’s exit.

  He sat up and started the engine, hurriedly finding the buckle with his left hand. “Get buckled,” he ordered. Clarissa did so, wearing a look of alarm. Omar took off in pursuit of the Capri.

  “What are we doing?” Clarissa asked.

  Omar didn’t turn his head. Keeping his eyes on the silver car ahead, he said, “We’re getting that shawl back.”

  Where wolf's ears are, Wolf's teeth are near.

  Volsunga Songa (Viking)

  CHAPTER 66

  Julian slid the car onto the road, centered it in the lane, and stifled a sense of glee. Claire swallowed, wondering whether it was wise to let him drive. He seemed so proficient in the parking lot—but that was with no traffic or obstacles to speak of. So far, he was keeping to the lane well. He picked up speed.

  “Don’t forget to use the rearview mirror,” Claire said. “You have to learn to take quick peeks while you still pay attention to what’s ahead of you.”

  He flicked his eyes at the mirror. His brows furrowed and he stepped on the gas.

  “Whoa,” Claire said. “You’re doing fifty-five. That’s fast enough for this road. This isn’t a highway.”

  “We have a tailgater,” he said, almost as if he enjoyed the fact.

  Claire looked in her side mirror and her eyes widened at the sight of the Trailblazer. “You’d think, now that we made a mutually agreeable transaction, that she’d at least be polite. Why would she still want to harass us?”

  Julian shook his head. “I haven’t a notion.” He came to attention as the road widened, and signs indicated they would soon have opportunity to take Route 1—Maine Turnpike, either north or south. As they approached the north entrance ramp, Julian continued straight ahead. But just as they would have passed it, he veered suddenly onto it, making Claire hold to her seat. To her consternation, the truck swerved to take the ramp after them, even though they had to cross a section of unplowed snow, jostling and bumping, to do it!

  “Well, he’s obviously got four-wheel drive,” Claire said.

  Julian glanced her way. “Do we not have four-wheel drive? Are we not in a car with four wheels?”

  She was about to explain when, watching the Trailblazer’s progress, the words froze on her tongue. That driver was crazy—the black truck was gaining on them with wicked speed, coming on as though it had the road to itself.

  “Change lanes!” she cried.

  He glanced in his side mirror and moved them smoothly across the turnpike to the left lane. But he said calmly, “Don’t worry”—even as the black truck moved right behind them and continued to approach. When it was only inches away, he hit the gas and the car sprinted ahead. But the truck quickly matched speed. It seemed they were trying to nip their heels—while doing 75.

  “They’re crazy!” Claire cried. “I can’t believe a sane man would do this for her.” Clarissa certainly had an iron grip on that driver, she thought, to make him behave so dangerously. What was wrong with that woman? And then an awful thought struck Claire. This was the day, in 1816, when Julian would have died in a coaching accident! This was the day. And now, though he was on a different road, driving a car and not a coach, Clarissa was again on his heels—just like in the past! Claire hadn’t saved him from anything! With sickening clarity, it dawned on her that Julian was still going to die—and her along with him!

  Why had she let him get behind the wheel on this day? Why hadn’t she realized the danger? Just then the Trailblazer bumped them from behind, sending Claire and Julian jerking forward. Julian’s foot never wavered from the gas pedal, and he pressed it now.

  “If he sets off our airbags, we’ll crash,” Claire warned.

  Julian glanced in the rearview and his lips compressed. “Let’s see how fast this can go,” he murmured. But Claire cried, “It’s too dangerous!” With alarm, she added, “You’re a new driver, Julian!”

  He turned toward her for a split second and then resumed watching the road. “On the contrary, I’ve been handling equipages since I was twelve. My father’s groom was indulgent toward me.”

  “That—that was nothing like this! You’re new at this. Please—”

  She was surprised to see a small smile on the handsome face. “Dearest, you must know—really, you must realize—I’ve told you before. I was born for speed.”

  He had accelerated to 90mph. He was handling the car beautifully, but it did nothing to calm Claire’s fears. And the truck was still on their tail. “You said once you would never drive at top speed if I was with you, for it would endanger me.” She paused, glancing at the beautiful, serene landscape whizzing by. “We are in a great deal of danger at these speeds.”

  “I have no wish to endanger you,” he said softly. “The thing is, I feel as though I’ve been issued a challenge.” He paused. “A gentleman never turns down a challenge. ’Tis a matter of honour.”

  “And please recall where that got you two hundred years ago on this very day.”

  He glanced over. He took a breath.

  “We need to get off the turnpike,” Claire said. “Start changing lanes, please.” Suddenly Omar swerved to the right and now came abreast of them.

