The Violin

g{x i|ÉÄ|Ç Copyright © January 2008, Sarah J. McNeal Cover art by Mariya Krusheva © January 2008 This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. Amira Press, LLC Baltimore, MD 21216 www.amirapress.com

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This book is dedicated to the memory of my uncle, John Douglas McNeal, whose tale I have told here in the pages of this almost true story, and to my dad, James William McNeal, who loved and missed John until his own death in 1981. Sarah J. McNeal

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I’d like to thank Ron Ingram for his technical advice about Indian motorcycles in the 1920s. I’d also like to thank Barbara John for all her help and Elva Mae Miller, a delightful octogenarian who’s been blind since she was twelve. Elva delighted my niece and me with her wonderful stories of life in Numidia and Catawissa back in the Roaring Twenties.

Chapter One Genevieve tossed restlessly in the bed, her breath quickening as she fell into the familiar dream. The man wore canvas trousers, a white cotton shirt with no collar and suspenders. He was fly-fishing in a picturesque scene of steep banks and forests adjoining a river that hurried past rocks and boulders. The water scrubbed his waders, sometimes a few inches below his knees and other times higher, up to his waist, as the man worked the river using a fishing pole and pure fluid skill. The man stood with his back to her. She watched his powerful muscles bunch as he cast his line into the water. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sunlight glinted through it. Water gurgled and splashed happily as it bumped along the rocks and boulders. It seemed to be a pleasant scene but something wasn’t quite right. Genevieve had a feeling deep in her core that something ominous was about to happen. She tensed, and her heart went into overdrive. She heard someone scream. Was it her? The man began to turn. She could almost see his face. Then the dream started to tumble out of control, as it often did. She couldn’t breathe. She suddenly found herself deep under the water, looking up through it into the clear, blue sky. The man’s face looked down at her but she couldn’t make out what he looked like as the rushing water distorted his appearance. He reached toward her, as if to help her . . . when everything went black. She struggled up to the surface of her dream to awaken, gasping for breath and feeling confused about where she was. She pulled herself up and leaned against the wrought iron gate that served as a headboard, hugging her knees to keep from shaking. A fine film of perspiration had formed on her upper lip, her heart still playing a wild staccato rhythm against her ribs. She reached over and turned on the lamp that rested on the glass-and-steel nightstand she had bought at a yard sale. She felt as though she’d run a marathon. What was wrong with her? Why did she keep having these terrifying dreams? Always, they occurred at the turn of the century. It wasn’t always this particular dream. There were several of them. Although she never saw his face, she believed it was the same man in all her dreams. She was equally certain it was someone she’d never met. In one of them, she danced with the dream man. There were lanterns strung on ropes that looped from tree to tree, creating a pleasant glow as he and she twirled and dipped to the music of a small band. As the dream continued, the music slowed, and he drew her in closer. Amazingly, he smelled good, like soap, pine trees, and open sky. She felt his chest rumble and knew he was laughing. She could even feel his warm breath as it tickled her ear. Occasionally, she dreamed about a violin. Lying in an old-fashioned case, it seemed a well-used instrument with softly gleaming wood. She could feel the sadness that surrounded it, but couldn’t tell if misfortune had happened to it or its owner. Yet, she felt it as well as if it could talk to her. Every time she dreamed of the violin, a knot formed in her throat. In the closed little compartment of the violin’s case lay the answer to the melancholy feelings she felt. Many times her dream would lead her to grasp the ribbon loop that would open the compartment, but she always resisted looking inside it. Whatever lay in there, she didn’t want to see it. More sorrow would follow, of that she was certain. Genevieve shook her head and sighed. She didn’t want to think or speculate on her dream any more. She forced herself to get up and to walk to the kitchen. In the dark, she navigated the small apartment without stumbling because she had at least one nightlight in every room. Genevieve was afraid of the dark. Actually, she was afraid of many things, deep water, heights, crowded places, new places, and new people and so on and so on. The list of her fears was long and varied. Her kitchen was barely a kitchen at all. It was more like an alcove off the combined living and dining room. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. Leaning a hip against the counter that

served double duty as a bar, she took a good healthy drink. She rinsed her face off in the sink and dried it on a paper towel. “That feels a little better.” She laughed at herself. How silly! These were just dreams. Only dreams, just as her therapist had often told her. She wondered if some day she might be able to dream about her childhood and remember something about her parents. Sister Mary Clare had told her that she had been abandoned on the steps of Saint Ann’s Catholic Church. She had been just a baby in a plastic laundry basket with a thin blanket wrapped around her. There was not so much as a note tucked into the basket to say what her name was or that they were sorry they couldn’t keep her. They had never come back for her and had never called to ask about her to see if she was all right. Genevieve wondered if they had died and no one ever told her. She dreamed about them once and saw their faces. She could summon their faces even now with photographic clarity. She knew it couldn’t be possible, but in the dream, she remembered her mother’s perfume and her father’s hands. A knot formed in her throat as she thought about these images. No one claiming to be a family member had ever contacted her. She knew the truth behind this dream was that she just wanted a family so badly that she created her parents’ “portrait.” Yet, she couldn’t give up on the feeling that she had loved ones somewhere in the world. She wanted—no, needed—to believe that someone missed her and was trying to find her. What few clear memories she had of her real childhood were mostly of a series of foster homes. Yet, in even in this part of her history, there were gaps in her story, time that was foggy to her. She had never settled in anywhere long enough to take root. The authorities sent her from one emotionally empty place to another. Just once, she had lived with a family that seemed to care for her, for a while anyway. But, when the novelty had worn off, or she hadn’t meet their expectations of the perfect child, and she was exchanged for another child who was probably younger or cuter or had whatever it was she didn’t possess. She learned early in her life not to trust anything for too long. There would always be a door open and someone shoving her toward it. What was it about her that no one could love? Was she so broken, so unlovable? She had envied other children who lived in homes with loving families. Pictures of families gathered around the dinner table at Thanksgiving and Christmas, all warm and cozy, flashed through her head. That was something she would never experience. Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a mother’s arms wrapped around her, loving her just because. A Norman Rockwell painting formed in her mind. Genevieve didn’t remember most of the details of her roller-coaster life as a child. Maybe she just didn’t want to remember. All these memories seemed surreal, like someone else’s instead of hers. She couldn’t tell what was memory and what was her fantasy. Having so few memories of her past was unnerving. What dark secrets had taken place in her past to make her want to forget? She was determined to find the answers, even if it took a therapist. She wanted to get all her memories back and to feel comfortable in her own skin instead of always feeling as if she were in someone else’s life. And she didn’t want to be afraid any more. Genevieve sat down on the only stool at the bar. She had bought a paper the previous morning but hadn’t read it yet. She opened it, deciding that she would read it until it made her sleepy enough to return to bed and maybe get some rest after all. She made her way through the ads for used furniture and garage sales when she came to an interesting notice about an antiques auction. Most of the manifest was listed in the paper, including an antique violin. Genevieve felt as though someone had knocked the air out of her lungs. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room to breathe. Could it be that this violin was the one from her dreams? No. That was impossible. Yet, there was this niggle of discomfort in her chest that gave testimony to the possibility of an incredible coincidence.

Chapter Two Well, today was Saturday, and the auction was at ten o’clock. Because it was just four o’clock in the morning, she would have plenty of time to get a shower, dress, and drive there. She could be brave this once and do something outside her comfort zone. What was there to fear? She could ask questions before it started so she would know what to do. Of course, that meant she would actually have to engage in conversation with a stranger. Nevertheless, wasn’t that exactly what her therapist said to do? She wrote down the address on an envelope with a stub of a pencil she found lying next to the phone. This could be like a little adventure, a baby step to becoming normal. Just seeing a real violin might put an end to her weird dreams. She hoped it would. Knotted right underneath her heart was this little feeling of dread. She resisted the inner warning. Her internal alarm system worked too much overtime, as it was. Maybe she needed to turn a deaf ear to it occasionally and allow herself to step into the unknown. After showering and dressing, Genevieve got in her trusty green Subaru Forester and headed toward the small town of Statesville. Breaking out of her regimented routine was like standing at a precipice and stepping off into the void. She felt good about finally doing what her therapist encouraged her to do. She was getting out of the rigid rut she kept herself in and starting to take a few little risks. She had never been to an auction and had no earthly idea how to bid, how to act or what to wear, but she was determined. Genevieve knew she was going not just to shake off her stifled life; it was something else that drew her there, something deep in her solar plexus that would not let go. She knew it was because of the violin. She had to be at that auction. According to the manifest, the violin had been made in France in the eighteen hundreds and was part of the Douglas estate. According to the details, it had not been played for a hundred years. She had never owned an antique, let alone a musical instrument. What did it cost? What was it worth? How would she know? Although she felt comfortable with older things, antiques were just too expensive. Secondhand was a more accurate description of the found and yard-sale items that occupied the spaces of her home. Living with used things, things that had already had a life was more comfortable. New things were too shiny and expectant. This violin had to be worth a fortune. Genevieve barely earned a middle-class income. She didn’t even play the violin. Yet, she felt compelled to go to the auction and seek out this instrument. For reasons she could not explain, she simply had to buy that violin. From the moment she entered the crowded auction hall, the violin captured her attention. Hundreds of tagged items crowded the space, but her gaze went straight to the case as if she’d known where they placed it. It seemed to glow from across the room as it lay in its case, opened for inspection. The day, eventful as it was, was a fog. Things were bought, bids were made, but she didn’t take in any of it clearly. Her fears, and her determination, were at odds with each other. Battling her lack of selfconfidence around strangers and unfamiliar surroundings, Genevieve bid on the violin. The bid went higher and higher, but almost in a trance, she kept bidding until she was the last one standing. What had she done? Dread shot through her gut like an arrow. She gave up all hope of a financially secure future and handed over her savings and most of her 401K to the auctioneer. He smiled through his neatly trimmed beard when he handed over the worn case with a gentleness that misspoke his rough hands. He treated it as if it were the Hope Diamond, though its case had a worn-out, humble appearance. Genevieve looked at the tattered violin case with misgivings. “I don’t know why I bought this,” she said to herself more than to the auctioneer. “I don’t even play. And that’s almost my entire savings you’re holding in your hand.”

“Well, ma’am, it’s special, that’s for sure. A rare beauty. It’s hard to say why we do the things we do sometimes.” He patted her hand as it rested on the violin case. “Maybe some things are just meant to be.” Yeah. Sure. She squinted against the bright sun as she gazed at him. “And maybe I’m just crazy.” “Why don’t you take a look inside?” Several other buyers gathered around, waiting to settle for their purchases. He turned to a younger man working near by. “Hank, do you think you could take care of things for a minute? I’m going to show this young lady what she paid for.” He guided Genevieve over to an old picnic table under a crop of trees. Under the shade of the old oaks, he placed the violin case on top of the rough wood of the table. “Let’s take a look. Maybe you can figure out why you bought it once you see it.” “So much for that vacation to Ireland,” she said under her breath as he laid the case on the weathered boards. She knew she really wouldn’t have gone to Ireland, but thinking about doing something that adventuresome was fun. He motioned for Genevieve to do the honors of opening the case. When she lifted the worn leather lid, one hinge fell apart and the other squeaked as she gently pried the lid open. Inside rested a mahogany violin whose strings were brittle after years of silence. One string was missing and another broke as she moved the peg to tighten it. The other two looked too fragile to attempt to tighten. The bridge leaned precariously toward the fingerboard. The body surface was marred by a couple of scratches but was otherwise smooth and looked as though it had once been well cared for. The horsehair was loose from the bow, though the wooden structure of the bow was in good condition. She felt uncomfortable. Her chest was burning with an odd sensation of foreboding when she looked at the frayed ribbon loop that opened the tool pocket. The musty smell of old wood, cloves, and a faint, sweet fragrance like gardenia blended together and filled her senses. It was comforting in an unexpected way. “Needs a little work if you’re planning to learn to play it,” he said, “but it was a masterpiece in its day.” Inside the tool pocket was a box of rosin so old it was more like a block of crumbling amber, giving testimony that the instrument had not been played for a very long time. There was a pitch pipe, a spare metal piece for fine tuning the E string, and two spare tuning pegs. Underneath the tools was a brown envelope. She felt an attack of curiosity and trepidation that swirled in her stomach nauseatingly as a deep ache filled her chest. Her legs trembled and her heart raced. “That’s odd,” the auctioneer murmured. “Open it,” he encouraged. “This is so silly. I feel scared.” Her hands shook as she carefully opened the musty-smelling envelope with her car key. Two photographs, a death certificate, several newspaper clippings, and a dried flower fell out on the worn, splintering boards of the picnic table. Genevieve felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs. There was every possibility that she might faint. “Are you okay?” the auctioneer asked. “You better sit down. You’re looking kind of pale. I’ll get you a glass of water.” She sat down in a heap. “I’ll be okay.” She took a steadying breath and picked up the photographs. One of them was a professional photo of a young man in a suit with an uncomfortable-looking tie tucked into his vest. Parted in the middle and slicked down, his dark hair caused his angular face to look severe. His eyes looked wise as they stared into the camera. The other photograph was obviously the same man, but very different. Frozen for all time in the photo, his hair glistened in the sun as the wind ruffled through it. His generous mouth was lifted in a smile as he leaned his slim frame against an Indian motorcycle. The clothes and the motorcycle dated the photo somewhere in the early 1920s. A death certificate declared that John Douglas’s death was on May 30, 1927. He was twenty years, eleven months, and ten days old. He was the same age as Genevieve when he died. The document attributed his death to drowning.

It made her heart hurt. He was so young, so beautiful. What could have happened? Then she read the newspaper clippings. The auctioneer returned with a glass of cool water in a paper cup. She took a few sips and felt a little better. He sat down beside her as she read the fragile newspaper clippings. According to the stories, the young man, John Douglas, had been fly-fishing with his friends. They left him and went around the bend, out of sight. The two friends reported that, upon their return, Mr. Douglas was lying face down in two feet of water, and he was dead. The newspaper stated that the coroner declared that there was no foul play involved in Mr. Douglas’s drowning. The young man’s parents, William and Matilda Douglas, were too filled with grief to speak with reporters. The Catawissa Star, Numidia Journal and Bloomsburg News all stated their condolences to the parents and mentioned John had two brothers: James, who was ten years old, and Donald, who was married and living in Pittsburgh. Funeral plans for the wake would take place at his parents’ home at 42 Roth Lane in Numidia, and the burial would take place that Sunday at Saint Paul’s Reformed Church. According to the papers, the young man’s family resided in a small house next to the graveyard of Saint Paul’s Church, where their son would be buried. So little to know about a stranger, yet so much. When she tucked the photos, the death certificate, the delicate flower, and the newspaper clippings back into the envelope, her hands were cold and numb. She leaned against the edge of the picnic table and took another sip of water from the paper cup. She closed her eyes against the too bright, too happy sun. She hurt deep inside at the base of her heart. “Are you going to be okay, miss?” the auctioneer asked. Genevieve nodded her head. “Yes, yes, of course. You go ahead and take care of your other customers. I’m fine now. Thanks for the water.” As she gathered up the contents of the envelope and placed it back in the tool pocket in the case, she knew that it was important for her to find out more about this beautiful man, his life, and what had led to his death. **** In the days that followed, Genevieve could think of nothing but John Douglas. What had he been like? What was his family like? Did he have a girlfriend or was he married? He was so young! What had his life been like? She knew she was becoming obsessed with him but could not seem to stop herself. Her work suffered for it. Usually meticulous about getting her lesson plans together in advance and teaching her class with prepared lectures, Genevieve began to forget to prepare her lessons. She became distracted during her lectures. She didn’t always hear when a student asked a question. Sometimes, she forgot she was in her classroom and just stared off into space daydreaming about the young man in the photographs. What kind of guy played a violin and went fly-fishing? Was he the serious type or did he have a sense of humor? Was he a lady’s man? That thought made her feel a tweak of anger or was it jealousy? The violin and the man who had died too soon occupied most of her thoughts. Seventy-two per cent of her students failed their midterm exams. The principal called her into his office, shut the door, and proceeded to make her a few new orifices. “You’re distracted most of the time. I talk to you and you can’t remember a thing I’ve said. I pass by your class and you’re staring out the window,” Mr. Dudley ranted. He paced his office floor with his hands clenched behind his back. “Now, almost all your students have failed midterms and I cannot see them doing well with end-of-grade exams.” He stopped speaking long enough to return to his desk, pull out a shoebox, and dump the contents on the top of his desk. Letters— lots and lots of letters—skidded across his desk, covering its surface. “These,” he said jabbing a finger in the direction of the letters, “are complaints from parents about

you! Their kids are coming home with stories about their teacher daydreaming and being forgetful. They want their kids to be able to get into college and, to accomplish that, they have to do well on their EOGs. Are you getting the picture here?” He got up from the desk, paced the length of the room several times, and then stopped. He turned and looked red-faced at Genevieve. “Had you done your job, I would not be having this conversation with you right now. I know it’s hard for you. I was once a classroom teacher just like you, trying to pour knowledge into the heads of eighth graders who cared more about the opposite sex and what they looked like than about history. But you can’t get distracted. These kids are going to grow up one day and run the world. If you can’t teach them anything about the world and you can’t prepare them for college, we’re going to have a world of ignoramuses leading our society.” He was silent for a brief moment before adding, “We’re damn close enough to that as it is.” Genevieve held her tongue. What could she possibly say to clear her good name? He was telling the truth, and she knew it. She felt ashamed and guessed that she was going to lose her job. Even worse, she had let down her kids, and that was just not forgivable. Mr. Dudley’s balding head seemed to glow like Rudolph’s nose. He turned his angry blue eyes on her. “Thanks to you, these kids have a less than average chance at a future. Not only that, our school depends on these kids passing EOGs if we’re going to continue getting funding from the state to stay open. This is what we all do for a living, less than middle-class income, though it may be. So, you’ve let down your colleagues and me as well. It may cost all of us in the end. Well, I’ve given you the facts regarding your precarious situation, Miss Beaumont. Now, what do you intend to do about it?”

Chapter Three After Genevieve apologized to the parents of each child over the phone and talked with her students, she cleaned out her desk and introduced them all to the substitute teacher that would be taking her place until the end of the school year. Genevieve decided to take Mr. Dudley’s advice and resigned her position rather than be fired, thus saving the what remained of her career. With the free time she now had, Genevieve decided to take her ex-employer’s advice about getting this whole violin thing and its previous owner resolved. She used the time to research the man who once played the violin—the same violin that she was certain haunted her dreams. It was something she was good at, finding out the facts, so she might as well put her innate talents to good use. Genevieve had contacted the Federal Census Bureau, Saint Paul’s Reformed Church in Numidia, as well as the custodian of the cemetery beside it. She also found Marlene Stubbs, the eldest daughter of James Douglas. Amazingly, there was very little about John Douglas that anyone knew, except that he was an adventurer who had graduated with a degree in civil engineering. She hoped that a descendant might know more. Genevieve found Mrs. Stubbs’s address and phone number in the directory in the public library. She called and asked if she could talk with her about her Uncle John. Mrs. Stubbs seemed to welcome Genevieve’s visit. Mrs. Stubbs lived in a pleasant-looking two-story white clapboard house with black shutters. A huge oak tree dominated the middle of the front yard. Genevieve could see a potting house in the backyard and a garage made of corrugated steel. Beyond that, there was an orchard that appeared to have apple, peach, and pear trees. In an open area, much like a meadow at the edge of the woods, was a vegetable garden on one side of a well-worn path and a rose garden on the other side. Genevieve thought it a pleasant, peaceful place. A certain contentment built inside her spirit as she walked under the heavy arms of the old oak that guarded the walk to the front door. She looked up into the leaves that allowed dappled light to shine through its massive branches. The tree seemed to protect those who carried out their lives in this house with its strong limbs. Indeed, it was like a kind and ancient spirit standing attentively over loved ones, those who had gone before and those who lived now. She knocked on the front door with a brass deer-shaped doorknocker. It made a little thumping sound. Through the lace curtains at the window of the door, she saw the movement of someone making their way toward her. Excitement wiggled through her. Now maybe she could find out some answers and lay this whole thing to rest. A middle-aged woman, a bit plump with blue eyes and straight, short hair, answered the door and greeted her. “You must be Genevieve Beaumont, the woman who called about my dad’s brother.” She waved for Genevieve to follow her. Mrs. Stubbs showed her into a room completely paneled in cedar with a large fireplace on the south wall and, beside it, a French door that led out to a screened porch. A stairway dominated the back wall, and another French door led into a hallway. The furniture seemed comfortable but casual, and Genevieve assumed it was the family room. Mrs. Stubbs led Genevieve to the left, through double French doors into a formal living room, and showed her a comfortable Morris chair. Closing the French doors for privacy, she took a seat on the couch at the end nearest to Genevieve. Simple white curtains hung from three tall windows with deep windowsills. Sunlight spilled through the windows into the quiet room. Like the family room, it too had cedar paneling. Probably because of the tenfoot ceilings, the room was pleasantly cool in the heat of the day. Genevieve tried to quiet her riot of nerves. She pretended that she was talking with one of her

student’s parents. “As I mentioned over the phone, I bought a violin at an auction. Inside the case, I found pictures and a death certificate of John Douglas and traced him to you.” She took a steadying breath. “I don’t know why this has become so important to me, but I must find out more about your relative, about John Douglas.” Mrs. Stubbs smiled as she settled into the couch adjacent to Genevieve’s chair. The room smelled of old wood and furniture polish. “My dad always said that John was quite a catch. Everybody loved him. He was funny and smart and every bit an adventurer.” According to Mrs. Stubbs, her uncle John, who had died before she was born, had traveled extensively around the United States and Canada on his motorcycle. Mrs. Stubbs smiled. “Uncle John was quite a photographer. He took many photographs of people and places during his travels.” Genevieve noticed that he certainly had not been much of a letter writer. There were only two cryptic messages written in a sprawling cursive to his mother that wished the family well, especially “little Jimmy,” and said that he was “fine.” Inside the ancient envelope, yellowed now with age, he had sent photographs of a place in Colorado. A woman dressed in turn-of-the-century clothing, a long dress with lace and pin tucking at the bodice and a voluptuous hat bearing huge ostrich feathers, stood on a rock with magnificent, snowcapped mountains in the background. Genevieve could not make out her face. Mrs. Stubbs busied herself pouring iced tea from a pitcher on a tray resting on the maple coffee table She handed Genevieve a glass and invited her to sit beside her on the couch. Genevieve took the cold glass offered to her, sipped on the sweetened tea sloshing in the glass, then took the place on the couch Mrs. Stubbs indicated. The older woman picked up a large, black photograph album, its worn edges testified to its frequent use. She opened it with care and laid it on her lap for Genevieve to view. She smiled and said, “Please, call me Marlene.” “Why did John travel so much?” Genevieve asked, staring at the album and anxious to look inside. “John earned the money to go to college by traveling with an opera show from New York. He helped construct and set up scenery. Now they call it being a ‘roady,’ I think. None of Grandpap’s boys were afraid of heights. They were fearless that way. Grandpap was a teacher, but had to earn most of his living from painting houses and barns. He took his boys with him, and they used their part of the money for college. I guess they were just used to climbing up on high roofs and steeples.” “So John would get up high on the rafters and work the ropes and backdrops. Sometimes he played the violin in the orchestra. I don’t know if he ever sang, but my dad said he had a beautiful voice.” She ran her hands lovingly across the pages as she showed Genevieve the places John had been. Now and again, a picture of his mother or father or of two brothers smiled at Genevieve from the black paper pages where they rested. One picture of the three brothers sitting on a bench together seemed poignant to Genevieve. The three sat with smiles tacked to their faces wearing what must have been very uncomfortable clothes to endure having their picture taken. The two older brothers sat on either end of the bench with their arms across the back behind their much younger brother, who looked as though he would bolt from the bench at any moment. Genevieve smiled looking at the uncomfortable trio. Marlene showed Genevieve a picture of a hawk with his wings spread wide on the gloved arm of a young boy. “That’s my dad,” she said smiling. “He found the hawk lying in a field with a broken wing. Daddy splinted its wing and cared for him. He did a good job of it because it healed beautifully.” She sighed heavily. “My dad really loved that hawk.” She tapped her chin with her finger and frowned. “He named it something—let me think. Oh. I remember now. He named it Sky Chief.” Marlene took a sip of iced tea from her tall glass. The ice cubes clinked against the sides as she drank. She set the glass down on a cork coaster and turned to Genevieve with tears welling in her eyes. “Grandpap kept telling Daddy he needed to let the hawk go after its wing healed. He said it wasn’t right to keep a wild thing tethered like that.”

She shook her head slowly. Her expression seemed to fade into quiet sadness as she studied the photograph of the regal hawk with its wings spread wide and its proud head held high. “That’s about the time Uncle John died. After that, Daddy wouldn’t let the hawk go. I guess he just couldn’t bear to lose anything else he loved.” She smoothed the picture of the boy that would become her father and his beloved hawk with the tips of her fingers. “A few months after John died, some wild dogs broke into Sky Chief’s cage and mauled him to death.” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed them away. “He should have let it go. He sometimes talked about it and about how much he regretted not setting Sky Chief free. But he was just a boy grieving the terrible loss of a brother he loved dearly.” Marlene took a deep breath and said softly, “Daddy idolized his brother. When John died, something must have broken inside of him. A light went out in the whole family. Grandma Tilly died a few years later. Daddy said she grieved herself to death. Grandpap never spoke of Uncle John again, not a single word. I think the memories were just too painful.” According to Marlene, the oldest brother, Donald Douglas, died some years later during a surgical procedure for a lung ailment. He and his wife, Ruth, had never had children. That left the youngest brother, her father James, alone by the time he was in his thirties. Genevieve thanked Marlene for sharing her family history with her. Before taking her leave, Genevieve asked one final question. “I would have thought you would want to keep your Uncle John’s violin in the family. What influenced you to decide to sell it?” Marlene chuckled. “Well, it’s kind of a mystery to me, too. Daddy insisted that, when he died, we had to put the violin up for sale. I have no idea why. He put several of Uncle John’s things in there, the photos, his death certificate, and the other things Uncle John left. He said, ‘Somebody ought to remember my brother.’” “That’s it? That’s all he said?” Genevieve asked, feeling a certain disappointment. “That’s all he ever said about it,” Marlene replied. “I know, it’s kind of strange, but sometimes Daddy was like that. He just didn’t do a lot of explaining.” As pleasant as her visit had become, Genevieve did not want to wear out her welcome. The time had come to depart. Genevieve stood up and smiled at Marlene who was still gazing at the pictures in the album and remembering the lives that were lived so very long ago. Genevieve spoke softly, regretting that she had brought back painful memories to this woman. She was equally sorry that she had to leave. “Thank you for allowing me to visit with you. I really appreciate all that you’ve told me.” Genevieve surprised herself by hugging Marlene before she left. Usually, showing such affection was not something she felt comfortable with—especially with a stranger. She felt a little sad as she walked to her waiting SUV. “You’re welcome to come back any time,” Marlene called to Genevieve. She stood on the front porch and waved goodbye as Genevieve pulled out of the driveway. Later that day, Genevieve stopped by the AAA Auto Center and picked up several maps of Pennsylvania and the Eastern seaboard. The gentleman behind the counter helped her find Numidia, Pennsylvania, on a map. It took a very detailed map to find it. Well, I’m not working anyway, she thought as she took the rest of the money from her savings account and packed her clothes, Filling her green Forester with gas, she headed north to find the answers to the enigma that was John Douglas and his tragic death.

Chapter Four After she exited the four-lane highway, she slowed down and took in the scenery of Northumberland County. The Pennsylvania countryside was breathtaking. The rolling mountains, patchwork fields, and well-kept farms brought peace to Genevieve’s heart. Numidia was every bit as hard to find in reality as it was on the map. It was a tiny village nestled in a valley between Black Mountain and Bear Gap. The town consisted of a handful of old Victorian style homes, cottages with picket fences and, in the distance, farmhouses, and barns tucked among the hills. Marching along either side of the main street were a gas station, still operating in its original building, a dry goods store with a post office inside, a doctor’s office with a pharmacy, and a hotel called Sealy’s Place. She’d done some Internet research before leaving and had discovered that Sealy’s Place had once been a tavern with rooms to rent upstairs. Now, it was a bed-and-breakfast with fine rooms furnished in antiques and a restaurant downstairs that served authentic German dishes. Breakfast, of course, was free. Numidia was the picturesque kind of town that graced those quaint Christmas cards she had seen displayed in drugstores and department stores. She could imagine it in winter with a fresh blanket of snow and warm lights glowing in every window. Inside each house would be a family gathered around the hearths or sitting at the dinner table communing about the day’s events or planning activities for the following day. Genevieve could picture children doing their homework at the kitchen table while their parents cleared the remnants of dinner from the table. Conversations would flow lovingly as they washed the dishes and put them away in white painted oak cabinets. This was the kind of family Genevieve always dreamed of having. It was the kind of family she never had. She shook herself from her wonderings and wishes and forced her mind into the reality of her present. She steered the Forester onto the gravel parking lot at Sealy’s, pulled her suitcase from the back, and walked up the front walk. The suitcase wheels squeaked in protest as it bumped along behind her. As noted on the pristine wooden sign out front, the hotel had been established in the year 1862. Now, of course, it was completely renovated and modernized but maintained the historic building of its early establishment. Genevieve made reservations online with the help of the AAA agent. After settling into her pleasant room of antique furniture and lace-edged linens, Genevieve took a hot, soaking bath in the deep, Victorian tub with lion claw feet to give her tired bones a chance to relax. She dressed in a long, navy blue skirt with white daisies on it, a navy sweater, and comfortable hiking boots. She didn’t bother to put on make up. She was on vacation after all. She braided her long, brown hair into one plait that fell down her back to her waist and gave herself one last check in the mirror before she went downstairs to find out where Saint Paul’s Reform Church might be. **** She was glad she’d bought the hiking boots as she turned down the narrow, paved road. She headed toward the church, as the helpful Mrs. Varner at the information desk had directed. For the most part, it was pasture land until she had walked about a mile. On the left stood a small, brick two-story schoolhouse, and after that, an area that looked like picnic grounds with wooden picnic tables and brick barbecue grills. To the right sat a red brick church with long, stained glass windows set down each side and a steeple with a bell. Out front stood a simple plaque on the manicured lawn with the name Saint Paul’s Reformed Church on it and the word “Welcome.” Her heart skittered in her chest when she saw the graveyard. The headstones rested in neat rows according to various ages in time. The neatly clipped grass lay over them smelling sweet and lazy. The groundskeeper was busily mowing on a riding mower. He stopped when he got to Genevieve.

He spoke loudly over the din of the motor. “You lookin’ for anyone in particular, miss?” he asked as he took a red bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his brow. “It’s mighty hot for just being the end of April,” he added in a friendly way. “I’m looking for the grave of John Douglas. He died in 1927,” she said. Her heart ached a little just saying the date of his death aloud. The groundskeeper pointed toward the back of the cemetery. “Most likely you’ll find him back there near the World War One graves.” He put his bandanna back in his pocket and pulled his straw hat down. “Does anyone live here who knew the Douglas family or who is part of their family?” She hoped in her heart there would be someone who knew him, someone who could tell her what he was like and what happened to him.” “There aren’t any of those Douglas folks around these parts any more. They all died or left town,” he said, then went back to mowing. She found Donald Douglas and his wife, Ruth, first. Down the next row, she found the marker for William Grant and his wife, Matilda Sophronia. She took a shaky breath when she came to the next tombstone to gather her courage. There he was, John Douglas, beloved son born June 16, 1906, and died May 30, 1927. Down at the bottom of the stone, just above the fresh cut grass like a postscript on a letter, it read, “You took our hearts with you.” A knot formed in her throat as she fell to her knees on his grave. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the words on his headstone. She wiped the tears that were running down her cheeks with the back of her left hand. She rested her forehead on the cold, polished stone. “I don’t know why I’m here, John,” she whispered. “But here I am.” She laid her cheek on the cold surface of the headstone. “I’ve never had anyone to care for of my own, so I don’t know why I’ve come to care so much about you. I can’t explain it . . . but I do. I wish I could have been there for you. Maybe I could have done something to save you.” A warm breeze kissed her face as she sat back on her heels. Trying not to think about how he had died, she was silent for a few moments. “I came a long way to visit you. I can’t believe I did something so insane. It’s not like me to be so impulsive. I thought I would feel better, but I don’t. I feel like I let you down, as if it’s my fault somehow. It sounds crazy, I know. I wasn’t even born when you—when it happened.” She took a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and blew her nose. She remembered the house that John and his family had lived in. It was supposed to be next to the cemetery. Mrs. Stubbs had told her that the house had been a schoolhouse once until they built a bigger, brick school just up the road. According to Marlene Stubbs, William Douglas had bought it for next to nothing. She stood, excitement running through her like the feeling of hope. There, just at the other side of the graveyard, the little red house stood with a grove of trees beside it. It was obviously abandoned and neglected. Genevieve walked toward the house. Her heart rose into her throat and lodged there as she surveyed the outside of the structure. She caught the fragrance of roses floating on the breeze. Her feet moved forward as if they worked separately from her brain and brought her right outside the decaying house. She could not resist the urge to peek inside the house where John used to live. The house seemed to pull her in. She made her way through the tangle of overgrown roses beside the rotting porch and pushed on what must have been the front door. The hinges squealed in agony as she opened it. There was no furniture. She had not expected any. It smelled like old wood, ripe apples, and mold. A potbelly stove sat in the front room that she assumed must have served as the parlor. The dust and dirt was so thick she could barely see out of the windows, and it made everything look gray. Two small rooms toward the back of the house must have been the bedrooms. She walked through them, careful of her footing. She was not sure how sound the flooring was after all this time. Genevieve

figured the bedroom closest to the kitchen was most likely William and Matilda’s room. That the mother would want to be close to the kitchen so that she wouldn’t disturb the household when she got up early to make breakfast for her family was just logical. At least, that’s what Genevieve would have done. With reverence, Genevieve entered the second bedroom. This is the room where John and his younger brother must have slept. She imagined that there must have been two single beds in the room. She wondered if they had fought or had been friends. Did John try to protect and care for his younger brother? It must have caused unimaginable pain for the younger brother after John died. What was it like to sleep in the room where you had spent all your years with a brother and then to have to sleep next to an empty bed? Genevieve’s heart contracted in sharp pain at the thought of the younger brother’s grief. She could understand why he couldn’t set Sky Chief free. How could he let go of anything after such a tragedy? She could only imagine how inconsolable he and his parents must have been. The lump in her throat kept her from swallowing. The pain moved from her throat deep into her chest. She could not bear to stay in the room any longer and had to move away from it. She walked the entire space of the little house. She determined there must be an outhouse in the back yard somewhere since no evidence of indoor plumbing or a bathroom was in evidence. Off the main room was the kitchen. Cabinets were hanging precariously on either side of the dry sink. She noticed there were no electrical outlets. She knew that electricity was becoming common in the 1920s, though many families still used kerosene lamps or gaslights. It had been a turning point in history. There were as many cars as horses, and telephones were just beginning to be used in homes. People were either rich or poor, and most were poor. The institution of the middle class had not taken hold and there was no social security. People in this era worked hard for a living, and they took care of their own. Churches were the centers of social activity and charity, but it wasn’t really charity. Neighbors helped each other, and just as each person rose to the occasion to help his neighbor, so did he sometimes need his neighbors’ help in return. There were no strangers. Genevieve looked around her at the empty house. No one has lived here in a long time, she thought to herself. Perhaps no one had lived there since that tragic time when the Douglas family buried their middle son. She glanced around what was once the kitchen. She imagined there must have been a coal-burning, or perhaps wood-burning, stove in the kitchen. A scorch mark that ran up the wall to the ceiling marked where the stove must have been and showed that a fire had occurred at some time. Most likely, a table had sat right beside the other window at the end of the counter near the back door. The back door was missing, and she could see the water pump beside the half-rotted back porch. Nothing came easy in those days. Chores filled every day, but she imagined that it brought families together to have necessary jobs to do. There wasn’t a television to glaze over imaginations and occupy time. There were no computers to shop on, work on, talk on, or play on. People in the twenties interacted with the other people in their lives face-to-face, up close and personal. Times were hard, and people struggled to survive. They helped each other and used whatever they had that was available. Genevieve imagined that there was a lot less whining in those days than in modern times. Who had time to whine and want? She stood at the sink and stared out of the window, barely able to make out the graveyard just beyond through the dirty glass. She just listened to the silence of the house where John grew up. She could almost hear the family speaking to one another and dishes rattling as someone set the table. In her mind, she could envision the family gathered around the table eating and talking. Was there laughter before the tragedy? Did they love each other? Did they keep their feelings to themselves? What was John like? She yearned to know more about him. How sad that there was no one left who knew him, no one to remember him. Why did he have to die? Was there no one who could have saved him? If she had been here, would she have been able to stop the inevitable from happening? Could she have made the difference that would have

changed the lives of everyone who once lived in this house? If only this house could speak to her and tell her about those it had once sheltered. If only it could tell its secrets. She let the silence whisper to her heavy heart. To Genevieve, the house had its own spirit, and it felt close to her. She could almost feel a presence in the room. She suddenly felt dizzy. She clutched the sides of the sink to steady herself. What was happening? She felt her body grow light as if it were floating just above her. It seemed she was looking down at her own form standing by the old sink. She felt caught between this moment in a kitchen long abandoned and some other, unworldly place. Her head filled with sharp pain. Her mind felt like it was going to explode. Her vision blurred as the whispers grew louder. She could almost hear what the whispers were saying. Red filled her vision as the pain burned through her head, and then everything went black. She lost her grip on the sink as her strength left her, and she crumpled to the floor.

Chapter Five When Genevieve regained consciousness, someone was bathing her face with cool water. She heard movement around her, and she could smell something delicious cooking on the stove. The stove? Goodness, was that vegetable soup and homemade bread? She could not seem to make her mouth work yet or open her eyes. How long had she been out? Had someone found her and taken her back to the hotel? God, her head hurt. “Jimmy, fetch me another bucket of water from the pump. John, help your father carry her to the sofa,” said some far-away woman. “Forget it, Pop, I can carry her myself. It’s not like she weighed anything of consequence,” said a deeply masculine voice right next to her ear. Then Genevieve felt herself lifted up by strong arms. He, whoever he was, smelled of soap, turpentine, and fresh air. He carried her for a short distance then gently laid her on a soft surface. “Jimmy, quit your gawking and listen to your mother,” said an older, somewhat rough, male voice. “Yes, sir,” the youth replied, followed by the slamming of a door. “I think she’s coming around, Pop,” said the man still close to her ear. Something about that voice sent a skitter of excitement in her chest that burned its way out to her fingertips. Genevieve willed her eyes to open. Slowly, she took in the room around her. A potbellied stove squatted quietly against the wall. A Morris chair sat across from her and, beside it, a green, threadbare chair with a matching green ottoman. The only other furniture was the couch on which she lay. She was covered with a black-and-white afghan with a pattern that resembled tiny, precise granny squares. Each square was only about two inches across, demonstrating that someone had put a lot of work into making it. A homemade, braided rag rug brought the pieces together to create a cozy place for the family to gather. The room looked familiar. Her heart began to race because, in fact, it looked like the parlor of John’s abandoned house. The truth burst upon her suddenly like a rocket of fire into her consciousness. “Oh my God,” she sputtered aloud. Her hand flew to her mouth, and fear seized her breath. Although she knew the answer before she asked, she needed someone to confirm it. “Where am I?” “Is she having some kind of fit?” asked the older man standing across the room. He was thin with gray hair and cool blue eyes that were staring a hole through her from where he stood. He looked like a cautious man who was ready to leap into action or run as he assessed the situation. “No, Pop, she’s not having a damn fit.” A voice spoke clear and deep next to her ear. He bit the words out as if angered. She heard him take in a slow breath, and then he spoke to her in a more relaxed, quiet tone. “I beg your pardon miss, I didn’t mean to curse. What’s your name?” asked the younger man who was kneeling beside the couch where she lay. He wrung out a cloth in the bowl of water beside his knee, folded it, and applied it to Genevieve’s brow. “My name is Genevieve Beaumont. I was just standing at the window and now I’m here.” She lifted a shaky hand to her brow. “God, my head is pounding.” “You bumped your head when you fainted. Is that a French name?” he asked. He lifted a quizzical brow and smiled with brilliant white teeth. She lifted her eyes and got a good, close-up look at him then. He was the man in the pictures that were in the violin case. This was John. John Douglas. She would not have guessed that he had had auburn hair or that his eyes had been bottle green. He wore a collarless, khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and suspenders, instead of a belt, held up his tan, canvas trousers. God Almighty, but he was handsome, so much more than his pictures ever allowed. She did not have time to admire the young man’s good looks because her mind swirled around and around with the unfathomable implications of her situation.

It just wasn’t possible! How could she have ended up here in the past? The last thing she remembered was standing in the kitchen looking out the window at the graveyard next door. She began to feel dizzy again. “I think she’s going to faint again,” John said. Sure enough, just as he predicted, Genevieve fell back into darkness. **** When she came around again, the older woman was sitting on the edge of the couch beside Genevieve, a concerned look on her round face. They were alone. The woman looked as though she were in her midforties with strands of gray threading through her brown hair. She was a round, pleasant-looking woman who seemed quite capable of running a household full of males. She wore a blue gingham dress that went to her ankles with a dropped waist. Over the dress, she wore an apron with a bib pinned to her bosom with safety pins. She smiled at Genevieve. “I’m glad you were here when this happened so we could help you.” She put the palm of her hand to Genevieve’s brow and spoke softly. “Are you feeling better now?” Genevieve nodded her head as she pulled herself up in a sitting position. “Where am I? What happened to me? Who are you? What day is it? In fact, what year is this?” The woman chuckled softly. “Why, it’s Thursday, May fourteenth in the year nineteen hundred and twenty-seven.” She wrung out the cool cloth that John Douglas had so recently held in his hand and applied it to Genevieve’s brow. “I’m Matilda Douglas, and you already met our middle son, John, and, of course, the older man that was scowling at you from across the room is my husband, Will. Don’t let him scare you. He always looks a little disapproving, but he has a heart of gold.” Mrs. Douglas chuckled softly. She looked off toward the kitchen then back at Genevieve. “You were standing in the kitchen looking out the window. When I came into the room and spoke to you, you passed out.” Her mouth tilted in a little smile. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, crazy sounding even, but I thought this house was abandoned.” She met Mrs. Douglas’s hazel eyes. “I must have gotten lost. I honestly don’t know how I got here.” Mrs. Douglas smiled patiently. She studied Genevieve’s eyes as if she could read her mind through them. Genevieve could tell there was some concern about her sanity. It was written on the woman’s face. “I think you had a nasty hit on your head when you fell on the floor. That could jangle anybody’s thinking.” A cold jolt of fear ran up Genevieve’s spine. What if no one believed her? Worse than that, what if she couldn’t get back home? “I don’t really know what happened to me. Did you see what happened?” The older woman took Genevieve’s hand in hers. It felt warm. Reassuring. “You just showed up out of the blue standing in our kitchen. You looked like an angel. The sunlight shone all around you.” Genevieve felt a headache threatening at her temples. “Believe me, I’m not an angel.” At least she could say that with conviction. “And this house wasn’t the same a few minutes ago, Mrs. Douglas.” Mrs. Douglas chuckled. “You got quite a bump on the head. Please, just call me by my given name, Matilda. I’m not much on formality.” A younger boy came into the room with a red-tailed hawk on his gloved arm. He was followed by a rambunctious German Shepherd–mix dog that was wagging his tail happily while keeping suspicious eyes on the hawk. “Is she awake now?” the boy asked. He looked like a younger version of John except his hair had more red in it, and it glowed like a copper penny. “Yes, Jimmy, she’s awake now.” Mrs. Douglas fisted her hands on her hips. “Please take that bird and Guess outside. You know I don’t allow those wild birds in the house, and Guess is too fidgety around it,” she said firmly.