  “He’s boxing us in,” Claire said. “Slow down and move to the right; we'll get behind him.” But she took a searching look at the occupants of the truck, now so close to them. To her shock, Clarissa’s face was distraught, and she met Claire’s eyes with an apologetic look. Her driver, however, glanced at her, and she saw something entirely different. He looked mean as before, but there was more in those dark eyes. They were lit with a fire of some sort. He meant business. Whatever was making him drive recklessly, it was no accident. No accident, yet!

  The Trailblazer suddenly edged into their lane. She cried, “Watch out!”

  Julian moved into the left shoulder, then took his foot off the gas and hit the brake, letting the Trailblazer dart ahead into their lane. He quickly moved across the road to the right, crossing two lanes, and slowed even more, for now the truck had also slowed down.

  “Pull over!” Claire cried. “Let them keep going!”

  Just as she spoke, a police cru
iser came along. Neither they nor the truck were speeding now. “If only he’d seen their last move! He’s trying to cause a crash!” Claire cried. They had slowed to forty miles per hour now, as the Trailblazer kept decreasing speed. The police car was already well past them.

  Her heart pounded in her ears as she reached for her cell phone. Why hadn’t she thought to call the police? She’d report the truck! But no sooner than she grabbed her phone and brandished it, than the Trailblazer suddenly came at them from the left—the vehicles were again side by side. Omar swerved in their direction—he wanted to cause a crash! The cell phone flew out of Claire’s hand. Julian hit the gas and darted ahead.

  “Catch up to the police!” Claire cried.

  With the Trailblazer at their rear, they sped forward. Claire felt sick.

  Do you ever wonder why things have to turn out the way they do?

  Nicholas Sparks

  CHAPTER 67

  As the Trailblazer careened toward the smaller Capri, Clarissa clutched Omar’s arm. “Omar—”

  “What?” He didn’t turn his head.

  “We ought to leave them be.” Her face was a picture of sad thought. “They fell in love,” she said, almost to herself as much as him. As she said the words, their truth—that St. John had fallen in love with Miss Channing—was suddenly quite real to her. She’d never given it a thought before that St. John might truly care for this woman. She’d been single-minded. She’d been determined. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t cared for her, Clarissa. So many other men were interested.

  As they came up to the rear of the Capri, she said again, “They fell in love!”

  Omar scowled. “Who cares? They can love each other all they want. After I get a piece of that shawl.”

  “They need both pieces,” Clarissa returned. Her eyes widened and then closed in horrified anticipation of the impact as the truck spurted forward and bumped the Capri. She gulped and clung to her seat.

  “I don’t care what they need,” Omar said. “Do you realize what one piece of that shawl is worth? We could cut it up and sell lots of pieces. We could be the richest people in the world! No one’s ever been able to time travel before!”

  “Yes, they have,” Clarissa said, thinking of her great aunt Lady Ashworth. “You just didn’t know it.”

  “Me and the rest of the world,” he said. His eyes narrowed in concentration. “This Julian knows how to handle a car.” He paused and glanced her way. “But I’ve got more engine power. Sooner or later, I’m gonna make them stop.”

  “Just follow them! You needn’t threaten them on the road like this.”

  He frowned. “You think they’re gonna give up that shawl just for the asking? Not! I have to waylay them and take it.”

  Clarissa started blinking hard. To her surprise, tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually shed tears! But she was overcome with a sadness that seemed almost unaccountable. Except that she had just secured a lovely future which Omar’s driving was threatening to destroy. And he might mean to harm St. John and Miss Channing. That had never been her plan. She’d done risky things concerning Julian, but never considered there was any real danger in them. This was different. This high-speed chase was terrifying, and could only end, she was sure, in their demise.

  Finally she saw that she’d been remorseless in her pursuit of St. John for too, too long. Had she given it up sooner, this hair-raising chase wouldn’t be happening.

  The truck came alongside the Capri. Clarissa met Claire’s eyes and looked apologetically at her. She gasped as Omar swerved at the car, but the Capri suddenly fell back. Instead of ramming them, the truck took the left lane. The car, behind them now, crossed the turnpike.

  Omar swore, and let up on the gas. Clarissa turned in her seat to watch the Capri, which had continued to slow, and was falling farther behind. Omar hit the brake, keeping his eyes in the rearview. Clarissa tried another tactic.

  “If you cut that shawl again, it might not work,” she said. And then she remembered what Claire told her, and added, “It won’t work at all if anything happens to the cottage.”

  Omar was already scowling, but his frown deepened. “What’s the cottage got to do with it?”

  “Claire told me they only work together. The cottage and the shawl. And the Winthrops are razing it today!”

  He grimaced, dug in his pocket with one hand while keeping an eye on the Capri in the mirror, and then tossed his cell phone at her. “Call Adam. We’ve got the deed! He’s gotta call off the wrecking crew.”