“Hello, lady.” The boy gave Genevieve a charming smile. “This is my hawk, Sky Chief. He had a broken wing, but it’s healing now. Pop says he needs to go free soon as he’s well. He said wild things shouldn’t be kept in cages.” He held the hawk high to avoid the dog’s close proximity. “Want to watch him fly sometime?” “Yes, Jimmy, I would like that very much.” Genevieve pulled herself up in a sitting position. “You can call me Evie, if you like. That’s what most people call me.” “Now take that critter outside like I asked you to.” Mrs. Douglas crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at the boy with a raised brow. “Okay. I’m going,” he mumbled. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, almost forcing Genevieve to laugh. He turned when he got to the kitchen doorway and looked back at her. “Come on out and see the rest of my birds when you get tired of hanging around in here.” He left with the hawk on his arm and the dog plodding after him. Genevieve laughed. “I wouldn’t want to miss that for anything.” “He’s a sweet boy, but he’s a hand full,” Matilda said as soon as the boy was out of earshot. She shook her head and laughed. “Will dotes on the boy. Jimmy loves his father, and he idolizes John. He tries to imitate everything John does. Whenever John goes out on one of his adventures with his motorcycle or has a job with the opera, Jimmy mopes around missing him.” She sighed and added softly, “That motorcycle scares me to death.” Matilda smiled with obvious pride. “John has always loved finding out about new things. He enjoys traveling with the opera. I think it gives him an opportunity to see the country and enjoy new company. He sends us pictures of the places where he’s been. “But I worry about him. What if something happens to him on that fool thing? I think about him working the ropes up on the scaffolding and fear for him.” She sighed and added with resolve in her voice, “But, like John says, he’s got to live his life.” “I think I know about your son, John.” Genevieve thought that Matilda ought to know what would happen to John. She wrestled with herself about what to say. Would Matilda believe her outrageous story? “Do you remember him from school or college perhaps?” Matilda folded her hands in her lap and peered at Genevieve with cautious eyes. “No, no, I never actually met him until today, but I’ve heard about him.” How could she ever explain that she had his violin, had his death certificate, or that she came from a century in the future? Matilda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh goodness, don’t say anything to Will. This is so embarrassing. What were people saying about him? He’s not crazy or stupid you know. You won’t say anything, will you?” “Of course not. I would never say anything like that.” She didn’t understand Matilda’s reaction. Did she have reason to be concerned about John’s reputation? Numidia was a small town, after all, just a village really. Genevieve guessed that people just worried about gossip and opinion more in small towns. She patted Matilda’s hand comfortingly. She knew she couldn’t reveal John’s fate to his mother. Telling Matilda John’s destiny was not going to help. All she had accomplished was to upset Matilda. Matilda clutched her apron in her hands. “John can be quite wild sometimes. Will is afraid of what people might think. Will’s a schoolteacher and almost as subject to opinion and conjecture as a minister. He and John fight about it sometimes but then they fight about many things. They love each other in spite of what it may seem. It’s just their natures to squabble sometimes.” “No. No. I just meant that I think I’ve heard of John. And about his playing. He plays the violin, doesn’t he? But I’ve only heard good things, I assure you.” Matilda seemed to settle. Her hands relaxed and Genevieve decided to change the subject. “Where is Mr. Douglas? Didn’t he come home from school with Jimmy?” “He met up with John over at the Crawford place where John’s been painting their barn. Will wants to

paint a bear on it since they live in Bear Gap. John liked the idea, so Will’s helping him finish up, and then he’s going to paint that bear on it.” Matilda chortled. “Sometimes, when they get creative, they are of like mind. It’s funny to watch the two of them when they’re like that.” Matilda stood and ran her hands down her apron. “Would you like to keep me company in the kitchen? Do you feel up to it?” “Yes, I think I do.” Genevieve stood and tested her legs. Everything seemed to be in working order. “Please, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me help you.” “I’m making a pie for supper.” Matilda announced her intention and smiled at Genevieve. “It’s so good to have another woman around the house. I expect you to stay for supper. I won’t hear an argument about that.” “Thank you.” Genevieve had nowhere else to go. “You’re very kind. I’d love to stay for a little while longer.” God knows how she was going to figure out how to get back to her own time any way. Matilda rolled out the dough for the pie crust while Genevieve cut up plump apples as she sat at the table by the window. Matilda expertly rolled the dough onto the wooden rolling pin and transferred it to the pie pan. She took the bowl of cut up apples from Genevieve and added sugar and cinnamon. She looked up from her work and asked, “Are you staying at Sealy’s?” Genevieve nodded her head as she chewed on a fresh apple slice. “Umm hmm. It’s the only hotel around.” She smiled. In her mind, she was wondering if her things were still there or if she was still registered. She felt dizzy for a moment as she thought about that. “Are you sure that you’re up to this? I’m used to making dinner without help.” Matilda’s voice held concern as she went about her work. She trimmed up the dough around the edges of the pie and placed it in the oven of the coal burning, green enamel stove. Genevieve took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Just be in the moment, and don’t say anything crazy. “I’m fine, really.” She smiled confidently in spite of her inner turmoil.

Chapter Six Will and John returned just as Genevieve laid out the dishes on the table. She watched from the window while she worked as the two men stripped to the waist and washed up at the pump. She could not drag her gaze from the play of muscles on John’s back as he dried off with a towel. He roughed the towel through his auburn hair then ran his fingers through it to smooth it down. Little spikes of wet hair stood up here and there that she itched to smooth down with her hands. She could only hear the muffled sounds of their discussion through the glass. They seemed to be in an intense conversation that appeared to be escalating into a full-blown argument. Matilda moved behind Genevieve to watch the two men as they took a stand against one another. “They can’t be around each other for ten minutes before they start arguing.” Genevieve glanced at the older woman and caught the upturn of her lips as if she wanted to laugh. “They’re both stubborn as mules and twice as ornery.” “Why does Mr. Douglas paint when he has a job teaching?” Genevieve could not keep her curiosity at bay. “Will can’t make enough to support the family on teacher’s pay so he paints rooms, houses, barns, and the like for extra money. The boys have each helped him out in their own time. Donald helped before he married and moved away and now John helps.” Matilda smiled as she watched them from the window. “They were painting a barn today up on Bear Gap.” She squeezed Genevieve’s shoulder comfortingly with her hand. “Don’t pay their arguing any mind. It’s probably over one of the same old things they usually fuss about.” She moved away from the window to get a large tureen out of the cupboard then carried it to the stove. “John just got his engineering degree and wants to leave home now.” She ladled the vegetable soup out of the big pot into the tureen. “Will doesn’t want him to go. He worries about him.” She carried the bowl to the table with a fancy dipper that fit perfectly into a groove in the tureen and covered it with a matching lid. “John’s a young man who just wants to lead his own life.” Matilda moved back to the stove, picked up a tea towel, and opened the oven door. A mouth-watering aroma of fresh-baked bread filled the kitchen as she pulled out two loaves that had been kept warm in the oven. “Then again, they could be arguing about the color of the paint they used on the barn or John’s favorite debate about getting electricity and a radio.” She turned the loaves out on a board and began slicing them. “It’s hard to tell,” she added with a chuckle. She placed the sliced bread in a towel-covered basket and set it on the table with a covered dish of butter. “Would you mind filling the glasses with water from the bucket over on the counter? The glasses are on the second shelf there on the left.” Genevieve kept an eye on the men outside as she worked. Just as things began to intensify, little Jimmy appeared laughing as if on cue and stopped whatever argument was unfolding. The two men shrugged into their fresh flannel shirts, took time to hang the shirts they had just removed on the clothesline to air out and followed Jimmy and his dog around the side of the house and out of view of the two women in the kitchen. “Sometimes I feel like there’s a dark cloud coming over my family, but just when I think the storm is going to break lose, that boy comes out like sunshine and clears it all away.” Matilda wiped her hands on her apron. She took a jar of homemade strawberry jam from the cupboard and placed it on the table. “Would you mind going out and calling them in to supper?” “I’d be glad to.” Genevieve left the kitchen in search of the Douglas men. She noticed as she stepped out on the back porch that the boards were all sturdy and in good repair. One board had recently been replaced and was still a lighter color than the rest. It was a far cry from the rotted-out porch she

remembered earlier that morning before she entered the twilight zone. Genevieve forced these disturbing thoughts from her mind. She didn’t know what was happening to her or if she’d get back into her own time again. For now, she decided, she would just live each moment as it came until she found the answers. She found the men out back. They were helping Jimmy erect a tent. They were all laughing and talking while they worked in unison to get the tent up. Genevieve smiled at them. “Mrs. Douglas sent me to tell you supper is ready.” John looked up and gave her a heart-stopping grin. Genevieve noticed he had a hint of a cleft in his chin. He was kneeling on the side of the tent, hammering in a stake to keep the tent in touch with the ground. He straightened when she approached them. He was taller than she thought he would be—sixfoot-two maybe. “I see you’re up now and your color’s back,” he said. “She’s a looker, ain’t she, John?” Jimmy said coming from behind the tent to stand beside his brother. The dog lay in the grass beside the tent, yawned, and then closed his eyes in sleepy contentment and disinterest. “Mind your manners, boy.” Will Douglas gave Jimmy a stern look, then put his attention on Genevieve. “Thank you, Miss Beaumont. Please, tell Mrs. Douglas we’ll be right in as soon as we wash our hands.” Genevieve followed behind Will and Jimmy toward the house. John put away the tools, carefully wiping each one with a rag from the wooden toolbox. He hurried to catch up with her, still carrying the toolbox in his left hand. “So, what were you doing in our kitchen this morning, Miss Beaumont?” John asked the question conversationally but the look in his eyes held curiosity mixed with suspicion. “I just got lost is all. I thought I might come in and ask for directions.” She had never been a convincing liar. “Uh-huh,” John responded, not sounding too convinced with her answer but apparently willing to let it go. “Where are you from, Miss Beaumont?” He matched stride with her. “I’ve never heard of any Beaumonts around here or Catawissa. Is your family from here?” “I’m from North Carolina, Charlotte, actually. And I don’t have any family that I know of. I was raised in foster homes.” She didn’t know why she was telling him any of her history. When had she become such a blabbermouth? She gazed into John’s dark green eyes and had to look away to keep her heart from stuttering in her chest. “You can just call me Evie, if you like. It’s shorter.” John chuckled softly. “But I don’t like. As a one syllable man myself, I think saying your whole name is the proper and respectful thing to do. A small name is wasted on a woman as pretty as you.” As they approached the back porch and stepped up onto it, Genevieve turned to him and glanced up into those eyes. “I think you’re a big flirt,” she said in a friendly way. “Yes ma’am, I am. But I have to say I only flirt with beautiful women who have the intelligence to flirt back,” he replied as he opened the door for her. She walked through the door under his extended arm with her nose in the air. “Though I may be flirt worthy in the sense that I consider myself intelligent, I don’t feel inclined to participate in such a pointless endeavor.” John laughed. “Oh, there’s nothing pointless about it, I assure you.” He pulled out a chair for her then walked outside to the pump and washed his hands before returning to the table and taking his place beside Genevieve. “Don’t mind John, Miss Beaumont, he amuses himself by bickering,” Will said. “Let’s say a word of grace,” Matilda said, “Before supper gets cold. John, would you say grace, dear?” John rolled his eyes. “Only because you ask it, Mama. God hasn’t been especially good to me but here goes.” As they all clasped hands around the table, John took firm hold of Genevieve’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for the soup and bread at this table, Lord, and a mighty fine thank you for our visitor

from the South. Amen.” “John don’t believe in God,” Jimmy announced as he ladled a good helping of vegetable soup into his bowl then passed it on to John. “Doesn’t,” corrected Matilda, “John doesn’t believe in God.” “Just to set the record straight, Genevieve, it’s not that I don’t believe in God, it’s that He doesn’t believe in me.” John filled Genevieve’s bowl then passed the soup on to his father. “Pop believes in evil-ution,” Jimmy interjected with a mouthful of bread. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Jimmy, and that’s evolution not evil-ution,” Matilda corrected as she passed the butter over to Will. The soup was heavenly, and the bread was to die for. Genevieve had not realized how hungry she was. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the conversation fly around her. They exchanged information, news, and an occasional joke with one another during the course of the meal. The only time they halted was when Matilda brought the dessert out. There was much oh-ing and ah-ing upon its arrival then back to conversation they went. Jimmy talked about how many birds he had banded that day and confided, “I know how I can keep the neighbor’s cat out of my bird trap. That pesky devil ate a cardinal and a red waxwing yesterday.” His fork clattered on his plate as he finished off the last crumb of pie. “I read they don’t like citrus fruit so I’m gonna put orange peels around the trap.” He peered up at his father. “Could Tim Spade and Ned Sawyer come over and camp out with me in the tent, Pop? We won’t make a mess. If we do, I’ll clean it up.” “That would be fine, Jimmy, but no fires. I don’t want you and your friends setting the county on fire.” “Ah, come on, Pop. I’ll be careful,” Jimmy pleaded. “No fires. That’s my final word.” Will’s voice sounded stern. John looked at Genevieve and grinned. “You should be around at Christmas. We light the candles on the Christmas tree while Pop stands by with a bucket of water in case it goes up in a blaze.” Laughing, he shook his head. “I don’t know, but it just takes something out of it to have the fire brigade hanging over it like that.” “Your father’s right, John, you must always treat fire with caution.” Matilda folded her napkin and changed the subject. “We got a letter from Donald in the post today. He and Ruth have settled into Pittsburgh quite well. It sounds like they both like the city.” “Donald’s a fool.” John turned to Genevieve as he leaned back on two legs of his chair. “Donald does everything by a book of etiquette and propriety. He graduated from college and got an engineering job with Westinghouse.” He peered at Genevieve. “He invents things. He thought it was time to settle down and take a wife so he married the one woman in town who loved him in spite of his cold and calculating ways. I don’t see what she sees in him. He probably notifies her by handwritten invitation when he wants a roll in the hay.” Matilda gasped and Jimmy laughed. Will’s brows were furrowed, and his eyes narrowed with disapproval. John continued, oblivious to the reaction his words were causing. “Well, that’s not what I want. I want to marry purely for love. I want to find a woman of passion to take to wife, and then we’ll set out making babies from day one.” He peered at Genevieve and winked suggestively. A flush of burning heat promptly shot up her neck to her face. “I won’t have this talk at the table.” Will’s face flushed and anger resonated in his voice. Before John could respond, Matilda intervened. “Don’t forget the church picnic on Sunday. I’m making two cakes, a pie, and some baked beans. I’ll need you and Jimmy to help carry all that over to the picnic grounds.” “Yes, ma’am,” John and Jimmy responded in unison. “I hope you’ll join us, Evie. I could use some help in the kitchen getting all the food ready.” Matilda

smiled hopefully at Genevieve. “I’d love to, if I’m still in town.” Or in this century. “We’re going to be painting the Wilgroves’s house tomorrow, John. It’s a big house so we’ll need to get started early.” Will smirked. “They wanted yellow paint of all things.” John gave a low whistle. “Maybe they want to be able to find their house in the snow.” They both chortled. Apparently yellow just wasn’t the color for houses here in Numidia. John turned his mesmerizing eyes back to Genevieve. “My friends and I are going to be playing at the picnic on Sunday. We formed a little band a couple years ago, nothing professional, just for fun. I hope you can come and hear us play, Genevieve.” He squeezed Genevieve’s hand under the table. “Since Mama’s going to need your help in the kitchen, I’ll meet you on the road from Sealy’s Place and walk with you to the house. Later, you could walk over to the picnic grounds with me while I carry all that food Mama’s determined to make.” He would not let go of her hand. “I won’t take no for an answer.” “John, it’s rude to badger the lady,” Will remarked from across the table as he leaned back in his chair. Ignoring his father, John pleaded, “Come on now, you know you wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to tell me how awful I play.” Genevieve’s heart felt suddenly heavy in her chest. The violin, dear God, John would be playing the same violin she had bought at an auction nearly a century into the future. Genevieve wanted to bolt from the chair. She wanted to run back to the hotel and hide. How painful to know these people and the sadness the future held for them. She wondered if she should just blurt out the truth or hold her tongue. She didn’t know what to do, why she was here, or how she even got here. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her head ached. Stay in the moment, Evie. Don’t go thinking this crazy stuff. Genevieve took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. “I’d love to listen to you play.” He patted her hand then let it go. “That’s more like it. If you don’t mind staying here just a bit longer, we’re going to look through Jimmy’s telescope soon as it gets dark. After that, I’ll be glad to walk you back to Sealy’s.” “As soon as I help your mother clean up, I think I should head on back. I can walk there by myself.” She had no idea how she would explain it if she was still in this time and no one knew her when she got to the hotel. It would be too hard to explain that she just didn’t happen to be in this time zone when she got out of bed this morning. She didn’t want John to be there for that embarrassing and inexplicable situation. “But I insist,” John said, “On walking you back whenever that may be. Can I entice you to stay a while longer?” His gaze slide over to Jimmy as he pleaded with Genevieve. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint my baby brother now, would you?” “Come on, Evie, it’ll be fun.” Jimmy peered at her with pleading eyes. Genevieve blew out a big breath of air and sighed in resignation. “All right, I’ll stay, but just a little longer.” She knew she was going to live to regret this decision. John rose from his chair and held the chair back for Genevieve to stand. They gathered up their dishes and put them in the sink. John winked at her then turned to his father. “Let’s go out for a smoke, Pop, and help Jimmy set up the telescope.” Will slid his chair back from the table and stood up. “Help your mother clear the table before you come outside, Jimmy.” “Yes, sir,” Jimmy said and obeyed his father’s instructions. As soon as he finished, he went out the kitchen door to join the older men. Genevieve joined Matilda at the sink. Matilda had taken hot water from the tank on the side of the stove and poured it into a pan in the sink into which she added soap. They worked quietly washing, drying, and putting away the dishes. Matilda wiped off the stove and put the leftover soup in the icebox, placing a plate over the top of it. She placed the butter beside it and a bottle of milk. Meanwhile, Genevieve swept the floor.

When they both finished, they went outside. Matilda poured the soapy dishwater on the flower garden under the windows at the front of the house. She rinsed the pan at the pump then returned it to the sink. After the cleanup was completed, Genevieve and Matilda joined the men in the backyard. John and Will had already set up the telescope, and Will had made the necessary adjustments to get Mars in the telescope’s sights.

Chapter Seven It was a clear night. The stars shimmered like bits of glass on the navy blue velvet canvas of the sky. Genevieve stood in the middle of this family feeling warmth in her heart at being included as if she just naturally belonged there. To a woman with no siblings or parents, it felt a little like heaven. Genevieve felt conflicted. It was too comfortable, too happy, but she knew it couldn’t last. If she ran now, she wouldn’t get used to it, wouldn’t miss it when her reality came back without these people in it. She was used to being alone. But she couldn’t force herself to walk away. She stayed and watched this family as if they were acting out parts and she was in the audience enjoying the show but emotionally removed from them. It was simple self-preservation to disconnect. John and Jimmy shoved each other playfully, causing the dog to bark while their parents attempted to establish order without much success. Will took Jimmy gently by the shoulder and brought him up to the eyepiece of the telescope. “Do you see Venus there in the sights?” he asked of the boy. “It should be dead center.” He sounded as though he had his teacher’s mantle on. “Yes, sir, I do,” Jimmy responded with excitement in his voice. “Just below it you’ll see a small red ball of light. See it?” Will asked. “Uh—yes! Yes, there it is. What is it, Pop?” “It’s Mars, the red planet.” He looked over at Genevieve and said, “Would you like to take a look, Genevieve?” “You bet,” Genevieve answered. “It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at the stars through a telescope.” Actually, that would be never. Will stepped back from the telescope and extended his arm in invitation. Genevieve choked on the little knot that formed in her throat. Will was treating her as he would if she were one of his own children. “I can take it from here, Pop,” John said as he guided her up to the telescope by gently placing his hand at the small of her back. Shock waves went up her spine. She wasn’t sure it was a good feeling. It brought with it a sense of uncertainty. That was never a good thing. She had avoided that feeling too often in her life to allow herself to lean into it willingly. No, sir, she was not going to have feelings for this man! Besides, he was going to die way before she was even born. “What’s that look you have there?” John asked as he tilted the telescope down to her level, then readjusted it. “What look? I don’t have any kind of look,” Genevieve insisted as she closed one eye to look into the telescope. She tried to concentrate, but it was difficult with him standing so close behind her. Her back felt the warmth of him. She inhaled his fragrance of soap combined with the sweet scent of pipe tobacco. He leaned in close to her ear. His breath moved a strand of hair that tickled her neck. “I think I make you nervous. Whenever I get near you, you get that look on your face and start twitching like a cat walking through sticky molasses.” He put his hand on hers and tilted the telescope ever so slightly. “There now, see it?” Suddenly there was nothing but beautiful stars filling her vision. She almost forgot that his hand was still on hers. “This is the most beautiful thing I believe I’ve ever seen,” she said in a voice filled with awe. When she looked up, John was smiling at her in a way that made her heart skip. Genevieve became acutely aware of John’s hand over hers. The heat went straight up her arm into the middle of her chest where it burst into flame. She gasped involuntarily at the burn she felt and the fear that followed it. John leaned down and peered into her eyes. She tried to avert her glance to prevent him from reading her thoughts, but John curled a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What’s going on here? Did you feel that?” She stepped back and looked at the gathering of people around her, all who had died years ago. Jesus,

was she walking among ghosts? Was she dreaming? Maybe she had a concussion. She swayed, feeling woozy, uncertain, and afraid. “I think she’s going to faint again,” Matilda said anxiously. John stepped toward her, took her upper arms firmly in his hands, and said decisively, “Look at me, Genevieve. That’s it. Just focus on my eyes and the sound of my voice. Now, take a deep breath. That’s right. Now take another one. That’s much better. I see the color coming back to your cheeks. There now, I think you’re going to be just fine.” “Maybe she needs to go in the house and lie down for a while. This night air is most likely giving her a chill,” Matilda said. “Just settle down now, Tilly,” Will said, “She’s going to be fine.” John slipped his jacket over her shoulders, most likely to please his mother who apparently believed in the evil chill of night winds. “Come on, Genevieve, I’ll walk you back to Sealy’s. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep.” Genevieve nodded her head. “Yes, yes, that’s what I need to do.” She looked at John’s family and said, “Thank you so much for a wonderful day. I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so welcome.” Matilda walked over, took Genevieve’s hand, and patted it. It felt warm and motherly. “You’re welcome back any time, Evie. And I’ll be expecting you on Saturday to help me with the baking for the church picnic.” “I’ll try to make the time,” Genevieve answered, unsure where she was going to be even minutes from now. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Beaumont,” said Will and tipped his broad-rimmed hat. Jimmy fell in step behind Genevieve and John with his dog wagging its tail and panting along side. “I’ll get Sky Chief to fly for you when you come back,” Jimmy said, throwing a rock into the air and catching it. John turned around and jutted out a thumb on his right hand. “Get on back to the house, Jimmy. I’m not going to have you tagging along behind us.” “Fiddlesticks,” Jimmy moaned, “You’re no fun at all. Come on, Guess, we’ll go back and have another piece of pie without Mister Bossy. We might eat the whole thing and leave nothing for him.” He turned back, grabbed up a stick and threw it. “Go get it, boy.” He started laughing as he chased the dog back toward the house. “Goodbye, Evie. See ya soon,” he called back to her as he ran down the road after his dog. John sauntered along side Genevieve down the dirt road toward the hotel. The hotel was not that far, little more than a mile from the Douglas’s house. John was quiet most of the way. They rounded the curve in the road just at the end of the churchyard. The hotel was just on the other side of the curve but still out of sight when John stopped. “I think you’ll be safe now. I best get on back to the house,” he said, looking down at her with a look she couldn’t read in the darkness. “Goodness, yes, I’ll be fine,” Genevieve answered with a sigh of relief. She didn’t want him to start asking questions if no one knew her at the hotel. He took her hands in his and just looked at her for the longest time before he spoke. When he did, he sounded almost sad. “Remember me,” he said softly. He took a little shaky breath. “I mean remember that day after tomorrow you’re coming to the house to help Mama bake. I’ll meet you here about noon and walk with you to the house. Maybe I could take you for a ride on my motorcycle after all that baking.” He smiled down at her. He had a beautiful smile Genevieve thought. “Unless something prevents me, I’ll be here,” Genevieve replied. She didn’t want to leave him here. God knew what was around the other side of the curve. She might never be able to get back. She might never see John again. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. She wanted to say something, but words wouldn’t come to her. As if he sensed her dilemma, John pulled her to him and laid his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t worry so much, Genevieve. Everything’s going to be all right,” he said it quietly, almost like a prayer.

Chapter Eight Genevieve forced herself to walk away from John. She refused to allow herself to look back. Instead, she kept her eyes forward and put one foot in front of the other. It was like marching out of heaven back into the limbo of her life. She rounded the curve in the road and saw the lights of the hotel just ahead. It looked the same as it did before she left it this morning with its fresh coat of white paint, crisp black shutters and well-appointed brass light fixtures. Was it possible that she had just walked back through time? Genevieve walked past the building and turned into the gravel side lot. Her heart leaped into overdrive at the sight of her SUV! There was so much adrenaline coursing through her veins that her hands shook. She didn’t know what she was feeling other than confusion. Part of her sighed with relief to be back in a world she knew so well. But a tiny part, of her heart sank into a dark little corner of sadness. Slowly, she walked up the wide front steps onto the deep porch where a small group of women wearing jeans and T-shirts sat in Adirondack chairs with little shrugs and sweaters on against the evening’s chill. They were laughing and talking about the Oprah Winfrey Show and the latest doings in Hollywood as they sipped on hot chocolate and munched on gingerbread cookies. As Genevieve walked through the front door, her mind buzzed with all that had occurred that day. Her head ached from thinking. Was she losing her mind? Maybe she had hit her head and the whole day had been spent in a hallucination. She smiled to herself just thinking how foolish the whole idea was. It was preposterous to believe she’d stepped into the past through some portal at the kitchen window and spent the day with John and his family! What a ridiculous notion to believe. She sighed with relief as she passed the cozy lobby where a computer blinked at the reception desk. She made her way up the stairs and down the hall, feeling a little more like herself with each step. Genevieve opened the door to her room where her familiar belongings greeted her. Her luggage was stacked in the closet where her clothes were hung. Her portable DVD player sat on the dresser beside her iPod and her sunglasses. All was well and right with the world. Back to life as usual. She flicked on the TV, tuned to CNN News, and sat down on the edge of the bed to see what the world was doing. The jacket fell off her shoulders onto the bed. She had forgotten the jacket that John had placed over her shoulders. But here it was, now crumpled in a little crescent shaped heap around her. The world tilted on its axis. The room wobbled, and the switch governing time clicked off. Her heart kicked up a fuss in her chest. Electricity ran down her fingers. Something like a stone moved out of her chest and she could breathe again. Gently, she gathered the jacket up and inhaled his fragrance. Part of her felt as though she was slipping down an icy slope and the other felt comforted. Through the open window drifted night air heavy with the aroma of hyacinths blooming in the front garden. She heard the words as if he was whispering in her ear. “Remember me.” It had happened. She had been there and met him. Better than met him, she had learned who he was. She had seen the way the sun glittered through his hair, setting it on fire. She’d looked into those amazing, dark green eyes that seemed to read her thoughts. She had heard the lilt and timber of his voice and the way his laughter bubbled up and filled the space between them with joy. Her heart twisted with reality. His body lay in the graveyard, she reminded herself. She had seen his headstone and read the words on it. There was nothing magical or romantic about cold stone in a graveyard where a man had been lying dead for almost seventy-six years. Wasn’t she happy to be back in her own time where everything was familiar to her, where she could fade back into herself and observe rather than participate? Genevieve couldn’t answer that question. She was afraid to touch the aching place in her heart that yearned for something better but was too afraid to take a chance. In her stomach, a nagging feeling told her she had left something undone . . . something important that

might just change everything. What was she supposed to do, she wondered? She should take deep breaths and calm herself. That’s what she needed to do. She was thinking like a nut case and getting upset over things she couldn’t change or understand. She just needed to quiet her mind and get centered again. Genevieve sought comfort in the one place where she knew she would find it. She lay on the bed and curled up into John’s jacket to breathe him in and remember him. **** Genevieve had a hard time trying to sleep. Her mind was filled with the static of thoughts about her day. The unbelievable had happened and she just couldn’t absorb it all. How had it all happened? Even with the proof of her visit to the past in the form of John’s jacket lying beside her, it just didn’t seem like it could have been real. Somewhere around three in the morning, Genevieve drifted into restless sleep. In her dream, newspapers as big as welcome banners fluttered in the breeze and swept across her vision. “Young man drowns in two feet of water,” declared one. “No evidence of foul play,” declared another. Her dream shifted. She found herself walking through a lush forest. The sound of gurgling water swirling around stones and boulders echoed in her ears as she walked closer to the water’s edge. With every step she took, her heart felt heavier and heavier. Where the light refracted on its surface, the water sparkled with a zillion little diamonds. Ice-age boulders and rocks disturbed its surface here and there like the backs of dinosaurs half submerged. Sparkling swirls and waves of clear water dashed around the rocks and beat themselves on the ancient stones. Her heart leaped into her throat with dread and horror. Lying facedown in the shallows with the laughing water flowing over his head was John with his fishing pole still clutched in his right hand. A scream of anguish ripped her throat. Tears of sorrow raced down her cheeks as she ran down the embankment to his side. She tried in vain to pull him from the cold water. Exhausted, she sat in the water beside him and let sorrow wash over her. This was how it would end.

Chapter Nine Gray morning came. It started to rain. It suited Genevieve’s mood perfectly as she awakened from a miserable night of dreaming. She turned over in bed, pulling the covers around her to make a cocoon for herself. Maybe she could pretend for a little while longer and keep the real world at bay. She wanted to believe in the impossible for a few more minutes. She wanted to feel his arms around her and his voice in her ear, reassuring and uplifting. She wanted to gaze into those green eyes and see the flecks of gold sparkle when he laughed. Genevieve knew she needed a good dose of reality. She needed to go home and get her life back in balance. She sighed as she thought about her life. She loved teaching. She enjoyed the look of wonder and enthusiasm on the faces of her students when they apprehended what she was trying to teach them. Through the knowledge of history, of what had gone before, lay the path to a better future. She hoped with all her heart that one day, when it was their turn, they’d realize they had the power to make a difference. They could change the world. But Genevieve couldn’t teach what she couldn’t believe for herself. When was the last time she thought she had the power to make a difference or that she could change even her own small world? She rolled over and burrowed deeper into the covers. That’s when she saw it, and hope came flooding back to her spirit. Her gaze fell on the jacket. It was a shock to see it. How was it possible? She had begun to believe that she had dreamed it all up. She reached out, pulled it in under the covers with her, and gathered it close to her heart so that she could inhale its owner’s fragrance. There it was, that familiar fragrance of soap, tobacco, and John’s own special smell. It wasn’t as comforting as she had hoped. Her heart felt empty. In fact, she had never felt so alone as now when she held on to this remnant of someone else’s life, someone who has gone to the other side so very long ago. She wished she had someone she could call to talk to about all this. Then maybe she could sort it all out and understand what had happened and why she felt this way. She couldn’t figure out what to do next, and there was no one to advise her. She could only imagine what it would be like to call up a dear friend and tell her everything. They would curl up with their tea, talk it out, and maybe even laugh about it. However, she had no one, no friend or family. She had never established a bond with any of the parents in the foster homes. They hadn’t seemed to care about her. There was nothing special about her. Maybe they were just used to orphan children coming and going in their lives and hadn’t wanted to establish a relationship they knew would end. No one had ever called her to see if she was happy or settled in her new home. None ever told her that they loved her or that she was pretty. She had never made friends with any of the other children. What would have been the point in that? She had known she would never see them again any way. No one even waved from the window when she left to go to yet another foster home. After a few years, she just quit expecting anything from anyone. It was easier that way. She sometimes wondered what her parents were like. What did they look like? What did they do for a living? Were they smart? Were they beautiful? Why had they abandoned her on the steps of the church that day? Were they still alive? Did they regret giving her up? Did they ever wonder about her? Had they loved her at all or was it easy for them to put her in that basket and walk away from her? Confusion and sadness came in waves. She held on tightly to John’s jacket as if it were a life preserver. Right now, she really could use a friend. The only friends she knew in this town were dead, their passing marked by stones in a graveyard not far from where she lay clinging to this mysterious jacket that belonged to someone she didn’t really know. Genevieve had spent her entire life avoiding getting too close to people. People always wanted to know things about parents and innermost feelings, the past. She felt ashamed that her parents didn’t want her.

She didn’t have even a hometown she could claim as her own. Those things were too close to her bittersweet core to share with anyone. She kept her own council and her secrets hidden away inside where no one could see her or the truth. Her eyes moved about the room where she lay wrapped in the security of her covers. She peered at the window where the rain ran down the glass pane in miniature rivers. She listened to the quiet patter of the raindrops on the roof and windows. She tried to soothe her frayed nerves but failed miserably. What was she doing here? This was not her town, her people, or her life. Genevieve pulled back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. She folded the jacket and laid it beside her. Her bare feet touched the carpet, and it warmed them. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She needed to go home now. Home. That was a joke. Where was that, exactly? In an almost frantic rush, Genevieve began packing. She threw her clothes in the red American Tourister suitcase. She took her cosmetic bag, hairdryer, iPod, and sunglasses off the dressing table and jammed all but the sunglasses in her suitcase. She threw on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops then all but ran down the stairs to the main lobby. She clapped a finger on the tap bell several times until the desk clerk appeared and looked at her with an annoyed expression. “May I help you, miss?” he asked tersely. “I want to check out,” Genevieve answered. He thumbed through the register. “What is your name, miss?” “It’s Genevieve Beaumont.” “Genevieve Marie Beaumont?” He looked at her as if to say she didn’t look like the kind of person who would possess such a name. She nodded. “I see here that you’re paid up for two weeks in advance, Miss Beaumont.” Why was he looking down his nose at her? “Well, I changed my mind. I want to go now.” “We don’t give refunds, Miss Beaumont. We’re a small establishment and depend upon our clientele to honor their contract with us.” Well, that insult was clear enough. He probably didn’t think she could afford to stay and was trying to get out of paying. “Fine. Keep the money then.” What was she saying? That was several hundred dollars of hard-earned money. “As promised, we’ll keep your room ready for you whether you decide to return or not, until the end of two weeks, as promised.” He lifted a lofty brow as if to say the hotel kept its promises whether or not she did. Genevieve pulled out the handle on her suitcase and dragged it on loud, squeaky wheels behind her as she left the lobby and crossed the gravel parking lot to her SUV. She heaved the heavy suitcase into the back, went around to the driver’s side, and got in. She settled into the seat, locked in her seatbelt, and tossed her handbag onto the passenger seat beside her, followed by John’s jacket. She laid the jacket gently on the seat and ran her hand over its smooth surface one last time before she put the key into the ignition and started the engine. She threw the gear into reverse and listened to the gravel fly as she spun out of the lot and started down the narrow road out of town. She drove past the country scenery without notice as she headed out to find Sunbury Road or Route fifty-four where she knew she could pick up Route fifteen and head South .She ended up on a back country road that followed the Susquehanna River until she found the little town of Sunbury that rested on the bank of the river. Several miles down the road, she came to a covered bridge that connected the narrow road on either side of Roaring Creek. Her anger at the desk clerk took her to the other side of the bridge, and then it evaporated, leaving her feeling emotionally spent.

What was it about Roaring Creek that seemed familiar? It struck her heart as surely as an arrow. Was this the place where John had drowned? It looked just as it had in her dreams. She pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and stopped the Forester as a flood of emotions overtook her. She put her arms on the steering wheel and leaned her forehead on her arms. “What am I doing? What’s happening to me? There’s nothing I can do about something that happened before I was even born. I can’t save him,” she said out loud to the water and rocks below. She leaned back into the heated seat, took a Kleenex out of the box on the console and dried her eyes where the tears had begun to fall, then blew her nose. “Well, isn’t this just ridiculous?” She spoke to the jacket beside her as if it were a person. “I’m acting like a lunatic,” she said, almost smiling. “I’m as crazy as I can be. Here I am, in a place I know nothing about, looking for a way to save a dead guy who I don’t even know.” An almost hysterical giggle escaped her as she looked at the jacket. She lifted it off the passenger’s seat and hugged it to her chest. John’s fragrance wafted into the air. How comforting that mixture of scents was. It was like a calming balm to her racing nerves and flagging spirit. “What should I do?” she asked the jacket. “Why did I drive hundreds of miles to come to this place? Did I come to look at a headstone and grieve over a man I never met? What is the purpose in all this? Is there something I should do?” She thought about the violin and the sad remnants of a life that ended so suddenly and so grievously many years ago. She remembered John’s whispered words the night he’d walked her back to the hotel. That was just last night, she recalled in a stunned daze. She heard the words as clearly as if he were whispering them to her right now. “Remember me.” His words stung like an arrow lodged in her heart. She ached with the memory of those two little words. How could something so small come to mean so much? He wasn’t a stranger to her now. She had just begun to know him. He aggravated the hell out of her and yet, there was something about his smile, his kindness to his family, his good humor and intelligence that drew her to him. He was almost like an old friend, constant and assuring, except for the part that was irritating. Genevieve took in a deep breath. She felt suddenly calm. A new purpose filled her spirit now. She knew exactly what she needed to do. “I’ll never forget you, John,” she said to the jacket as she pulled back onto the road with renewed intention and headed down Route fifty-four that, with several turns and map consultations would lead he to Sunbury.

Chapter Ten Following the directions posted every few miles along the two-lane highway, Genevieve drove down Main Street in Sunbury then made a left on Elm Avenue. There was the antique store that she had noticed on her way to Numidia. She saw the store advertised every twenty-five miles as she drove from Harrisburg on Highway 15. She looked at the barn that seemed a bit out of place in the middle of a bustling little town. Painted across the side of the big structure were the words “Henrietta’s Antiques.” Just below that, it read in smaller letters, “Furniture, collectibles, dishes, and vintage clothing.” Perfect. This was just the right place for everything she needed. Everyone was friendly to her when she entered the big barn and lent a hand to help her find clothing from the 1920s. She found a pair of sweet little shoes, a beaded handbag, and a marvelous hat made of straw with flowers around the band. She couldn’t find any underclothes but figured it wouldn’t matter since no one would see her modern things any way. A little electric thrill ran through her. At least she didn’t think anyone would. Next, she looked down the long racks of dresses and skirts and blouses from days gone by. For some reason, there were fewer clothes from the twenties than from other periods. Apparently, women didn’t wear pants of any kind in the 1920s. It was hard to find everyday dresses. Most of the things were party dresses and evening gowns. There certainly wasn’t any polyester clothing hanging along the racks. The clothes were all natural materials, and Genevieve wondered why manufacturers had found it necessary to invent polyester and rayon. She found a few cotton dresses with dropped waists. Two of them were so ugly that she wouldn’t even consider wearing them to a frog gigging with a bunch of rednecks scouring the back woods for ponds. There were a few that looked too fragile to actually wear and some that had been worn a bit too often and, though they were pretty with their ribbons and embroidery, were stained and tattered. Well, she’d just have to make do with what they had to offer. Among the garments that were fit to wear, somewhat in her size and still had some use left in them, Genevieve chose a pale blue dress with little pink roses embroidered down the bodice and at the hem. A wide, faded pink satin sash was threaded through crocheted loops at the drop waist. She would have to figure out what to do about that later. At least she had one dress. Maybe one was all she needed. On the way to the counter, she spied a serving dish that matched Matilda’s dishes. It was a Noritake with the pink azalea pattern. She couldn’t resist buying it for her. For Jimmy, she also bought a little cannon that, supposedly, really worked and two pipes carved from cherry wood for John and Will. She asked the sales clerk at the check out if she knew of a coin shop in town and got directions from her. She also asked about a seamstress who might be able to do some alterations on the dress she had just purchased. The pleasant woman gave her the name of Amelia Renquest who ran a little shop just down the street. The seamstress, Mrs. Amelia Renquest, was a middle-aged woman with graying red hair pinned in a neat chignon at the base of her head. She greeted Genevieve when she entered the shop and listened intently as Genevieve showed her the dress she had just purchased and asked if it could be altered by this evening. Amelia Renquest informed Genevieve, although regretfully, that it would take a week to alter the dress. “My great aunt helps me with delicate things such as this,” Mrs. Renquest told Genevieve. She waved her hand toward the back of the shop where an elderly woman sat. The woman was sewing a frothy material with a needle and thread. “That’s my Great Aunt Julia Myers.” The elderly woman looked up at Genevieve over her wire-rimmed glasses and smiled. “Come, meet her,” Mrs. Renquest said. “She’ll love talking to someone new. She gets lonely with just me to talk to.” “I don’t know,” Genevieve said resisting the invitation. She wasn’t good at conversation especially with

people she didn’t know. “I should be going, Mrs. Renquest.” “Nonsense, surely you have time to make a short visit. And please, call me Amelia. We’re just ordinary folk around here.” Mrs. Renquest took Genevieve’s hand and pulled her along to the back of the shop. “Aunt Julia, I have a guest you might want to meet,” Amelia said. She leaned toward Genevieve and said, “You have to speak up. Auntie is ninety-two and doesn’t hear so well any more.” Genevieve nodded in acknowledgment. She smiled at the elderly lady sitting in her niche filled with fragile gowns and silky lingerie. “It’s good to meet you. My name is Genevieve Marie Beaumont,” Genevieve said and extended her hand in greeting. The elderly woman looked up at Genevieve and sucked in a sharp breath. Her fragile, blue-veined hand flew to her mouth as if to stop a little shout. Her cheeks paled for a moment then pinked up again as a beautiful smile overtook her face. “I’m so glad you could come, my dear,” the elderly auntie said. She waved a shaky hand at the cheerful, chintz-covered chair beside her. “Come and have some tea with us and chat a spell.” Before she knew it, Genevieve had told them her entire life’s story. They had gone through two pots of tea and a dozen homemade sugar cookies shaped like flowers by the time she finished her story. Genevieve laughed lightly at the end of her tale. “Telling you all this makes me feel like it was all so funny, silly, actually. The truth is it felt awful. I never belonged anywhere. I never had any friends. I never felt good enough. I always felt different.” Aunt Julia smiled, stretching her crinkly face. Her eyes seemed warm with inner light. “I know, dear. I knew a girl like you. She was a beautiful girl. She was nice to me, and I have missed her so.” “What happened to her?” Genevieve asked. “She became very ill quite suddenly. It was very sad. She was in a coma some time before she died.” Aunt Julia looked over at her niece then back at Genevieve. She took both of Genevieve’s hands in her own gnarled hands and squeezed gently. “But let’s not talk about such unhappiness. You’re a beautiful girl with your whole life ahead of you. You don’t want to hear these old sad stories.” “I love hearing your stories. They make me feel like I was actually there with you.” She paused. “There is one more thing I would ask you,” Genevieve said as she gathered her courage. She could feel her blood pulsing in her throat. An unbearable tightness balled up at her vocal cords and she was almost afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak and ask the thing she wanted most to know. “Did you happen to know John Douglas or any of his family?” Aunt Julia nodded her head. Her cheeks paled, and her lips thinned as if to hold back a tide of emotion. Amelia laid her hand on Aunt Julia’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Auntie.” Aunt Julia patted Amelia’s hand. “It’s all right, my dear. Maybe it’s good to talk about it.” Genevieve regretted having asked. “Please, I didn’t mean to ask about something so painful. You don’t have to talk about it. I understand completely if it’s too difficult for you.” “I remember John,” Aunt Julia said without preamble. “He was engaged to a woman who was very dear to me.” She smiled. “John was a wild boy but so sweet. He loved her so much. After he lost her, he just took to doing wild things, dangerous things.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap for a moment. “I guess he just didn’t care about anything any more.” Aunt Julia took a sip of tea then set her cup down with a shaky hand. “He went fishing with his friends soon after that and drowned. No one really knows what happened that day.” She looked at Genevieve with pale blue eyes welled with tears. “The Douglas family never got over it. Will and Matilda went down to Roaring Creek and sat on the bank just staring at the water where their son had spent his last moments on earth. Will Douglas never spoke of John again. He took up drinking every day. He died many years later, a lonely old man in a house haunted with memories. Tillie mourned herself to death. She wouldn’t eat and kept losing weight. It turned

out she had diabetes, but she wouldn’t take care of herself. Little Jimmy moved away soon as he grew up. He joined the navy in World War II then became a weatherman so I hear.” Aunt Julia drew a hankie out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” Genevieve said, getting up, “I never meant to upset you.” She looked at Amelia and said, “I must go now. I shouldn’t have asked about it. I didn’t know it would upset your aunt to talk about her friend, you know, the one who was engaged and then died. She’s lost so many people she cared about.” A little tickle of jealousy threaded its way into her blood. So John was engaged. Well, what about that? Amelia handed her aunt the gown she’d been working on. “Here, Auntie, work on this gown a while. You’ll feel better. There’s nothing anyone can do about what’s done. The past can’t be changed.” Aunt Julia took the gown in her weathered hands and looked up at Genevieve. “Maybe so, but I can’t help but wonder if everything would have turned out differently if she hadn’t fallen ill.” She smiled then. “No matter. We who are left must carry on.” Aunt Julia looked over at Genevieve. Her faded blue eyes seemed to make deep study of Genevieve. “How did you come to know about the Douglas family? They’ve all been gone such a long time.” Her voice sounded wistful. Genevieve ran her hands down her jean-covered thighs as if her palms were sweating. “I bought John’s violin at an auction. Apparently, his younger brother died and instructed the family to sell the violin. His family didn’t understand why he would want them to do that, but they obeyed his wishes.” Genevieve took in a deep breath to keep herself from shuddering when she relayed what she found in the violin case. “For some reason, I just felt I had to come here and find out more about John Douglas.” She sighed. “It was such a sad thing that happened. From what his niece, Marlene, told me, the family just lost their spirit after that. And I see from your story about them that what she thought was true.” Aunt Julia nodded her head. “So it would seem.” She glanced up at Genevieve and asked, “So it was his violin that brought you here?” “Yes, it was the violin,” Genevieve replied. Aunt Julia seemed lost in thought for a few moments. Genevieve thought the elderly woman had forgotten she was there. Suddenly Aunt Julia looked up at her and smiled. “That’s good to know.” She fell into silence again, content to go about her sewing. “It was nice to meet you,” Genevieve said. The old woman bent over her sewing, lost in her thoughts, and didn’t answer. Amelia led Genevieve to the front of the shop. “I’m sorry. Aunt Julia gets a little stuck in the past sometimes.” She took the dress Genevieve had purchased at the antique barn. “I wish I had time to alter this for you. It would only take a few days.” There wouldn’t be time for that. She would just have to wear it, even though it was a little too big and a bit too long. It was the best she could do. “I have to have it tomorrow. I can manage with it the way it is.” “Well, at least let me help you create more of an ensemble. Are you going to a masquerade party?” Amelia asked. “You might say that,” replied Genevieve. Amelia led Genevieve to a table of handcrafted items. “Some of these things might work well with your little dress.” The table held stacks of knitted sweaters and hats, crocheted shawls, scarves, and dollies as well as hand-embroidered handkerchiefs with tatted and crocheted edges. Genevieve was completely mesmerized. How beautiful these lovely things were. She couldn’t help herself and had to purchase a white shawl to go with her dress and several handkerchiefs for herself and Matilda. She felt happy and lighthearted when she left the shop and headed down the street to the coin shop. She felt a certain kinship to Amelia and her Aunt Julia. Maybe she could come back and visit with them again some time before she went back home.