  Clarissa looked blankly at the metallic item in her hand.

  “Call him!” Omar barked. “If he gives you grief, tell him we’ll sue if they touch a board of that place.”

  “I don’t know how,” she said, brandishing the cell phone in the air.

  Omar’s lips compressed. “You don’t know how to use— Oh, you don’t know how,” he realized. “Of course not. You’re from the past,” he said, as if reminding himself.

  “Look, tap it. I’ll tell you what to enter.”

  Clarissa tapped it, but said, “Enter? How does something enter this?” Before he could answer, his attention veered to the Capri, which had found a shoulder and pulled to the side of the road. Omar scanned the road behind him and saw the turnpike was empty for at least half a mile, maybe more.

  “Hold on,” he said. He put the truck into reverse and turned to watch the road behind him, hitting the gas hard. The truck was swerving as he raced toward the car, but he didn’t care. He’d straighten up when he got close. And ram into them.

  “Omar!” Clarissa cried. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “I certainly do,” he said. “I’m becoming a billionaire.”

  It's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.

  P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER 68

  Claire had hoped to switch places with Julian when they pulled off the road, but when Omar started backing toward them—on a turnpike!—she knew they’d have no time. “Give me the shawl! And get yours!” she cried. “We can disappear right now and put an end to this madness!”

  Julian reached into his coat pocket and quickly passed Claire the piece they’d gotten from Clarissa. “Where’s yours?” she asked. But the Trailblazer was careening backward toward them, swerving crazily. Julian stiffened. “He’s aiming for us,” he said. He hit the gas, taking off in a sharp left to avoid the truck. A semi was coming up behind them and hit its deep bass horn as the Capri crossed the turnpike, missing it by seconds.

  As the blaring horn moved ahead, Claire cried, “That was close!” Julian said, “My apologies. I saw the Trailblazer coming at us and could only think to get out of its path.”

  “We need to use our shawls,” Claire said, gritting her teeth. “The cottage should be safe, but we can’t stay here! That man with Clarissa is after us for some reason.”

  “The driver? You mean, Clarissa.”

  “No. I saw her face. She’s not behind this, I’m sure of it.” She paused. “Or perhaps she regrets our deal? I don’t know, but she looked sad. I’ve never seen her looking sad before.”

  “Nor have I,” he said, glancing at the rearview. “Hold tight!”

  Claire turned to look behind them just as the black truck rammed them; but Julian had hit the gas—the vehicles barely touched. She swayed forward and back, clutching the seat.

  “Where’s your half?” she asked. “This is insane! He’s going to get us all killed!”

  “In my trouser pocket.”

  Claire blinked. “I thought men’s trousers of your day didn’t have pockets!”

  “I have my tailor sew them in.”

  “Can you get it?” The Trailblazer nudged them again, causing Julian to give another burst of speed to the Capri, putting them at 90 again. The turnpike had slowly been gaining traffic, most of which was large semis. A truck driver saw what ha
ppened and beeped at the Trailblazer. He waved and nodded at Claire. She hoped he would get on his CB and somehow raise the alarm about Clarissa’s vehicle. The semi swerved suddenly—toward Omar’s truck! Omar refused to slow down and let it in, but the truck driver, for some reason, had decided to interfere. It continued to veer toward the Trailblazer. Claire turned in her seat to watch.

  Poor Clarissa had covered her face with her hands.

  Julian found an opening, hit the gas—taking the car to 95—and darted in front of the semi. With the huge truck behind the Capri, Omar must have realized he couldn’t squeeze in, for he came up on their left. A second semi pulled behind Omar, and the next few seconds passed like slow motion.

  “Get the shawl!” Claire screamed. Julian’s hand went for his pocket.

  Omar swerved to get back behind the Capri, but the other truck was too close. The Trailblazer hit it and spun completely around, then got rammed by the other semi. Julian must have let up on the gas momentarily, for the Capri got rammed by the semi that Omar hit, for the driver, looking in horror at the Trailblazer’s fate in his side mirror, wasn’t watching ahead. Claire and Julian’s car went flying and spinning, and careening ahead for a couple hundred feet until it came to a precipitate stop on the turnpike. More huge trucks hit their brakes behind the collision, but ended up ramming into each other. The turnpike was a huge mass of trucks and cars folded into each other, and with some that had tried to veer out of danger, now sitting at odd angles where they’d been forced to stop by the wreckage.

  Claire’s last thought before the car folded up like an accordion was that she ought to have been smarter, smart enough to never get on the road with Julian. Not on the day of his death. She tried to pull up the shawl at the last second—then the air bag hit her hard. And everything went black.