There were plenty of coins to be had from the 1920s. They were rather pricey coins, but Genevieve knew they had much more buying power back in the twenties. Hadn’t she heard her elders a gazillion times talking about the price of bread and eggs being only cents instead of dollars? Genevieve figured that maybe she really broke out even on the money. Genevieve hauled her purchases to the SUV and loaded the vehicle. She waved good-bye to Amelia, who waved to her from the window of her shop. She believed she had made her first friends, in this era anyway. Now she headed back to Numidia with a glad heart and a plan. She couldn’t help but notice what beautiful country this was as she traveled the winding, narrow road, passing neat rows of corn and fields of wheat overlooked by tidy farmhouses with painted silos. It just astounded her. Excitement thrummed through her veins as she drove past the welcome sign and reentered the little town of Numidia, then pulled into the gravel parking lot of Sealy’s. She couldn’t recall a time in her life when she’d felt so free, so lighthearted, so happy. For once, Genevieve didn’t try to analyze the reason for her sudden burst of energy and joy. She pushed her critical thoughts aside and just let herself feel it. She stopped by the desk to pick up her key and was happy to find the male desk attendant wasn’t there. Genevieve bounded up the stairs to her room. She laid her purchases out on her freshly made bed. The treasures made her heart skip with glee. Then a little shadow flitted across her heart. She was buying presents for people in a graveyard, people who had died before she was ever born; people she already held as dear to her as if they were her own family. “I don’t care,” she said aloud, “Maybe I’m as crazy as the Mad Hatter but I have to go back—at least this one last time.” She picked up John’s jacket and ran her hand across the lapels. “You better not let me down,” she whispered. Genevieve smiled to herself as she laid the jacket back on the bed, unfolded it, and smoothed it out. She pulled the blue dress out of the box and laid it beside the folded jacket. She spoke to the jacket as if it were the man himself. “I hope you know this rather used dress cost me almost as much as a Versace gown.” She giggled unexpectedly. “You better notice the trouble I’m going to for you, buddy.”

Chapter Eleven Genevieve awoke to a sunny morning. A warm breeze swept the lace curtains from the window with a soft whisper. A bird chortled out a tune from a branch of the oak tree that grew close to her window. A light feeling overtook her as soon as she opened her eyes. She threw the covers back and put her bare feet on the floor. A smile lit up her face as she remembered where she was. Best of all, today was Saturday. Happiness flooded her heart like warm sunshine. They had invited her back on Saturday, hadn’t they, she thought. Would it, could it, happen twice? All the while, she took her bath and luxuriated in the scented water and the Caswell and Massey rosescented soap, she thought about the day ahead. She imagined how she would meet him on the road past the bend just after the hotel fell out of sight. He would be waiting for her there as he had promised. He would greet her with that charismatic smile and probably he would have a bouquet of field flowers in his hand that he had picked for her along the way. He would present them to her with grace and charm. Genevieve smiled to herself as she leaned her head against the back of the tub. She would wear her special dress and her pretty shawl. She would be radiant and he would be completely under her spell. Energy surged through her as she stepped from the bath and toweled dry. She stepped into her silky under things and her satin slip. Then she put on the blue dress with the little pink flowers and its pink satin sash. She blew her hair dry and arranged it in a studied disarray of dangling curls from a loose chignon on top of her head. She wished she had amazing hair color like red or blonde, maybe even black. She was not so blessed. Her hair was just light brown and curly. She noticed that when she looked in the full-length mirror, the dress did bring out the rich, deep blue of her eyes. The period shoes she bought had a dozen little buttons up the sides that took forever to button up especially since she had no button hook to assist her in the tedious task. She hated to admit that they pinched her feet. It was difficult to buy a pair of antique shoes that were just the right size. “They’ll just have to do,” Genevieve said with a sigh. She was so nervous when she left her room that she forgot her presents. She climbed back up the stairs and gathered up the brown bag she had carefully put the presents and John’s jacket in. It was heavier than she thought it would be. Maybe it was the tight shoes that made her think the bag of presents was heavy. She took a seat in the dining area and ordered coffee and a bagel. She needed the caffeine and the carbs if she was going to make it down that dirt road in these tight shoes and carrying this heavy bag. The sun poured through the long windows of the dining room and splashed on the floor. Was it sunnier today than it had ever been? Did the people at the other tables seem happier than usual? Was the floor trembling just a little or was that her heart? She was never going to make it through the rest of the day if she didn’t calm down. When she finished eating what she could choke down, she decided to sit in a rocker on the porch and get hold of her nerves before she went down the road to meet John. The very thought of his name sent a little buzz of excitement to the pit of her stomach. Her skin tingled as if an electric breeze had blown over her. She chose a rocker near the climbing roses that made their fragrant way up the balustrade and onto the roof. She set her bag down beside the rocker and sat there for a moment with her eyes closed. Genevieve took slow deep breaths of perfumed air and set the rocker into a slow, easy motion. For an actual minute, she was able to get hold of her emotions. “Just be in the moment,” she told herself, “There’s nothing happening at this moment. I’m just sitting here rocking on a porch with the smell of roses in the air.” She relaxed her back against the chair, loosened the muscles at the base of her spine, and began to hum. Ah, that was much better now. After a few minutes of relaxation, Genevieve realized it was time. She tried to maintain her serenity but

it evaporated completely in the face of her excitement. She was afraid she would lose her nerve completely. In an attempt to outrun her fear, Genevieve bolted from the chair, picked up the brown paper bag, and almost ran down the stairs, across the gravel parking lot and down the narrow road that led to another time and John.

Chapter Twelve By the time Genevieve got to the bend in the road, she was certain her feet had blisters erupting all over them. She wasn’t sure she could walk the entire mile in these tight shoes. What was she to do if she couldn’t wear those sweet but painful shoes? She was determined to bear the pain if need be to get back to John. And where was John? Had he changed his mind? Had she been able to cross the barrier of time or was she still in her own time? Genevieve looked back over her shoulder and took note that the hotel was out of sight just on the other side of the curve in the road. There was no John waiting there for her. She turned around again, now facing John’s house. She sighed heavily as reality began to creep in. This whole thing was stupid. What had she been thinking? Here she was on a road to meet a guy who’d been dead over seventy-five years! She must be losing her mind. Her heart sank. She felt heavy with disappointment. She had bumped her head two days before and had passed out in an abandoned house. The whole thing had been an illusion. Her mind had played a terrible trick on her consciousness. She was some kind of nutcase, after all. Energy drain from her, and her feet suddenly throbbed with pain to an unbearable degree. The sun blazed down on her. Maybe the shawl had been as bad an idea as the shoes. Genevieve hobbled off the road onto the grass and sat down in the soft green of it. It seemed like it took forever to unbutton all those tiny buttons, but finally, she was able to pull them off. Her feet were swollen, and painful blisters had blossomed on her heels and toes. She realized with dismay that she’d never be able to get those shoes back on now. Not that she even wanted the tiny shoes back on, but there was that damned gravel parking lot to navigate back at Sealy’s. The parking lot seemed more like a sea of daggers to her when she thought about it. Where was John? Her heart ached with the awful thought that she would never see him again. Her efforts were all in vain. She had bought a dress he would never see and presents no one would be happy to receive. She was such a fool. She stifled a little sob as she threw her shawl beside the shoes and lay back in the sun-warmed grass. The sun hurt her eyes so she pulled her straw hat over them, not caring that the movement dislodged her carefully designed chignon. Her hair tumbled out of its constraints and onto the grass. She closed her eyes wishing she had never come here, wishing she had never bought the violin. She could have been back in her comfortable little job teaching her kids about history. Right now, she could be tucked away in the lonely sanctuary of her little apartment. She knew now that she should go home to her ordinary, predictable life. After all, her life had brought her a certain amount of comfort, stagnant though it may have been. Who needed adventure anyway? It was highly overrated. And who needed heart thumping, outrageous joy either? It was too much emotion to fit inside her. This was the kind of thing she always hated about her life, this craziness and this ridiculous belief in something better just around the bend. She was a stupid girl, a stupid, stupid girl. Genevieve just let the tears fall. Who would care if she cried anyway? Her deluge of tears and self-hatred was interrupted by a shadow blocking out the sun. Was that laughter she heard? Of all the nerve! The laughter stopped, choked off in a sort of way, and a masculine voice that sounded rather familiar said, “What in the world is this getup you’re wearing?” Genevieve sat straight up. Her entire being was flooded with anger now. Her hat fell off into the grass and rolled a few feet away from her. She squinted against the brightness of the sun to see who the man was that was laughing at her pitiful condition.

“I paid a fortune for this outfit,” she announced. “And I don’t appreciate you making fun of me, you, you—whatever,” she said, unable to articulate a sufficiently derogatory name to call him. The laughter came back, infecting her with its deep resonance. “Here, honey, put your hat back on before the sun bakes your brain,” said the man as he reached over to pick it up and then roughly slapped it on her head, providing instant shade and allowing her a good look at her tormentor. Green eyes flecked with sunny gold looked at her and a sensual mouth curved into what looked like a very charming smile. He extended a hand to her, but she refused to take it. She was still angry with him, and hurt. “You didn’t come,” she said lamely with her heart aching in her chest. There was that damn laughter again. He knelt on one knee beside her and put one finger under her chin to force her to look at him. “Well, now, I’m pretty sure that I’m here right now.” He stopped talking for just a moment and swept his fingertips across her cheek. “Why are you crying? Did you miss me that much?” he asked and chuckled. “You insufferable oaf,” she said, mostly angry with herself. “My feet hurt.” She was unwilling to tell him the truth about her feelings. She had almost believed he didn’t exist, that he was just a figment of her much-deluded mind. She had come close to believing that she was so desperate to have someone and to be a part of a family, that she had imagined him and his family. He shifted his attention down to her feet and examined them gently, taking first one, then the other in his hands. If they hadn’t hurt so much, it would have been a tantalizing and sensual act on his part. She winced with pain when he accidentally touched her reddened and blistered heel. John withdrew his hand quickly, probably so as not to cause her any further grief. “How did this happen?” Genevieve pointed to the offending pair of shoes. “My new shoes are cute, but they’re too small.” “And so very out of style, I might add,” he said with the apparent intent of teasing her. “And I suppose you’re the authority on women’s fashion,” she replied sarcastically. He laughed and answered, “No, honey, just on women. My fashion motto is ‘If it’s comfortable, wear it; if it’s not, don’t.’ Why didn’t you just wear the shoes you had on before? They looked comfortable enough.” John smiled that big, heart-stopping smile and added, “You weren’t trying to impress me now, were you?” He stood up and extended his hand again to help her up. “No, I was not trying to impress you, Mr. Smart-Ass,” she lied angrily, ignoring his extended hand. “That’s charming language coming from a lady,” he remarked laughing. “Come on, I’ll help you up,” he added a little more sweetly. “I don’t think I can walk in those shoes,” Genevieve stated worriedly. “I don’t think I can walk without them either,” she added miserably and bent her head from his view. “For Pete’s sake,” he said impatiently. “Here, you carry this stuff,” he said, putting her shoes, shawl, and sack in her lap, “and I’ll carry you.” Before she could protest, he had stooped down, gathered her up in his arms, and started walking down the road heading toward his home. She allowed herself to relax in his arms, laid her head on his shoulder, and breathed in his scent. That scent was familiar to her now and consoling. She noticed a little hint of cologne, and his linen shirt felt starched and looked neatly pressed. Had he taken such care of his appearance for her? A little breeze brushed his auburn hair across her nose and tickled it. He was alive. She wasn’t dreaming this. His hair brushed over her nose again and made her sneeze this time. “Take it easy with that,” John said, “You could make me lose my grip with that honking.” And couldn’t he just be really annoying, too. When he arrived at the small porch of the Douglas home, he called out. “Jimbo, come and open the door.” Jimmy came running from around the side of the house with Guess padding along behind him. “What

happened to Evie?” he asked breathlessly. “Did she pass out again?” Jimmy ran to the door and opened it. His dog followed him, both of them darting around John. John, his arms full of Genevieve, her packages, shoes, shawl, and hat, was almost knocked off the porch before he could enter the house. Matilda came running into the parlor from the kitchen. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she exclaimed, “My goodness, is she all right?” Then she smoothed her apron and seemed to get hold of her emotions when she took a closer look at Genevieve’s face. Genevieve was certain her appearance was a sight, her face stained with tears, her hair disheveled, and her belongings in her lap. “Sit her down on the couch, John,” Matilda directed. She hastened to Genevieve’s side as John carefully sat her on the couch. “What happened?” She busied herself, setting Genevieve’s belongings aside and brushing Genevieve’s hair out of her face. John choked down a chuckle and said, “She tried to stuff her grown-up feet into some little girl shoes.” Jimmy laughed and said, “Why, that’s just stupid.” Genevieve was so mortified she couldn’t speak. “Mind your manners, Jimmy,” Matilda scolded. “And you, too, John. The two of you aren’t so big I can’t take a switch to you.” “Yes, ma’am,” they replied simultaneously. Genevieve had to let out a giggle at that. A half-grown boy and a fully grown man were no match for a mother like Matilda. She was a self-possessed, determined, and loving woman who would face an angry mountain cat to save her child and would give her child a sound thrashing if he misbehaved. Genevieve respected and loved her already. “Fetch the foot tub from the back porch, Jimmy,” Matilda commanded, taking control of the situation. “John, get two buckets of water from the pump.” As soon as the two males left the room, Matilda kneeled on the floor beside Genevieve and gently took her feet one at a time in her caring hands. She shook her head and clucked with her tongue. “My, my, this must truly hurt.” Genevieve nodded her head. Her bottom lip trembled as she tried to hold back a flood of tears. Unable to find mastery over her feelings and her pride weakened by such caring attention, Genevieve found her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. It wasn’t just about the pain of her blistered feet that made her weep. Genevieve was touched by the way this family so kindly received her and the gentle attention they bestowed upon her. She could handle pain, abandonment and neglect, but not this. John was real. Genevieve’s heart filled with a peculiar kind of joy. It was the joy that came from feeling safe and secure. She had never felt that way. She looked down at the graying auburn hair of John’s mother, and love flowed through her like warm liquid. She never wanted to leave any of them again. She wanted to stay in this world, in this time forever. Then, like a dark cloud deflecting the sun, she remembered. John was going to die, and the family she felt so safe with now was going to disintegrate into chaos.

Chapter Thirteen Jimmy arrived with the foot tub and placed it on the floor beside Genevieve’s feet. “I wiped it out real good before I brought it in. There was cobwebs everywhere,” he said happily. Guess lay down with his head on his paws and watched the proceedings. “There were cobwebs everywhere, Jimmy,” corrected Matilda as she gently placed Genevieve’s feet in the tub. “Were cobwebs then,” Jimmy said, and he sat beside Guess with his legs folded and watched as intently as if he were at the movies. John came in shortly, carrying two full buckets of cool water, and poured each one slowly into the tub, being careful not to hit Genevieve’s feet with the full force of the water so as not to hurt her. When he finished pouring the water, John sat back, pulled his long legs up, and hugged them with his arms. “Starting to feel better?” he asked. “Umm-hmm,” Genevieve said nodding her head. The cool water was soothing to her aching feet. She could feel the muscles relaxing in her body as the pain began to retreat. Matilda stood up and put her hands in the pockets of her apron as she looked down at Genevieve’s feet. “You just let your feet soak there for a few minutes while I check on things in the kitchen and find some salve to put on them,” she said quietly. “I’ll get it, Mama.” John got up from his position on the floor. He followed his mother into the kitchen and returned with a towel and a small round tin in his hand. He walked over to Genevieve and repositioned himself beside the tub at her feet. She pulled her dress up just above her knees to keep the hem of her dress from getting wet. He took the time to make an appraisal of her legs from toe to knee with his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched when he got to the hem of her dress draped across the place just above her knees but he was kind enough to keep his mouth shut about her choice of attire. “Jimmy, can you get a pair of your wool socks for Genevieve?” John asked. Jimmy didn’t respond. He just sat there staring at Genevieve as if she were a bowl of ice cream. John reached over and gave Jimmy a nudge. “Hey, you, with your mouth open catching flies, you want to get up and get the lady some socks for her feet?” Startled, Jimmy jumped up. “Yeah, sure,” he sputtered and left the room. Genevieve felt nervous now that she and John were alone in the room except for the attentive dog. A feeling like electricity flowed through her veins as he drew closer to her, his eyes holding on to hers as he moved toward her. Kneeling before her, he reached out to put his hand on her ankle. He lifted first one foot, then another from the tub and gently patted each one dry. When he finished drying her feet, John shoved the heavy tub aside and put the towel down on the floor to soak up any water that may have spilled. He returned to her and knelt in front of Genevieve. He placed her right leg on his knee. The touch of his leg with only his canvas trousers between her bare leg and his sent Genevieve’s senses reeling. With his hands free, he opened the little tin that contained a dark brown salve that smelled musky with mysterious herbs. Genevieve’s heart was thumping so hard with the excitement of having him so near and touching her, that she was sure John could hear it. Having her leg draped across his knee this way felt so intimate. She could hardly bare it when he began to gently apply the soothing brown salve to her feet. His big warm hands moved sensually over her foot, messaging her heel, her arch, her ankle and, finally, her toes. Her body was beginning to melt as he touched her and applied his magic salve. He soothed her foot with his mesmerizing movements and her spirit with his undivided attention. People didn’t usually notice her presence in a room, but he noticed every little detail. John looked up at her and almost guessed her thoughts. “Does it bother you to have a man’s hands on you?” he asked and grinned most charmingly.

She yanked back her foot and winced with the pain that the motion caused her. “You’re just a big flirt,” she said frowning. He gently took back her foot and smiled. “Yes, well, I warned you about that.” John set her foot down gently then moved to the other side and did the same thing. He laid her other leg across his knee and slowly began to apply the salve to her other foot, massaging it unhurriedly as he had done with the other foot. Jimmy came back into the room with socks in his hand. “Sorry I took so long. I wanted to find just the right ones. I finally found some really soft ones,” he said and handed over the socks to John. John gathered up a sock with his thumbs on the inside until it looked like a woolen bird’s nest. He placed the sock at her toes and gently let the gathers unfold until he got to her knee. He folded over the length that was left, making a cuff just below her knee. He did the same thing with the other sock, then set her feet on the floor and held her hands as he stood in front of her. “Try to stand up now,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you in case you start to fall.” Jimmy had retaken his place by Guess and was watching them intently as if they were there for his entertainment. Genevieve took a deep breath and held John’s hands as she stood. The cool water soak and salve had done their job. Her feet felt so much better, and the thick wool socks felt good on her tender feet. Genevieve let out a little giggle. “Thank you so much. My feet feel great now. I can’t believe how fast that stuff works, and, Jimmy, these socks are the best.” Matilda leaned against the kitchen door and wiped her hands on her apron. “That salve is just the thing, isn’t it?” John held both Genevieve’s hands in his for just a moment before he let them drop. “I’m glad your feet are better.” He tilted his head as he looked at her and sighed. “I have to change clothes now and go help Pop with a job in Catawissa.” His eyes lit up as he grinned at her. “Maybe by the time we get back, you can do something about that dress.” He looked her up and down for a moment and winked at her. “You must be the rudest man on the planet,” Genevieve sputtered angrily. Secretly, she was disappointed that he was leaving even though she knew his family depended on him helping his father. “John, mind your manners,” Matilda warned as she entered the room. She reached over and pinched his cheek when she got to where he stood. “You apologize to Evie.” “I’m sorry for making fun of your God-awful dress, Genevieve,” he said solemnly but his eyes danced with mischief. “John,” his mother admonished. To Genevieve’s surprise and surreptitious delight, John picked up her hand and kissed it lightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said contritely. “Forgive?” he asked as he let her hand go. “Since you seem like you really mean it, yes, I do forgive you.” Her hand tingled where his lips had been. A little later, Matilda and Genevieve stood at the kitchen door and watched John leave to meet Will, who was already on the job in Catawissa. When the sound of his motorcycle faded in the distance, Matilda turned to Genevieve. “Come, Evie, let’s do something about your dress before we start baking.”

Chapter Fourteen Matilda took Genevieve back to a small bedroom that Genevieve surmised was Matilda’s and Will’s. A small double bed sat with its simple brass headboard and foot railing graced one side of the room, arranged at such an angle as to allow its occupants the view of the long window facing the back yard. The two pillows where Will and Matilda rested their heads wore crisp white pillowcases embroidered along the open edges with bright flowers. Green leaves crocheted along the edges set off the embroidered flowers beautifully. A six-inch deep fold of the top sheet lie over the light green blanket and bore the same sewing artistry for which Genevieve was sure Matilda had been responsible. On the well-kept, polished oak floor was a braided rag rug of pinks and greens that covered all but the edges of the room. Beside the bed was a small table with a kerosene lamp sitting on it, and six or seven books stacked haphazardly next to it. The Douglas family was obviously well read. Beside the stack of books was an odd-looking volume with a worn cover and bits of paper sticking out from the pages here and there. There was a pot of glue beside it, a short pencil with the eraser worn down to the metal encasement, and a pair of small scissors. Matilda must have noticed the quizzical look on Genevieve’s face because she reached over to the unusual book and handed the heavy volume to Genevieve. Matilda smiled as she looked at the rough edges of the pages. “Will finished reading it and thought it would make a fair scrapbook. He pastes articles from magazines or little tidbits from the newspaper in it.” Genevieve opened the book. Over the regular type of the book’s pages were pasted articles on how to shear a sheep, an archaeological find in Greece, a picture of a gnarled old oak, and various other bits of information found from the newspapers and magazines of the day. “What a clever idea,” Genevieve said running her hand over the worn linen cover of the book before she laid it back on the table where it had previously rested. In the corner, beside the door, was a heavy oak chest of drawers that gleamed with polish in the sunlight. A length of linen embroidered like the pillowcases and edged with the same leaf pattern of crochet stretched across the top of the dresser. On the linen cloth rested pictures framed in many varied frames of wood and metal, some fancy and ornate and some simple and plain. Genevieve recognized some of the pictures as the Douglas family. As her eyes roamed across the top of the dresser, she caught sight of two pictures that almost made her heart stop. Her hand flew to her heart to keep it from leaping out of her chest. Matilda took down the two pictures of John as if guessing Genevieve’s thoughts. She smoothed her hand over the young man with wise eyes and a tight collar. “I made him sit for this picture.” She smiled just a little. “He doesn’t like getting gussied up, but I wanted him to look nice in it.” Genevieve took the pictures as Matilda handed them to her. She remembered them. They were the same pictures that had been in the violin case. But here, in this cozy room with John’s mother smiling as she looked at the images of her son, it didn’t seem so strange. No indeed, it was quite the opposite. Genevieve felt comforted. Her heart quieted in her chest as she ran her fingertips over the image of John leaning against his motorcycle. She had the strangest urge to kiss the face in the picture, but she wouldn’t allow herself to act on it. Matilda would think she was silly. Besides, she thought to herself, he was completely annoying.

“You love him, don’t you?” Matilda asked in a soft voice. her eyes shining as she looked kindly on Genevieve. Genevieve shook her head briskly as she handed the pictures back to Matilda. “No. God, no! He gets under my skin if anything.” She knew her voice was too high but she couldn’t seem to get control over it. “Besides, I barely know him. I only just met him.” Matilda smiled and said softly, “Sometimes souls just recognize each other immediately.” She gently put the pictures back where they had stood. “Let me get you something to put on while we attend to your dress,” Matilda said as she searched through the bottom drawer of the dresser. “I have some old things in here I’ve been saving to give to charity.” She held up a flannel shirt and a pair of tan, wool knickerbockers. “These were Jimmy’s, but he refuses to wear them now. They look like they should fit you.” Genevieve took off her dress and handed it to Matilda. Then she slipped off the satin slip, folded it, and laid it on the bed. Jimmy’s clothes almost fit. The waist was a few inches too large so she and Matilda threaded the worn satin sash from the dress through the loops and tied it in a bow. They both laughed at the results. Matilda took the dress and sat down in a sturdy wooden chair before the black Singer sewing machine by the long window. Genevieve supposed the sewing machine was placed in such a way to catch the light. “I think we can take this up where the waist attaches to the skirt since you are petite. Then we can tuck it in a little to size it down for you,” Matilda said, more to herself than to Genevieve. Her feet moved the ornate wrought iron plate beneath the machine to make the needle go up and down as she threw her complete attention on her work. Genevieve sat on the side of the bed since there was nowhere else to sit and talked to Matilda as she worked. Her boy clothes felt comfortable and she began to feel at ease in this little room with the kind woman working away on her dress. “Tell me about your other son, the one that’s married. Do you hear from him often?” Genevieve asked. Matilda’s head bent over the machine as she worked her magic on Genevieve’s dress. “He writes home every week like clockwork. He’s a much better letter writer than my other boys. One could surely parish for want of a letter from those two.” Her lips curved into a smile when she said it. “What does he do for a living?” “Donald is an engineer, same as John,” Matilda answered. “He’s an inventor for Westinghouse. Like Will, the boys all love math. They have these little games they play with each other that I cannot understand. They seem entertained by their mathematical diversions, and that’s fine with me. I guess I can’t expect them to quote Shakespeare and write poetry.” Matilda laughed lightly. She fingered the blue material through the foot of the sewing machine. The machine barely made a sound except for a quiet clackety-clack as it worked its way down the length of fabric. Without looking up from her work, Matilda said, “Even as a young boy, Donald loved to take things apart and put them back together, and not always successfully I might add.” She shook her head and smiled. “He loves his work. He sends drawings of his inventions to us sometimes. Will loves them, but I don’t always comprehend how they’re supposed to work. I used to teach English and literature. I have little comprehension of mathematics except what I need to know. Math is Will’s favorite subject.” Matilda chuckled. Genevieve settled back against the pillows and stretched out her legs. It was so peaceful here listening to the gentle working of the sewing machine and Matilda’s quiet conversation. “How did he and his wife meet?” Genevieve traced the embroidered flowers along the edge of the sheet with her fingers. “He and Ruth met in school. Her family has lived here as far back as I can remember.” Matilda’s voice became solemn. “She became quite taken with our Donnie. I’m not sure if he felt the same for her. He has always kept his own council, especially in tender matters, so it was always hard to tell how he felt. I do know that he said he wasn’t ready to marry just yet.”

“What happened? He must have changed his mind,” Genevieve said. “It’s a very sore subject with Will.” Matilda turned the dress around to sew the opposite side. “Donnie got a letter from Ruth one day,” Matilda started, then stopped her work and turned to sit facing Genevieve. She laid the dress down and folded her hands in her lap. Genevieve sat up, giving Matilda her full attention. She saw the concern in the elder woman’s blue eyes. “In the letter, Ruth said if Donald wouldn’t marry her, she would leave this town and never speak to him again. She told him it was either marriage or it was nothing. That was her final ultimatum.” Matilda was silent a moment then continued, her hands resting in her lap. “Donald wanted to refuse. He liked her well enough, but he wasn’t sure he loved her enough to marry.” Matilda shook her head. “It could have just been that he was stubborn and didn’t like having an ultimatum forced upon him. Donald is not the passionate sort, like John.” Genevieve felt herself blushing at Matilda’s words. The description of John as passionate made her nerves tingle chaotically. Matilda sighed. “Will told Donnie that he couldn’t lead Ruth on and have her believe he was sincere in his affections then refuse to marry her just out of mulish pride. Will wanted Donnie to do what was right and said sometimes doing the right thing meant sacrifice. He told Donald it was time he took a wife and settled down because it was unseemly for a man his age to remain single.” Matilda tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Ruth’s people are decent folks and Ruth is welleducated. After consideration, Donald decided that Will was right. He had an education, was bringing good money at a respectable job and he believed that he couldn’t do better than Ruth for a wife. So they were married.” “It was a lovely wedding right here at Saint Paul’s Church. Ruth’s family had a beautiful wedding reception at their home in Catawissa. Will and I danced until I couldn’t dance another dance. The food was delicious. I think even Jimmy had a good time.” Matilda peered at Genevieve for a moment before continuing. “It’s a shame, though, that Ruth is unable to bear a child. I would love for Donald to have children, and of course, I look forward to the day when Will and I have lots of grandchildren to spoil.” Matilda bent her head and grew silent. Genevieve inched to the side of the bed and leaned forward. She laid her head on Matilda’s and took one of Matilda’s hands in her own. She whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into things that aren’t my business. I shouldn’t butt into other people’s affairs so much.” Matilda patted Genevieve’s hand, then took a handkerchief from her apron pocket, and wiped her eyes. “My boys are my heart. Whatever happens to them, happens to me. I know that Donnie makes the most of his life with Ruth, and I believe that, in his own way, he’s quite happy. He’s such a serious person and was never given to mischief as the other two were. His is a life of contentment and routine. The future is set for Donnie, and I think he likes it that way.” “So you think he’s happy with his choice of a mate? Contentment seems such a stagnant existence,” Genevieve said. She caught herself thinking about her own choices. Hadn’t contentment and routine been exactly what she had been looking for? Matilda shook her head as she turned and got back to her work. “Donnie will make the most of his life with Ruth and he’ll find happiness in that life. Yes, I think he’s happy enough.” Matilda worked silently for a moment then exclaimed, “Ah, there we have it.” She turned and stood, unfolding the dress and holding it up for Genevieve’s approval. “It’s beautiful!” Genevieve exclaimed with excitement. “Who would have thought it could be this beautiful! Oh, thank you, Matilda, thank you so much.” Matilda handed the reinvented dress to Genevieve. “Try it on, dear. Then I’ll see if I have a pair of shoes that’ll fit you. You’ll need an apron to wear over that dress so you don’t mess it up.” “I think I’ll save the dress for later. I would hate it if I soiled it. I’ll just wear what I have on. Jimmy’s outfit is comfortable, and it’s just us for now so no one will see me this way,” Genevieve replied. She took

the dress, folded it ever so carefully, and laid it on the end of the bed. “You might be more comfortable in those clothes,” Matilda agreed, “And then you’ll have your nice dress all clean and beautiful when Will and John come home.” “Can we cut off a piece of this ribbon, Tillie? I’d like to braid my hair and tie it so it doesn’t get in the way,” Genevieve said as she pulled the sash from the loops in Jimmy’s knickerbockers. “Here, let me help you with that,” Matilda said. “Sit on this chair here by the sewing machine, and I’ll French braid your hair for you.” Matilda hummed as she worked with her hands in Genevieve’s hair and Genevieve found it quieting. It was almost like having a mother, she supposed. When Matilda finished, Genevieve looked in the full-length mirror attached behind the closet door. She had braided her hair in one long braid and tied it with a pink bow near the end. Her sash was back in the loops of Jimmy’s knickerbockers and tied with a bow at her left hip. She had to admit that it was an interesting costume. Matilda smiled at Genevieve. “Women should start wearing pants. They look so comfortable.” “Fannie Barker wears overalls,” Jimmy said standing in the doorway watching Genevieve and Matilda. “How long have you been standing there?” Matilda asked. “Just a minute or two,” Jimmy replied with his hands in his pockets. “You know you should announce yourself and not just eavesdrop on folks,” Matilda scolded. “Okay, I’ll pronounce myself next time,” Jimmy offered as an apology. He followed Genevieve and Matilda into the kitchen. “I said announce, not pronounce, Jimmy.” Matilda stopped him as he entered the kitchen. “Evie and I are going to be busy in the kitchen. We have a lot of work to do. If you stay in here with us, I’m going to put you to work.” She looked at Jimmy sternly. Jimmy backed out the door at that statement. “I wasn’t planning on hanging around with you ladies, if that’s what you were thinking. Julia’s coming over any way. We’re going down to the pond with a jar to gather some frog eggs.” Genevieve gulped for air. Her heart felt like it had just leaped into her throat. Surely it couldn’t be the elderly Julia she had seen in the alteration shop. “Julia? What’s her last name?” “Renquest,” Jimmy answered, already hopping off the porch with Guess loping along at his heels.

Chapter Fifteen An hour or two later, Jimmy and Julia returned from their pond excursion with a huge jug filled with pond water and a gelatinous string of something with black dots along its coiled length. Their hands and faces bore witness to their struggle to obtain the mass of goop as they were both covered in mud and green slim. Genevieve could only surmise they had also been swimming in the pond because their hair was wet and plastered to their heads. Their clothing was soaked and dripping on the kitchen floor. Matilda waved her tea towel at them to shoo them out. “You two get out of the kitchen and clean up at the pump,” she said with an edge of irritation in her voice. “Evie and I are working here, and I won’t have you slopping up my floor.” Jimmy looked at Julia and smirked. “Look at your face. I could scrape it off and have enough for a mud pie,” he said laughing. “Take a look in the mirror, bozo. You ain’t so pretty yourself,” Julia exclaimed as they both raced out the door to the pump, sloshing water from the jug all over the porch. “I shouldn’t scold him in front of Julia, I suppose,” Matilda said, suppressing a giggle. “He has a crush on her, I think.” She knotted her hands in the tea towel and looked across the table at Genevieve who was trying hard not to laugh as she rolled out dough on the floured surface. Matilda left the kitchen for a moment and returned with an armful of towels. She handed them to Genevieve. “Do you mind taking these out to them while I mop up this mess at the door?” “I’d be happy to.” Genevieve helped the two clean up and put a blanket out in the yard for them to lie on in the sun to dry off. Later, they joined Matilda and Genevieve in the kitchen to watch the two women bake and steal bits of dough and sugary fruit intended for filling. Their attention rested on the cooling pies in the window with nothing less than gluttony glowing in their eyes. **** John watched the cozy scene through the window when he and Will arrived. He hadn’t ridden the motorcycle home. He steered it along side so that he and his father could talk as they walked the six miles back home from Catawissa. He saw that Genevieve was unaware of their arrival and was up to her elbows in dough and flour. She had on some of Jimmy’s old clothes, and they sure looked enticing on her. She has no idea how beautiful she is. And she still doesn’t know me. There’s still time. I can be patient. John took Genevieve by surprise when he and Will came into the kitchen. John grinned at Genevieve and startled her by taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “How are those feet now?” he asked as he lifted a spoonful of cherries from an open canning jar and gobbled them down. Matilda rapped him on the hand with a wooden spoon. “John, get out of those cherries. I have just enough for one more pie.” John looked around at all the pies cooling in the windows and on the dry sink. His eyes seemed to take in the baked goods cooling on every possible surface. There were two cakes sitting on the table, one with white icing and the other with chocolate. Six pies sat cooling on the sill of the open window and the counter beside the dry sink. On the stove was a huge pot of sweet smelling baked beans with strips of crisp bacon across the top. “Good Lord, Mama, you’ve made enough to feed another country already.” John leaned over, grabbed up Jimmy in one arm, pulled him close under his arm, and knuckled him gently on the head with his free hand. “I see from that big jug of polliwogs that you and Julia have had a busy day down at the pond. You didn’t kiss her, did you?” Jimmy’s face turned crimson. “Mind your own business, Mister Smarty. You’ve got your own doings to

tend to if you ask me.” “Well nobody asked you, monkey face.” John gave Julia a charming smile and bent down to deliver a little kiss on her cheek. “You’re not trading me in for this younger man, are you?” he asked her. Julia hung her head and blushed. Then she got up out of her chair so fast it almost toppled over. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jimmy,” she called back as she raced out the door, letting the screened door slam in her wake. From across the lawn, she called, “Good-bye Mrs. Douglas. Nice to meet you, Miss Beaumont.” Will laughed and went over to Matilda to give her a hug and a light kiss on the cheek. “I see you and Miss Beaumont have had a busy day. I don’t suppose you could spare one of those pies for supper tonight, could you?” She smiled and Genevieve could have sworn she actually blushed when she nodded her consent. “Of course I can, Will.” “Let me help you and Genevieve clean up, Mama,” John said, reaching for a damp rag. “No, I have one last pie to bake, and then Jimmy can help me clean up. You and Evie have been working all morning. You two go out and have some fun for awhile,” Matilda answered. Genevieve stood up and suddenly remembering she had gifts for everyone. “Wait, I bought some things yesterday for each of you. I meant to give them to you earlier, but my feet took up all my attention.” She looked at John. “My feet are much better now, by the way. Thank you for that.” “I’m pleased to hear it, and you’re quite welcome,” he replied simply. He made a little motion as if he were going to advance in her direction but stayed where he stood instead. Genevieve took off her apron, suddenly conscious of her borrowed attire. She rushed into the living room, gathered up the bag of presents, and took them into the kitchen. Matilda was exuberant that Genevieve had found a serving dish to match her china and she smiled happily over the handkerchiefs. “Why, this looks like Hattie Renquest’s work. She does lovely crochet work. Do you know her?” “No. I’ve never met her but I think I’ve met her relative in Sunbury,” Genevieve replied telling the truth for once. “I didn’t know she had any relatives in Sunbury,” Matilda said, mostly to herself. “Does this cannon actually work?” Jimmy asked, interrupting his mother’s statement and train of thought. “That’s what the man at the store said,” Genevieve answered. She thought for a moment looking at Jimmy’s enthused face. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea buying that for you. You could hurt yourself with it.” Will intervened on Jimmy’s behalf. “I’ve been careful to teach my boys to respect guns and use them properly. I don’t think you need to worry about his safety, Miss Beaumont. It’s a fine gift, and I know he appreciates your thoughtfulness.” “I surely do,” put in Jimmy, clutching the cannon to his chest. Genevieve handed the carved pipes over to John and Will. “I didn’t know much about what either of you liked, but I knew you liked to smoke your pipes of tobacco after dinner so I got these.” “Why, thank you, Miss Beaumont. It was very thoughtful of you to buy me such a gift,” Will said. He turned the carved pipe over in his hands to get a better look at the carving. He quickly squelched a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He put the pipe in his shirt pocket. “I shall endeavor to give it a test run this evening after supper.” “Please, Mr. Douglas, just call me Genevieve or Evie. Referring to me as Miss Beaumont makes me feel like an old spinster,” Genevieve said. “As you request, Genevieve, and you may call me Will,” he replied. “Spinster,” John sputtered, “I’m sure that’ll never become your fate.” He looked at the pipe and chortled. “Then again, I could be wrong.” He handed the pipe to Genevieve. “Did you look at these pipes before you bought them?”

“Not really. I just wanted to get you and your father something for being so nice to me. Is something wrong with them?” Genevieve asked feeling a little niggle of doubt about her purchases. “Well, you might want to take a good look at this,” John said handing her the pipe. “Not that I don’t like it. In fact, quite the contrary, I believe I could just look at it for hours at a time.” Much to Genevieve’s chagrin, he burst out laughing. Genevieve looked closely at the pipe in her hand. It was a carving of a naked lady with very large breasts. Her face turned red with embarrassment. “Oh my God, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—you know, get something so risqué. Please, Mr. Douglas, forgive me. I’ll be glad to exchange them for something more appropriate. I didn’t know.” Will smiled. “It’s quite all right, Genevieve. Remember, just Will, not Mr. Douglas.” John snatched the pipe from her hand laughing. “I don’t know about Pop, but I’m keeping this. I’ll think about you every time I look at it.” “Let me see,” Jimmy said. Will pulled back the pipe from Jimmy’s grasp and tucked it into his front shirt pocket. “Never you mind, Jimmy. You take your cannon outside, and I’ll come out and see if we can get it working.” Will looked over at John. “Take Genevieve out as you had planned and quit teasing her, John.” John surprised Genevieve by giving her a little hug. “Thanks for the gift. Give me a few minutes to change and I’m taking you out for a little surprise.” He looked her up and down for a few seconds. “I suppose you might want to put on that other outfit, but I kind of like the pants on you,” he said with a sparkle in his eye. “John, your manners are appalling. I can’t imagine what she must think of you,” Matilda said. “You go get cleaned up while I help Evie get ready. We worked for quite some time on Evie’s outfit, and I think it’s quite lovely.” John gave his mother a light peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll try to improve.” John left the room to go to the room he and Jimmy shared to clean up and change. Will turned his back to Genevieve and Matilda and seemed to choke down a laugh. “I’ll help clean up in the kitchen then go outside with Jimmy while you ladies go about your business.”

Chapter Sixteen Thirty minutes or so later, Genevieve entered the living room from Matilda and Will’s bedroom wearing her newly created dress and a pair of Matilda’s shoes on her feet. Her long, brown hair was neatly French braided and hung down her back with a fresh blue satin bow tied to the end of it. Although the shoes Matilda had loaned her were not exactly stylish, they were comfortable on her healing feet. Matilda didn’t own any stockings so they improvised with white socks. If Matilda noticed anything different about Genevieve’s futuristic style of satin under things, she was polite enough not to mention it. Perhaps Matilda thought it was just a new style worn by flappers. As Genevieve and Matilda entered the living room, all three Douglas men jumped to their feet, not so much from politeness, but stunned by Genevieve’s transformation. Will advanced toward Genevieve and took her hand for just a moment. He smiled at her. “You look lovely, Miss Beaumont.” He turned his attention to his wife, leaned over, and gave Matilda a kiss on her pink cheek. “You always said you wanted a girl to fuss over,” he added. Matilda blushed. “You go on now, Will,” she said. A little giggle erupted from her throat. Jimmy laughed and walked around Genevieve, inspecting her attire from every angle. He gazed at Genevieve as he spoke to John. “I told you, John, she was a looker. Don’t you think so, too?” John didn’t answer. Genevieve was sure they were all waiting for his amusing comment but it didn’t come. Instead, there was an uncomfortable and lengthy silence. Everyone turned to look in his direction. John had sat back down on the couch. His eyes were openly staring at Genevieve, but his face was a blank. “John,” Will said firmly as if he were going to scold him. John continued to stare at Genevieve. He didn’t answer. “Oh my God, Will, he’s—he’s,” Matilda sputtered unable to finish. “He’s having a fit,” Will said. They all converged on John. Matilda took his hand and tapped it. “Wake up, John,” she said with a note of alarm in her voice. Will shook him gently, but John just stared at Genevieve. “I’m sorry, Genevieve,” Will said. “He should have told you.” Genevieve clutched her heart in fear. “Told me what? What’s wrong?” Her voice shook when she asked it. Was John ill? Was there some illness that would take him while he was fishing some day? John blinked his eyes. He was silent for a moment as if trying to get his bearings. He peered at Genevieve, and a grin spread slowly across his pale countenance. “You look good enough to eat.” Genevieve rushed to his side and knelt down next to his knee. She put her hand on the one that Matilda had just vacated. “John, what just happened to you?” Her heart contract painfully with fear. She felt the air sucked from her lungs and she couldn’t quite get her breath. Her hand tingled from the touch of his hand beneath hers. John bent forward and kissed her on the cheek. He spoke to her in a low voice as his deep, green eyes looked into hers. “I thought you were a goddess. You fairly took my breath away.” He laughed as he stood up, taking her with him as he took both her hands in his. “Forgive me for seeming rude, but your beauty rendered me completely speechless for a few moments.” “Why don’t the two of you stay here for supper tonight instead of going out?” Matilda suggested. Her voice still had a nervous edge to it. “I think that’s a good idea,” Will added. Jimmy laughed as he danced around the couple standing in the living room holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. “He was just funning, Pop, that’s all.” “John, I think . . .” “Pop, please, you’re scaring Genevieve,” John said and gave his father a warning look. Will scrutinized John for a moment as emotions scattered in a riot across his face. After a moment of

contemplation, he nodded his head to give consent. “You’re a grown man, John. You will do what you want regardless of what I think. As your father, I only ask that you use discretion when entrusted with another’s well-being and care for yourself for those who value you.” He looked down at Jimmy and smiled. “Come with me outside, and I’ll let you look at my pipe while we test out your cannon.” “Will,” Matilda cried, following the man and the boy out through the kitchen, “don’t you dare show that boy that pipe!” The couple was left alone in the living room. John’s hands seemed to burn into Genevieve’s. She wanted him to stay with her like this forever. Her heart ached a little and she wasn’t sure why. “Are you really okay?” she asked. “Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m never okay around you.” He smiled charmingly. “Now that you’ve turned into a goddess with the help of my mother, I’m not sure I will ever be okay again,” he said and grinned. Genevieve jerked her hands out of his grasp. “I don’t think your jokes are all that funny. You scared the life out of me,” she said angrily. He reached around her and pulled his jacket from the back of the couch. “Come on, Genevieve, let’s get going.” He took her hand back in his firm grip and pulled her along behind him out the front door, off the little porch and across the yard to his motorcycle. Genevieve skidded to a halt. “I’m not going to ride on that thing.” She felt the knot in her stomach form just looking at the motorcycle. What a dangerous piece of machinery it was. “Yes, you are,” John said determinedly. “No, I’m not.” Genevieve was obstinately determined that she was most certainly not going to get on that death machine. “I could get killed on that thing.” She looked at the Indian motorcycle as if it were a dragon seeking its next meal. From the backyard came a miniature explosion. Matilda’s little shriek cut the air followed by the laughter of Will and Jimmy. John glanced at Genevieve and laughed lightly. “Well, looks like that cannon you bought Jimmy has gone over big.” She scrunched her face into a frown not listening to a word he said. “I’m not going to ride on that thing, John.” John turned to her and spoke in a low voice as if explaining something to a child. “Listen, honey, Sunbury is twenty-five miles or more down the road. You couldn’t even walk the first two miles before those blisters would start to hurt again.” He guided her slowly over to the motorcycle. “Now, see, I have this wonderful wheeled horse just to take milady conveniently, and without walking on sore feet I might add, to a wonderful restaurant I know in Sunbury.” He turned her around to face him. “Now, we can stand here and argue all our time away on how we’re going to get there but, in the end, little miss goddess of mine, you are going to get on this motorcycle if I have to drag you on it and tie you to me.” There was absolute resolution in his voice. Genevieve knew she couldn’t win. John had to be the most stubborn person on the face of the earth. “Okay,” she relented barely audible, “I’ll do it, but I want you to know I’m really scared. You better not get us killed.” John threw a leg over the saddle of the bike and drew her on to the back where she sat with her legs tucked behind his. He laughed a little. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going to kill us, not on purpose any way.” “Oh, that’s reassuring,” Genevieve snapped back sarcastically. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure which bothered her more, riding on the motorcycle or John’s back pressed against her chest and her legs snugly folded next to his. John reached back, took her hands, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “All you have to do is hang on tight and lean the way I lean. Got that?” Genevieve was shaking too much to answer so she nodded her head even though she was sure he

wasn’t really waiting for her permission. Her stomach clenched with anxiety and fear made her hands tremble. John kicked the starter with his left heel and the engine sputtered into life. It sounded like a chain saw. Genevieve hugged John’s waist in a death grip and laid her face against his back as he drew on his goggles over his eyes. “Genevieve,” he yelled over the roar of the engine, “I have to be able to breathe, honey, not that I don’t love you holding me that tight.” He laughed and the motorcycle lunged forward onto the dirt road. Genevieve watched as John squeezed the clutch with his left hand and reached down to change the gear with his right hand on the gear stick in front of him. “Aren’t we supposed to have on helmets? There’s a law about that,” Genevieve yelled into his back. She felt the rumble of his laughter on her cheek. “I don’t think they have a law about that. We’re not going into battle We’re just taking a ride.” He laughed out loud. “You might want to keep your mouth shut before a bug flies in it,” he shouted and laughed again. The engine whined a few seconds as John changed gears again. The machine hummed as they scattered rocks and dirt in their wake down the country road. The wind created by the speed of the bike blew through his hair and caused Genevieve’s braid to flop around heavily. “I never saw a motorcycle with a stick shift on the body before,” Genevieve called out over the roar of the engine. “Isn’t there some kind of shift thingy on the handlebar?” “That’s a mighty interesting question seeing how there is no other motorcycle anywhere. Indian is all there is, and this is where the gears are.” John was silent a moment than added, “But now that I think about it, it would sure be more convenient if the ‘thingy’ was on the handlebar.” Genevieve was beginning to loosen her grip a little as she began to grow calm. A little burn of fear still scorched her stomach though. “Does this thing have brakes?” she called out the question. “You’ll be glad to know there’s two. I got one in my right hand, and the other is located here under my right foot. You couldn’t be any safer.” He spoke loudly, making his voice rise above the engine noise. “Isn’t this the greatest?” He was obviously enjoying himself. Genevieve wasn’t so sure it was the greatest thing riding wildly down a dirt road on a motorcycle. In her real life, she would never take such a crazy chance. But there was one thing she thought that made this dangerous and impulsive antic worthwhile. She got to hold John close to her until she could hear his heartbeat and the vibration of his voice through his jacket on her cheek. The time she spent with John was worth all the heartache that would come later.

Chapter Seventeen John slowed the motorcycle to a stop when they came to a paved road. He placed his hand over hers where it clutched his jacket as if it were a lifeline. He turned his head to his left and smiled. Over the roar of the bike he said, “Well, I see you’re not dead yet,” and barely suppressed a hoot of laughter. “I think I have windburn,” Genevieve complained. There obviously wasn’t a romantic bone in John’s body. It seemed that she served to entertain his sense of the ridiculous. John squeezed her hand. “Just a few more miles and we’ll be in Sunbury. Once we get there, you’ll forget all about being afraid,” he said reassuringly. “I’m not afraid,” Genevieve protested in spite of evidence to the contrary. “I’m just cautious about my safety.” Genevieve wondered if there was a special hell for liars. John snorted. “So the reason you’re clinging to me like a python is because you just can’t get enough of me.” “You’re the most arrogant—” but Genevieve didn’t get to finish her sentence because John chose that moment to lurch the bike forward and take a left turn heading south on a narrow, paved road that held no similarity to the highway she had driven the day she had arrived. By the time they entered the town of Sunbury, Genevieve was beginning to relax on the motorcycle. Nothing bad had happened. John seemed to consider her fear and didn’t do anything dangerous just to laugh at her if she screamed, God forbid. Genevieve thought the ride went well overall. John came to the Susquehanna River and turned north until they arrived in front of a house that had been converted into a restaurant. The front porch faced the river and had tables set with linen and hurricane globes that kept the candles from sputtering out in the light breeze from the river. The entire front of the house was one window after another until it appeared to be all glass. Genevieve looked in awe at the splendor of the fine linens and the warm glow of the candles placed on every table inside, as well as the little crystal vases of fresh flowers that were placed on each table. A striking woman in a wafting cloud of thick perfume greeted them at the door and gave John a familiar hug. Too familiar, as far as Genevieve was concerned. “It’s so good to see you again,” said the blonde woman, smiling oh so prettily with stark red lips and rouged cheeks. She wore a red satin dress with a dropped waist and a short hem just above the knees. Her black silk stockings were rolled about mid thigh, and Genevieve could see the tops of her stockings when she leaned over to give John a kiss and a generous view down her low-cut neckline. Several long strands of faux pearls hung from her neck and were tied in a knot just below her breasts, accentuating the voluptuous orbs that bobbed unencumbered by a bra. A red-sequined scarf tied around her head in a bow just above her left ear fell to her shoulders. She was definitely a modern girl for 1927. Genevieve remembered reading about this type of woman and recalled that they adopted the name of “flapper.” The smile vanished from the ruby lips as soon as the pale, painted eyes fringed with fake lashes beheld Genevieve. The woman studied Genevieve slowly from head to toe, drawing her lips into a thin, disapproving smirk. “Well, your standards have certainly shifted mighty low, John,” she said. Genevieve drew in a sharp breath at the hurtful remark. As usual, she had no witty or philosophical retort. She stood there stricken with a little knot of pain in her throat. She was very aware of her haphazard apparel, her ordinary brown hair and blue eyes, and her plain looks with not even a dot of redeeming makeup. John loosened himself from the woman’s grasp. He smiled at the witch and said, “In with those claws now, Ruby.” Of course, her name would be Ruby. “I see you’re on your way somewhere so you probably want to go on and get there. You wouldn’t want to make some fella wait too long and lose interest.” Ruby threw her chin in the air and sniffed. “By the looks of things, John, you’ll be having an early night tonight,” she said and twirled her beads as she slinked down the steps. “It’s not the quantity of time, Ruby, dear, it’s the quality,” John called after her. “But you go on and

have a nice time just the same.” From some distance came a sharp reply, “You go to hell, John Douglas!” The click of heels fell faint in the distance. John opened the door for Genevieve and guided her in with his hand on the small of her back. “Don’t mind her. Ruby’s just jealous. I hear she’s seeing Hank Shifford. He’s a nice guy, I guess, but kind of dumb and nowhere near as handsome as me.” John gave Genevieve a charming grin. “You are the most arrogant man I have ever met,” Genevieve retorted, but she couldn’t help smiling back. A finely dressed waiter directed them to a table beside the front windows. Other diners were already there, and more were threading through the door in a somewhat steady stream. Everyone seemed to know John and treated him well with kind words and generous attention. Genevieve surmised that John dined at this restaurant quite frequently. Everything was perfectly beautiful, from the table linens to the fine china and flatware to the meal itself. John kept her entertained with funny anecdotes and stories until her sides ached from laughter. During the course of the evening, Genevieve remembered what the older Julia had told her about John in the dress shop in Sunbury the day she almost left to go back home. Supposedly John had a fiancée. So where was this woman? Her heart felt a little heavy in her chest as she thought about John belonging to another. She knew she should leave the subject alone and just enjoy this meal and his company for whatever time she could. She would be going back to another time and place soon. She had no right to be jealous or hurt that John had a life without her in it. But it did hurt. “What are we doing here?” she asked, interrupting his story. His words sputtered to a stop in the middle of his little story. He was silent for a moment as if trying to grasp what she just asked. “What in blazes are you talking about?” “What are you doing with me here? Don’t you have a girlfriend or maybe a fiancée? What would she think about you being out dining with another woman?” There it was. She had just laid it out there. She almost wished she could take it back and that she hadn’t said anything at all. It was too late now. At first, John looked pale and fell silent. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared at them for a moment. Then he looked up, smiled at her and said, “I swear to you that there is no woman in my life except the one sitting across the table from me right now.” “But I . . . well, I . . .” Genevieve started to tell him what the older Julia had said, but her words ground down to silence. How could she tell him that? No sane person could believe she was from the future. What was she thinking? John lifted a brow. “It appears that you are mistaken. Think about it, honey. Here we are in a small town. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. If I were cheating on my fiancée, as you believe I am, wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone would tell her?” He grinned. “I can do some stupid and crazy things, but I’m not that stupid or that crazy. Not yet anyway.” Genevieve settled her back against the chair and looked at him. Her ever-vigilant internal radar was ringing loudly in her head. She felt that John was holding back something. What secrets was he keeping? Genevieve’s heart wanted to trust him in spite of her misgivings. Perhaps the older Julia was mistaken. “So this is like a date we’re on?” John rolled his eyes. “I would have thought that was perfectly clear. For Pete’s sake, Genevieve, what else could it be?” “I thought you were just being nice to me for helping your mother bake for the picnic tomorrow.” Genevieve clasped her hands in her lap, trying to get control of her runaway heart. “I hate to state the obvious, but this is a date, a romantic interlude, if you will. I’m pretty sure you know how this works. I find myself attracted you. I hope with all my heart that you’re attracted to me. I take you out, presenting myself in the best possible light, and give you food and wine with the hopes that I

appeal to you enough to merit a kiss. It’s an elaborate sort of mating dance.” John’s mouth twitched as if holding back a burst of laughter. “Now, don’t go getting all nervous. We’re not at the mating part . . . yet.” Then he did laugh. He wasn’t quite the hero from a romance novel, but he was charming in his own way, Genevieve thought. He made her laugh. Mostly, he made her insides churn. He would say the sweetest things and then ruin it by just infuriating her. She was sure there was no one like him, not ever. He took her out of her comfort zone, away from safety. He made her step to the edge of her ability to cope, then convinced her in his own enchanting way to take just one more step. But he always took the step with her. He made her nervous. She couldn’t look at John without her heart racing and blood surging through her veins out of control. He was turning her world upside down. She looked across the table at him as his eyes looked into hers, almost as if he could read her thoughts. She felt the crimson tide of blood race up to her cheeks and neck in an embarrassing blush. This was everything she had ever feared. And hoped. This man, this attraction, this feeling. She was in another time and didn’t know how she got there, didn’t know how she would get back to her own time, and even worse, didn’t know if she wanted to get back to her own time. She didn’t understand any of it. She did know one thing, and it came to her like a blinking neon sign—she was head over heels, crazy in love with John Douglas. It terrified her. She didn’t really know him. They had just met. Her insides were rambling out of control. John reached under the table, pried her clenched hands loose, and took her right hand in his warm, comforting grasp. He leaned across the table, peered into her eyes and said, ever so softly, “Don’t be afraid. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Chapter Eighteen It was late when they left the restaurant. The moon was high over the fields. Its pale glow gleamed on the tin roofs of the farmhouses they passed, making them shine eerily in the soft light. Most of the lights were out in the scattered houses and farms they rode past. It was as if there were only the two of them in the world. Genevieve was glad for her shawl. The night had turned chilly, and the wind that passed as they rode toward Numidia intensified the cold. She hugged up against John’s back and enjoyed the comfort of his warmth. John took his left hand off the clutch and laid it over Genevieve’s hands clasped around his waist. He gently rubbed his thumb across her hand now and then. That little gesture felt so intimate that Genevieve’s heart tumbled in her chest. John was singing. She couldn’t hear the words, but she felt the vibration in his back. It was a balm that soothed her deep into her spirit. She had never realized how alone she had felt until now. John and his family made her feel so cared for and secure. Feeling his warmth and the vibration of his voice against her cheek was enough to fill her with pure joy. If only this night could last forever. Her life up until now was beginning to feel so remote as if it had been someone else’s life. So much about it had been dimmed and neutral, never warm and intimate. She had never really known her real parents. She had no real memory of anyone in her childhood other than the parade of foster parents. She had no close friends at school. The moment anyone discovered she was a foundling, the kids made fun of her and their parents discouraged them from playing with her. She felt tainted, like she had some disease they would catch if they got too close to her. Genevieve spent most of her life alone. Her life had been nothing like John’s. He had grown up with loving parents and a home that welcomed him back every night. Apparently, he was well thought of in the village where he lived and by the people he met. A little knot of lonesome filled her chest. She knew that her life wasn’t here with these people, that she was only borrowing time. She didn’t truly belong here. Neither John nor his parents existed in her time. This was all going to end, and she would be going back to her real life. Right now, that life was looking rather empty. John drove to the side of the road just before the covered bridge that stretched over Roaring Creek and turned the motorcycle off. He kept one of her hands in his as he helped her off the motorcycle. He led her over to the side of the road overlooking the babbling creek. The moving water dashed over rocks and around them and rippled in the deeper places as it glittered in the moonlight. He wrapped his arm around her and spoke softly. “You’re doing way too much thinking.” Genevieve tensed. What was he going to do? It certainly was a lonely place out here with no one around for miles. No one would hear her if she screamed—as if she would. Her heart was beginning to thump. Her nerves were making electric jitters flow on her skin. John chuckled. “There’s no need to go worrying now. I’m not going to harm you in any way. I just wanted you to see this place. I love it here. Just down the stream a bit, it widens into the river. I like to go fishing there.” Genevieve relaxed against him. She listened to the deep sound of his voice and felt the comfort of his words. “That’s better now,” he said after a few minutes. He pulled her shawl around her and kept both his arms around her waist with her back to his chest. He laid his cheek on top of her head. “I see it’s hard for you to trust but, believe me, I’m not going to take advantage of you. I just wanted to show you my favorite place and talk to you a little.” “My therapist says I don’t trust anything because I have these abandonment issues,” Genevieve spouted without thinking. John laughed. “What’s a ‘therapist,’ and what are ‘abandonment issues’? You want to try talking in

everyday lingo?” “Oh God, I didn’t really mean to say that,” Genevieve said nervously. John led her over to a large boulder and sat down taking her with him. He pulled her close with his arm around her. “Okay, well, why don’t you tell me what it is you mean to say then.” “I’m not from around here,” she started, but there was no way she could tell him she wasn’t from this time either. “I already know that so tell me about this whole worry thing you do.” He kissed the top of her head. His small gesture of kissing her head almost undid her. Ignoring her nerves, she pulled herself together and told him about her childhood. She told him more than she meant to. She told him about her feelings, how painful it was not knowing who her parents were or why they didn’t want her. She told him how she had always wanted so much to be a part of a family, maybe even adopted by people who really wanted her. It never happened. She wasn’t good enough. Maybe they knew something about her parentage, something dark. Whatever it was that made her so undesirable, she began to believe herself. There was something wrong with her. When she finished, John was silent for a minute. He pulled her up close and rubbed his hand slowly up and down her arm. “I’m so sorry, honey. No kid should have to go through that. Don’t go thinking that you weren’t good enough. You’re just fine—better than fine, you’re wonderful. Your real parents missed out. They didn’t get to be a part of your life and love you. They didn’t get a chance to guide you and help you. “My parents can really get my back up, and Pop and I disagree, and often, but they’re constant and they love me. I wish you could have had that.” “But I think maybe they tried,” Genevieve defended. “Maybe they were too young. Maybe they were married, but maybe my dad didn’t love my mother any more, and she couldn’t keep me by herself with no one to help her.” “If your parents had given you the slightest chance I know they couldn’t have just left you like that.” He ran a thumb over her cheek where a tear had slipped down. “You’re never going to know what happened. There’s no sense fretting over it. You’re all grown up now and mighty fine, if you ask me. You can decide things for yourself. You can make your own family and give them what you didn’t have.” She asked it even when she hadn’t intended to. “What would you do if you had a child out of wedlock?” He smiled down at her in a most seductive way. “Well now, that’s a very interesting question. Did you want to have a child? I would love to help you with that.” He chuckled at her look of shock. “First of all, I’m too afraid of my mama to do something like that. She would skin me alive. So I would have to be married before I did any begettin’. When a man takes a wife, he vows to God that he’ll be there ’til he dies.” John laughed. “That’s why a man has to check out a lot of women before he makes up his mind.” Genevieve gave him a light fist to the chest. “What about women? Shouldn’t they be checking out a lot of men before they make up their minds?” “Now see, that’s where you don’t give your sex enough credit. Women are smarter than men like that. They know exactly who they want right off. They just don’t know that some men aren’t worth the trouble. Some men just aren’t putting their best foot forward, so to speak.” “Are you like that? Are you putting your best foot forward?” “I sure hope so. Is it working?” He grinned down at her and waggled his eyebrows. Genevieve was glad he couldn’t see her blush in the moonlight. “Quit kidding around,” she said. He brought her closer and laid his cheek on her crown. “I warned you about my knack for flirting. But you do look mighty fetching in the moonlight.” He chuckled as if to dispel her discomfort. John went back to their conversation about her parents. “I think whoever your mother was, she just got lost somehow and didn’t know what to do. I don’t think much of your pop, whoever he might have been. It’s a shame to leave a woman and kid like that, if that’s what happened. A man is supposed to be like

a ship’s anchor. He keeps the family from drifting, you know, safe and steady. She needed a husband to help her keep her moorings. I’m sure your mother did the best she could in any case.” “Maybe so.” Genevieve still held her doubts about that. “Your parents are wonderful.” “Most of the time I guess they are. Pop and I bicker a lot. Mama says we’re too much alike and that’s probably the God’s truth.” They sat in silence for a while and enjoyed the view and the sound of water rushing by. Genevieve relaxed against him and felt completely at peace for the first time she could remember. “So, how did you come by your name?” He skimmed his hands up her arms as if to warm her. “I was named after the woman who ran the orphanage. Her name was Lucy Beaumont. I chose the name Genevieve Maria when I was older because I love the song ‘Sweet Genevieve,’ but mostly because it seemed comforting and familiar.” She leaned against his chest and felt soothed by the scent of him. He seemed to gasp when she mentioned the old song. “What’s wrong with that song? Don’t you like it?” “Nothing.” He skimmed the back of his hand along her cheek. “Nothing at all. In fact, I think it might become my favorite but I’ve never heard it.” He chuckled softly, and she felt the movement of his chest against her back. “I’m glad you chose a name for yourself that felt good and familiar to you.”

Chapter Nineteen “I guess we better be getting back before Pop sends out a search party,” John said, standing. He reached out and pulled Genevieve up to stand beside him. They walked back to the motorcycle, but John didn’t get on. Instead, he took Genevieve in his arms and brought her close to his heart. “Now don’t go getting scared or nervous,” he said, “But I have this idea that I want to kiss you. I think it’s a pretty good idea, if it’s okay with you.” No one had ever asked Genevieve if she would agree to a kiss. This really was another time—or maybe it was just John’s way. Unable to speak because her thumping heart might jump out of her mouth, she just nodded her consent. And what a kiss it was. It was slow, deliberate, and thorough. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips as if tasting her like icing on a cupcake. Genevieve opened her mouth to him, and he entered her eagerly, searching every corner. A pool of fire ignited in her solar plexus and ran deep into her being. He pulled her closer until she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. He ran his hands up her back as his breath hitched, and the kiss deepened. Genevieve felt the heat spread to every corner of her existence. She didn’t want the kiss to ever end. When he finally did release her, she felt her knees wobble weakly as if they might give way... “Wow,” was all she could say. John gave her a wide grin. He got on the bike and brought her up behind him. He held her hands against his waist for a moment. “See, I’m putting my best foot forward,” he said and chuckled. “Now we just have to see if you’re worth the trouble,” Genevieve responded, and they both laughed. When they arrived at the Douglas house, all the lights were out but the one in the kitchen. Guess was lying in front of the tent. “Looks like Jimmy and his friends are camped in the yard for the night,” John said as he disembarked from the bike and led Genevieve toward the kitchen door. Will met them on the back porch. At first, Genevieve wasn’t sure if Will was angry or concerned. He spoke to John in a low voice. “Your mother has gone to bed. I told her I’d wait up for the two of you. It’s late, John. I thought you would be back over an hour ago.” “I know, sir, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep Genevieve out this late. I just lost track of time. I hope Mama’s not worried,” John said in a low but earnest voice. Genevieve felt guilty, like a teenager caught necking in the back seat of a car. God, what must they think of her? “My apologies, Miss Beaumont, for my son’s reckless disregard for your welfare. Sealy’s closes their doors at ten o’clock. You won’t be able to go to the hotel tonight. Jimmy is out in the tent, and John can sleep on the couch. You can take their room so you can have some privacy.” Will took a drag off the pipe Genevieve had given him and exchanged a look with John that Genevieve couldn’t decipher. John mounted the steps to the porch. His mouth twitched at the corner as if he wanted to laugh. “Now that is a shame, Pop. I’m sorry, Genevieve, but it seems you’re stuck with us for the night.” He looked down at her shoes. “It’s probably just as well. I’m sure your feet could stand a little rest.” John grinned as he opened the door for her. Will and John exchanged a look that, in modern times, would have been something like a high five. “I’ll join you for a smoke in a minute, Pop. I haven’t had a chance to use that pipe Genevieve gave me yet.” He winked at Genevieve. The house was quiet and dark as John led Genevieve to his room. He lit a kerosene lantern when they entered. The lantern’s light threw a soft, yellow glow around the small quarters. A nightgown was draped over the end of one of the twin beds, indicating that Matilda had expected Genevieve to stay. John patted the bed where the nightgown lay. He grinned wickedly as he moved toward her and pulled her close. “If I had been thinking of taking you to my bed, this wouldn’t exactly be what I had in mind,” he whispered close to her ear and chuckled. Before Genevieve could answer, John kissed her lightly on the lips and said, “You sleep tight now and

dream about me. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he closed the door, and Genevieve stood alone in the little room John shared with his brother. Her heart still raced from the kiss he had just bestowed upon her and the memory of the one he had given her earlier. God, this was madness. A few short weeks ago, she didn’t even know who these people were and now here she was in a place she didn’t belong and in love with a man who died a very long time ago. She couldn’t help it, though. Why did it all seem so comfortable and so normal? Genevieve shook herself from her thoughts and changed into the nightgown that smelled of lye soap and sunshine and sat on the edge of the bed to look around the room. Jimmy’s side had shelves filled with models of clipper ships and other sailing vessels, rocks, nature books, books about birds, and a picture of his parents nestled in the corner. Tin and celluloid toys were bursting out of a wooden box at the foot of the bed, and on his bed was the cannon Genevieve had given him. John’s side of the room was tidy and well kept. His shelves held math books, a drafting set, two cameras, and several photo albums. Leaning against a little desk was a mandolin and a case containing what she knew was a violin. Her heart rolled over in her chest. She got up, laid the violin case on the desk, and opened it. The case looked new and, inside, the violin glowed in the soft light. It was in perfect condition with not a scratch on it. She held her breath as she opened the tool pocket, but all she found was a tuning pipe and a box of rosin. There was nothing else. Her hands trembled as she closed the lid of the case. She put the violin back where it had been and sat on the edge of the bed. She felt weak and dizzy. She ached inside. This just couldn’t be happening. But it was. “I won’t think about it,” she thought as she pulled back the covers and crawled into bed. John’s scent permeated the sheets and pillow. It was soothing. From deep inside her, Genevieve found a certain determination. She must be here for some reason. She figured that reason must be to save John. Maybe he had some special angel looking out for him or maybe the universe had decided to give him a second chance. She didn’t know what it was but she sure was going to do something about it and not waste this chance. No sir, whatever the reason she found herself here, she was going to make the most of it. Genevieve closed her eyes, breathed in John’s fragrance, and fell almost immediately to sleep. Then the dream came again. There was the wide part where Roaring Creek flowed into the Susquehanna River. She was coming down the bank when she saw him. His back was turned to her as he spun out his line. She called to him, and he started to turn. He seemed frozen there for a moment. Silently, he fell face forward into the water. She started to run toward him just as he went under. She lost her footing and tumbled down the hill and into the river. The water was deep at the bank and the current strong. She kept rolling over and over. She tried and tried to come to the surface, but the current was too strong. She looked up through the water was and saw John with the sun shining through his hair reaching down into the water for her. She saw his face etched with fear. His mouth was forming her name, but there was no sound. Blood billowed beside her head in the water. She wanted to get to the surface. She tried to reach his hand but the current moved her away from him. Her lungs were bursting for want of air. She couldn’t breathe or hold her breath any longer. She tried to scream, but water filled her mouth and lungs. It surprised her that the water burned her nose and her lungs as it rushed in. She rose up out of the dream, crying out. She gasped as she came to the surface of the dream into her own consciousness. She gulped in air to fill her lungs. Genevieve sat straight up in bed just as the door flung open, and John rushed into the room. He hurried to her side and gathered her into his arms. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She couldn’t shake off the fear or the deep sadness that she felt. She didn’t protest when he sat down on the side of the bed and gathered her close. Matilda came to the door looking frightened. She looked at John with wide eyes. “Is she all right?” “She’s all right. The house isn’t on fire or anything. I’ll take care of her, Mama. You go on back to bed and get some rest.” Matilda leaned against the doorframe as if to garner support. She smiled in a reassuring way at Genevieve. “He’ll take good care of you, Evie,” Matilda said before she departed. When they were alone, John pulled her up in his lap while he settled himself against the headboard. “If you wanted me to come to you, all you had to do was ask.” He laughed lightly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you know you called out my name? There’s no telling what Pop and Mama probably thought we were doing in here. Just speaking for myself, I can only wish that were true.” He had the audacity to laugh. Genevieve felt the heat of a blush roll up her neck into her face. She knew he was teasing her to quiet his own nerves. She felt him trembling as he held her. “I don’t want any of your jokes right now, John.” Still shaken, she clung to him. John ran his hand up to her cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s just my way. I see that you’re upset so why don’t you tell me what happened?” He held her close and tucked her head under his chin. He kept his hand threaded in her hair. “I had a nightmare.” “You want to tell me about it? Mama always says it’s best to talk them out so you’re not scared any more.” Maybe if she told him the dream everything would change. Maybe that was why she was here. She could tell him about the dream and that would be a warning that something bad could happen to him. “You were fishing where the creek widens into a river.” “It sure has a nice beginning.” “Hush, will you? Please, just let me tell it.” “Go on then.” She told him the whole dream as he sat quietly listening. When she finished, she started to cry. “Don’t go springing a leak now. It was just a dream. See, you’re still alive.” She felt his hand shake as he grazed his knuckles across her cheek. “Very funny. Go ahead and make your jokes. This wasn’t the first time I dreamed this dream. Only the other one you drown instead of me.” She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. John eased out from under her and pulled the covers up over her. “They’re just dreams, honey. They can’t hurt you.” His face grew serious for a moment. “If you ever see the dream, or what you think is the dream, happening in real life, just do me one favor.” “What is that?” “Wait, Genevieve, wait until I turn around. The next time you have the dream, if you ever do, just do not move from the spot where you stand on the creek bank. Wait there until I turn around and speak your name.” His eyes were full of shadows. “Maybe you won’t ever have that dream again because you know you have within you the power to do something to change things. It’s not the dream that has the power over you. It’s important to remember that one thing. Will you promise me that you will do that?” Genevieve nodded consent. “I will.” John smiled. The shadows cleared. “Now I’m going to get you a nice cool drink of water, and pretty soon, you’ll feel much better.” Before she could protest, he had gone and returned a few moments later with a tin cup of cold water and handed it to her. He settled down on the side of the bed. “Go ahead and drink. It’s plenty cold. The fact that the water comes from under the graveyard shouldn’t affect the way it tastes, but I swear, I think it is the sweetest water in the world and I’ve been some places.”

Genevieve couldn’t help sputtering the water she was drinking with the thought of all those dead people lying above its source. Of course, John laughed at her reaction. She was determined then to drink it even if it killed her. He was quiet for a few seconds while she bravely gulped down the water. “Here’s the thing, honey, there’s not much of a chance that you could drown in Roaring Creek. Even though there is some danger where the water moves fast, for the most part, in the places where the fishing is best, it’s only two feet deep from one side to the next.” As he smiled at her, his green eyes lit up with golden flecks. “The fishing is great there. If it was me you saw fishing in your dream, the water was most likely shallow. The current is too fast to go deeper.” There was no way she could tell him about the newspaper clippings. She had no physical proof. Even knowing that he had drowned in only two feet of water, she had no idea how or why. How could she explain any of it to him? She really didn’t understand any of it herself. She felt very tired. It had been a long day. John leaned over, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then drew back. Emotions seem to dance across his face. First, there was desire, followed by sadness, and finally, humor. He said nothing as he walked to the door, but when he got there with his hand clasped around the knob, he turned toward her with a smile. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into going fishing with me then.” He closed the door quickly, and she heard him chuckle on the other side. Well, he could laugh if he wanted to. Everything was an amusement to him. She was too tired to get angry over his lack of concern about her dream. Maybe she was being foolish, believing there was any portent to a dream. Maybe he was right to laugh at her. Then again, maybe he was just trying to annoy her to dispel her fears. She had a plethora of fears to dispel that was for sure. She gave up trying to figure out the enigma of John Douglas. She put all thoughts from her mind then turned on her side and went back to sleep, this time without being haunted by another dream.

Chapter Twenty Morning sunlight splashed through the window in a happy golden brilliance. Genevieve awoke feeling refreshed and filled with energy. She stretched out her arms and took in her surroundings. She knew immediately where she was and that surprised her. She was amazed that she had no disorientation about being in this alternative dimension, or whatever it was. Everything was as clear as spring water, as if she had always been here. She felt happy through and through. Somehow, the annoyances of her world of automated answering services, speeding traffic and road rage on the interstate, and people on cell phones talking loudly in restaurants seemed to dim as she lay in the morning light of this quiet world. Oh, she knew she would eventually have to return to her time and place sometime, but it didn’t have to be today—not if she was lucky. Today she could pretend that her world didn’t exist. She could forget the noise and hurry of shallow people surrounded by their machinery for a little while. She could let herself believe that she belonged here. What a wonderfully giddy feeling that was. It was like a shot of adrenaline surging through her being with such happiness that it made her dizzy. Yes, today she could let go of her real life and live in this one. What would that be like? She could believe for this day that her place was here with these wonderful people and John. John—his name skittered through her in tangible excitement, making her hands shake and her palms sweat. Genevieve got up and dressed in the only clothes she had—her remade outfit. She didn’t put on any shoes. She decided to go barefoot. Her feet felt great. They weren’t sore at all. Matilda’s salve had worked wonders. She wanted a bath and she had no comb or brush. She ran her fingers through her hair, braided it, and tied it with the ribbon she had used the night before. There was a soft knock at the door. “Breakfast is ready, dear,” Matilda called from the other side. Genevieve ran to the door and opened it, taking Matilda by surprise. “I just wanted to say ‘good morning’ and how are you?” Genevieve exclaimed. Matilda smiled back at her as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Come to breakfast, Evie dear. I made flapjacks for you. The boys and Will don’t like them much, but I’ve got some eggs and fried potatoes and milk gravy as well.” She looked at Genevieve with a furrowed brow. “John told us you had a nightmare. I hope you were able to get back to sleep. We all were worried about you. I know you must need your rest” Genevieve followed Matilda back to the kitchen practically skipping with joy. “I’m sorry you worried. As John said, it was just a bad dream. I guess I do worry too much about almost everything. It had been a long day, and I was tired .” She giggled unintentionally. “I feel way better now, full of energy and ready to start the day.” Matilda laughed. “You have a funny way of talking, Evie, but I like it.” When they entered the kitchen, John looked up from the piece of paper he was writing on, quickly folded it, and put it in his pocket. He tucked the pencil in his shirt pocket and stood up, looking rather guilty at Genevieve. He grinned at her sheepishly. Genevieve frowned. Now what could he be hiding from her? A little piece of joy scurried away. “I didn’t mean to disturb you with your letter writing,” she said in an annoyed voice she hadn’t intended. Why was he looking like he had a secret? A green-eyed monster roared in her head. Could he be scribing a love note to the brazen but tempting Ruby? “Donald can wait to hear from me. I’m not much of a letter writer any how.” He pulled out a chair for her at a place that was already set. She knew that he was lying to her. Why would he lie? It was upsetting to think that John would be untruthful with her. She narrowed her eyes at him coolly. “I’d like to wash my face and hands first if that’s all right.”

John ignored her chilly disposition and glanced at her bare feet. “Are they hurting again? You seem a little out of sorts. I’d enjoy putting some more salve on them for you.” He winked at her. Genevieve gritted her teeth. Couldn’t he tell she was upset with him? She wanted to reach in his pocket and pull out that paper to see what was written on it, but the memory of those hands on her made her blood rush. She was sure her face was turning a bright shade of red. Did he embarrass her on purpose? “No. My feet are fine.” She intended for her clipped words to sound cool and aloof but to Genevieve’s dismay, they came out just sounding defensive. Matilda poured hot water from the tank on the side of the stove into a basin and added a little water from a bucket on the counter. She laid out a washcloth, towel, and soap from a storage place under the dry sink hidden by a starched white curtain. “John, stop teasing Evie and carry these back to your room for her. I’m sure she’d like to have some privacy to wash up.” Genevieve didn’t miss the stern look Matilda gave John, and a little part of her found some glee in the fact that Matilda had actually defended her. Even though John hadn’t really done anything very offensive, it felt good to have someone defend her. No one had ever done that for her before. “Yes, ma’am.” John rose from his chair to walk to the dry sink. He gave Genevieve a wicked grin. “As a matter of fact, I’d love to do that.” John grabbed up the bowl and implements that his mother laid out and led the way back to his room. Genevieve followed him back to the room where she had just spent the night. She was glad that she had made the bed and tidied up right away. Once back in his room, he placed the things on his little desk. He moved his musical instruments to Jimmy’s bed and laid them on it carefully, like treasures. “Just in case you’re a sloppy washer. I don’t want my instruments to get wet.” “I’m not sloppy when I wash,” Genevieve said with a defensive edge to her voice. John ignored her statement. He grinned, probably knowing that he was irritating the hell out of her. “You better hurry. Mama’s got breakfast good as ready, and she doesn’t like to be late for church.” He leaned against the doorjamb as if he intended to watch her bathe. “Church? Oh my gosh, I forgot this is Sunday.” She looked down at her rumpled clothing and bare feet. “What am I going to wear?” “I like Jimmy’s clothes on you.” John gave her a rakish grin. “It’s no time for you to be a smart-ass or a flirt, John. I don’t know what to do.” She felt exasperated, and he wasn’t helping. “Lordy, you worry and fret more than anybody else I know. I think Mama already thought of that and has some things laid out for you in her room. I’ll get them for you before you have a conniption over it.” He turned back to her just before leaving. “Take care with that language, Miss Beaumont. Mama doesn’t like profanity.” John chortled at Genevieve’s irritated huff. Genevieve gave him a searing scowl before he turned and left her. Moments later, John was back with an armful of clothing and a pair of sturdy shoes. “Mama went through all her things to try and find something for you. She’s the only female in the house so the choices are few.” He laid the clothing on the end of his bed and shook out a dress for her perusal. Genevieve examined the white dress with a neatly embroidered top with three-quarter sleeves, a waistband with two pearl buttons at the closure and a full skirt that would probably fall to Genevieve’s ankles. Besides the cotton underwear, there were some thick hose and garters that looked like two thick rubber bands and, lastly, a pair of white shoes with a strap across the top and a little silver button. Genevieve thought the outfit looked like a nurse’s uniform from days gone by more than anything else. John tossed a brush and mirror on the bed and smiled at Genevieve. “Not exactly the things Ruby would wear, but at least you aren’t going to church naked.” Of course, he had to howl with laughter at the angry look Genevieve gave him after that statement. Before she had time to throw anything at him, John slipped out the door.

Chapter Twenty-One Genevieve sat uncomfortably wedged between John and Jimmy during the church service. Jimmy handed her irreverent notes about the sermon and the people occupying the nearby pews until Genevieve thought she might have to excuse herself to avoid making a spectacle of herself by laughing out loud in church. Jimmy balled up the little pieces of paper with his impertinent messages and flipped them into Julia’s hair. Julia was sitting just in front of Jimmy in the next pew beside what Genevieve guessed was her grandmother. The elderly woman appeared dignified and well dressed. Her face was gentle with kind eyes as she peered at Julia from time to time. She was, however, oblivious to the activity taking place between Julia and Jimmy. When Julia turned and fired back a piece of paper, hitting Jimmy on the nose, a miniature war ensued until John intervened. He leaned over Genevieve, sending a riot of nerves into chaos, and pinched Jimmy on the arm. Jimmy howled out loud, earning a glare from his mother that assured there would be punishment later. Will Douglas was noticeably absent. John explained to Genevieve when she asked about the elder gentleman’s absence that his father never attended church, much to his mother’s chagrin. Matilda apparently believed Will was doomed to the depths of hell in the afterlife, but Will, stubbornly, continued to avoid church services. John explained the situation to Genevieve, whispering close to her ear. “Pop believes it’s not necessary to get all gussied up and sit with a bunch of hypocrites to worship God. Pop’s method of worship is to sit in the backyard near Mama’s flower garden and read the Sunday paper with a strong cup of coffee and some good tobacco in his pipe. John expressed a kinship with his father’s notion of worship but said his mother overruled him. “Mama told me that, until I run my own household, I am subject to her authority on the matter and that, as they say, is that.” He looked at Genevieve and chuckled softly. “Pop may seem tough, but he’s all bluff and bluster. It’s Mama you have to look out for. She’ll nail you to the wall if you don’t mind her.” He winked. “You mark my words.” Genevieve had a newfound respect for Matilda. She already liked her, but now she admired her. “It’s amazing to me that she raised a scamp like you.” She couldn’t help giggling just a little in her hankie to soften the sound. Nonetheless, eyes turned toward her from the nearby parishioners with silent warnings. John gave her a slanted look. “Now you mind your manners, Miss Beaumont. I’m a perfect gentleman—most of the time.” He gave her a rascally grin and looked up at the minister like a saint intently listening to the word of God. Genevieve scoffed at his pretense but didn’t say another word on the matter. It was clear to her that Will and John were a great deal alike. Matilda was right when she said that. It was futile to try to get the best of John so she decided to occupy herself by looking around to see if Ruby was there. She wanted to see what a well-dressed, modern-day young woman would wear but there was no Ruby present. She enjoyed the thought of Ruby still abed with a horrific hangover. It brought a little smile of revenge to Genevieve’s lips imagining the blonde siren with a pounding headache and her head hung over a bucket emptying out her stomach. When they stood to sing the final hymn, John held the hymnal open in one hand and took Genevieve’s hand in the other. She could barely concentrate. Not only did her hand tingle from the touch of his warm hand engulfing hers, but the sound of his rich voice singing “I’ll Fly Away” also filled her with comforting warmth that soothed her to the core of her being. After church, Matilda introduced Genevieve to Reverend Samuel Maclean, his wife, and family and then to a few of the congregation who were her friends. Everyone greeted Genevieve as if they’d known

her all her life. They made her feel comfortable and welcomed. “Aren’t you from Mount Carmel?” asked a pleasant brown haired woman named Ethel Sawyer. Matilda introduced her as Ned Sawyer’s mother. Genevieve had to think a moment before she remembered that Ned was one of Jimmy’s friends. Matilda quickly interceded. “Oh no, that’s not possible, Ethel. Genevieve is from North Carolina. She’s here to visit us for a while. Don’t you remember me telling you about that?” A flicker of light seemed to move across Mrs. Sawyer’s eyes. Oddly enough, she blushed as if she’s made some embarrassing mistake. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Tilly, of course I remember now.” Ethel smiled at Genevieve and changed the subject. “Frank Senior didn’t attend church this morning due to a sore throat.” She glanced at Matilda, and they both chuckled. “He seems to take sick frequently on Sundays and have miraculous recoveries come Monday mornings,” Ethel explained to Genevieve. “I fear that Frank Junior is bound to follow in his father’s footsteps. I don’t have the influence over him that you have with your boys, Matilda. My hope is that they’ll marry well and that their wives will get them to church some how.” She and Matilda both laughed. Something in Genevieve’s stomach clutched when she thought about Mrs. Sawyer’s question about her being from Mount Carmel. Even more confusing was Matilda’s hurried reaction. It felt like Matilda and Ethel were hiding something from her. What secrets could they possibly have that would involve her? Genevieve shook her head. It was her old suspicious self coming up with these thoughts. She had no reason to mistrust any of these people. If anyone had a secret, it was her. A ball of guilt pressed right up under her heart. Ethel peered at Genevieve through kind, coffee colored eyes. “Where are you staying while you visit, Miss Beaumont? I have a house full of rowdy men and boys but I’d be happy to put you up at my place while you’re here.” “Please, just call me Genevieve or Evie. That is such a kind offer but I’m staying at Sealy’s for a few days,” Genevieve said, hoping to remedy her guilt by telling a bit of truth. “I’m just here on business then it’s back home to North Carolina.” “Will and I want Evie to leave Sealy’s and to come stay with us while she’s here,” Matilda said. She spoke to Ethel, but she fastened her eyes to Genevieve. “There’s no sense in paying for a hotel when we’re right down the road from there.” “Oh no, Matilda, I couldn’t do that. It would be such an imposition to you and your family,” Genevieve objected. There was no way she could do that. How could she explain herself to them? Her lie was getting bigger and deeper. Her heart was jumping around in her chest in spasms of adrenaline. Genevieve looked around for John. Surely, he could talk his mother out of this idea. As if she had summoned him, he walked up beside her and took her hand casually in his own. He nodded his head as a greeting to Mrs. Sawyer. “Mrs. Sawyer, how are you? I see both of your Franks have managed to dodge another Sunday. Maybe they’ll be better by the time the picnic starts. I see Tom and Ned are dutifully in tow, though.” He winked at her. “Oh, I think you might be right,” Ethel responded laughing without offense. “Both of my Franks are sure to have a recovery before the fun begins.” He smiled at Genevieve. “What have you ladies been talking about?” He glanced down at Genevieve and made a face. “Now what’s that frown all about?” “Your mother was just mentioning to Mrs. Sawyer that she and your father want me to leave Sealy’s and stay at your house. I was trying to explain what trouble that would be. I’m sure you and Jimmy don’t want to give up your comfortable beds for me. I just couldn’t put you all out like that. Besides, all my things are at the hotel.” Not that she would want any of them to know what those things were. It would be hard to explain what an iPod or a laptop computer was. John let go of her hand and placed his arm around her shoulders pulling her a little closer to him. “Now there you go fretting and worrying. I think it’s a wonderful idea. It beats having to walk you back

every night and, even worse for me, having to walk back home alone.” “What about Jimmy? I’m sure he doesn’t want to be pushed out of his room into a tent,” Genevieve countered. “Are you kidding? Jimmy would latch on to any excuse to sleep in that tent. If Pop would let him build a campfire, he’d take up residence there.” John laughed. He peered down at Genevieve with light in his eyes. “It appears you’ve been overruled.” “What about my things?” She asked thinking that at least some of her clothes would be helpful. “They’ll keep.” Matilda smiled. “Well, I’m glad we have that all settled now.” She looked at Genevieve and John. “Why don’t you two start gathering the food for the picnic and take all of it up to the picnic grounds for me? I’d like to spend a few more minutes talking with Ethel. I’ll join you over there later. If you can find Jimmy, get him to help you carry those things.” “Yes, ma’am,” John replied.

Chapter Twenty-Two The picnic grounds were abuzz with activity. The food was placed on a central table like a buffet. Everyone could sample a bit of this and a bit of that. The smorgasbord of food looked delicious. There was fried chicken, baked ham, hamburgers, hot dogs, three different kinds of potato salad, green bean casserole, baked beans, corn on the cob, and coleslaw. There were so many selections the head spun trying to decide what to eat. The desserts were on another table, which was so loaded that it looked as though the table should break down under the weight of it all. There was lemonade and ice cold water for drinking. The families intermingled among the tables. Along with the Douglas family, Genevieve noticed the Sawyers and Renquests took up the better part of the table. Genevieve couldn’t help but laugh inwardly when she noticed that, after avoiding the reverend, Will and Frank Sawyer, Senior, went out behind one of the wooden booths, probably to smoke their pipes and enjoy a sip or two of brandy from a flask Will just happened to bring along. Later, the errant husbands joined the families at their tables looking as though they were both in very good moods. Called in from their games of softball, badminton, croquette, and sack races, the children joined their families at the different tables when the meal was called to order. There was a short prayer by Reverend Maclean and the meal began. The place came alive with chatter about the weather, the crops, who just had a baby and whose barn was in need of repair or paint. Silverware and dishes rattled with use. Kids ran around the table, spilling food and chasing one another. Spurts of laughter and shouts rang out from time to time from the children. Women talked of baby clothes, sewing, the latest gadgetry for washing clothes, and who was the next to get electricity or a radio. As the day wore on and people laid down their cares to relax and enjoy the day. Twilight began to darken the sky with a wash of golden light on the horizon from the setting sun. The families began to have their fill of good eating. The ladies cleared away the food and dishes while the men brought out large platforms of wood that they assembled to form a dance area. Little tin lanterns powered by kerosene were strung on wires around the area and were lit to dispel the dark as the sun flickered out between the distant hills. John found Genevieve as she was scraping off the last of the dishes. He led her by the hand to a chair near what appeared to be a stage. “Now I would take it most kindly if you would have a seat here so I can see you from the stage. I have something special just for you.” “For me? You’re going to do something just for me? That is so sweet.” Of course, she was never sure with John if it was really going to be sweet or if he was going to do something to rankle her nerves or tease her. Genevieve took the place he chose for her and watched the stage with skepticism and consternation. The rest of the Douglas family joined her shortly. The stragglers made their way to the stage area and filled the remaining chairs. Some stood around behind the chairs while others gathered on the platform, ready to dance. Everyone clapped joyously when John and his friends came up on the stage, assembled their music stands, and pulled their instruments from their cases. John walked to the front of the stage amid loud applause and whistles. He held up his hand to signal to the crowd that he was about to speak. “All of you who know me can vouch for the fact that I don’t usually sing. I just play the fiddle or the mandolin and leave the singing to those that can do it justice.” The crowd laughed and this person and that made commentary regarding the merits of John’s singing. Apparently, John was a very unassuming man. Those who spoke around Genevieve had nothing but good to say in regard to John’s voice, and Genevieve could give testimony that it was true. When he sang in church that morning, his voice was that of an angel. “But tonight,” he continued, smiling at them, “I’m going to make an exception. There’s someone special visiting my folks and me by the lovely name of Genevieve Beaumont. I wrote this song for her just this morning. The boys and I did a quick practice of it so don’t expect it to be perfect. I’m going to get

them started with a little fiddle music first then I’ll get right to the song.” John started to play his violin and the music sweetly kissed the air. After a few bars, the rest of the little band picked up the melody, and John stopped playing. He held his violin and bow in one hand, dove into his pocket with the other, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He began to sing the words he had written himself for Genevieve. Under night’s starry skies Locked within my heart Suspended in time Lies a beautiful dream Of musical laughter And haunting eyes. My arms are reaching out Like a bridge across time Yearning to hold you to my heart, Longing to make you mine. After all the confusion, Hesitation, and despair, There are memories of hope, Of joy, and of love. I’m reaching for the truth That I’ll find you somewhere. My arms are reaching out Like a bridge across time Yearning to hold you to my heart, Wanting to make you mine. The song was slow, sweet, and sad. There was a longing in John’s voice that made Genevieve want to weep. Something about it made her feel lost, and a lump formed in her throat that made it almost impossible to swallow. The crowd was silent for a moment then gave a sustained round of applause and hoots and whistles of approval. The ladies around Genevieve swooned and sighed. John looked at Genevieve. His face was unreadable. “Just for you, Genevieve,” he said simply. His words weren’t audible above the applause, but Genevieve could understand the words that he mouthed. John stepped back to join the rest of the band, brought up his violin under his chin, and began to play a fast tempo piece. The couples danced on the platform. Some were doing the Charleston. The seats around Genevieve began to empty as more couples joined in the dancing. Even children joined in the dancing, mimicking their elders. Genevieve smelled her before she saw her. The heavy scent of gardenia sank into the air around Genevieve. She heard the tinkle of metal bangle bracelets and the high-pitched laughter of Ruby. Ruby settled into a chair beside Genevieve, her bright green silk dress glittered with sequins and beads. The dress rose up above her knees when she sat down. She didn’t seem to mind the exposure of her rolled stockings or the low cut of her dress. She was obviously not wearing any type of bra. The strain of material around Ruby’s nipples made Genevieve blush, and Genevieve was a woman used to HBO and R-rated movies.

Ruby ignored Genevieve, leaning forward to give the man she was with an unhindered view of her breasts as she cajoled in a affected baby voice, “Hank, sweetie, would you fetch me something to drink before I up and perish? And be a dear and find some little something to make it bite, if you know what I mean.” She giggled like a grade-school girl. The hulking man she identified as Hank was a bit slow, thought Genevieve. He seemed sweet enough but naive. Genevieve was fairly certain that he was led around by Ruby in the hopes of attaining sexual favors from her. As soon as Hank disappeared into the crowd on his mission, Ruby had dictated, Ruby turned to Genevieve. Like quicksilver, her mood turned ugly with scorn. “So you’re the little mouse that’s found her way back home,” she said. Her mouth curled in a thin line and her black eyes narrowed. “You probably believe that John is all yours.” She laughed that high-pitched squeal as she ran her silk scarf through her fingers over and over as if she itched to put the scarf around Genevieve’s throat and choke her with it. Genevieve’s mouth went dry. She could barely swallow. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” This woman was like a cat circling around a little robin. “Don’t play innocent with me. I know what you’re after. If you think you can get John back, well, think again because John’s a smooth one. He’s romanced every woman from the age of sixteen to forty in this county and the next. You only think you have him wrapped around your little finger, sister. Sneaking your way into his family and befriending his little brother. Then there’s that little witch John’s little brother hangs around with. None of this will help you in the least.” “I don’t understand,” Genevieve said. She felt confused and dizzy. Why was Ruby saying this? Why did this woman seem to hate her? “John was mine long before you. When he gets through playing with you and gets bored, he’ll come back to me.” Ruby’s eyes flickered with the fire of hatred. Hank arrived with Ruby’s drink in his hand and a ridiculous grin on his face. “I found some hooch to give it some bite, Ruby, baby. You gonna give me a kiss now?” Ruby turned her attention from Genevieve to Hank and, like a chameleon, turned all sweet and plastered a big smile on her face. “You come on over here, sweetie, and get your reward.” Hank’s back was toward Genevieve. When Ruby opened her mouth and stuck her tongue in Hank’s mouth, she opened her eyes and looked straight at Genevieve. She took Hank’s bulky hand and guided it to her breast. Hank worked her breast with his big paw as if she were a batch of dough. While Ruby kept her eyes on Genevieve, she reached down and messaged Hank’s nether parts, eliciting a grunt of pleasure from the hulk. Genevieve felt sick. She turned, looking for a place to run, and headed for a crop of trees by the lake where she could be alone to sort out her thoughts and dispel the disturbing things that Ruby told her.

Chapter Twenty-Three Genevieve leaned her back against a tree and tried to slow her breathing down. Had Ruby told her the truth? Was John just using her to entertain himself for a little while? It hadn’t felt that way to her, but Genevieve wasn’t very experienced in the ways of courtship or men. In truth, Genevieve knew very little about men or dating. She’d spent a lifetime avoiding people, men in particular, and socializing. If her biological parents were any example of the lasting value of courtship and love, she absolutely wasn’t going to put her trust in any man. She’d never actually had a friend, either. She had learned at an early age that people didn’t want to befriend someone who had no particular parentage or history to determine her character. It was as if people believed that some unknown evil existed inside her and that it might erupt at any moment like a volcano and she might devour their innocent children. She had spent a lifetime of being shunned and ridiculed. Genevieve hurried to the quiet of the alcove of trees by the lake. She slid down the tree and sat on the cool grass. The knot in her chest ached. It was the hurt she couldn’t digest. Why had she allowed herself to become so vulnerable? How had she managed to become so emotionally involved with these people? They were ghosts. The beautiful night didn’t seem so wonderful any more. But, most of all, why had she permitted herself to fall in love with someone she could never have? She pulled her knees up and hugged them with her arms. Her life had always been a disaster. She sighed. She had nothing that remotely resembled a life. The only thing she had was her quiet, little job teaching children about the history of their world. Genevieve sighed. She didn’t even have that any more. She refused to allow herself to cry. This whole thing was ridiculous. Here she was in this time warp, and she was beginning to like it. The Douglas family was everything she had wished for but knew she had no hope of having. John was everything she feared. He was experienced in the ways of women and handsome enough to have anyone he wanted. He took risks, and he pushed her to do the same. And she knew he had secrets that he kept from her. Genevieve laughed hollowly. John was not real. He’d been dead for almost a century. None of this was real. These people were all ghosts in her time or were so old they would never remember a person of no consequence like her. She felt broken. How was she ever going to get all the little pieces of her life back together again? If she wept now, she would never stop. “Hey, Evie, what are you doing sitting out here?” Jimmy greeted her breathlessly, tugging Julia along behind him. Genevieve jumped up and brushed off her dress. She ran the backs of her hands over her cheeks to make sure there were no tears and faked a smile. “I just came out here to get away from the noise and to look at the lake,” she lied. “John’s been looking for you everywhere,” Jimmy smiled. “How’d you like his song? He wrote it this morning at the breakfast table. He got up before any of us to write it.” “It was very nice.” “It was about you. He was writing on it before the sun was up. John was up at the crack of dawn working on it. He’s over the moon for you, Evie.” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Come on, Evie. We gotta find John.” Genevieve followed them up the hill toward the picnic grounds as they talked. She couldn’t hold back the bitterness in her words. “I’m sure he is ‘over the moon’ for a lot of women.” “I saw that cat, Ruby, talking to you,” Julia put in. “She’d love to get her claws into John, but he don’t like her.” “John says she ain’t got no virtue,” Jimmy added. He winked imitating John. “John says a woman that’s

too easy ain’t worth the chase.” Genevieve stopped walking, and the two turned and looked at her. “Well, what happens when he catches a virtuous woman? What does your brother do then? Does he take her virtue or whatever and then move on to the next one?” A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and a deep voice spoke softly in her ear. “He makes her his forever.” “There you are,” said Jimmy. “Julia and me was just heading up the hill to bring her to you. I told her you was looking for her.” “Thanks, Jimbo. Now that Genevieve and I have found each other, you and Julia can run along. Billy Meyers and Ned Sawyer are looking for you two.” John let go of Genevieve’s waist, took her hand, and pulled her up the hill. “Can’t we go with you?” pleaded Jimmy. “Nope. You and Julia take a hike and find your friends. I’ve got things to do, and you two, I’m sure, can find plenty of trouble to get yourselves into without us.” “Is Genevieve coming home with you to our house? Do I get to be in the tent? Mama said I could. She said Genevieve was going to stay with us.” John frowned. “You want to try keeping that big mouth of yours from flapping? Now go on and spend some time with your girlfriend and leave me alone to be with mine.” Julia blushed crimson. “I ain’t Jimmy’s girlfriend. We just tolerate each other.” “Come on, Julia. Let’s go find something interesting to do besides watch these two love birds kiss and stuff,” Jimmy grumbled, giving John a hard look that just made John laugh. “Oh . . . Julia?” Genevieve called after them. Julia turned to look at Genevieve. “Yes?” “Thanks. Thanks for everything.” “Tweren’t nothin’, Miss Evie.” Julia followed Jimmy back up the hill and they disappeared in the crowd. “Thanks for what?” asked John. “I would have found you without them. I bet I could find you anywhere, any time.” Genevieve laughed at John’s last statement. He was more right than he would ever know. “Just girl talk.” John crooked his head to the side and looked at her. He grinned. “Was it about me?” “Yeah, we voted you off the island.” John peered at her quizzically, obviously missing the only amusing thing she might ever say. “Speaking of islands and water and such, I’ve got a surprise for you.” He pulled her behind him through the crowd and noise to the other end of the picnic grounds where a small dock stretched out into the calm water. Red, green, blue, and yellow boats bobbed along the dock straining to get away. A sign stated boat rides for twenty-five cents an hour. Genevieve pulled against his grip on her wrist. “Oh, no. I’m not getting in one of those things.” John sighed. “Why not?” “I don’t know how to swim.” “Don’t worry. If you fall overboard, I’ll save you.” “No. I’m not going to get in a boat.” “Yes, you will.” “Absolutely not, John. Stop badgering me. I don’t want to do this.” “Genevieve, you’re going to ruin all the fun. You’re just being stubborn. “They’re about to shoot off the fireworks and they’re great when they reflect on the water. Now, come on.” John tugged at her wrist dragging her to the man renting the boats. . The rather round gentleman who was renting the boats looked at John and laughed. “She’s scared,

huh?” Genevieve bristled. “I am not afraid. I’m just being cautious. These boats don’t look all that safe to me.” “Yup, she’s scared,” John answered. “But don’t worry, I can handle her. Give me that red one over there, Mitch. Here’s fifty cents for two hours in the boat and twenty-five extra in case she throws up in it or something.” “You’re not going to ‘handle’ me, and I’m not getting in that boat, John. So, you just wasted seventyfive cents for nothing.” Genevieve’s temper rose to the surface. Didn’t he ever listen? “Grab that end, Mitch, and help me bring it around,” John said, ignoring Genevieve’s tirade. “Okay, that’s got it,” he said as they brought the side of the boat to the dock. “Thanks, I can take it from here.” “You sure, John? She looks mighty set on not getting in the boat,” Mitch remarked, wiping his hands on the front of his canvas pants. “I’m sure, Mitch. Go see about that line up of customers you’ve got over there. I’ve got this under control.” Then he turned to Genevieve. His face was set with determination. “Remember how you didn’t want to ride on that motorcycle? But then you did it anyway, and it seemed to me you were having a pretty good time once you got over being scared. You were like a goddess on that bike.” He pulled her up beside him, his hand still firmly on her wrist. “Now, this is the same thing. I know you’re scared, but I also know you’ve got courage. Besides, I intend to have this romantic moment with you whether you like it or not.” “Maybe I don’t want a romantic moment with you. There’s always Ruby waiting for you.” She couldn’t keep herself from saying it, and by the grim look on his face, she wished she could take it back. “Damn it, Genevieve, forget about Ruby and get into this God-forsaken boat or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and throw you in it. There’s only one person in this world that’s more stubborn than you and that, my dear goddess, is me.” When she backed away, he stepped forward, picked her up, and, doing exactly as he said he would, plopped her unceremoniously into the boat. He quickly got into the boat behind her and shoved off from the dock. “I hate you,” Genevieve said, sulking in the bow of the boat as it glided through the water to the middle of the lake. She was not about to admit that it felt giddy moving smoothly along the water. The torches on the shore and along the picnic grounds looked festive. She could hear John’s band playing in the distance. John grinned working the oars. “Sure you do.”

Chapter Twenty-Four “You can waste precious time pouting, or you can come here to me and look up at the stars while I hold you in my arms,” John said quietly, slipping the oars out of the water into the boat. “I only hope I can get there without dunking us both.” The distance to John seemed so far. Genevieve swallowed hard. “I can’t swim—not a stroke. But such a gracious invitation should not be denied.” She wanted to be brave because John believed she could be. After taking a deep, steadying breath, she moved cautiously making her way to John with her heart in her throat lest she stumble and fall out of the boat. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” John laughed softly as he gathered her into his arms when, at last, she had made her way to him. He slipped his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. “Look up, Genevieve. Isn’t it beautiful?” A knot formed in her throat. She didn’t know which was more beautiful, the sparkling array of diamonds on the dark navy blue sky or the expression on John’s face as he looked up toward the heavens. She nodded her head because she was too filled with emotion to form words and speak. There was a loud boom followed by a colorful shower of sparkling light that spread out over the sky above them. Another boom and a different color of glittering light shot overhead and reflected on the glassy surface of the water. She inhaled the acidic smell of gunpowder mixed with the musky scent of the lake water. Although Genevieve had seen fireworks many times in her life, she had never seen them this beautiful. The water and the sky became one with showering displays of colors and lights above them and the reflection of the fireworks around them. Their boat became a tiny island in a world of light. Genevieve’s heart swelled to overflowing. Wasn’t this the most wonderful place to be in all of the world? This man with his arms wrapped around her making her feel safe, was the only man in the entire universe that she had ever loved so completely. How had it happened so fast? It was unlike her to throw caution to the winds and allow herself to become this vulnerable. Falling in love made her feel giddy and alive. She felt she had the power to move mountains. But there was the other side of love that broke hearts and spirits. What if her love was unrequited? What if John didn’t love her back? Even worse, what if time suddenly swooped down and took her back to the reality of her own world? The very thought of having to leave this time, this place, and this man made her heart sink like a cannonball into the pit of her stomach. How could she have let her guard down like this? Part of her wanted to believe that none of this was real. How could it be? And yet, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The warmth of his body kept the chill from her. She wondered if she should tell him the truth. What would he think? What would he say? Would he believe her? If she told him everything, would it change what happened the day he died? Would he be safe? Then again, if she spoke the truth, would he and his whole world suddenly disappear? John hugged Genevieve to him. He looked down at her and smiled. “I can tell you’re thinking too much. Just try to relax. You’re safe with me. Are you comfortable?” “Ummhmm.” She wiggled her shoulders and settled into the curve of his arm. She had to tell him the truth. Her conscience was nagging her. Unless she came clean about where she really came from and how she got here, there would be nothing but lies between them. Genevieve drew in a deep breath to gather courage. “There’s something I need to tell you, John.” John reached down, moved a stray tendril of hair from her cheek, and placed it behind her ear. “Go ahead, Genevieve, you can tell me anything.” His voice was deep and kind but Genevieve felt him tense as if he were holding his breath, waiting to hear some disturbing news from her. She gathered her courage and began to pour out the truth. She didn’t know how to say it any better than to just lay out the hard facts “I’m not from here. I don’t mean that I’m not from just here in Numidia. I mean I’m not even from this town or this state.” She took a deep breath to brace herself in case he laughed at her. “I’m not even from this century.” She stopped speaking long

enough to give him a chance to laugh at her and say something unpleasant. If he did that, she would never be able to finish telling him how she came to be here or why. John was quiet. Genevieve was grateful that he was allowing her to tell him everything that would otherwise separate them. “I found your violin at an auction and came here to research about you. I just couldn’t get you off my mind.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about his death. “The house where you live is abandoned in my time. When I went into your home, it was empty. No one had lived in it for many years. There was no furniture or anything, not even a scrap of paper. There was nothing but dust. “Then something happened that I still don’t understand. I was standing at the kitchen window staring at the graveyard next to the house. I guess I sort of got lost in my thoughts.” She shuddered, thinking about the graveyard and who was lying there. “I don’t know what hit me, but something hit me in the head and I passed out. “When I came to, you were there and your family was there. I was in some kind of time warp. It scared me. Later, when I got back to the hotel that night, everything was the same as it was when I left that morning. “I was back in my own time in the twenty-first century. I was so afraid of what happened that I left town to go back home. I thought I might be losing my mind. I almost didn’t come back. But then I just had to because you were here and I wanted to be here with you and with your family. You’ve all come to mean so much to me.” John didn’t say anything and made no movement. Genevieve glanced up at him. He was staring into the sky. But the look in his eyes concerned her. His eyes looked empty. There was something wrong. He looked as if he had vacated his body. It was the same look he had yesterday, just before they rode the motorcycle. She turned carefully and crouched in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “John? What’s wrong?” Her voice rose higher. She felt the panic shoot through her. “John!” He blinked and took in a deep, shuttering breath. “What? What did you say?” Genevieve looked at him closely. Something wasn’t right. She felt it down deep in the core of her bones. His face looked blank, as if he had awakened from a dream and wasn’t fully alert yet. She reached up and touched his cheek. “John, are you okay? What happened to you? Are you sick or something?” John shook his head. “No. No, I’m not sick, Genevieve.” He smiled weakly, took her hand, and brought it up to his lips to kiss it ever so lightly. “I think I was just daydreaming.” “Did you hear anything I said?” She knew he was lying. What the hell was wrong with him? Why wouldn’t he talk to her? “John, were you listening to a single word I said? Did you hear what I was telling you?” Her voice began to rise as anxiety grew in her chest. Was he keeping secrets from her? Apparently so. To think that she was baring her soul to him, telling him the entire truth, and risking everything just moments before, and now he had nothing to say or refused to reply. Genevieve was beginning to feel her temper coming to the surface. Everything was always John’s way. He kept pushing her to do things that scared her to death, and he expected her to trust him. But how could she trust him? He never really told her anything about himself or his feelings. Everything was just a big joke to him. “Come on now, honey, we came out in this boat to watch the fireworks and have a good time. I had some pretty interesting things in mind to do out here that I thought you might like . . . a little snuggling, maybe a kiss or two if I was lucky.” He smiled that charming smile of his, but he would not meet her eyes with his. He glanced up at the star-filled sky and, and for one brief moment, he dropped his gaze to look at her. Briefly she glimpsed something disturbing in his eyes, as if he were intentionally withholding something. The smile might be charming most of the time. but Genevieve was not going to be put off by a little charisma. “Stop with all the jokes and the flirty stuff. I know there’s something wrong that you’re not telling me about, and I want to know what it is.” She pulled back to look up at his face, and she dropped her hands

from his shoulders. His jaw clenched. He pulled his hands away from her, took up the oars, and started rowing back toward the dock in stony silence. They were like two boxers ending round one, and they had returned to their own corners to gather their energy for the next round. His silence made her even angrier. Why did she always have to be the one to open up? It was high time he spilled his guts a little. Genevieve could almost hear the buzzer go off in her mind as round two began, and she came out swinging. “It isn’t fair that you expect me to tell you everything about myself, all my dark secrets, but I don’t know any more about you now than I did a few days ago.” She knew her face was crimson with rage, and it only served to infuriate her even more. She clenched her fists and she sat back on her heels to look daggers at him through heated eyes. John rowed a few more strokes as the fireworks lit up the sky over their heads, infusing their world with light, showing their faces to one another in the moments of light. John’s face was pale and strained, his jaw set in stubborn resistance. Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, her eyes blazed with hot fury as she waited for him to respond to her words. She clenched her hands into fists. The urge to slap him burned across her skin and made her tremble. John’s hands stilled on the oars. He looked at Genevieve with his mouth set in a thin line of determination and his eyes dark with controlled emotion that she could not read. “No, Genevieve, I cannot tell you some things, not yet. For once in your life, why don’t you just have a little faith? Put your trust in me, Genevieve. I swear to God I won’t let you down.” Genevieve pulled away from him when he tried to reach for her. She turned to face him now on her knees. A red flare of fury streaked through her. She felt out of control. She shook with the adrenaline of her rage. “What the hell does that mean? Is there a special time set for opening up and telling the truth? Is there a right time that would allow me to really know you? Trust? Hell, how can I possibly trust you? You never tell me anything.” She rose to her feet. Reaching out, John tried to grasp her wrist but she pulled away. “Genevieve, please sit down. You’re going to tip the boat.” No sooner had the words escaped his lips than the boat began to wobble. Genevieve lost her balance. She shrieked with horror just before she fell into the water. There was a loud splash as she sank into the lake. Watery screams interrupted the thunder of fireworks as she came to the surface and then sank back under the cold, black water. She heard his voice as from a distance through the water. “Damn it all to hell,” John cursed. As terror blazed through her and she struggled to get to the air just above her, she saw him lean over the boat, plunge his arm into the water, and grab a hold of the front of her dress. Genevieve peered up through the water at John’s face illuminated by fireworks bursting in blossoms of light over his head. His hair fell over his brow as he reached toward her. She couldn’t speak, for the water filling her mouth and burning her lungs. She wanted to reach out to him, but her strength left her. It was her dream. Before she could assimilate what was happening, she fell into the abyss of darkness. She felt herself go limp, and then there was nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Five John dragged Genevieve into the boat. She flopped into it like a huge bass. Her face was white, her eyes closed. She wasn’t breathing. “Hang on, Genevieve. I’m not going to let you go. Just hang on,” John cried out to the unconscious woman lying in the boat. Placing his fingers to the side of her throat, he tried to concentrate and feel for a pulse. His own heart was pounding in his chest and vibrating in his ears. “Oh please, my darling, forgive me.” She still had a pulse but she wouldn’t for long if he didn’t do something. What was he to do? He leaned over her, placed his mouth over hers, and breathed into her still chest. Her chest rose with his breath. His heart played staccato rhythm in his throat as he tried to think clearly. With all his might, he attempted to gain control of his emotions, to stop thinking about his life if something happened to take her away from him. Now that he found her, he would not, could not let her go. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and anguish. There were things he wanted to tell her, things he had to keep to himself for now or he would scare her but, if only he could keep her, he would tell her. He would tell her everything. Calm overtook him, and a plan formed in his mind. He would alternating row and breathe his own life force into her. Again, he inhaled deeply and breathed into his beautiful and beloved Genevieve. He repeated the breath, grabbed up the oars, and rowed for all he was worth. He stopped rowing every ten strokes or so to breathe for the love of his life. It seemed to take forever to get back to the pier but, as soon as the boat bumped into its solid mass, he leaped onto the dock with Genevieve in his arms. He laid her on the wooden planks of the wharf on her stomach and straddled over her. With his hands placed firmly on her back, John began rhythmically pressing down and then releasing to fill her lungs with life-giving air. All track of time was lost to him until, at last, he heard her cough and sputter. She moaned but still did not open her eyes. John turned her head just before she promptly threw up lake water along with her dinner onto the dock. No one noticed John’s desperation nor did anyone hear the sound of his voice when he called for help as the fireworks cannoned overhead, taking all eyes skyward. The thundering roar of the display of light drowned out his voice. When he was assured that she was breathing again, John lifted her up in his arms and hurried across the meadow homeward. He called for help as he ran toward the house even though he realized the futility of trying to shout above the noise of the fireworks. “Pop! Mama! Jimmy! Come quick! Genevieve fell in the lake.” The fireworks were a constant thundering sound in his ears as the grand finale took place. John jumped from the ground to the back porch without taking the steps and kicked open the door. “Is anybody here?” he yelled from the kitchen. “I’m here,” said Julia from behind him. “Oh, thank God, it’s you, Julia.” He did not feel the relief he heard in his own voice. His hands shook and electricity sparked along his nerves. “It’s happened. I couldn’t stop it.” “What happened?” Julia ran beside him trying to keep up with his long strides. She opened the door of John and Jimmy’s bedroom then pulled back the covers on John’s bed. “She wanted to know what was wrong with me. She was stubborn about it, wouldn’t let it go.” He placed a knee on the bed and balanced her weight on it. “I just couldn’t tell her. I didn’t know how to say it, couldn’t gather the words together that would explain it. She got mad and stood up in the boat. I think she hit her head on the side of the boat as she went over,” His words seemed to jumble up on each other. His throat tightened and his hands shook in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush of fear. “It’s too soon,” Julia said. John laid Genevieve on the bed and pulled the blanket from the bottom to lay over her. When he had her warmly covered, he sat down on the edge of his bed and ran his long fingers through his disheveled hair, raking it away from his face. He took Genevieve’s cold hand in his and ran his thumb over it before he spoke. “I know. I know.” He looked up at Julia, feeling helpless and sighing. “I just can’t think about all

that right now.” Glancing back at Genevieve, his heart lurched at the sight of her pale face. “I think she’ll be okay. She’s breathing easier. Can you get these wet things off her and get her in Mama’s nightgown while I go get the family?” “Yeah, I can do it. You’ll find your parents and Jimmy are on the hill by the church watching the fireworks. They’ll probably be headin’ home now that the fireworks are about over.” John had to force himself to get up and leave Genevieve to Julia’s care, even if it was just for a few minutes. He turned to Julia just before he exited the room. “Can you take care of her by yourself or do I need to get your granny?” Julia grinned. “Nah, I can do this without Granny’s help. You go on and get your folks.” “You take good care of her, Julia, and I’ll give you a big kiss when I get back,” John said and laughed without mirth. Julia blushed. “Quit teasing me, John.” He shook his head and attempted a grin. “I just can’t help myself with a girl as cute as you.” His tone became solemn as he lifted a wet tendril from Genevieve’s cheek. “You know she means the world to me, but I’m trusting you to take care of her. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” **** Genevieve dreamed that she was floating in darkness. She couldn’t hear or see anything. She couldn’t feel anything. Her mind thundered in her skull. What was happening to her? She was afraid to open her eyes. Where would she be? What time would she find herself in? Would John be there? “It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid,” said a small voice near her. Julia. Thank God. Genevieve opened her eyes slowly and was relieved to find herself back in the familiar room that belonged to John and Jimmy. Sitting on the edge of the bed beside her was Julia, who looked at Genevieve with curious eyes. “I never saw anybody get drowned before. Did it hurt?” Julia settled her back against the foot rail and sat cross-legged watching Genevieve intently. Genevieve attempted to pull herself up but felt too weak to manage. She looked at Julia, panic racing through her veins. “I remember falling out of the boat. All the rest is a blank. Tell me how I got here. What happened?” Julia patted Genevieve’s leg and smiled. “Yeah. You fell out of the boat and probably hit your head on the side. John got you out and squished water out of you. You puked all over the dock.” Julia rolled her eyes. “Then John runned home with you and I helped him put you to bed.” Genevieve looked down at her apparel. She lifted a quizzical brow when she turned her face back to Julia. “Don’t worry, I took off all that wet stuff and put Mrs. Douglas’s nightie on you,” Julia giggled. She looked over at Genevieve’s folded clothes on the dresser. “Where did you get those underwears? You musta got ’em from Mrs. Douglas ’cause they look like old lady stuff.” Genevieve had to laugh at Julia’s comment. “I borrowed them. My things need to be washed.” “You talking about that strange pile of underwears laying over there?” Julia pointed to John’s desk where Genevieve’s underthings lay. She realized that Julia was referring to her silky bra and panties she had bought from a high-end boutique carrying a select line of ladies’ undergarments that were beautiful but very expensive and oh so far in the future. She grasped at the first thing she could think of to say. “I had them specially made.” It was just a little lie. “Holy-gee-hausey-fat, I want me some of them kind when I grow up,” Julia said with admiration.

Chapter Twenty-Six Genevieve raised herself up on her elbows and changed the subject fast. She didn’t want to have to do any more explaining about modern underwear. “Why doesn’t Ruby like you?” Julia’s eyes widened for a moment. She took her eyes from Genevieve and stared at the curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. “Ruby’s afraid of me and my granny. Lots of people don’t want us here. We scare them so they hate us.” Julia brought her eyes up to meet Genevieve’s. “Jimmy is my only friend.” With her strength returning, Genevieve tried to comprehend the information. She pulled herself up into an upright position. “Why would anyone dislike or be afraid of an old lady and a child?” “’Cause they think we’re witches.” Julia wouldn’t look at her. She twisted her hands in her lap and kept her eyes glued to the pocket on the front of her dress. It took self-control for Genevieve to keep from laughing at Julia’s choice of words. How ridiculous to think an old granny and a precocious child could be witches. Small towns were bad enough for spreading gossip, but coming up with something this absurd was just outrageous. “Witches do not exist except in fairytales and Halloween costumes.” Genevieve smiled at Julia. “You’re a delightful child. I’m certain everyone adores you.” She bent forward and touched Julia’s cheek. “You’re a pretty girl, too. Maybe Ruby’s afraid of the competition when you grow up.” They both laughed at the gleeful thought of spoiling Ruby’s man-hunting efforts. “I like you, Evie. You say nice things to me and make me feel good about myself.” Julia nudged Genevieve’s leg with her foot. “You’re a scaredy-cat sometimes, but I like you fine.” She made a face and shook her head. “All the same, me and Granny can do things that scare people. So Ruby don’t like us, and some others don’t like us, too.” She peered at Genevieve and grinned. “Ruby don’t like you for a different reason. She’s jealous ’cause she knows John wants you and that he don’t care nothin’ about her and never has.” Genevieve ignored Julia’s last statement. There was no point in trying to explain grown-up relationships to a child. It warmed her heart that Julia thought John was interested in her as something more than a temporary fling. She smoothed the covers over her hips. “So, what kind of things can you and your granny do?” “Don’t be giving away all your feminine secrets, Julia. Genevieve needs to learn how to catch a man all by herself,” said a male voice from the doorway. Genevieve glanced up to see John leaning against the doorsill, his arms folded across his chest and a wry grin on his face. God only knew how long he’d been standing there without their notice. She cringed to think what he had overheard. Julia jumped off the bed and ran to John. “See, I got her all fixed, just like I said I could and without Granny’s help.” John hugged Julia just as Jimmy and his parents came up behind him. “You did a fine job of it, too,” John said giving her an affectionate squeeze. “You run along now. Your granny’s waiting on the front porch to take you home.” He caught her hand as she moved past him and added, “Thanks, Julia. Thanks for everything.” “You’re welcome,” she said as she let go of his hand and raced out of the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed, and Julia’s voice called from somewhere out in the front yard. “I’ll see ya later, Jimmy.” “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Julia,” Jimmy called after her. Matilda entered the room and stood beside Genevieve’s bed as John sat on the edge of it. Will held John’s violin and mandolin in his hands. He laid them gently on John’s desk upon entering the room and joined Matilda beside the bed. Jimmy sat on the side of his own bed and stared at Genevieve. His mouth began to twitch, and then

erupted into laughter. Genevieve frowned at Jimmy’s laughter. “Why are you laughing? What could possibly be so funny about nearly drowning?” “You look worse than a wet cat. When we passed Mitch Melonuski’s boat rental, he was mopping up the dock. He said you puked up half the lake and maybe some innards all over it.” Genevieve’s hand went to her wet hair. She must have looked a mess. She didn’t feel all that great either. It had been a long day fraught with emotional ups and downs. Nearly drowning hadn’t helped either. “Oh God,” she moaned. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. And I’m sure I do look worse than a wet cat. I hope Mr. Melonuski won’t hold this against me.” John took her hand in his and patted it. “Personally, I think you look mighty pretty even when you’re losing your dinner on Mike’s wharf and your hair is all wet and stuck to your face.” He grinned big and white. “Let her be, John, she’s been through a lot today,” Matilda said. “And, Jimmy, mind your manners.” She ran a hand over Genevieve’s forehead and cheek in a typical motherly fashion checking for a fever. “We were worried about you. That was a close call,” Will put in. “We’re all glad to see that you’re all right now.” He motioned with his hand to Jimmy. “Come on, son, we need to let her rest now. Come with me, and we’ll get you set up in your tent. You need to get some rest for school tomorrow.” “I’ll see ya later, Evie. Good night.” Jimmy stood beside Will at the doorway, waiting for his mother to join them and appearing mighty happy to be housed in his tent once again. “Don’t keep her up, John. She looks awful tired,” Matilda smiled and patted Genevieve’s hand that was covered by John’s. “You sleep well now. I’ll check on you in the morning. John, I put some fresh sheets and a blanket on the couch for you. And here are some dry towels for you, dear.” She laid the fluffy white towels on the foot of the bed. “Goodnight to both of you.” “Goodnight, Matilda. Thank you for being so kind.” “Goodnight, Mama. I’ll see you in the morning before I drive down to Reading to see about that job offer.” He spoke again before his parents exited the room. “And Pop, I’ll take care of that job for you in Bear Gap on my way back, so don’t wait up for me. I’ll be getting back kind of late.” “Be careful, John, working that job alone,” Matilda said. “Stop the worrying, Mama, I’ll be fine. I’ve been working rigging for the traveling opera show every summer for three years all by my lonesome. A little climb up a ladder isn’t gonna kill me.” After his parents left the room and they were alone, John glanced back at Genevieve. “I thought you were a goner there for a few minutes.” He swallowed hard. He looked away from her a moment, but not before Genevieve saw a shadow darken his deep green eyes like a passing cloud. “Well, I’m perfectly fine now, thanks to you.” John’s head quickly turned back to her. Sparks of gold flickered in his eyes and a flush blazed across his cheeks as he scowled at her. “You thank me now, but you wouldn’t listen to me in the boat. Damn it, Genevieve, I told you not to stand up in the boat.” “I know. I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do, but sometimes my temper just gets the best of me and I do stupid things.” “You can say that again.” His face was stern, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Genevieve fought down the need to start a fight. She knew how gut-wrenching fear could turn to anger. Better mad than sad, she had always thought. She took the towel John handed her and started drying her hair. Changing the subject, she asked, “What kind of job are you doing for your father?” “While Pop’s teaching those little hellions to read and write, I’m going to paint the Knolder’s barn. They have a nice place there. It smells like apples all the time. They have an apple orchard there that is just beautiful when it’s in bloom.” A tremor of fear ran through Genevieve. “Isn’t it dangerous going up on a big barn to paint?” She hesitated and bit her lip. “I mean, I heard your mother say to be careful.”

John laughed. He squeezed her hands in a warm, comforting way. “Genevieve, honey, if I spent as much time worrying about what-if’s and possible danger and such the way you do, I’d be afraid to step outside the front door each day.” “I’m just afraid something will happen.” Her chin quivered. Tears stung at the backs of her eyes. She already knew what was going to happen and it wasn’t good. Just thinking about that tragic future moment brought a painful knot to her throat and a shutter of pain to her heart. John leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I know you worry as if the world was on your shoulders,” he whispered to her reassuringly, “but it’s not. I’m not made of glass. I’m not going to shatter and break just because you’re worry that I will. And you’re not fragile either. You’re a strong woman, Genevieve, whether you believe in yourself or not.” John ran his hand down her arm. “I know you couldn’t depend on anyone when you were growing up. I know you didn’t feel loved or cared about. There weren’t many people who were there to comfort you or who were a strength for you to lean on.” He reached up with his hand and lifted her chin so that her eyes would meet his. “I’m sorry for that. But I’m here. You can lean on me. Believe in yourself, Genevieve, and trust in me.” Genevieve couldn’t speak for a moment. She swallowed against the turmoil of emotions boiling inside her. She nodded then drew in a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said simply, just above a whisper. Best to move on to another topic of conversation before she told him how she really felt. “What kind of job are you seeing about in Reading?” “Well now, I’m glad you asked me that. I’m going to see about an engineering job. They’re constructing roads all over the place and they need bridges. I’m an engineer so I figure they might be able to use my help.” She smiled. “You look like the kind of guy who would build bridges.” John laughed. “Bridge builders must be a handsome lot I suspect.” “Don’t go playing arrogant.” Genevieve couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s another job I’m looking into in a couple of weeks. It sounds exciting and more what I’m looking for, but it’s far from here. I know Pop and Mama will be fine without me here, but I like being around them. As much traveling as I’ve done, I know how lonely it can get without family or friends nearby.” Genevieve laughed. “You seem so self-sufficient that I can’t imagine you being lonely.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly then just kept her hand captured in his grasp as he brought it down to rest on his knee. “There is so much you don’t know about me yet. I may not be the kind of man I seem to you. I want a home and a family, a good woman I can love and build a life with, who’ll love me back the same . . . and kids—lots of kids.” Genevieve grew shy as if he had touched on her secret feelings for him. “Where is that job that’s so far away?” “Wilmington, North Carolina, right down there in the South where you come from.” He chuckled. “They’re getting ready to build a drawbridge over the Cape Fear River that separates Wilmington from the mainland.” A light came into his eyes. “Building a bridge like that would be such a challenge and an honor. It’s just what I’m looking for.” Genevieve knew that the fates would deprive John of that opportunity. She gasped with a sudden revelation. Maybe this was the turning point. Maybe if he left right away and went to Wilmington to see about that job, better even, if he got that job, then none of the tragedy about to befall this family would ever happen. “If that’s the job you really want, why bother going to Reading at all? Why not just go straight down to Wilmington and see about the job you really want?” John shook his head and smiled. “Times are hard. We can’t always do just what we want. You see how hard it is for my parents. Pop works two jobs, and Mama is always working from sun up to sun down.

They want their children to have good lives, so they work to give us an education so that we can do just that.” He let go of Genevieve’s hand and rubbed the canvas pants that covered his thigh. “I can’t let them down and I can’t live off of them either. When a job opens, I need to take it. I need to help them put Jimmy through school just like Donald helped them put me through.” “But isn’t it important for you to be happy? Don’t you want to take a job that makes you happy?” John pulled his leg up and rested his ankle on the edge of the bed. His unwavering gaze fell on her when he spoke. “Sure it is, but I need to earn a living to assure my future. I’ll take the Reading job if they want me, and I’ll be happy enough because I can start thinking about that family I want. It’s important to me to show that I’m responsible. No woman wants to get tied up with some no account drifter or a man who isn’t willing to shoulder his responsibilities.” Genevieve understood what he meant, even though she was in no way happy about it. “I understand,” she said simply enough, even though it wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted him to leave before it was too late, but maybe there was another way to thwart the fates. “Good.” He reached out and took up her hand again. “I won’t get to see you tomorrow, but I have some free time Tuesday and I’d like to take you over to Knoebel’s Grove to ride the carousel. After that, I want to take you to Tom Sawyer’s house and listen to WLSM radio. They have a country music hour that you can hear really well after ten o’clock when the reception’s best. Do you mind riding on the motorcycle over the mountain? Do you want to go with me? They’d love to meet you.” She smiled. “Absolutely. I’m not a ’fraidy-cat you know.” John chuckled and squeezed her hands with both of his. “Yeah. I know.” He paused. His gaze fell to her mouth. His eyes darkened. Her heart thundered in her ears as he leaned forward ever so slightly. Moving toward his unspoken invitation, she met him halfway. “Mmmm, I like my women willing,” he said right before his mouth came down on hers to claim her. His kiss was slow. He moved his hands up to her shoulders and pulled her closer. One hand ran up the back of her neck and lodged in her hair. Genevieve threw her arms around his neck and held on tight as the kiss deepened. Her muscles went limp. Her heart thumped against her ribcage as if it would jump into her throat. Her pulses quickened, and something deep inside tighten. John pulled back and gazed into her eyes. His eyes were smoky swirls of green and gold. His breath was ragged and fast. “My God, you take my breath away.” He moved in for another kiss and nibbled on her bottom lip. With a smooth slide of his tongue, he tasted her before delving inside in a searching sweep. Genevieve heard his breath quicken to match her own. He pulled away from her. His hands were shaking as they slipped from her hair. A shadow of regret fell across his face. “I better go. I know where this is going to lead. I’m just not certain you’re ready for it.” He smiled and charmed her with his tenderness when he smoothed her face with his hand and ran his thumb across her lips. Genevieve wanted to take his thumb in her mouth to tease him into staying. Emptiness flooded through her when he rose from the bed and walked to the door. He stared at the door for a few moments as if collecting himself. In the space of silence, her blood thrummed in her veins and pounded in her ears. She wanted him to change his mind, to return to her and sweep her into his arms, to declare his feelings of love for her. Her heart stood still when he turned to face her once again. His face was unreadable. When he spoke, he didn’t say the words she longed to hear. He just said, “Sweet dreams, Genevieve.” He closed the door before she had time to reply.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Once again, Genevieve woke up in John’s bed. Once again, she knew exactly where she was and of all the events that had led up to this morning. She could smell the bacon frying and the coffee brewing. She stretched her arms and yawned. A cool breeze fluttered the crisp, white curtains and sunlight dappled the polished wooden floor. Her first thought was of John. Her heart skittered in her chest when she thought of his kiss. Such a man did not exist in her time. Manners were not something she had experienced very often in the bustle of mainstream living. No man had ever treated her with such regard or had made her feel that she was beautiful. She only felt that with John. No one aggravated her more or was quite so pushy or half as charming as Will and Matilda Douglas’s middle son. She could wait to meet the day just knowing that John would be there to share it with her. She threw back the covers and rose to her feet on that happy thought. She heard a soft knock at the door and twirled her way over to open it. Matilda smiled at her from the other side when she opened the door. “Why, you look fit as a fiddle,” Matilda said smiling. “I was worried about you last night. But look at you now. Your cheeks are rosy, your eyes are bright, and there is a definite lightness in your step.” “I feel great. Is there a word better than great because, if there is, than that’s what I am. I must have rebooted my mainframe during the night.” Her hand flew to her mouth, but the words had already escaped. Matilda had a puzzled look on her face. “What?” Genevieve grabbed up Matilda’s hand and pulled her toward the kitchen. “See, there I go. I’m so hungry I can’t even think straight.” She laughed a little nervously. When she got to the kitchen, no one was there. Her heart sank in disappointment. “Where is everybody?” Matilda came up beside her, still holding her hand. “It’s a school day. Will and Jimmy are at the schoolhouse up the road. John left at daybreak to see about a job in Reading and do some work for Will up at Bear Gap.” The disappointment of John’s absence didn’t take away Genevieve’s happiness. This meant she had the entire day to prepare for John’s return and she wanted very much to help Matilda around the house. She would feel more useful if she could repay some of the kindness that this family had shown her. Matilda led Genevieve to the table, let go of her hand and pulled out a chair. “Come and sit down, dear. I saved breakfast for you and made some fresh coffee.” With a tea towel to protect her hands from the heat, Matilda took a covered plate from the warming shelf above the stove and placed it in front of Genevieve. The napkin and flatware were already laid out. She poured a cup of hot coffee and set it beside the plate, then poured another for herself and sat down to drink it while Genevieve ate. “Be careful. That warmer keeps the plate hot for quite some time,” Matilda warned. She poured a dollop of cream and scooped a spoon of sugar into her cup and then stirred. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made some plans for us today. I was so happy knowing that I would get to spend some time with you alone. It’s almost like having a daughter. Because Donald and Ruth live in Pittsburgh, I don’t get to spend much time with Ruth except when they make a special visit. It’s a shame, but Donald has a wonderful job and he can provide for Ruth better where he is.” Genevieve had a mouthful of warm homemade bread with melted butter and chased it with a sip of black coffee. She never knew bread could taste so good. “What kind of plans have you made, Tilly?” She liked testing out Matilda’s nickname. Saying it made her feel more a part of the family. “First, we have a few chores to do around the house, and then I need a little help in the garden. But, after that, I want to go to Lindermuth’s dry goods store and get some material to make you a couple

dresses. You’ll need some new unmentionables, too. John said to tell you that we need to buy you some decent shoes.” John’s humor dispensed by his mother wasn’t lost on Genevieve. She couldn’t help but smile at the reference to her sore feet and pinching shoes. Thank goodness, the loving care of John and his family had led to the return of comfort to her feet. But she wasn’t about to let these good people pay for anything for her. “I have some money,” Genevieve said. She chomped down on some crisp bacon that tasted better than any she had ever eaten before. Maybe everything tasted better, sounded better, and felt better because she was so happy. “It’s not right for me to keep accepting food, shelter, and clothing from all of you like this. I want to hold up my end. You’ve all been so kind to me and given me more than you’ll ever know.” Matilda patted her hand. “I absolutely insist. You save your money for another time. The family has decided to do this for you, and we will not brook interference on the subject.” A taste of richly buttered homemade bread with real butter, not margarine or that plastic-tasting fat free whatever that she usually ate, and a bit of egg over-easy rolled over her palate, and Genevieve sighed with satisfaction. She swallowed the little chunk of heaven in her mouth. “If you will not let me pay, then I insist that you allow me to carry my full share of chores.” Matilda placed a jar of homemade strawberry preserves on the table in front of Genevieve and took a seat beside her with her cup of coffee. “That,” she smiled, “is something I quite willingly allow.” Genevieve picked up the jar of preserves and examined the layer of wax over the top of the jelly at the mouth of the jar. She tapped it with her knife. “What is this wax for?” Matilda laughed. “Haven’t you ever made jams and preserves?” Too busy eating, Genevieve just shook her head. Matilda took Genevieve’s knife and, turning it point down, punctured the wax. It cracked in half and thick red jam welled up around it. It looked like two paraffin icebergs in a sea of red jam. “It’s just a sealant,” Matilda said and knifed the two slabs out of the jar and placed them on the saucer under her cup of coffee. “Oh.” Genevieve dipped into the preserves and slathered it over her bread. She took in a mouthful and was transported to nirvana. “I’m going to get fat here,” she said through a mouthful of jam and bread. “I most seriously doubt it. Are you feeling better after your fall into the lake yesterday? Will and I were worried about your recovery from such a life-threatening event.” She stared at the tabletop for a moment and then lifted her head to peer at Genevieve. “I’ve never seen John so overwrought. And you know, John is never disturbed by anything, at least not so you would know. He keeps his feelings to himself. He teases us and makes us laugh, but there’s more than that going on inside.” She shook her head and laughed a little nervously. “Don’t mind me, Evie, I’m just rambling on.” Genevieve knew that Matilda was upset and concerned for her family and for her. Putting her hand over Matilda’s, Genevieve attempted to comfort the older woman. For a moment, she stopped eating, swallowed and did a mental systems check to make sure she had no side-effects after her near drowning. Smiling, she shook her head. “I feel great. Better than ever. Everything is going to be fine, Tilly.” She was beginning to sound like John with his eternal optimism. In truth, she hadn’t felt so alive—not ever. It seemed that she’d been moving in a daydream all her life up until now. “Tell me about Julia and her granny,” Genevieve said, sloshing down the last of her coffee. Matilda was clearly taken aback. Her eyes grew large and her mouth fell open. She stalled out a minute. “Julia is an orphan. Her parents died when the flu of 1918 hit. She came here to live with her grandmother when she was just a baby. Julia is a sweet child though somewhat misunderstood.” “Ruby said that Julia and her grandmother were witches. Why would she say something like that?” Although she attempted to seem casual when she asked the question, on the inside, her nerves tensed, and her stomach knotted. She swallowed hard and tried to maintain an external composure against the riot of anticipation inside as she waited for Matilda’s answer

Matilda sat back and folded her hands in her lap. She looked at Genevieve as though she were making a study of her. “That Ruby Addison is nothing but trouble,” she sighed heavily. “I see she’s been doing her gossiping again.” She took a deep breath and took her attention from Genevieve to pour herself another cup of coffee. She added a little sugar and a dollop of cream. Genevieve noticed that Matilda’s hands trembled ever so slightly as she carried out this small task. She took a sip of her beverage before making eye contact with Genevieve. “Some of what people say is true. Viola, Julia’s grandmother, can do things that don’t seem natural. Her favorite cat died one day, stung by a nest of wasps while trying to get a bird’s nest. Viola cried a river and took the cat in the house. Next morning, that cat was out there after that bird’s nest again, and the wasps had disappeared.” Matilda smiled weakly. “Now, Viola says it’s not the same cat. She just happened to find a cat roaming around her yard that looked like her old, dead cat. But the town is convinced that it is one and the same as the cat that died the day before.” Genevieve stopped eating. Her full attention was on Matilda. “Can she bring back dead people?” Matilda was horrified. “No. Oh God, no. People have a soul. Once they die, they’re in God’s hands. If you brought them back, their soul wouldn’t come back with them. No. Viola is strange and powerful, but she would never do a thing like that.” Genevieve felt a little disappointed. “What does Julia do that makes people think she’s a witch?” Matilda folded her arms across her chest and relaxed against the back of her chair. “She’s a wonderful child, and she loves my boy, Jimmy. She follows his everywhere. He doesn’t seem to mind most of the time, though.” She looked at Genevieve, smiling. “Julia knows what people are thinking or, at least, it seems that way. Maybe she’s just very sensitive to other people’s feelings. But she always seems to show up at the right time and the right place ready to help. She found John on Mitch’s dock last night when you almost drowned and John needed help.” “Can Julia do anything else?” Genevieve was feeling nervous, as if she had touched on something dangerous. Matilda rose from her chair and started putting things away. “Oh, I don’t know. The things Julia and her grandmother do may just seem magical when, in truth, they’re just ordinary things that can be explained.” Matilda looked out the kitchen window for a few moments. “It’s getting late, and we have a lot to do today.” Genevieve and Matilda spent the better part of the morning washing clothes and hanging them out on the line to dry. They even stripped all the bedclothes off the beds and washed them as well. The clothes lifting in the breeze on the rope lines reminded Genevieve of colorful flags and sails. The lye soap was hard on the hands, but the fresh smells of the linens dried by the sun was so satisfying. While the clothes dried, the two women donned straw hats and canvas gloves to work in the garden. The peas grew up hemp ropes woven into wide square frames and held in place by poles approximately three feet apart. One whole end of the garden was dedicated to peas. Genevieve imagined that peas were a family favorite. There were tomatoes that would be ripe in a week or two. Squash, green beans, watermelon, kale, beets, potatoes, and eggplant grew in abundance. Matilda stood up and relaxed her back as she leaned on the handle of her hoe. She smiled at Genevieve. “When canning time comes, we’ll certainly have our work cut out for us. It looks like it’s going to be quite a crop this year. I better buy more jars and lids when we go to Lindermuth’s today.” Genevieve felt warm to be included in Matilda’s little word, we. She wished she knew if she were going to be here when Matilda’s crops were ready for harvest, but she knew the likelihood of that was remote at best. “I probably won’t be here for that. But, if I am, I’ll be glad to help.” Her heart ached a little at the thought of not being here. It was getting harder and harder to think about returning to her life in the distant future. “I certainly hope you won’t leave us.” Matilda looked away from Genevieve for a moment and gazed at the graveyard beside her house. When she glanced back at Genevieve, she laughed. “I’m going to put

everyone to work, but we’ll have fun, too. It’s hard work but, in the dead of winter when the wind is howling around the house and there’s snow up to your knees, there is nothing better than some good, hot vegetable soup.” “That’s what you made the first day I was here.” Genevieve remembered it fondly. “That’s right. I did make vegetable soup that day. It was the last of last year’s harvest.” She lifted her head and squinted at the noonday sun. “I think we ought to call it quits for now, get cleaned up a little and go up to Lindermuth’s. I’d like to get back before Will and Jimmy get home. I still have dinner to cook for tonight. I’d like to make rice cakes, but Jimmy hates them. What do you think? We still have time to put a chicken in to roast.” They put their gardening equipment away in the shed by the garden and walked back to the house, chatting about what they would make for dinner and what they needed from Lindermuth’s store. It was ordinary talk, but to Genevieve, it was a little piece of heaven. It was like talking to a mother, and that was something Genevieve would treasure when she returned to her own time. She would remember it always.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Genevieve felt uneasy as they approached the curve in the road. What would happen? Would they see the hotel with her Forester parked in the gravel driveway? Would Matilda fade away like a ghost? If she found herself alone in her own time, would Genevieve be able to return to this time, or would the gates of time be closed to her forever? As they rounded the curve, Matilda took Genevieve’s hand in her own. “Don’t worry, Evie, I’m sure your feet will be fine in those old shoes, and we’ll find you some nice ones once we get to Lindermuth’s. I promised John we’d buy something suitable and we will, So don’t worry.” Genevieve’s heart was lodged in her throat. She didn’t think she would be able to breathe past the huge knot it created between her vocal cords. She couldn’t speak. Fear rolled over her body to every inch of her existence creating ragged nerves and pain behind her eyes. All she could do was nod dumbly and try to keep from trembling. “Ah, see now, we’re almost there.” Matilda let go of Genevieve’s hand and waved to a woman standing on the long, wooden porch of the store across the road from Sealy’s hotel. Sealy’s was different from its future establishment. The same wooden sign bore its name out front but the building was somewhat different. It didn’t have fancy black shutters, and it was painted white. There was a dirt parking lot, not gravel, and it was much smaller than the one in the future. There was a hitching post out front to tie horses to. A couple of horses stood tied to the post even now, and a Model A was parked just off the dirt road that ran past the establishment. Matilda hurried Genevieve along, practically dragging her along behind her. “Hello, Viola,” Matilda called to the elderly woman standing on the porch. Relief flooded Genevieve’s body as they rushed past Sealy’s toward Lindermuth’s general dry goods store. She was okay. Everything was okay. Matilda hadn’t disappeared, and they were still in 1927. Maybe she wouldn’t have to return to her own time, at least for now. Maybe she could stay here and live among these wonderful people a little longer. She knew she would have to leave some time though. This was not where she belonged. Some unnatural thing had brought her here and it would eventually take her away. She just prayed that she would have enough time to do what she had determined she needed to do—save John from death and his family from despair. Matilda started talking to the elderly woman as soon as they approached the store where she stood. “Viola, how good to see you. I’m so glad to meet you here.” Matilda turned toward Genevieve and pulled her gently forward. “This young woman is our guest visiting us from North Carolina. You may remember seeing her at church yesterday. And there was that little upset in the lake afterwards.” She seemed to be talking nervously. “Julia was such a help to us. This is our lovely guest, Genevieve Marie Beaumont.” She turned to Genevieve. “I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Viola Renquest, Julia’s grandmother.” Genevieve’s hand flew to her heart. Viola appeared so familiar. She looked so much like the Julia of the future, the one she had met in the alteration shop that day. There was such a strong family resemblance that it astonished Genevieve. But mostly Genevieve noticed the starling blue of Viola’s eyes. They pierced into her mind and seem to see her through and through. “I’ve heard so much about you from my granddaughter. I’m glad to finally meet you, Miss Beaumont.” She extended a hand to Genevieve as she and Matilda mounted the two steps onto the porch. Genevieve clasped hands with Viola and felt the burn of her touch run through her. She pulled her hand away quickly. “My goodness, there must be some static electricity in the air.” She took a little breath. “Please, just call me Genevieve or Evie.” Viola laughed. “It’s probably from my satin petticoat.” She led them inside the dark, quiet store. The store had an old plank floor and heavy oak cabinets with glass display windows. There were barrels containing peanuts, potatoes, beans, and other staples. A huge wheel of cheese sat on the counter top next to a cash register that looked more like an old-fashioned typewriter. There was no scanner, and there was

no instrument to slide in a debit card or a credit card. This was because there were no credit cards. Maybe that was a good thing. Of the many fragrances, Genevieve could make out the pleasant smell of coffee beans, oranges, ripe apples, old wood, and vinegar. She looked around the spacious interior and noticed a pleasant looking woman of a rotund nature standing on a stool, cleaning one of the long windows with what appeared to be vinegar water and a soft rag. The woman turned around when they entered and smiled. “Is there anything I can help you with, ladies?” Matilda smiled back at her. “You go on about your work, Theodora. We’ll find everything ourselves.” The woman nodded and turned back to her window washing, allowing the three women roam about the store on their own. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be glad to help you when you need me to.” “What brings you to Lindermuth’s today?” Viola asked as she made her way to the kitchen utensils, which were toward the back of the store near a row of three windows that looked over the hillside and gave a beautiful view of the rolling mountains surrounding the valley. Matilda followed her and picked up two boxes of mason jars and two boxes of lids. She carried them to the counter where a young man was checking out another customer. She laid them on the counter and walked back to where Genevieve and Viola stood. “Besides some canning jars and lids, we’re here to buy some material for some dresses for Genevieve, and some comfortable shoes.” “But not ugly,” put in Genevieve who could not forget Ruby, the town fashion plate. Viola smiled. “There is nothing like a new dress or two to brighten low spirits, is there?” She glanced at the colorful cottons and delicate silks on huge bolts across the room with what looked to Genevieve like longing. “I made Julia some little dresses out of flour sacks two weeks ago. They’re sweet little dresses and she was as happy as a trout swimming upstream. Ribbons made all the difference.” She examined a ladle and a sieve in the light from the windows before laying them back down and heading toward the bolts of material walking just behind Genevieve and Matilda. She smiled at Genevieve. “The price of everything is so dear we must all do what we can with what we have.” In Genevieve’s mind, the old lady seemed harmless and ordinary enough. Whatever made anyone think she was a witch? She surveyed the room and caught people here and there staring at Viola. Well, it was a small town after all, without much excitement for the townfolk to do except sit in their rockers, think up ridiculous stories, and exchange gossip. She liked Viola. The elderly woman seemed to have an unerring way of understanding just what Genevieve needed. She was sensitive and kind. Genevieve saw how much she loved her granddaughter and the patience she exhibited toward the young girl. And Genevieve cared very much about Viola’s granddaughter. Julia was sweet and friendly to Genevieve. Like her grandmother, she seemed to sense just what Genevieve needed and was generous enough to do what she was able to help Genevieve, who was secretly adjusting to this life and her situation in it. Genevieve disliked the way some people in the store stared at Viola, who seemed oblivious to them. She narrowed her eyes at the gawkers in silent warning to leave the old woman be. People seemed to get the message because they turned their attention back to their purchases and to minding their own business, at least for the time being. Viola smiled at Genevieve. “I must be going now. I still have dinner to fix before Julia gets home from school. It was so nice to meet you at last, Genevieve. Julia thinks the world of you.” She held Genevieve’s gaze. “I’d love for you to come and visit with me some time. In fact, I would love for both you and Matilda to come tomorrow for lunch.” She turned her attention to Matilda. “I’m glad I ran into the two of you today. It’s so pleasant to see an old friend like you, Tilly, dear.” She took up one of Matilda’s hands and one of Genevieve’s. Again, Genevieve felt the static from Viola’s satin petticoat. “Good-bye, ladies. It was good to meet you, Genevieve. Tilly, you bring this delightful young woman with you when you come visit with me. I’ll see if I can make a nice pie. Don’t forget tomorrow at noon. Genevieve, if you have the time, I would truly love a visit, and if you’re there

when Julia is out of school, I know she would be very happy to see you, too.” “I will make the time, ma’am. I look forward to it.” Genevieve gave the electric hand a gentle squeeze to emphasize her enthusiasm. Matilda watched Viola exit the store and then turned back to Genevieve. “We best get our business done and hurry on home, too.” She pulled out a couple bolts of material and showed them to Genevieve. “I think this blue with tiny yellow flowers and that lovely pink cotton will do well.” Genevieve nodded her approval. “I agree. They’re both lovely. Here, let me carry those.” She took the bolts from Matilda, laid them on the counter beside the jars, and joined her at the shoe section. “I wish you would let me pay for these things. I have money, and it doesn’t feel right to burden you with my needs.” Matilda smiled with pink cheeks glowing. “Nonsense. Having you with us is like having a daughter of my very own.” She patted Genevieve on the arm. “You bring us all such joy. Will and I just want to do a little something for you. If my Jimmy or John were away from home, I would want someone to treat them with kindness, too.” Genevieve squeezed Matilda’s hand and looked away before Matilda could see her eyes water with emotion. She picked up a pair of pink shoes with one-inch heels and pretended to examine them. “I’ve never really had parents. I wouldn’t know what that was like. There’s an unconditional love I see in you and Will for your children that makes me want it for myself.” She held tight to the shoes to get a grip on her feelings before she made a spectacle of herself in front of everyone. Matilda took the shoes from her hands with a little difficulty since Genevieve clung to them tightly. “It’s all right, Evie. In this short time, we have come to see you as our family. You don’t have to feel sad any more.” Matilda set the pink shoes back on the table. “Okay now, let’s get serious about finding you some proper shoes. Maybe we should get something practical and comfortable that will look good with anything.” Genevieve ran the backs of her hands down her cheeks to wipe away the tears that had escaped. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She glanced at Matilda and smiled. “Thank you.” Genevieve tried on several pair of shoes and settled for some comfortable, brown walking shoes. She felt satisfied that she had made some wise choices this day. No more sore feet or embarrassing fashion mistakes. A few minutes after Viola left the store, Genevieve and Matilda settled with the store attendant for their purchases and headed back down the road toward home. Home. That’s exactly what it felt like to Genevieve. It was the place and the people she had searched for all her life. Now she had found it and them but, unfortunately, it was the wrong time. Her time was years into the future. She took a deep breath and made herself stop thinking about it. For now, she was here and she had a reason to be here. No matter what happened later, she was here to save John. These people deserved to be happy, and she was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. She hoped with all her heart she could stay awhile and enjoy this life just a little longer. **** By the time Will and Jimmy got home, Genevieve and Matilda had taken in the wash, made supper, and started on a dress for Genevieve. Jimmy was as happy as a lark in spring and bursting with youth and energy. As soon as dinner was finished, he begged Genevieve to come outside and watch him exercise Sky Chief. He had the hawk tethered on a long cord. From his gloved arm, the bird perched, looking attentive and sharp-eyed. Genevieve was amazed at the skill Jimmy had in keeping the rapture under control. He spoke softly to it and kept his movements slow and deliberate. Jimmy looked at the hawk with unmistakable pride and affection. “Okay, everybody, here goes.” He

flung the hawk into the sky and, for a heart stopping moment, it seemed that the bird faltered. Genevieve sucked in a breath but was relieved to see the hawk right itself and fly upward. She thought the hawk looked rather like a kite flying from a long string. Genevieve silently agreed with Will that the Hawk was well enough to be set free. Jimmy had become attached to it and it was obvious that he struggled about letting it go. Will brought up the subject of Sky Chief’s release after Jimmy put the bird back in its cage, and they headed back toward the house. “In two weeks, you have to let Sky Chief go, Jimmy,” Will said firmly. “But I don’t think he’s ready, Pop.” There was a little tremor in his voice. Will stopped and turned to his son. He laid his hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “He’s a wild thing. Can’t you see he’s suffering, Jimmy? He wants to be with his own kind, to be free to fly.” He took a deep breath and kept his eyes on his son. His words were quiet but firm. “He has a destiny just like you, and you’re interfering with it. Two weeks, son, and you will let him go.” Jimmy’s chin fell to his chest. “Yes, sir.” It was heart wrenching to see the boy so sad though there was nothing Genevieve could do. There were things in life that would be harder than letting a bird have back its freedom. Will was kind to give Jimmy notice that he was going to have to do something difficult so that Jimmy could prepare himself for the inevitable. Genevieve would have to do the same when the time came for her to leave. After they returned to the house and Jimmy to his tent, Genevieve took the long, tin tub hanging from a nail by the back door and, with Will’s help, set it in her borrowed room. She heated water on the stove and made herself a pleasant bath. The hot water soothed her aching muscles and raw nerves. Slowly, she began to grow quiet and peaceful, lingering in her bath. She thought about John. She missed him. Her day could have been even better if he had been there. He was a grown man with work to do though. She knew that. And she respected that about him. Everyone worked hard in this era of America. She had read so much about the gap between the poor and the rich. Most Americans were poor, but they worked together as a community to help one another. There were no welfare programs and no social security, either. People struggled to survive, but from what she saw, they didn’t think about being poor or about their hardships. They carried on and accepted things the way they were. No moping or whining allowed. In fact, they seemed happy, and their days were filled with purpose. She knew that in just a couple years, the crash on Wall Street would come. It was a painful time, but it would usher in the great American middle class, the class of strength and resilience. She closed her eyes, leaned her head on the back of the tub, and recalled John’s kisses and his words, so irreverent and so endearing. He made her laugh. He even made her laugh at herself. She remembered his hands messaging the healing salve into her feet and how those hands had felt on her skin. She wondered what those hands might feel like on her if he were making love to her. The very thought of him touching her made her shiver with excitement. His kisses had sent desire shrieking through her to the secret confines of her being. Never had any man made her feel the way he did. She became beautiful in his arms. Whenever he was near, she was confident that she could do anything. He made her believe that everything was going to be all right, that she was safe and all that she loved was out of harm’s way. But when she was alone, she knew that none of that was true. The day would soon be upon her when he would go fishing and his life would be in the balance. If only the fates or a guardian angel or God would allow her to be here long enough to stop that, she would be willing to leave, willing to give up all that she loved in the knowledge that he was alive, and everyone would live out their lives the way they should. Genevieve hoped with all her heart that God would grant her that one wish.

Chapter Twenty-Nine The dreams came as they did almost every night, but this time, Genevieve found herself in an unfamiliar place. There were long, white curtains flowing like sails in a warm breeze from long windows. She could make out everything in the room in the early light of dawn. The bedroom was huge and well appointed. Double French doors led out from the bedroom onto a balcony. She could smell the jasmine on the gentle wind, stretched lazily, and closed her eyes. She shivered slightly and snuggled against the warmth against her back. An arm curled around her and pulled her close. She felt comfortable and relaxed between the world of dreams and wakefulness. Somewhere near, perhaps in the next room, she heard a child crying and felt that she should get up and find out why. She started to sit up when a hand gently pushed her back down into the pillows. She felt the weight next to her shift as the man got up and she heard the gentle sounds of his bare feet going into a room near by. A little while later, a deep, beautiful voice began to sing “Beautiful Dreamer.” The baby stopped crying, but the voice continued to sing the words to the old song. Beautiful dreamer, Wake unto me, Starlight and dewdrops, Are waiting for thee. Sounds of the rude world, Heard in the day, Led by the moonlight, Have all passed away. Why, that was John singing, but his voice was close to her ear. He sang the last few lines softly. Beautiful dreamer Awake unto me Beautiful dreamer, Awake unto me. She wasn’t asleep now. Genevieve smiled dreamily. She turned her face toward the sound of the voice and opened her eyes. John’s dark green eyes, only inches from her as he knelt beside the bed, were looking at her in a way that made her blood rush. “Good morning, Genevieve,” he said quietly in the stillness of the early gray light just as the day was about to break. A bird was singing somewhere nearby a sweet, cheerful song. In the uninhibited moment between dream and wakefulness, Genevieve boldly laced her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I was dreaming about you, and you were singing that song.” He sat down beside her without moving from her embrace. He pulled her up into a sitting position and ran his hand through her hair. “Now that’s what I like to hear. What were we doing? Were we naked?” he asked seductively and chuckled softly. Genevieve flushed. What a picture he created. There was no way she was going to tell him that he had been in bed with her in her dream. Of course, maybe she only thought it had been John. “You were just singing. That’s all.” He moved back from her enough so that they could gaze at each other, and he toyed with a strand of her hair. Then he grinned. “Well, if I could have any say about it, I would have us naked and cavorting in the sheets.”

Genevieve broke eye contact and blushed, but she was speechless. Nothing clever came to her mind. The only thing that did come to mind was a vision of them making love in those twisted sheets and she sure wasn’t going to comment on that. God, he got her all stirred up. Was he doing that on purpose? She was very sure that he was and that he was probably enjoying every moment of her discomfiture. He brought her face around to peer at him. The sun was coming up and it shone on the angles and plains of his face, making it golden and setting his auburn hair on fire where it fell over his brow. She reached up and lifted his hair back but she didn’t speak. He was too beautiful for words. “Hmmm. I should wake you every morning. But, most unfortunately, I must go. I have a job to do today, but I’ll be back this afternoon to take you to the amusement park.” He pulled her close. Her head rested on his shoulder. He kissed the crown of her head. “God, I hate leaving you.” He tilted her head back and brought his lips down to hers. The back of her head rested in the palm of his hand as he touched her lips with his. The kiss was slow at first. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and, when she opened to him, he dove into her mouth and assaulted her senses. He ran his hands down her shoulders to her waist and back up again. He cupped her breast in his hand and ran his thumb across her nipple. Excitement soared like electricity through her. She felt herself leaning into the kiss, into his hands. She opened her eyes to see the smoky swirls of golden fire in his bottle-green eyes. His breath caught and became ragged. He pulled away abruptly and rested his brow on hers, catching his breath. “My God, how I want you, Genevieve. But this is not the time or the place.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t want to mess this up.” “But I . . .” Genevieve started to speak, started to tell him how much she wanted him, too, and how much she had grown to love him, but he put his finger to her lips to silence her. “It’ll keep, Genevieve. I hate this, but I have to go now or I’ll be late.” He kissed her on the forehead and rose from the bed. He clasped her hand as if reluctant to break touch with her. Then, without another word, he turned from her and walked out of the room. To Genevieve, the room seemed so empty now. Her body tingled where his hands had been. She played repeatedly in her mind the last few minutes and committed it all to memory. She would never forget how John sounded when he sang and when he spoke so softly to her. Nor would she ever forget what it felt like to be in his arms or how his hands felt on her body when he caressed her. And never would she forget his kiss that powered up all of her senses and made her want him as she had never wanted anyone or anything in all her life. She rolled over and pulled the covers up. She wasn’t ready to let go of him just yet. She allowed herself to doze off, remembering him as he had been just a few short minutes ago. He came to her in her dreams. There was music and a carousel—a wildly painted carousel with horses leaping and running around and around on their golden poles and moving up and down to the music. Genevieve found herself laughing as John lifted her onto a white stallion with its mane flying in the wind frozen in position by an artist. She straddled the horse, sitting on the painted wooden saddle with her legs on either side, caressing the wooden sides of the horse. Her dress, the blue one with the tiny yellow flowers that she and Matilda had just made, rode up above her knees in wild abandon. She threw her head back and let the wind catch her hair lifting it off of her shoulders. John stood beside her with his long fingers wrapped around her ankle. His touch burned with promise up her leg, into the deep core of her being and into her heart. He looked up at her as the horse moved up the pole and he smiled his charming, white smile. Then, he bent his head and kissed her knee. If they hadn’t been in public, she would have leaped from the horse straight into his arms, ready to abandon herself to his every touch. Instead, she peered at him, allowing her emotions to show in her eyes, and she reached out her hand to touch his cheek. John became suddenly serious. He met her eyes with what looked like concern, or maybe it was regret.

“Do you remember the rest?” he asked. She felt dizzy and confused. Why would he ask such a question? She trembled but she didn’t understand why. Was she afraid? Genevieve gasped as she awoke to the bright morning light. She had to remind herself that this had all been a dream. She looked around the room, taking note that everything was the same. Jimmy’s books and John’s camera were as they had always been. The sunlight caressed John’s violin case. It reminded Genevieve of what would be in its secret confines years from now.

Chapter Thirty Genevieve helped Matilda around the house most of the day. They scrubbed floors and washed windows with vinegar and water. They made a potpourri of dried rose petals, lavender, and cloves that they placed in simple salt sacks Matilda had saved and hung the sweet-smelling sacks in the outhouse. They also washed the wooden seat with lye soap. The sawdust Will and John had poured into the pit over the waste helped immensely to lesson the odor. Genevieve was satisfied that all their efforts had made such a pleasant difference. With all that they had to do, the day still moved too slowly to suit Genevieve. When Will and Jimmy came home for lunch, she noted the empty chair at the table next to hers where John was accustomed to sitting. She missed the way he teased her, the way he made her laugh; the way he made her blush. She worried over him. Would he be okay? Would he have one of his unexplainable moments when he seemed to be out of his body and fall from some roof while he was painting? No, no . . . that’s not how it would happen. Genevieve knew how it would happen. It wasn’t long now until that day would come, when he would go down to Roaring Creek to go fishing with his friends, and then he would be no more. Genevieve’s heart contracted in a painful knot in her chest. She determined more than ever before that she would not let it happen. Somehow, she was going to be there and, swim or not, she was going to pull him from that water and his fate. She didn’t care if she woke up in the future back in her quietly stagnant life without him. It would all be worth it if she could save him, if she could change his destiny. She would be happy knowing that he lived and got a chance to marry, have children, and grow old like he should. She wasn’t fond of the idea that Ruby might be the one he married and had children with. In fact, the very thought of him touching Ruby or kissing her made her blood rise. She tried to reason with her jealous heart. He would live and that was the most important thing, even if he chose that painted, wanton hussy Ruby. The day wore on. Genevieve and Matilda had supper on the stove. Matilda had taught Genevieve how to make bread, and Genevieve was eager to show John her newfound skill. When would he ever return? Will and Jimmy returned from school. Will was helping Jimmy construct a lily pool in the yard beside the grove of birch trees that defined the property line. Sky Chief preened his feathers as he watched them working from his perch. He had a cord tied to his leg to keep him from flying away, but he had enough length from the cord to move about the perch with ease. Jimmy’s pillow and blankets were hanging on the clothesline to air out in the mild breeze that whispered through the nearby pines. Genevieve caught the pungent sent of the pines off the breeze from time to time as she sat on the porch, watching Will and Jimmy work while she cooled off from the hot kitchen. She had washed up, brushed her hair, and donned her new blue dress and her comfortable shoes. There was nothing to do now but wait . . . and wait. The sun was lowering in the sky. Its brilliant light, now fading, threw a rosy-yellow glow to everything. Growing anxious about John, Genevieve had decided to go out to the road to see if she could see him coming. She noticed that his motorcycle was standing by the side of the house. He must have walked the six miles to Catawissa. Because he was walking, it would take him longer to get home. She supposed he decided to walk so that he wouldn’t wake anyone when he left early that morning. Remembering those moments this morning when he had held her, caressed her and kissed her, made her blood rush. She wished she knew how to drive his motorcycle so that she could ride out to meet him. She walked to the dirt road and faced northwest toward Catawissa. The sun was almost setting. She felt like a kid waiting for Santa Claus. Where was he? Was he ever going to come? Then she saw him. There he was in a splash of golden light. He was too far away to see his features,

but John was walking toward her. She could not help herself. She had to run to him. He must have seen her kicking up the dust as she hurried toward him because he stood waiting for her with his arms spread wide, ready to welcome her. When she reached him, she saw the smile emblazoned on his face. Giggling like a fool, she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. He gathered her up and swung her around, laughing along with her. Genevieve buried her nose in his shirt at his neck and breathed in his special fragrance. He smelled of sweat, turpentine, paint, and his own unique scent that was like the sun warming the pine boughs. When he set her down again, she looked up into his eyes that glittered in the twilight. She saw the tenderness there, and she had never seen anyone look at her that way in her entire life. John ran his knuckles down her cheek after he set her back on the road. “You look mighty pretty,” he whispered. He took one step back from her and looked her over from head to toe. “I see you and Mama have been busy making a mighty fetching outfit.” He lifted a brow as he took in her shoes. “Good to see you’re using a little common sense now with your footwear.” She frowned and squinted at him just a wee bit perturbed that he had ruined the moment. “Why you . . .” But she didn’t get to finish her tirade because his lips covered her mouth, and he delivered a deep, penetrating kiss that had her feeling warm and liquid when he finished. He slipped an arm around her and walked toward the house. Then, he chuckled softly. “Now I know how to shut you up.” Genevieve gave him a little swipe with her hand to his arm and pursed her lips in a little pout. “You’re starting to make me mad. You just. . .” He stopped walking and laughed as he peered down at her. “You must want me to shut you up again.” “Of all the. . .” He swooped down with a kiss that made her breath hitch. She noticed with glee as he drew her close that his breath was short and rapid, too. Good. After he made her knees weak and her heart race, he set her from him. Laughing, he said, “Now that’s it, darlin’. You better behave and mind what you do.” His eyes twinkled merrily, and his grin put the sun to shame. “I see what your game is here. You’re just trying to see how many times I can kiss you before we get to the kitchen door and Mama puts a stop to it. But I’m cutting you off right now. Even though I’m tired and sweaty and don’t really want to mess up your brand new dress, if you don’t stop, I’m going to drag you off into that little crop of pines over there and show you what else I can do besides just kiss you.” They were both laughing when they got to the kitchen door. He had his hand on her shoulder as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. He spoke softly in her ear. “I’m going to take a bath in our room now. After supper, we’re going to go have some fun.” Then he disappeared with a bucket of hot water from the stove. Our room. It sounded so intimate. Genevieve’s hand flew to her chest as if that would make her out-ofcontrol heart rate slow down.

Chapter Thirty-One The night air was cool as they drove toward the amusement park. Genevieve wrapped her arms around John’s waist and laid her cheek against his back. Occasionally, John would let go of the handlebar and laid his hand over hers. Something inside her coiled with anticipation, ready to spring free at a mere touch from him. She pulled her shawl closer to ward off the brisk wind created by the motorcycle that sped them down the road. She knew that he was singing something because she could feel the vibrations on her cheek. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but it didn’t matter because it just felt good that he seemed happy and was singing. A phrase or two would come to her on the wind. She was certain it was the song he had written for her. Just down the road, she could see that the sky lit up with a thousand colored lights and laughter rose up in the air as they entered the park. Genevieve’s heart beat faster in anticipation and excitement. John held the bike as she dismounted and booted the kickstand in place. As they started to walk toward the well-worn path to the gate, Genevieve stopped and took his elbow in her hand. “Aren’t you going to lock up your motorcycle? Somebody might steal it.” He laughed. “Most people around here couldn’t ride away on it if they wanted to because they don’t know how to drive it. Besides, honey, no one around here would steal something that doesn’t belong to him.” He took her hand and started back toward the gate to the park where excitement gleamed in bright gaslights and happy voices. Their progress was slow as they made their way past the gate and onto the grounds. Everyone seemed to know John. People here and there greeted him or waved in a friendly manner. Some would call out, “I see you brought your girl with you,” and others would say, “Good to see the two of you tonight.” “What have you told these people?” Genevieve asked as John took her arm and led her to a booth. John shrugged. “I might have told of few people about you.” The booth displayed wooden replicas of milk bottles that were stacked in pyramids, and Genevieve saw that the idea was to throw the heavy looking wooden ball at the pyramids and knock them over. Sure enough, John gave the man running the booth a coin and picked up the ball. He looked down at Genevieve and smiled. “Look around at the prizes and pick something out you want, honey, and I’ll try like blazes to get it for you.” The man in the booth laughed. “John ain’t hit nothing since he was twelve, ma’am, but maybe tonight, with a vision like you standin’ beside him, he could hit the back wall or something.” He and John both laughed and Genevieve joined in. John winked at her. “Maybe you ought to set your sights on that tiny little piggy bank over there on the bottom shelf, Genevieve. I have to say Pete here is telling the God’s truth. I can’t hit the side of a barn with a baseball and never could.” He smiled at her suggestively. “My talents lie elsewhere.” He grinned that white grin of his and turned to concentrate on the pyramid of bottles waiting for him. After missing the stack three times, John turned to Genevieve. “Well, honey, it’s not for lack of trying. Now I’m sure my luck’s enough just having you here with me.” “You’re quite a charmer, Mr. Douglas, but I’m on to you. I see you stink at pitching. Why don’t you pay Pete over there and let me have a crack at it? Pete, those bottles aren’t nailed together, are they?” Genevieve asked. Pete and John laughed in unison. Pete demonstrated that the bottles were not connected in any way by knocking them over and putting them back together. He smiled happily as he took John’s money. John handed Genevieve three balls and grinned. “Now don’t you go hurting anybody with those things, darlin’.” Genevieve elbowed him aside. “Just stand back and watch this, boys.” Genevieve laid the balls in a neat row on the ledge of the booth, rubbed her hands together to warm them, and blew on them for luck. She

picked up the first ball in her right hand, wound up and took aim before she threw it at the pyramid. The ball hit the center and sent the wooden bottles clattering to the ground. “Bet you can’t do that again,” John said. “What are you betting?” Genevieve asked smiling. “Vinegar fries.” “What in the world are those? Sounds disgusting.” She frowned at John. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had French fries with vinegar splashed on them. What are you betting?” He peered into her eyes, his own blazing green and gold and lifted a corner of his mouth in a seductive smile. “I’m betting I’ll be eating some disgusting French-fries,” she replied laughing. “Come on. Put up or shut up.” “I’ll bet one kiss I can follow up that throw and knock these bottles down two more times. John and Pete exchanged a manly look between them. John turned to Genevieve grinning like a tooth fairy. “You best pucker up those pretty lips, honey, ’cause I feel like I’m betting on a sure thing.” Pete joined him chortling like two fools. “All right, boys, here goes.” Genevieve threw another ball and bottles flew again. She looked over the counter at Pete, who was busy picking up bottles from the ground. “Do you want to get in on the action before I throw the last ball, Pete?” Pete looked up with an affirmation written all over his face but John interceded before Pete could answer. “Whoa there, honey, I’m not exactly in the mood for sharing in those kisses I’m about to receive.” “That was just one kiss, mister, and I can bet whatever I choose with whomever I choose to bet. So back off and give me some elbow room.” John took one step back and spoke to Pete. “I guess I have my orders.” The two of them laughed as Genevieve prepared for her final shot. Genevieve faked a yawn, rolled back her arm, and slung out the last ball. She jumped up and down laughing when the bottles made a loud racket hitting the floor. By this time, a little crowd had gathered to watch and all the ladies shouted with joy as Genevieve threw her arms up in a victory stance. The men grumbled and patted John on the back in sympathy. “I’m going to call you on those French fries you bet, John. And Pete, I’ll take that gigantic piggy bank on the top shelf over there.” With a look of sympathy on his face, Pete handed the huge bank that looked like a pig that had walked through a paint factory to John. John turned to Genevieve with one of his charming grins on his face. “I think the least you could do is give me that kiss just for taking your guff.” The crowd shouted its approval of John’s request. A shout of, “Go on lady. Give him a kiss,” came from somewhere in the crowd. “He deserves a little something,” came from another man behind John. Some of them whistled approval of John’s request and others clapped their hands. Genevieve felt elated and victorious. She looked around the crowd. “Well, ladies, what do you think? Should I give this guy a kiss or not?” “Go on give it to him,” one lady shouted. “He deserves it,” shouted another. “Make him wait,” cried another. She looked at John and smiled broadly. “Come on then and I’ll give you a kiss as a consolation prize.” John sat the big pig bank on the ground, took Genevieve in his arms before she could say a word of protest, and kissed her full on the mouth in earnest exploration. Then the kiss grew into something neither of them expected. Genevieve felt like he was igniting her with hot flames. She wound her arms around his neck and leaned into it. She guessed from the hitch in his breathing, that John was as ignited by the kiss as she was. The crowd clapped and cheered, bringing Genevieve back to her senses. There were hoots and whistles that made her blush. John looked out over the crowd. “Excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, but we must go

now. I believe I owe the lady some vinegar fries.”

Chapter Thirty-Two Genevieve had to admit that vinegar fries were good, or maybe they just seemed good because of the happy atmosphere. She and John sat on a wooden bench sharing the fries as they watched people stroll by. John told her little anecdotes about each person who hurried along before them on the way to one of the rides or to try their skills at a game or those that stopped to greet them. She felt as though she was beginning to know the whole of the county after about twenty minutes. When they finished their fries, John got up, took Genevieve’s hand, and pulled her up beside him. He crumpled up the paper funnel their fries had been in and tossed it into a wire wastebasket. He took her in tow beside him, hurrying with purpose toward the sound of music. “Come with me, Genevieve, I want to show you something that I know you’re going to love.” In the clearing, just ahead, was the most beautiful sight Genevieve had seen in a very long time. It was a carousel of brightly painted horses with flying manes and tails carved to look as if the horses were galloping in the wind. Each horse was different with ornate bridles and saddles, some decorated with sparkling jewels and others with garlands of flowers. The platform of colorful steeds whirled around as the horses moved up and down on their golden poles. What sounded like real organ music played happily to the movement of the horses. “Look at those electric lights, Genevieve. They make the whole world brighter, don’t they?” John was clearly in awe of the technology that brought about this happy sight. It’s you who makes the world brighter. “How magnificent it is. I’ve never seen anything to compare to this.” She followed John over to the man who stood at the ticket booth. He purchased two tickets and walked to the side of the carousel, where they waited for their turn with a few other people who were all chatting and laughing with one another. John greeted those that he knew well by name. They, in turn, greeted Genevieve as if they had known her all their lives. They exchanged news about whose crops did well last year and what the chances were they would do it again, the weather and how uncertain and unreliable it could be, who had electricity in their houses and indoor plumbing, and most importantly, who was going to Tom Sawyer’s house to listen to WSLM tonight. The carousel stopped. Some of the riders disembarked, and others had more tickets for another ride. The next group got on, including John and Genevieve, who were still laughing and talking. John led Genevieve around to the other side of the carousel where there were fewer people and lifted her onto the painted wooden saddle. The music started again and the carousel moved forward on its circular journey. Slowly, Genevieve’s horse initiated its first ascent. Her dress rose above her knees in the breeze that was created by the movement, but she didn’t care. She felt free and filled with golden happiness. John stood watching her with his hand clasped gently, sensuously around her ankle. When her horse descended, he let his hand slide up to her knee. He gazed at her in the way he had earlier that day when she had met him on the road. His eyes were dark green and filled with mystery and something that looked like longing. He bent his head and kissed her tenderly on the knee, just as he had in her dream. The electrifying feel of his full mouth on her sensitive flesh sent heat to her very core. She shook her head as the moment of déjà vu passed over her. With his hand still resting on her knee, John lifted his head and kept his eyes pinned to hers as she ascended once again. As her horse began to lower her toward him, John reached up and clasped the back of her head to pull her toward him. She leaned forward and met his kiss with a racing heart. His kiss told her more than his words ever could; they told her that he was falling in love with her. It was bittersweet knowledge to know it, to feel it. They had so little time left. “This was my dream,” she said in a tone that was barely audible over the music. “I know.” He ran his hand back down her leg to her ankle and kissed her on the lips once again before

he mounted his own wooden horse. They couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other as they rode their magical wooden horses to the happy music. It was like being in a sensual ballet, and somewhere, there was going to be an exciting climax to their dance. Genevieve knew in her heart that they would find their way to a physical union sooner or later, and she hoped it would be sooner. It was hard to be near him and not touch him, not want him. She couldn’t get enough of him. Genevieve felt like a giddy schoolgirl experiencing first love, full of feelings and excitement and vulnerability. She wanted to be alone with him, to have him completely to herself. She wanted to feel his skin next to hers and his mouth and hands caressing every inch of her body. She watched as he rode his horse down the pole one last time as the music stopped and the carousel slowed to the end of the ride. His discarded jacket lay across the front of the saddle. With his shirtsleeves rolled up just above his elbows, he glanced at her with heated eyes. She saw that he wanted her, too. His eyes never left hers as he approached her. It took her breath away when she felt the pressure of his hands firmly grasp her waist to help her from the horse. He set her skin on fire with his touch. His eyes burned into hers and passion streaked through her core out to her fingertips and toes. His nearness electrified her. He drew her up tightly and kissed her with heat and passion before resting his forehead on hers. “Soon,” he whispered close to her ear. Then, he released her and walked to the edge of the carousel. He lifted her off of the platform of the carousel onto the grass, keeping her hand anchored securely in his own. They rode the Whipper gulping screams of exhilaration and joy as the cars dove this way and that coming so close to the other cars it seemed as if they would collide.. He held her close to his body and stole little kisses as they swung this way and that in what seemed like drunken chaos. He murmured words of comfort when she felt afraid and encouraged her when she showed fearlessness by letting go of the safety bar throwing her hands into the air shouting in triumph. “Look at you, honey. You’re not holding on and you’re laughing. See what a courageous woman you are?” Smiling, he kissed her as they plunged down another valley. Feeling weightless and giddy, she kissed him back long and hard not caring one twit if the entire county saw her do it. Genevieve excelled at driving bump-cars. John didn’t have a chance as she crashed into his car over and over again. She missed him being beside her though and was glad to be reunited in his arms at the end of the ride. “Remind me not to let you drive my motorcycle. I’d hate to crash into a field of pumpkins or take out an outhouse or two with those reckless driving skills of your.” He laughed with goodhearted warmth. They ate cotton candy and hotdogs smothered in sauerkraut and mustard. All the while, they laughed, talked, and touched electrifying the air around them. To Genevieve, the time they spent together was like being in a wonderful, protective sphere of pure joy and sensuality. As the park began to close, he led her away through the gate and to the motorcycle, which was still right where they had left it. No one had stolen it or tampered with it. He mounted the motorcycle without speaking and helped her onto the back behind him. At first, she thought he was planning to take her somewhere to make love to her as he drove down the dirt road toward Catawissa. He turned off onto a smaller road just before they got to the town limits. Instead of finding a quiet place that was secluded and beautiful, he drove up a narrow road to a house that was aglow with electric lights. There was a small group of young people around their age making their way into the house when they arrived. Most had come in the two Model T’s parked out front, but one had come by horseback. It was strange to see a horse tied to a post beside the two automobiles, but such was the sign of the rapidly changing times. After helping her off of the motorcycle, John drew her into his arms again as if he couldn’t get enough of kissing her. Pulling away after a few moments, he laughed softly. “We’re going to have to cool off a little

I think.” Yearning filled his eyes as he peered down at her. “I promised Tom we would come, and he’s expecting us. I can’t break a promise, Genevieve, even though, God knows, I want to.” He ran a thumb down her cheek caressing it slowly. “If you feel what I’m feeling, we both know what’s going to happen next. That’s why I’m asking you now, before we ever get that far, if that’s what you want, too.” Genevieve’s heart was pounding. She thought that it might pop right out of her chest. Her hands shook as she reached up and took his hand from her cheek and kissed its rough palm. Her breath hitched as she looked at the fire in his eyes. “Yes,” she said shakily. “It’s what I want, too. It’s what I want more than anything else in the world.” He smiled down at her and clasped her to him again, holding her close to his heart. “Me, too.” The words vibrated from his chest to her ear. He released her and took her hand but stood a moment just looking down at her with that look of want in his eyes. Then, he led her toward the house that shone brightly in the star filled night.

Chapter Thirty-Two Genevieve and John entered Tom’s house, greeted by laughter and a wealth of activity. Tom’s mother was serving lemonade and sugar cookies shaped like flowers. Mrs. Sawyer greeted Genevieve and John with a cheerful and enthusiastic welcome. Genevieve followed Mrs. Sawyer as she showed her and John to the couch where they squeezed in beside another couple. As Genevieve sipped on the sweet lemonade and nibbled on the delicious cookie Mrs. Sawyer gave her, John introduced her to his friends. They greeted her with warm welcome and she felt comfortable with them immediately. Genevieve had never felt this comfortable with strangers in her entire life. Perhaps it was John’s influence over her, his innate confidence and air of freedom, that helped her past her reclusive nature and her self-consciousness. Or maybe it was simply the strength he rendered her by his mere presence that made her feel so at ease with these strangers. Whatever it was that made her able to enjoy socializing and conversing with strangers, she knew that it was because of John. After a few minutes, Genevieve leaned toward John to ask a question. She immediately felt the heat of his nearness as she met his eyes. She gulped back the searing yearning for him before she could speak. “Where is Jimmy’s friend, Ned? Isn’t this where he lives?” John settled back with his arm across her back, and his long fingers wrapped around her upper arm. He smiled as if registering her feelings for him. “Ned is sleeping in the tent with Jimmy tonight.” “Isn’t this a school night?” “Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer allowed him to stay over with Jimmy in the tent just this once. They wanted to allow Tom to have this get together and knew Ned would just aggravate them to join in. As compensation, they allowed him to come to our house, but he still has to work on his studies and go to bed early. The Sawyers try to be fair with all their children.” Genevieve couldn’t help but wonder what kind of father John would be. Her breath caught in her throat in a little knot of sadness as she recalled that, unless something happened to prevent it, he would never get the chance to marry and have children. A cloud passed over her at the sobering thought. John squeezed her arm and leaned in close. He whispered in her ear, making a strand of her hair tickle her neck when his breath moved it. “Just let it go, Genevieve. Worry won’t make it any better. Just be in the moment with me.” She bit back the unhappy thought that made her want to weep. Cautiously, she met his gaze and gathered strength from him. She followed his advice and made herself concentrate on this moment in time. Whatever act of God or fate that brought her here and allowed her to have this time with him, she was and always would be forever grateful. The big, ornately decorated box that stood at the end of the room drew everyone’s attention. There were hums and screeches of radio waves and static as Mr. Sawyer turned the knob to get the best reception. “We oughta get a clear signal tonight. Atmospheric conditions are perfect,” someone said. “The sky is clear and it’s after ten o’clock.” All of a sudden, the room filled with applause and a scratchy voice said, “Welcome to WSLM country music hour.” **** The evening had been perfect. As Genevieve lay in her bed that night, she recounted every moment. She had enjoyed the company of John’s friends. They had treated her as if she were an old acquaintance that had returned home after a long absence. They all made her feel so welcomed that she forgot her shyness and conversed with them easily. She made a new friend, Elva Stoltz, whose family lived just over the hill from John’s.

It was late when she and John left for home. The roads were quiet and kissed with moonlight as they rode John’s motorcycle. The stars sparkled overhead as they made their way down the narrow roads past quiet farms and fields. Genevieve laid her cheek against John’s back and breathed in the scent that was his alone. She could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek and wrapped her arms around his waist. Occasionally, he would run his hand down her leg to her knee, and his caress sent shivers of excitement throughout her being. She wanted John as she had never wanted anything or anyone in her entire life. She felt electric with the excitement of his touch, and her heart sped out of control at the sound of his voice. Yes, she wanted him forever and always, and it made her more afraid than she’d ever been of anything. If some miracle didn’t happen, she was going to lose him. The deeper she fell in love with him, the more pain she was going to have to bear if her attempt to save him failed. At last, she had found the family she had never had and the friends she had never expected to have. If it weren’t all a lie, this would have been her perfect life. She had never known such happiness, such security. And all of this wonderful life had been directly due to a man who was on a collision course with death. It was too late for her to save herself from the pain of such a loss if she failed. When that day came, when John’s life stood in the balance, she knew that she must not fail. She had no idea what she should do, but whatever it was, she would have to find a way. Before she drifted off to sleep, Genevieve revisited the last few moments of their parting. She remembered how John had leaned his back against the doorframe and pulled her to him. Holding her tightly against his chest with one arm, he ran his other hand up her back and into her hair and cradled the back of her head. Peering into her eyes, he lowered his mouth to hers and delivered a searing kiss. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips until she opened them to allow his entrance. The heat of excitement grew into a flaming fury when he entered the sweet confines of her mouth. They explored each other with tongues of fire. Genevieve heard her own moan escape as she melted into him. Her hands shook with desire as she ran them up his back. The muscles in his shoulders bunched and flexed under her palms. His hair slipped in silky strands between her fingers as she ran her hands through his thick hair. From the dim light of the kerosene lamp in her room, she saw the green of his eyes smolder with steamy edges of gold heat when he pulled back and gazed down at her. His breath came rapidly, and his voice hitched when he spoke. “It isn’t time yet. But it’s coming soon. I want it to be right, not just lust or a need to release pent-up desire.” Hugging her to him, he smoothed her hair with his hand then kissed her lightly on the lips. “In the meantime, don’t go dreaming about anybody else.” John smiled charmingly, then let her go. Genevieve smiled to herself, remembering his kiss and his promise just before sleep overtook her. She gathered the blanket around her as if it were his arms and rolled on to her side in delightful comfort. And then it was the dream that overtook her.

Chapter Thirty-Three Everything was white—white walls, white curtains, white bed, white sheets, and white floors. Where was she? It almost looked like heaven. But where were the angels? Someone was weeping, but a fog kept her from seeing who it was. It sounded like a young girl. She could hear voices whispering but couldn’t make out what they were saying. A feeling of dread came over her. Had she died? Searing pain ran up the back of her head. She couldn’t move; couldn’t speak. Inside her body, she felt like screaming, but no sound emerged. A thought filled with terror ripped through her. Was she alive and no one knew it? Did they just think she was dead? Her vision cleared for a moment and she saw John on his knees beside the bed where she lay. His back was bowed, his head down and his hands clasped together tightly resting on his thighs. He was speaking very softly in hurried words, and she knew he was praying. She wanted to speak, to tell him she was okay. He looked up with tears streaming down his face and agony in his eyes. He reached over and took her hand, but she couldn’t feel it. “I told you not to do it. I told you. Why wouldn’t you listen?” His voice was raw with emotion when he spoke. Julia and Jimmy came in and knelt on either side of John. He looked at Julia as if she were a life raft in a stormy sea. “Do something, Julia. Make it stop. Bring her back to me,” he pleaded. Julia shook her head. Her face was pale and streaked with the stain of many tears. “I can’t. I swear to God, I can’t do nothing. If there was a way, don’t you think I’d do something?” She wept again as only a child could, with her whole heart. “There just might be a way,” said a soft voice full of comfort and love. An elderly woman dressed in white and looking every bit like an angel stood behind the three on their knees. She looked like Julia’s granny. All turned to her with the light of hope in their eyes. “It may not work, but it’s all I know to do. It’s an awful chance to take.” Before she could tell them what would help, a terrible darkness overtook Genevieve. She felt her body being pulled in all directions as if she was being sucked into some kind of vortex. But worse was the sudden and overwhelming blaze of fire. She was surrounded by it. The smoke choked her and burned her eyes. Genevieve awoke gasping for breath. Her body shook in terror in the aftermath of her nightmare. The door to her room swung open and John rushed to her side, scooped her into his arms, and held her so tight that she could barely breathe. She tried to tell him about the dream in between sobs and broken words. He kept her tight in his embrace with his chin perched on the crown of her head as he listened. “I never was so terrified in my life,” she whispered after relating the end of her dream story. She felt him chuckle under her cheek. “For a girl who’s afraid of just about everything, that’s saying something.” She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to give him a little piece of her mind for minimizing her experience and taunting her, but when she looked up at his face, she saw the sadness shadow over his eyes and noticed his lips pressed in a thin line, as if to hold back his emotions. She also noticed that his teasing had made her feel better, and everything seemed normal again. She didn’t exactly feel grateful, but it was good to know that he was trying to help her feel better. She was back in reality now, if you could call this whole experience reality. She wished this reality would never end. She was very aware of her surroundings and of John. All he had on were his canvas trousers held up with suspenders. His skin was smooth and bulky with muscle under her hands. There was only the thin fabric of her nightgown between his flesh and hers. She remembered what it was like on the carousel, with his hands on her skin and his lips on her knee. It was a tender moment, and the memory sent the blood in a heated rush all over her body. She was in his lap now, and she felt him shift beneath her. She knew that he had felt the same surge of desire that she

had. He looked at her with dark, wanting eyes. His hands shook as he unbuttoned the front of her gown and slid it off of her shoulders, exposing her breasts to both the moonlight and his gaze. As he took an accounting of one breast, he explored its contours, firmness, and weight in his hand with slow deliberation before chafing the nipple between his fingers. He leaned forward and nipped at the column of her neck gently with his teeth. Genevieve groaned as she leaned back against his shoulder, allowing him more access to her neck and breasts. She ran her hand up his hard back and messaged the muscles that played across its broad expanse. With her other hand, she reached up to clutch his hair. How she loved the feel of his auburn waves between her fingers. His mouth came down onto hers with longing, passion and heated lust in his kiss. Suddenly he stopped and backed away. Green eyes smoldering in gold peered into hers as he shook his head. “It can’t be this way. I want it to be special when we do this, not here and not like this.” Genevieve’s heart stilled in her chest. What was wrong? Didn’t he want her? Didn’t he feel the way she did? How could he just stop kissing and caressing her like that? Her heart pounded and her breath hitched with the excitement generated by the nearness of him. She wanted him to make love to her, to make her his own. Why wouldn’t he claim her body the same way he claimed her heart? Frustrated and hurt, she eased off his lap and refused to look at him as she settled herself under the covers to hide herself from his gaze. He leaned over her and lifted her chin with his hand, forcing her to look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take advantage of you like that. Please, try to understand, Genevieve, that I want our first time to be special and perfect.” Genevieve couldn’t make her chin stop quivering. If he stayed another second, she was going to bust out in embarrassing sobs and make a fool of herself. She couldn’t force herself to speak. He was too close to her heart, to the essence of her being. She had never let anyone mean this much to her before. Her feelings were too hurt for her to manage a response. He chuckled softly and that really burned her. How dare he laugh at her? “Please don’t be upset with me, Genevieve, because there will come a time when I will have you in my arms and make love to you until you beg me to stop. And I am hoping with every ounce of my being that you are going to want me, too.” His lips touched hers with warmth and tenderness, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Taking a deep breath as if to fortify himself he spoke again, just above a whisper. “Believe me when I tell you that I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. But I cannot come to you empty-handed, darling. I want to give you something more than just a name.” She watched him as he rose from the bed, leaving an empty place beside her. Inside her chest, her heart thumped heavily as she tried to assimilate all that he had just said. With her eyes, she followed him to the door where he turned and peered at her, grinning. “Believe me. This hurts me more than it does you. I won’t be getting a minute of sleep thinking about what I want to do to you when I know the time is right.” He winked at her seductively as he opened the door and grinned like a choirboy with a frog hidden in his pocket. “And I’m going to kick myself in the ass for not taking this opportunity to have my way with you tonight.” He closed the door and Genevieve slid down under the covers, feeling a little better now that her heart had slowed to its normal rate again. Then, the door opened again, and John peeked around the edge of it startling her out of her serenity. “No more of your dreams tonight, honey. I don’t think my heart can take it.” He blew her a kiss that made the sunlight part the clouds in her befuddled heart before he closed the door again. Genevieve waited a moment, holding her breath hoping he would come back and wondering if he would. When he didn’t, she rolled to her side, a jumble of thoughts colliding in her head. It took some time before her thoughts quieted and her heart slowed to its natural rhythm again. After what seemed an

eternity, she was finally able to drift off into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Four After their morning work was completed, Genevieve and Matilda made their way up the dirt road that led to Bear Mountain past Indian Head Rock to the house where Viola and Julia Renquest lived. It was an arduous task hiking the steady incline through the woods on the narrow dirt road. Genevieve knew now why Viola was in such good physical shape for a woman in her sixties, and she admired the elder woman even more for her abilities and stalwart efforts. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a perfect blue with fluffy white clouds sailing across it. Birds chirped merrily with lighthearted joy as they hid within the branches of the trees in the forest where Matilda and Genevieve passed. Occasionally, a wisp of color brightened the greenery when a bird came to rest within sight of the two on the road. Genevieve couldn’t help but think about Jimmy and his fascination with birds and his love of the red-tailed hawk Sky Chief. When would he find the courage to let Sky Chief go free? Matilda and Genevieve had not come empty-handed. No indeed, for Genevieve had found that this community was generous and thoughtful. They had spent the morning baking a cherry pie and two loaves of oatmeal bread. They added two jars of Matilda’s delicious strawberry jam to their basket and felt satisfied that their hostess would welcome their offerings. Matilda and Genevieve had to stop at times to rest a few minutes before they could continue their upward climb. Genevieve took a few minutes during one of these rest periods to consider how rigorous this trek must have been in the winter, when the road was slick with ice and snow. She fanned herself with a large leaf that she found on the ground and glanced at her companion. “How in the world do those two survive in winter? I can barely get up this big ol’ hill without the added task of having to walk through snow.” Matilda laughed. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from her face. “They do put us to shame with their physical endurance, but even the Renquest ladies have a limit. They use a horse and sled in the winter, and Viola sometimes uses a wagon with the horse when she’s buying a large amount of supplies.” The older woman grew silent before she peered over at Genevieve and confided, “The Renquests have money. They don’t act like it, I know, but they are a family of means. It only makes the talk about them and their strange ways worse. The townfolk resent people with wealth since most everyone struggles for a living around here. Maybe it’s just difficult for some folks to believe that an old woman and a young girl could keep a farm running so well on their own. There are those who are suspicious about the way the Renquests seem to thrive with such ease.” Matilda stopped a moment and glanced around them at the luscious scenery of wild flowers, smooth stones, and white birch trees that filled the space around them. The air smelled of sun-warmed pine, honeysuckle, and ancient oaks. She picked up the thread of her conversation again. “Viola tries to help Julia fit in by making her clothes from flour sacks like the other children, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Folks shun them, but they’re too afraid of them to say anything out right to their faces—not to Viola anyway. “Children can be cruel and they don’t have the same social restraints that most adults have. The children tease Julia relentlessly, and even though she bears it all in her good-natured way, it hurts her. She doesn’t cry about it. That’s not her way. She just keeps it to herself. Jimmy thinks she’s wonderful. Because he befriended her, it makes it a little easier going for her. The other children leave her alone as long as he’s with her. I guess you can see why she adores him so.” Genevieve nodded her head in agreement. She knew what it felt like to be an outcast. She had felt unwanted and different all her life. Maybe that was why she felt a certain empathy with Julia and her grandmother. “We better get up and make the last little part of this trek before it gets any later,” Matilda said as she

pulled herself up with a groan, wiped her brow with her handkerchief, and started walking up the road that twisted upward. Genevieve followed slightly behind Matilda, enjoying the quiet of the forest and the beauty of nature. She allowed her thoughts to drift with hope that her life could change for the better having known this experience and these people. She would always treasure these moments in this wonderful town and in this peaceful time. When they arrived at the summit, Genevieve stood in awe as she saw Viola Renquest’s farm. The house was a three-story Victorian with a wraparound porch, turrets, long windows, and a greenhouse toward the back of the house. The lawn was immaculate and flowerbeds graced the walkway that led to the front porch. White fences seemed to stretch for miles on either side. An apple orchard spread out in meticulous rows of trees just beyond the backyard where it met with a large, red barn. Beyond the house and barn, fields of vegetables ran toward the edge of the forest. It was a magnificent, well kept farm. Genevieve noticed cows, sheep, and horses roaming the meadows of green clover that were separated from the crop fields of pole beans, tomatoes, corn and wheat by crisp white fences. Amazed at the enormity of the farm, she peered at Matilda and asked in awe, “Surely they have hired help to take care of all this, don’t they?” “Oh my word, of course they do, Evie. There would be no way a woman of Viola’s years and a child could run this farm.” Matilda chuckled a little as she led Genevieve down the walkway to the front door. “Some good folks earn their living from this farm. There are a few folks at least who appreciate Viola. She is loyal to them for it. Seldom anyone falls into sickness on this farm.” “Is Viola a nurse?” Genevieve asked as she reached down to touch a delicate blue columbine. “Lands no, Evie, but she has healing powers nonetheless. When that terrible flu went around some years back, no one on the Renquest farm fell ill. In fact, Viola offered help to the townfolk, and some were saved because of her.” She fanned her face with her handkerchief and wiped her brow. “She helped John. He was just a boy then, and we were sure we were going to lose him. But Viola saved his life. Will and I will always be grateful to Viola for that.” She paused a moment and added, speaking softly as if more to herself than to Genevieve. “But not even Viola can fix everything.” What had Matilda meant about Viola fixing something as if it were broken? Her heart knotted in her chest thinking about John almost dying of the flu. Thank God that Viola had been there, and was able to help him. Genevieve couldn’t miss the forlorn shadow that raced across Matilda’s face. It worried her. She was about to ask Matilda why she looked so sad when Viola greeted them from the porch and interrupted her thoughts. Viola giggled like a young girl as she hurried out to greet them with open, welcoming arms. “It’s so good to have the two of you here. I’ve been looking forward to it since I invited you.” She hugged them to her bosom then waved them through the threshold and talked in a rush as they entered the portal of her home. “I have some chilled lemonade waiting on you. Tilly, you look as though you could use some cold refreshment. I’m sorry it’s such a ways up here. If I’d been thinking properly, I would have had Harold come down and get you in the wagon on his way back from town.” Matilda placed her hand on Viola’s as if to still her. “I’m just a little out of shape for such a walk, Viola, but I needed the exercise all the same.” “I’ll have Harold take you home when you’re ready to return. Goodness, Tilly, I don’t want you to become ill just because you came for a visit.” A young woman came to them, bearing a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and sparkling crystal glasses on it. “Thank you, Rachael. Would you bring the tray into the parlor for us?” Genevieve sat on the light blue brocade camelback couch beside Viola, while Matilda seated herself in the blue-and-white striped Queen Ann chair just opposite. Moments later, Genevieve lifted a glass of chilled lemonade from the silver tray Rachael offered her and took her first delicious sip. She immediately

felt cool and relaxed, as if the refreshing drink had soothed the heat of the day. She settled back against the beautifully handcrafted cushions that lined the back of the couch. Viola’s work, no doubt. Genevieve laughed inwardly, trying to envision the rambunctious, polliwog gathering Julia sitting daintily on her chair threading a needle and embroidering a cushion. There was no way she could imagine the energetic girl sitting still long enough to accomplish such a feat. “You have a most talented hand, Mrs. Renquest. These cushions are beautiful.” The elder Renquest chuckled softly. “You are mistaken. I don’t sew such delicacies. My enjoyment is in the garden and the orchard.” She peered into Genevieve’s eyes and smiled. “And please, call me Granny as the other young folk do. I love to hear it.” Genevieve turned the cushion around in her hands examining the intricate hand work in the embroidery gracing the pillow with color and beauty. She looked up and met Viola’s eyes. In astonishment she inquired, “Julia did this.” Viola shook her head and smiled. “My goodness, no. I can’t imagine that ball of energy sitting still long enough to accomplish such a task.” Her face became solemn. She and Matilda exchanged a meaningful look. “No, it was my other granddaughter who made these cushions and all the other beautiful embroidered things here.” “I didn’t know you had another granddaughter besides Julia. Where is she now? What is her name?” Genevieve noticed another meaningful exchange of eye talk between Matilda and Viola. “Maria. Her name was Maria. There was an accident, and she was taken from us when she was still young, only in her twenties.” Could it be possible that this other granddaughter was the woman John had been engaged to? It had to be. Genevieve wrestled with herself a few moments before she gathered the courage to ask the question that lay so heavy on her heart. “Could it be that your granddaughter once cared for John Douglas?” Her heart thumped in her chest as she waited for the answer. Viola’s eyes grew wide, just as Matilda’s did. Viola reached over and took Genevieve’s hand in her own. There was that strange tingle that Genevieve had felt before at the touch of Viola’s hand. “As a matter of fact, they had just become engaged right before the accident. It took John some time to right himself again, didn’t it, Tilly?” “I didn’t think he would ever care for anyone again until Genevieve showed up in our kitchen one day. I’m so glad you got lost that day, Evie. You’ve brought my son back from the melancholia that he suffered after her loss.” Matilda dotted her eyes with her handkerchief. Viola reached over and patted Matilda’s hand. “It’s all right now, dear. Your John is going to be just fine after all.” “Don’t mind me. I’m just a big crybaby. Of course, John is so happy that it makes my heart sing. He’s playing his music and taking an interest in his future again. He couldn’t be better. We are so grateful to you, Genevieve.” Matilda smiled through unshed tears, which lay sparkling on her lashes. Little did they know that their joy about John’s future was about to be cut short. But Genevieve didn’t want to think about that collision with destiny in the not so distant future. So, she turned her thoughts to something else. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to show us your house, Mrs. Renquest? It’s so charming that I would dearly love to see the rest of it.” “Call me Granny, remember? Of course, I’d love to show you around.” “Are you sure we won’t be intruding?” Another exchange of covert looks followed Matilda’s question. “No worries, my friend. I’ve made all the beds and sent off all the pigs sleeping under them.” Viola laughed heartily, joined by Matilda and Genevieve. It was a typical farmhouse and built for the large families that farmers usually had. It had oversized rooms with high ceilings. On one side of the entrance hall was a formal dining area graced with a long table and ten mahogany chairs, and on the other side was a parlor where they had been seated. A piano rested in an alcove off the hall that eventually led to the huge kitchen that boasted a fireplace and a wood-burning

stove with a chopping block as large as a dining table in the center. Over the chopping block hung a thick, wire rack with various pots and pans dangling from hooks. Warm, red bricks made up the vast floor. French doors led to a greenhouse connected conveniently to the kitchen. Genevieve could smell the mixed aroma of sage, mint, and oregano that spirited through the kitchen from the herb garden in the glass house. She noticed the house had indoor plumbing with copper fixtures that gleamed in the sunlight, and there were electric outlets testifying to the fact that this house had electricity. Genevieve had come to appreciate these luxuries now. Viola led them back to the entrance where a wide staircase curled up to the next floor. Matilda and Genevieve followed Viola up the stairs into the hall that ran the length of the house. There were four bedrooms. Of the three that Viola showed them, each had its own unique fireplace. Julia’s room was a combination of frilly, girlish pink mixed in with a little messy tomboy. Several aquariums sat along one of the built-in shelves. One held tropical fish, another was the aquatic home of polliwogs, and another held lizards who resided in a tiny landscape of moss, grasses, tiny flowers. Viola’s room was decorated in elegant lavender with painted white furniture. The room was in one of the turrets and, therefore, had a surround of windows that were dressed with lace and lavender silk. A fireplace stood on the opposite wall. Its carved, oak mantle depicted two wood nymphs, one on either side of the opening gracefully dancing in the forest. A large vase of pink and deep purple hydrangeas sat inside of the brick fireplace emitting a soothing, pleasant fragrance. As they left Viola’s room, Genevieve noticed one last room, which had a closed door. When she tried to open it, she realized that it was locked. She felt that she had trespassed Viola’s good graces by attempting to go into a room obviously not meant for anyone outside of this household to enter. “I’m so sorry . . . Granny,” Genevieve said, remembering to call her by the name that Viola had kindly requested. “I would never assume to go into a room you wished to keep private.” Viola exchanged a quick glance with Matilda. A small frown caused a line to form just above her brows that quickly smoothed into a smile. She laid her hand over Genevieve’s and squeezed it gently for a moment before releasing it. “You remembered to call me Granny. I feel better for that. Never mind this room. Julia and I never go in it any more. This was Maria’s room.” Genevieve’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to intrude.” Viola moved forward, placed her hand on Genevieve’s back, and patted her softly. “It’s all right, Genevieve. I keep the room just as it was the day she left us. No one has entered it since. It makes me sad to see it. Some day, maybe I will open this door again and perhaps this house won’t seem so huge or so empty anymore. But you, my dear, have done nothing wrong.” She moved down the hall and descended the stairs, continuing to hold Genevieve’s hand. “Come, let’s have some of the nice lunch I have made for us. Do you like lemon meringue pie?” Genevieve’s eyes widened. “It just so happens that it’s my favorite.” The table was set with a crisp white linen tablecloth, fine china edged with elegant bands of gold, cut crystal glasses, and gleaming silver. A large bowl of fresh-cut orange day lilies mixed with yellow roses graced the center of the table and infused the air with their rich, spicy fragrance. Genevieve felt a little awkward as she took her place at the table. She wasn’t accustomed to such elegant trappings. What if she made a mistake, used the wrong utensil, or worse, spilled something that would stain the lovely tablecloth and embarrass her in front of these two women? Matilda smiled at her and reached over the table to squeeze her hand reassuringly. Viola had left the room for the moment, most likely to check on the dinner, leaving Matilda and Genevieve alone. “Usually, on my visits here, Viola and I eat in the kitchen and share in the cooking. She wants this meal to be special because of you. This elegance is all for you, Evie dear. She wants you to like her.” “All of this is for me? I had no idea. But I already like her, so she needn’t have gone to such trouble. She’s been nothing but kind to me since I first met her.” Genevieve leaned closer to Matilda and lowered her voice. “Whenever she touches me, my skin tingles. It’s sort of pleasant feeling, comforting really, but

odd. Does that happen to you, too?” Matilda shook her head. “No, I don’t ever recall such a feeling. Maybe the air is just very dry, creating some kind of static.” As if on cue to dispute Matilda, the sky opened up and rain poured down, clattering on the windows and roof. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled just as Viola opened the kitchen door. Genevieve jumped with fright from the sound. The flash of light blinded her for a moment. She felt tense for just a second. She hesitated at the threshold of the dining area not feeling she should enter the room. Viola sat the platter of roasted chicken and dressing down on the table, looked up at Genevieve, and chuckled. She went to Genevieve, put her arm around Genevieve’s shoulders, and hugged her. “Don’t be afraid, dear, it’s just a sudden spring rain. Nothing here would ever hurt you.” Genevieve felt a tingling warm spread throughout her body. It was consoling. It was a maternal hug, or at least, that was what it felt like. Having never experienced the care and affection of parents in her life, Genevieve would not have really known what that was like, but it certainly felt good now. The meal was delicious, especially the lemon meringue pie. In fact, it was the best she’d ever had. The time seemed to go quickly as they shared a meal, told their stories and antidotes. Genevieve began to feel as if she’d known these people of all her life. She enjoyed their stories about the neighbors and Julia’s high jinxes. Matilda and Viola compared whose tomatoes tasted the best and whose roses smelled the sweetest. Genevieve sighed with wanting. It was like home, and she never wanted to leave as she listened to the elder women talking over the pattering of the rain on the windows. She knew this was not her place, her world, or her people. She would eventually return to her own time, even though she was not sure how that would happen. She feared that it would happen suddenly and that she wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Genevieve made herself shove these thoughts aside and allowed herself to absorb every moment while she still could. There was no sense in thinking about what the future held before it came. There would be plenty of time for the heartache and pain when that time came—unless she could think of a way to alter what otherwise would be. Her heart lurched at the thought of her world without John in it. Viola’s hand clasped Genevieve’s in that tingling, comforting way, and it was as if she could read Genevieve’s mind and knew the hurting that she felt deep inside. She didn’t speak a word, but Genevieve felt quieted by Viola’s touch. When Julia arrived soaking wet and talking a mile a minute, Matilda jumped out of her chair with a little yelp. “My lands, the time has gotten away with me. I haven’t even begun supper yet, and my boys and Will are probably wondering where I am.” Viola had taken a tea towel from a kitchen drawer and was drying Julia’s hair. “You’re going to need a hot bath and some dry clothes, child.” She lifted her head and her attention to Matilda. “Never you worry, Tilly. They know where you are, and I’ll have Harold drive you and Genevieve back down to the valley. You’ll end up with pneumonia trying to walk back home in this rain.” Viola let go of Julia and shooed her upstairs. Then, she turned her full attention to Genevieve. “I want you to come back and see me again. You’re welcome here any time, and you don’t need an invitation. I hope you don’t mind; I have to give you a hug before you go.” “Of course,” Genevieve replied and opened her arms to the woman that she was just beginning to know so fondly. “I’ve enjoyed this visit and I thank you for inviting me to come along with Matilda.” Encircled in Viola’s arms and held close, Genevieve experienced the most wonderful feeling of belonging that she had ever known. Quiet acceptance and peace filled her. She felt it inside of her all the way back down the mountain and throughout the entire evening. That night she dreamed about the locked door and of its own accord, the door opened. Genevieve walked into a room, which was filled with light and warmth. The thought passed through her mind that perhaps she had arrived in heaven. It was most certainly a place of peace. Because the light pouring in from the curved bank of windows was so bright, she couldn’t make out any furniture or objects in the room.

Did Maria’s golden spirit still reside in that room? Was she an angel now? Or was she a spirit who didn’t want to leave the comfort and love of the people who lived in that wonderful house? In her dream, she walked around the house seeing it as if from the eyes of Maria’s spirit. Genevieve in the guise of Maria’s spirit, visited the sleeping Julia in her room of various aquariums and dolls, and she looked in on Viola, who was reading a book in bed by the light of an electric lamp, which was tucked under a pleasant lavender shade. As if in Maria’s spirit, Genevieve moved down the steps to the kitchen and out to the greenhouse that was attached to it. She ran her hands along the plants and tasted some of the vegetables that grew there. It was filled with herbs, both for scented display and for seasoning. It was a beautiful place of tranquility and beauty. The stars gleamed in the night sky through the glass roof. Genevieve, still moving as if within Maria’s spirit sat in a garden chair and seemed to delight in her surroundings. Genevieve rolled over in John’s bed and drifted off into deeper sleep and away from the dream and the serenity of the Renquest house and its ghost. She awoke the next morning feeling at peace with the world and remembered only tiny fragments of her dream where she walked as the ghost of Maria in the Renquest house.

Chapter Thirty-Five The next few days unfolded quietly in a comfortable and repetitive way. The promise of summer was evident in the fragrance of Matilda’s roses and the beginnings of the vegetables in the backyard garden, which seemed to grow larger every day as Will and John dug out more and more space. “There can never be enough vegetables for canning,” Matilda said as she encouraged Will and John’s efforts on their little plot of land. While the shovels were out and the two strong men were applying themselves to digging in the earth, Jimmy got his lily pool dug. He placed the stones and mortar himself and waited impatiently for it to dry enough to fill with water. He and Julia talked incessantly about what plants they would take from the old pond down the road to put in the lily pool, and they debated about polliwogs and fish. Genevieve helped Matilda around the house cleaning, cooking, and washing. They were quickly becoming almost like mother and daughter. Genevieve peeled the potatoes as Matilda cut them up and put them in the pot along with the rump roast, carrots, and onions before sliding the covered pot into the oven. They carried two large tubs on to the back porch and filled one with hot water and the other with cold water straight from the pump. Using a scrub board and a thick bar of lye soap, Matilda washed the clothes and linens in the tub of hot water as Genevieve rinsed them in the other large tub. After ringing the excess water out of the clothes by hand, they hung the clothes on the line strung between to T-shaped wooden poles. Matilda showed Genevieve how to use wooden clothespins to attach the clothes to the line for the sun and wind to dry. After their chores, they sat on the back porch for a little rest and ate fresh apples and cool well water from tin cups. In the evenings after supper had finished and the washing of dishes had been completed, John and Genevieve would find time for themselves, either chatting quietly on the porch or walking down the road toward Sealy’s or through the forest behind the house. They talked about everything from politics and religion to the state of McKinley’s farm and the birth of his new horse. On one such evening, John and Genevieve battled it out about women’s rights and, in particular, their newly acquired right to vote. John leaned his back against the side of the house and sprawled his long legs out in front of him, resting them on the weathered boards of the porch. He inhaled deeply of the sweet smelling tobacco from the carved pipe that Genevieve had given him on her return visit. Watching the swirl of gray smoke drift upward from the bowl of his pipe, John spoke firmly, “What do women know of politics? Their world is about dish patterns, embroidery hoops, recipes.” After another waft of sweet smoke, he added, “They would vote in some guy with a handsome mug who would promise them cheaper meat prices while raising the cost of milk. But all the women would see is his good looks and fancy talk.” Genevieve sputtered in her lemonade. “You’ve got to be kidding! What a degrading, demeaning thing to say. Women are just as smart as men are—maybe even smarter. Don’t you think we would listen to the issues and not just swoon over a pretty face?” Anger heated her face. “Of all the nerve. I would have never thought you for a male chauvinist pig,” she exclaimed. John gave her a narrow look from beneath furrowed brows. “Exactly what does that mean? It sure doesn’t sound very friendly.” “It means you’re a sexist bigot.” She folded her arms across her chest and drew her mouth into a thin line of irritation. “If women ran the world, there would be no more wars. Now take that and smoke it in your pipe.” Guffaws of laughter flowed from John. “It’s a mighty fine pipe, too, I might add.” He took the pipe and studied every contour of the naked woman carved on it. He smiled oh so charmingly and added, “I’m sure women can make a few sane choices. I have a mother who, since she got the vote a few years back, has been more involved in political matters than Pop has. I have nothing but respect for a woman who can run a household full of men and still maintain peace. Now there is a woman who should definitely have

some say in the government.” He peered at her from under hooded eyes sly and cautious. “Of course there is Ruby and her clever woman’s mind. I’m trying to imagine how she might be persuaded to vote this way or that.” He chortled merrily. Genevieve huffed out a reply. “Fine. A point well taken, Mr. Smarty, but I still contend that women deserve the vote, and given some time to get used to the responsibilities now placed in our hands, I think we’ll astound you with our wise choices.” Reaching over with his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her close to his side. “One thing is for sure, honey, wherever you lead, I’ll be sure to follow.” They both smiled then and relaxed against the side of the house in a silent truce of peace. They spoke of so many things, but Genevieve never told him again where she really came from or about the future where she lived. Since he hadn’t seemed to hear what she had to say that time in the boat, she hadn’t gathered the courage to mention it again. Maybe it was best just to let it lie there unsaid. It would keep for now. Genevieve’s life had never been this comfortable. Her childhood had been like a roller coaster ride. Abandoned in the sanctuary of a church, she had moved from one foster home to another. Every time she got comfortable, she found herself derailed. Some foster parents were only interested in the money they got from the state for taking an orphan in. They weren’t invested in her thoughts, feelings, or future. If the money wasn’t what they wanted, she had been sent packing. In the social services need to find homes for an ever growing number of homeless children, they weren’t always scrupulous in their investigations of potential foster parents. She had been mistreated on many occasions, and once in a while, she’d been hit or slapped or, most often, just ignored. If she got too comfortable in a foster home and things didn’t work out as so often happened, her heart would be broken. It wasn’t so easy to get over being hurt because she believed someone had cared for her when, in truth, she had meant nothing at all except a paycheck. Her teenage years had been even worse. No one wanted to take in a half-grown girl. They seemed to think she would be nothing but trouble. She had spent most of her young adult years in a group home with other girls who had grown cynical and cold. As an adult, Genevieve determined her life would be different. She set goals, saved her money, stayed in the same job, and established herself in her community. Even now, Genevieve felt tense and afraid most of the time. Her scars ran deep. She found it hard to trust anyone or anything. She hadn’t been able to count on anyone in her childhood, and letting go enough to trust now as an adult was difficult. To protect herself from the chaos of her childhood, she had woven a rigid web around her life. The downside was that she had spent a lonely, unhappy existence. The only time she had allowed herself to break through that wall was when she bought John’s violin. That one act of courage had brought her to this town, these wonderful people who were becoming more like family with every passing day and to John whose patience, gentle nagging, and supportive love had begun to change her life. And she was glad that she was able to change, to reach out and experience life more—to get her fair share of it. With John nudging her forward into new adventures and his lighthearted teasing she felt herself stepping away from her old rigid life. She wanted more now and felt that she deserved to have it. John had helped her to feel that she was important. She wasn’t content to take a back seat any more. She was ready to try new experiences and truly enjoy her life. John made her believe that she could do anything. He made it safe for her to attempt new things, and though he was a relentless tease, he never made her feel small or stupid. He made her laugh. And he helped her see that it was okay to laugh at herself sometimes. Genevieve thought about all of these changes as she hung the sheets out on the line to dry. She had come to love the fresh smell of bed linens that had dried in the sun. She could hardly remember what it was like to have a washing machine and a dryer. Even more, she didn’t care about modern conveniences. She didn’t miss television and especially didn’t miss the news or the violence portrayed on television. She came from the lonely existence of the future. People didn’t get together to socialize the way they did in John’s time. Because of television, computers,

and cell phones, people seemed to become more and more isolated, connecting with one another only through machines. She liked it here. People came together and enjoyed each other’s company. Everything was more personable, more intimate, and more innocent. Deep in her thoughts, Genevieve didn’t hear John come up behind her until he had his arms wrapped around her waist. Shielded from the view of everyone else by the sheets, he bowed his head and kissed her on the neck, sending rivulets of heat down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. She squealed as he lifted her up and nibbled on her sensitive neck. He chortled with glee as he twirled her around in their space between the sheets on the line. They both snorted merrily when he tripped and the two of them fell into the sweet grass. Jimmy and Julia came running around the panels of sheets and started tickling the couple rolling in gales of laughter on the ground. Genevieve and John retaliated by grappling Julia and Jimmy to the ground and rough housed with them rolling this way and that and pretending to pin down an arm or a leg. Soon, all four of them piled up on the grass in a scramble of squealing and unbridled laughter until Matilda and Will arrived to inspect for damage control. “My goodness, you all looked like a passel of drunken squirrels,” Matilda seemed to struggle to hold back her amusement at the sight of so much commotion. “You children get up off that grass before you ruin your clothes with grass stains,” she stated with false consternation. John and Jimmy sprang up from the ground at the sound of their mother’s voice and helped Julia and Genevieve up. The two young friends dashed off to the lily pond with Will right behind them. “Cowards,” John called after them. Matilda stood with arms akimbo, shaking her head and attempting to look stern, but the corners of her mouth quivered in a suppressed smile. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up for supper while I go fetch those two children and Will?” John and Genevieve hooted and squealed as they chased each other to the pump beside the back porch. They splashed each other with the cold water from the pump until they were both soaked and their hair dripped with well water. Matilda returned with the escapees in tow and frowned at the two wet renegades at the pump. She sniffed the air. “It must be the promise of rain in the air that has all of you in such a muddle.” She shooed Jimmy, Julia, and Will into the house and turned to Genevieve and John when she reached the kitchen door. “The two of you can wait right here on the porch until I come back with towels. I don’t want my freshly mopped floor getting muddy from the two of you.” Hours later, after they had eaten supper and the dishes had been done, John and Genevieve joined the family to look through the telescope at the stars. John held Genevieve next to his side as she peered through the lens at the heavens. She felt the heat of him so close to her that she could barely keep her thoughts on the stars. The family was in constant chatter around them, but Genevieve and John were in their own world where only they existed. They breathed in unison and their hearts beat to the same staccato rhythm. Soon— the word that John had whispered in her ear that night not so long ago—ran through her mind, sending a blaze of heat into the deep core of her being. She felt it a certainty that it would, indeed, be soon. She yearned for that time when she and John would become one, when they could explore all there was to know about each other and enjoy themselves in the adventure of that discovery. She wondered what it would be like to have John make love to her. It would be like being in heaven, she decided. Genevieve wanted to know what words he would say, how he would touch her, and what his face would tell her when that event happened. Memories of such a lovemaking would go with her when the time came to leave, and she would remember it always. Genevieve wasn’t used to such joy and perfection in her thoughts. An occasional shadow would fall across her mind and lead her thoughts back to a more sober existence causing her to remember her dream

about Maria, the ghost that still resided in the Renquest house. Somehow, she knew that Maria found it too hard to leave and thought it would be too lonely without her grandmother, her sister, and John to go to move on to the next world. Genevieve felt a certain empathy with the spirit of Maria. She wondered how she was going to be able to leave any of these people when the time came. But, especially, she wondered how she would find the strength to leave John. She wouldn’t really have much choice about that though. Whatever the outcome, she did not belong here. It had to end. The sorrow of it was too unbearable to contemplate.

Chapter Thirty-Six The ice cream social, a picnic of sorts with food galore, music, dancing and, of course, the resplendent delight of ice cream in every conceivable flavor, was on Saturday. Everyone in the house was excited. It wasn’t just about ice cream—it was about competition. Whose ice cream was the best? Who would win the blue ribbon? Jimmy had his very own recipe for what he considered the best ice cream ever. Of course, it was a secret recipe. He would not reveal the ingredients until the contest. He called it “peanut butter surprise.” Exactly what the “surprise” part of that was, no one knew, and Jimmy was certainly not going to tell, not even to Julia, who hounded him about it almost daily. And, of course, there was the dress-up dance after sunset with music, moonlight, and romance. Genevieve and Matilda had worked on their gowns for several days and had finally finished them. Matilda’s was a black silk with beads and lace that she had lovingly applied with her own hands one bead at a time. Genevieve was learning rapidly how to sew from Matilda. Between the two of them, Genevieve had created a pale lavender dress of satin with a lace overlay, encrusted with pearls. Genevieve was proud of her accomplishment, especially the pearls that she had painstakingly sewn in herself. They would wear their regular clothes to the ice cream social to eat and then come back later to the dance in their evening attire. They didn’t want to ruin their gowns with ice cream stains after all of their hard work. They refused to tempt fate in such a manner. Jimmy was going to spend the night at the Sawyers’ with Ned so that Will and Matilda could stay for the late night dance. The youngest Douglas was excited about spending a night away from home because it was something that he was rarely allowed to do. Matilda and Will liked him close to home. He was their youngest child, and there would be no more children for Matilda and Will. Will and John had gotten their good suits out of the closet and had them airing out on wooden hangers near the open windows. They were acting rather smug, and obviously, they were harboring secrets. Occasionally, Genevieve would see them huddled together, talking and laughing in low voices, and she burned to ask them what they were discussing but knew that they were going to keep whatever it was to each other. Every time she or Matilda approached, they clammed up and refused to give even a hint about their secret. Matilda seemed to take their mysterious behavior in stride and just laughed when they started huddling together or winking at one another. Then the day of the social arrived. The household was in an early uproar from the beginning of the morning. John winked at Will all through breakfast, and Matilda seemed both anxious and happy alternately. Jimmy exuded enthusiasm. He couldn’t stop talking about his peanut butter surprise ice cream and how it was going to win this year. He was sure of it. He went over all the ingredients with Matilda on his secret list. They were tighter than alligator teeth about the list of ingredients. Matilda promised Jimmy that she wouldn’t interfere when the time came to cook up his special ice cream recipe so that he could do it completely on his own. After breakfast, everyone went their separate ways to carry out their secret missions. Jimmy took over the kitchen while John and Will headed up the road to Catawissa on John’s motorcycle. Matilda went to her rose garden, and Genevieve luxuriated in a hot, scented bath. Genevieve leaned her head back against the lip of the tub and closed her eyes. She could smell the spicy aroma of Matilda’s roses drift in through the open window of the bedroom. If only life could have gone on like this forever. If she had ever wanted anything in her life, it was this. She had a family who cared about her. She had a man who loved her. Everything seemed so perfect, or maybe too perfect. In the real world, there was a price to pay for this kind of happiness. Genevieve knew the happiness rule all too well. The minute things got too good, there was bound to be trouble on its heels. Some people referred to this as listening for the other shoe to drop. Genevieve knew that it was true and it made her nervous. She tried not to think about the outcome, but in her mind, she already knew how she would pay for

this little piece of happiness. Unless she could find a way to be at Roaring Creek on May 30, just one week from today, John would die. She knew the fates were tricky. She couldn’t trust that she could be there, or even if she were, that she could change the course of events. But she wanted to. She wanted to with all her of heart because she was in love with John and she felt loved by him and his family in return. She didn’t want to lose any of it, and she was willing to fight to keep what she had. And what if she couldn’t change anything? What if all her efforts brought the same results? What would she do then? She slipped down into the scented water and thought about that possibility. Her heart ached with the very thought of losing John. Her throat closed up and she thought for a moment that she couldn’t breathe. She made herself relax and think about the inevitable. Well then, if the fates brought her all the way back in time to have a taste of a life that she would never have then, by God, she would have a very big taste. She would do whatever she pleased, whatever made her happy for the next seven days. And in the end, whatever happened, she would have her memories to take home with her.

Chapter Thirty-Seven “Hey, quit that thinking,” came a deep voice from the open window. Genevieve squealed when she saw John with his arms folded on the windowsill and his chin resting on his crossed arms. He was grinning like a fool, and a light breeze ruffled his auburn hair much as it had in the picture of him standing by his motorcycle. The sunlight behind him lit up his hair in a bright blaze. Genevieve sank into the soapy water of the tub as low as she could. “So, now you’ve become a Peeping Tom, have you?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “I could come on through this window and do a little more than peek,” he commented, teasing her. “You wouldn’t dare. And your mother would tan your hide if she caught you doing such a thing.” Genevieve was feeling rather confident about the limits of John’s flirtations. But then again, she could easily have been wrong. Before she could protest or make another comment, John had come through the window and knelt beside the tub, where she sat with nothing but cloudy water to hide her nudity from his amused eyes. He laid a finger over her lips before she could yell for Matilda. “Now you can start yelling for Mama if you want and ruin this whole romantic moment, or you can just tilt that lovely head back and let me kiss you.” Genevieve remembered her new rule about tasting to the fullest each moment that she had with John. She turned up her face and closed her eyes, waiting for her kiss. John’s lips lingered above hers for only a moment before he came down onto her mouth to claim her. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and, when she opened for him, plunged inside to explore her and set her on fire. The kiss went deeper and he moved in closer. She felt his fingers skim up the column of her neck and run to the back of her head, where he raked them through her wet hair to cradle her head in the palm of his hand and bring her in closer. Genevieve wrapped her wet arms around his neck, soaking his shirt. He laughed as he took his hand from the back of her head and moved below the water line to capture a breast and tease her nipple. A bolt of lightning couldn’t have heated her more. John paid no attention to his wet, rolled up sleeves or the watermark on his shirt where Genevieve wrapped her arms around him. His attention was fully on her. His lips moved down her neck as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her partially out of the water enough to expose her breasts. He gazed at her breasts that bounced above the surface of the water glistening from her bath and lifted her up to capture her left nipple in his mouth and feast on it. He leaned over the tub as he suckled first one nipple, and then the other, giving each his full attention and ran his hand down the length of her, making her vibrate like the strings on his violin. Genevieve was surprised when he stopped abruptly and let her slip back under the water. He kissed her lightly on the lips and peered at her with his dark green eyes smoky with lust. He lifted the wet strands of hair from her face, his eyes never leaving hers. His breath came in shutters, and his hand trembled where it touched her cheek. “You have to know how much I want you, honey.” Genevieve tilted her head back to look at him as he arched over the side of the tub with his lips close to hers. “Where is this going, John?” His face remained close to hers and he kept his eyes fastened to hers. “It’s headed toward the perfect time and place. I want it to be beautiful and worthy of remembrance. Our first lovemaking should be special because you deserve that.” His eyes sparkled and his lips curled into a wide grin. “You aren’t trying to be coy, are you?” he teased. Genevieve started to protest but John just laughed softly and kissed her, silencing her objection. “Don’t worry, I know you better than that.” He ran his thumb across her lips. From the other side of the door, Matilda called out, “You better hustle in there, Evie. We have to get

going pretty soon.” John grinned when Genevieve gasped. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered after one more lingering kiss, got up, and disappeared through the window, leaving Genevieve alone in her cooling bath. “I’ll be out shortly,” she replied breathlessly, “Go on ahead and I’ll meet you there.” **** Genevieve caught up with the Douglas family at the church picnic grounds. There were tables of covered dishes just as there had been at the church picnic, but this time there was a crowd of people gathered around a long table where people of varying ages and genders were busily churning their ice cream in wooden, hand-cranked ice cream churns. Helpful friends and family applied hands full of ice and rock salt at intervals. Genevieve found Jimmy with Julia and Will helping him crank up his peanut butter surprise ice cream. His confidence was evident on his face. Jimmy looked up at Genevieve with a big grin. “Holy cow, Evie, I thought you would never get here. Look, we got the ice cream going. I want you to taste some and tell me what you think.” “I can’t wait,” Genevieve replied with enthusiasm. She hoped that she could keep her exuberance when she actually tasted the peanut butter ice cream, as she didn’t really want to think what the “surprise” ingredient would be. She trusted that Matilda wouldn’t have allowed Jimmy to add polliwogs or some other equally disagreeable ingredient. Jimmy dropped a spoonful into a bowl and handed it to her. The ice cream was tan colored, like caramel, and several crushed sweet cherries dotted the confection here and there. Genevieve prepared herself for the worst but kept her expression positive. But when the grainy ice cream met with her tongue, she found that it was actually very delicious. The cherries, which she assumed were the surprise Jimmy had talked about, were the perfect addition. She smiled reassuringly at Jimmy. “I think you’re going to win hands down, Jimmy. This is better than anything Ben and Jerry’s have.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth when she realized her slip of the tongue. “I don’t know those guys. Are they here? You really think I can beat them?” Jimmy asked with exuberance gushing from his face. “Yes, dear. I think you’re a shoo-in to win.” She cleaned out her bowl and handed it back to him. “You save me some for later.” She bent over and kissed him on the cheek. Jimmy’s face surged with crimson. Matilda interrupted her conversation with Viola Renquest and spoke to Genevieve. “John’s looking for you over by the bandstand, dear.” She exchanged an unreadable look with Viola and the two of them giggled like schoolgirls. Genevieve prayed that they didn’t know about John’s visit to her earlier during her bath. She would have absolutely died of mortification if they did. What would they have thought of her? But they didn’t seem very perturbed. They seemed more like they shared a secret. “Come, let me give you a hug, dear,” Viola said, extending a hand to Genevieve. “It seems like ages instead of days since I saw you last.” Genevieve gladly allowed Viola to embrace her. She loved the way it felt to be close to the elderly woman. “I’ll come to see you again soon. I promise.” “I’ll be glad to have you, and I know you’ll have a lot to tell us when you come.” Granny winked at Matilda and they both giggled. Genevieve glanced at Will, wondering if he was in on this secret, but he was busily placing ice and rock salt on Jimmy’s concoction and didn’t look up to meet Genevieve’s gaze. Very well then, she would just go over to the bandstand and see what was up with John. Genevieve found John practicing with his band. He was obviously waiting for her because he laid his violin on the stage and leaped down to greet her the moment that he caught sight of her. He rushed up to

her and placed his hands on her upper arms, but instead of bringing her in close and perhaps bestowing a kiss on her, he held her away from him and seemed to examine her appearance. He grinned in appreciation. “Although I prefer the way you looked the last time I saw you, I have to say that you’re very beautiful in your pink dress, and I like what you’ve done with your hair.” Genevieve blushed and laughed at his remarks. “You’re being quite the gentleman, with your excessive compliments right on the tail end of your obscene reference to my bath earlier.” John laughed and hugged her to him. “Well, honey, I am a man, after all.” He leaned close to her ear and whispered softly, “And, like most men, I prefer my woman naked and under me.” Genevieve felt herself grow warm from her toes up to her scalp. “Stop it,” she whispered tersely. “You’re embarrassing me.” He winked at her. “I’m only telling you the facts, ma’am.” Then, he wrapped an arm around her and walked with her back to the bandstand. He presented her to his friends in the band. “Gentlemen, I believe you’ve met Genevieve. She was with me the other evening at Tom’s house. Genevieve, you may not remember the names of my friends so I’ll introduce them again.” “I remember all of them,” she responded and amazed even herself when she, indeed, recited the name each of the men. The men were impressed by her remembrance of them and were enthusiastic in their greetings to her. Theo Sawyer asked her to join them in a song that they were practicing. Genevieve knew her voice wasn’t that good and begged off. “I appreciate that all of you are being so kind, but you wouldn’t want to hear me sing.” “We know better,” Theo teased, “but if you want to play modest, we’ll let you get away with it this time.” His words took Genevieve back for a moment. “I don’t believe you’ve ever heard me sing. If you had, you’d never try to get me to sing with your group. I’m not being modest. I promise you; I have no singing voice.” The men peered at each other curiously. “But you—” Theo started to speak, but John interrupted him. “For Pete’s sake, stop your begging. Surely you gentlemen see that the lady doesn’t want to sing right now. Just try to deal with your disappointment. Besides, I need a word with my girl alone.” He tucked a hand under her elbow and guided her away from the bandstand to a crop of trees by the lake. Genevieve felt strange. What was happening? Why did John’s friends think she could sing when they had never even heard her? She felt lightheaded and dizzy. Was her time here about to end? Oh please God, she silently prayed. Don’t let it be that. Please, please, don’t let it end just yet. She felt as though the earth on which she stood was giving way. “Genevieve! Genevieve, listen to me. Listen to my voice.” John’s voice seemed far away like he was calling to her through water. She felt the darkness overtake her. She tried with all of her might and spirit to keep from falling into the black void, but she could not keep it at bay. The darkness swallowed her.

Chapter Thirty-Eight Genevieve slowly came to the surface of the dark void. John was carrying her, and he was speaking to her. “Please Genevieve, don’t do this.” Like she had a choice . . . Genevieve felt a little tingle of fear bubble up as she awoke to bright daylight. Despite the fact that John smelled so good and that she wanted to snuggle into his arms. She felt embarrassed that she had passed out for no good reason. She wanted to run and hide somewhere and feared that the Fates, or whatever, were trying to pull her back to her own time. She saw that a little crowd was following them as John carried her to a picnic table and laid her on it. He rolled up his jacket and placed it under her head. “She’s okay, everybody. Just back off and give her some room to breathe, will you?” Genevieve felt a stray nail press into her back as she watched the crowd disperse except for one. There was Ruby standing there, staring at her with a look that said if she had a gun, she would have shot Genevieve straight through the heart. “Well,” said Ruby with her hands on her hips and her beads swinging from her neck, “I see you’re back right where you don’t belong.” John gave Ruby a scurrilous look. “Don’t you have some man to chase or a dog to kick somewhere, Ruby?” “You can be as rude as you like, John. I’m just amazed that you would keep trying to get this little witch back. She’s not worth it.” Ruby gave Genevieve a wish-you-were-dead look. “Ruby,” John exclaimed angrily, “I want you to shut your mouth.” He spat the words out as if to curse her. “Whatever rock you came out from under, I want you to crawl back. Maybe you can find your soul mate there.” Genevieve sat up feeling weak and woozy-headed. She could tell that John was about to lose his temper. Ruby peered at John through narrowed eyes. Her lips thinned with anger. She pointed at Genevieve, stabbing the air with her finger. “You may think you’ve found your own soul mate in this trashy little witch, but she’ll leave you just as she did before.” Genevieve felt confused and just a touch insulted. That was the second time Ruby had called her a witch, which must have equated to a bitch. Now, she was saying that Genevieve had left John before. What did that mean? She glanced at Ruby. “This is none of your business, Ruby, and do not call me a witch again or I’ll forget my manners and, puny though I may be right now, I’ll beat the tar out of you right here.” It ruffled Genevieve’s feathers just a mite to hear John chortle under his breath at her declaration. She turned to him with a set jaw and squared shoulders. “And don’t think I can’t,” she added, speaking to Ruby, but looking at John. “You come on and try if you think you’re woman enough,” Ruby taunted. “Then again, I wonder why I would bother. You and yours are nothing but witches, always poking around in magic. If you think John is the prize of the county, you’re quite mistaken.” Ruby’s eyes glazed with bitterness and anger. “He might be quite a prize if he didn’t have fits.” Looking like a cat who had stolen the cream, she turned to walk away. “I’ll not be bothered with either one of you again, so go ahead and have your little love affair made in heaven. It’s looking a lot like hell to me.” She swished her hips as she walked away and disappeared into the crowd. Taking in everything Ruby had said, Genevieve sat there a moment, and tried to make sense of it, but she only felt confused and somewhat sad. She glanced at John, who was looking at her intently as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “I don’t understand. What was Ruby talking about? What did all that mean?” John sat down on the picnic table beside her and slipped his arm around her waist. He waved the

remainder of the crowd away. “Give us some privacy,” he declared to the few that remained and waited to speak until the last person moved away. Bringing his attention back to Genevieve, he took a deep breath then spoke softly. “I can explain. In fact, I want to tell you everything. I wanted to tell since the moment you first arrived. But the time wasn’t right, and you weren’t ready to know what really happened.” He took in a ragged breath. “I think it’s time that I tell you the unvarnished truth.” Genevieve trembled. In her mind, she could almost hear the other shoe drop. So there had been secrets. John had lied to her about something, and somehow that hurt her more than anything else ever could. “The truth?” she asked sharply. John sighed shakily. “Yes, Genevieve, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. Believe me, I couldn’t have told you before, and I’m afraid to tell you now.” He glanced at her swiftly as if checking to see how she was taking what he was saying, and then he took her hands in his and held them tightly. “I beg you to hold judgment until I have a chance to explain. Just give me a chance, Genevieve.” “I’m listening,” Genevieve said tersely. She made herself sit still and not withdraw her hands from his grasp. “I know you’ve asked me why I sometimes don’t seem present, like the time in the boat and the first time we went out courting. I know I didn’t really answer you, and I’m sorry for that—sorry for not trusting how you would react. But you have to understand what a humiliation it is to me.” “What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently. He glanced away from her as if to avoid eye contact for a moment. “In 1918, there was a terrible flu epidemic. A lot of people died. I got it and managed to survive with the help of Granny Renquest, but I had high fevers and delirium for days. I barely remember it for the most part. But, my love, it changed my life forever. The fever must have short-circuited something in my brain because ever since then, I have these episodes where I seem like I’m out of my body. I just quit talking and stare into space, or so I’ve been told. I couldn’t say because, as far as I can tell, I just feel like I’ve dozed off for a second or two. Doc Miller told us that they were seizures—Jacksonian seizures to be exact. They’re not fits.” He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes as if to read her thoughts. His eyes seemed filled with shame. “I don’t fall to the ground foaming at the mouth or flopping around. I just disconnect from a part of my brain. It’s embarrassing to me. And I know that I do things that could be dangerous, but I can’t stop living my life.” Looking into her eyes, he asked, “You can understand that, can’t you?” “I remember when you did that, and it scared me.” Genevieve felt guilty now. She hadn’t known what was wrong those times. She hadn’t been sure if he had been ill or if he just hadn’t wanted to talk to her. “I wish you had told me what was wrong. You didn’t have to keep it a secret or be ashamed of it.” She wanted to both console him and slap him at the same time. Her feelings were in such conflict. But she had secrets, too. She didn’t know if she had the courage to tell him about the future or what would happen in a few short days. “I should tell you something,” she began as she started to impart the truth about her own deceit. But John gently placed a finger on her lips to silence her. “Just wait. That’s not everything, Genevieve. Let me get this out while I still can.” He kissed her on the top of her head and again lightly on the lips. “As much as I hate to agree with a word of what Ruby said, a lot of it is true.” She felt herself bristle, recalling that Ruby had called her a witch. “Just stay calm,” John soothed. “You’re not a witch, if you thought that’s what I meant. But you and your family do have certain powers that might be called magical by some.” “I’m going to let that comment pass for now, John, and you can be sure we’re going to get back to it. But first, I want to know about your seizures. You’re not getting off the subject,” Genevieve demanded. She was growing edgy and scared. It was the way she had felt her whole life. “I’m trying to get to the whole truth, honey, but you’ve got to give me a chance. Just try to let me say it without interrupting.”

In a huff, she released a big breath. “Fine. Go ahead, but I get to ask questions and make commentary when you finish.” John actually laughed. “I would expect nothing less.” She tried to pull her hands away but he wouldn’t let her go. “Just be still and allow me to explain all of it.” He grasped both her hands in one of his and reached up with his free hand to graze his knuckles along her cheek. “As I was saying, I have this after-affect from the flu, these seizures. Doc Miller gave me a medicine called phenobarbital to control them and told me someday there would be better medicines to take its place. I was fine for quite a while, but then an accident happened that took my heart from me.” He stopped for a moment and it looked to Genevieve as if he were trying to get hold of his emotions. He seemed sad and she didn’t like the way that he appeared so dispirited. “After the accident, I didn’t really care what happened to me. My future seemed bleak at best. I quit taking the medicine.” “I feel as confused as ever,” Genevieve confessed. “What are you trying to say? What is the rest of the truth you said you would tell me? What was the accident that took your heart?” She hesitated to say it but knew that she had to ask, to clear things between them. “Was it Maria?” John took his hands away from hers and turned his face toward the graveyard quietly seated between his family’s house and the church just up the hill. He swallowed hard and turned back to face her. His eyes were a dark display of misery. “I was engaged to Maria. She was the only woman I would ever love and she died. How do you know about her? Did you dream something?” “I know about her because your mother and Granny Renquest told me about her. They said her name was Maria, and she was Viola Renquest’s granddaughter. I’m sorry, John. I didn’t know how much her death had affected you. I guess you must still love her. I can understand that.” But she didn’t. Her heart was breaking, and the pain was unbearable. She knew what John was trying to tell her now. He had just said that Maria was the only woman he would ever love. There was no room in his heart for her because his love for Maria took it all up. She had been mistaken about his feelings for her. “It’s probably time I left any way. I’ve been here too long and have worn out my welcome.” John spoke through clenched teeth. He took her hands in his. His hold on her was almost painful. “You don’t understand a damned thing. Maria didn’t die. She almost did but she’s not dead.” Genevieve’s heart lurched. It froze into a painful stone that fell from her chest to the ground where she stood. God, he’d been lying to her all along. Everyone had been lying to her. Had they been laughing at her behind her back? Ruby was right. She was a fool. She struggled to release herself from John’s hands. “Oh my God, I’ve been such an idiot. I thought you cared about me, that maybe you even loved me. But I’ve just been a joke to all of you. Well, I hope you and Maria will be very happy.” She struggled to get away from him but he held on tight. “That’s just it. Yes, I love Maria. She is all that has ever mattered to me. I cursed God for trying to take her from me, and I used magic to get her back. Here’s the part you just don’t get. She is you. You are Maria, Genevieve. Your name is Genevieve Maria Renquest. We didn’t want to frighten you until you had time to learn who you really are so we all used your middle name when we spoke of you.” Genevieve felt her world beginning to shift and crumble out from under her. The ground didn’t feel solid under her feet. Shoving him away, she snatched her hands from his grasp and leaped from the table. Like a little rowboat in the middle of the vast Atlantic with a storm brewing on the horizon, she felt her heart being tossed about mercilessly. She felt alone, vulnerable and filled with a deep foreboding of certain disaster. “Please stop. Don’t tell me any more. I don’t want to hear another word.” She put her hands over her ears like a child and, at that moment, she felt like a child, lost without its mother. John slid off of the table and stood over her. He took her upper arms in his rough, working hands and turned her to face him. “Please, Genevieve, let me finish so that you’ll understand. I want you to know everything. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.” Genevieve kept her eyes focused on the ground. Her world was falling around her in little shards of

broken beliefs. There didn’t seem to be anything to hold on to now and no one to trust. John led her back to the shade under the little stand of trees by the lake, and placing his curled fingers under her chin, he forced her to look at him. “You wanted the God’s truth and now I’m giving it to you, but you don’t want to listen. I have to get this out now. We’ll both feel better when I do. “You have been here before, Genevieve. I wanted you to remember it on your own but time is running out. You know those dreams you keep having? The ones that come true?” Genevieve nodded. A knot had formed in her throat, and it wouldn’t allow her to speak. “They’re not dreams, Genevieve, they’re memories. Every once in a while, you remember something. Each time, you come closer to coming back to me, to remembering me.” Genevieve shook her head. “No. No, that can’t be true.” “But it is, honey. You’ve lived here all your life. Julia Renquest isn’t just Jimmy’s friend; she’s your younger sister. When your parents died years ago, your grandmother took the two of you in to live here. Julia was just a baby then.” He sighed heavily and pulled her close to his heart. “I know you don’t remember all of this yet, but maybe you will soon.” “What about the accident? What happened?” Genevieve was truly afraid now. She knew about the violin and the death certificate of inside the case. Was he about to tell her about his own death? “I was fly-fishing with Theo and Harry down at Roaring Creek. I heard you call my name from up on the bank on the high side. You sounded frightened as if the world was on fire. I turned to face you. You were running down the hill toward me. You were running so fast. You were crying and calling to me. I started to move toward you because I saw that you had too much momentum and were bound to fall into the water. You can’t swim worth a damn, you know. Sure enough, you tripped and fell in. I got to you in plenty of time to pull you out, but something else had happened. “You hit your head on one of the rocks and blood was gushing out of the wound at an alarming rate. Harry came up about that time and handed me his shirt to press onto the wound to stop the bleeding. He helped me get you back home while Theo ran for Doc Miller to meet us at the house. You were unconscious, so I realize you wouldn’t remember any of this.” But she did. She remembered the dream. She was underwater with red blood around her head and John looking down at her through the water with the light shining through his hair just before the darkness overtook her. It was not like the time she fell out of the boat. This time, it had been serious. Numbly, she nodded her head. “Oh, honey, I know this is upsetting.” He held her close. “But please, just listen a little longer, will you?” Genevieve buried her face in his chest and breathed in his familiar scent. She felt so scared. “Go on,” she whispered shakily, her words muffled in the folds of his shirt. “Doc Miller had us take you to the hospital in Bloomsburg. We borrowed Harry’s automobile to get you there. You stayed in a coma for a long time. Each day you drifted further and further away from me.” Genevieve felt her heart squeeze tight as if it were in a vice. She didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to hear another word. None of this could have been true. “You’re scaring me, John.” “I’m afraid, too, Genevieve. I’m scared to death that I’m going to lose you again and I won’t get another chance to get you back. It either changes now or it never will. You’ve just got to remember.” He was silent a moment. Genevieve’s insides were on fire.

Chapter Thirty-Nine This was crazy. She was supposed to save him from drowning, and then she was supposed to go home, back to her own time. She had another life. She didn’t belong here. What was John talking about? She certainly didn’t have a sister or a grandmother, even though it sure would have been wonderful if she had. John kissed her lightly on the lips. “This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. I’m sorry for that. I was going to wait until after the ice cream social before I told you any of this.” The side of his mouth lifted in a tentative smile. “I was hoping that your memory would come back and you would understand all that I’m trying to explain.” Genevieve shook her head. “No. This isn’t real. I came back from the future. My name is Genevieve Beaumont, and I don’t belong here.” Fear spread throughout her body like electricity gone wild. “Marie Beaumont was your mother’s name before she married. You are her namesake. Your father’s name is Peter Renquest. Granny Renquest is your father’s mother. His side of the family is where the magic comes from. Even your sister, Julia, has this power, and so do you.” He took her by the upper arms. Genevieve thought she saw panic in the depths of his eyes. “Your name is Genevieve Maria Renquest. Try to remember. Do you remember in the hospital when, for a few moments, you came up from the coma? I was there with Julia. “We were down on our knees, begging God not to take you. Granny Renquest came in and that’s when we sent you forward in time. You opened your eyes for just that moment. Can you remember any of it?” To her amazement, she did remember. “It was a dream. I remember waking up in a room and everything was white. You and Julia were there, and you were talking to God. I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but I knew you were praying. Granny came in, and the light came with her.” Her hands were trembling. Fear threatened to overtake her. “Stop it, John. You’re making me feel crazy and scared. It was just a dream.” “No, it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Granny sent your spirit into the future and the woman that you left behind died right after that. She and Julia made a powerful spell. Jimmy made sure that the violin would get back to you somehow. The violin was like a magical calling card to bring you back to us—to me. Inside it was a future that would take place if you didn’t come back.” Genevieve pushed back from his embrace. “This is crazy. It can’t be real. Things don’t happen like that.” “I swear to you, Genevieve, it’s true, every bit of it. You have to believe me. I can’t lose you again. You’ve got to remember me.” His voice sounded scared and his eyes looked dark and full of apprehension. “Please, Genevieve.” Genevieve’s heart was racing and she felt lightheaded. “I have to go. I can’t stay here. I don’t belong here. It’s not that I don’t love you. I do. Oh God, you have no idea how much I love you, but you died a long time ago, and I came from the future to save you. But I can’t save anyone. I have to go back.” She turned from him in a blaze of shear panic and ran toward the top of the hill where the road curved and the future lay just beyond. She heard him cry out to her to stop, but she could not. She had to get back to where she truly belonged. When her feet touched the road, she looked down and saw that it wasn’t a dirt road any longer. It was paved. She was in the future. She was back in her own time. She stopped just before the curve in the road that took her back to the Sealy’s of her own time, before she saw the gravel parking lot where her Forester SUV would be waiting for her. Her heart pounded in her chest. What was she doing? She had a choice right here in this moment. She could walk around that curve and go back to her dreary little life or she could go back to John and see what the new future held for them. She made up her mind in the time that it took for the heart to beat just once and turned to look back at the church. There was no ice cream social. No one was there except the dead in the graveyard beside it.

There was no band playing, no children laughing, and no sounds at all—with the exception of a lone hawk circling above her head. It reminded her of Jimmy’s hawk, the one he wouldn’t set free. She made herself look back at the house where the Douglas family lived, the house that had become so familiar to her. It stood there beside the graveyard. It was the abandoned house. She remembered it from that time when she first met John and his family. Could she go back? Could she walk into the kitchen, look out the window at the graveyard, and transport back to the past? Was it too late? It was then that she saw the smoke billowing from the window, and she felt a jolt of panic. If the house burned down, she knew that she would never get back to John. She would never see him again. That thought alone drove her to sudden action. There was no way she was going to let him go just because she was afraid to take a chance. For once in her life, she was going to be brave and trust that everything would turn out all right. She knew in her heart that John had told her the truth. Her dreams had been her memories coming back to her. She had left the one person in the entire world that could have made her happy and feel safe. She had to get back no matter what happened, and that house was the way to get there. If she couldn’t get back and the house consumed her in flames, it would have been better than standing here, doing nothing and hoping for everything. She remembered a phrase that her therapist had often told her—action is like prayer. Well then, she would pray. Genevieve ran toward the house with smoke and flames gutting its side. She ran as fast as her legs would take her. She leaped onto the rotted boards of the back porch and into the kitchen—its door falling from its hinges. Smoke engulfed her and filled her lungs. The kitchen was an orange planet of hot flames. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. She tried to make her way to the window where the magic portal of time was, where she could cross over into the life she longed for. Before she could get to the window, she felt herself slip and tumble when something hit her head, and darkness overtook her.

Chapter Forty Genevieve regained consciousness rather slowly. She felt dreamy and warm. Someone was talking to her in a low tones. A soothing voice comforted her and quieted her nerves. “Are you okay, honey? I think you hit your head on the stove when you slid in the water.” It was John’s voice. She could have wept with joy. In fact, she was crying. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks and was afraid to open her eyes. Maybe she was dreaming again. She didn’t want to wake up in another time where John wouldn’t be with her. She felt a calloused hand smooth away the tears from her cheeks. “Come on now, Genevieve, I know you’re awake so you can quit playing possum,” she heard him chuckle softly. If she hadn’t been so happy to hear his voice, she would have been a little angry at his disregard for her feelings. His generous lips touched hers in a gentle kiss and he whispered quietly in her ear so that no one else could hear. “At last you’ve remembered, and you’ve come back to me.” She opened her eyes then. She was lying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of water with her head on John’s lap. A black scorch mark ran up the wall behind the stove and a black rag was floating in a pail of water. “What happened?” she asked barely above a whisper. “Jimmy left a rag on top of the stove when he was making his famous peanut butter surprise ice cream. While we were at the social, it caught fire. There was a hell of a lot smoke coming from the kitchen window.” John laughed again. He seemed to be making light of the whole disaster. “Pop got here first. He’s like a one-man fire brigade. He threw a bucket of water on the stove just about the time you came running in. You slid on the water that spilled on the floor and hit your head on the corner of the stove.” He took her hands in his and helped her up. Then, he examined her arm. “You have a tiny little burn here, but I think you’ll be all right now.” Genevieve looked at the minuscule red mark on her arm. John caught her eye and smiled. “You ran off when you saw the fire, and I didn’t get a chance to ask you something very important.” He leaned over her to kiss the red mark on her arm. The touch of his lips on her skin burned like a wildfire through her. “But, if you don’t mind and if you’re feeling better, I’d like to do that now. Come with me. I’m going to do this thing right and proper in spite of anything you can do to the contrary.” She didn’t care that it wasn’t exactly the way she remembered it. She was back and she would never leave again. What a wonderful feeling it was to know that she belonged here, had always belonged here. John pulled her outside, off the porch and down by Jimmy’s lily pool. The family followed on his heels, including Julia and Granny who had apparently run to the house with everyone else when they saw the fire. “Get my camera, Jimmy,” John called back to his younger brother. “You sit right here, honey,” John said indicating the stone wall that surrounded the lily pool. “Pop went with me to Catawissa this morning to help me with this. He actually rode on the back of my motorcycle to do it, so I think you know how important this is to me and the rest of the family.” He bent down and kissed her. “Now, you just sit still for a minute while I get this whole thing together.” “No, I won’t. I want to know what you’re doing or I’m going to get angry.” Genevieve was afraid to let go of it. She was still shaken after all that had happened within the span of an hour. It was all so much to take in. As the minutes passed, she began to feel calm and more like herself. Her memories were all coming back softly like snow falling on the pines, gently showing her the life she had led until now—her real life. “Just be still and be quiet for a minute and then you can have the rest of your life to be mad at me.” John blew out a breath as everyone giggled and jostled for position around them. “God, you’re stubborn.” “Okay. Fine. I’ll sit still and not ask another thing, at least until I’ve heard you out.” She settled down on the stone wall of the lily pool and thought about the story of the princess and the frog that turned into a prince. John was her wonderful prince. “You better not be playing a joke on me, John, or I’ll never forgive

you.” He grinned confidently. “Oh, I think you’ll be forgiving me soon enough.” Jimmy arrived with the camera. “I’m ready. Go ahead and ask her.” Julia stood beside Jimmy and giggled nervously. John reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a blue velvet box. He fell to one knee and held out the box to Genevieve in one hand while he held on to her hand with the other. He gave Jimmy a nod and lifted his eyebrow as if to signal his younger brother that it was time to begin. There was laughter in his voice when he spoke. “Be sure you get a picture of me on my knee like this because I don’t plan on doing this again.” Genevieve’s heart was in her throat. My God, he is going to propose. Could this day have gotten any better? She thought to herself that if he was fooling around, there would be hell to pay—she’d make certain of it. John turned his complete attention back to Genevieve. He seemed to have taken a breath without exhaling. He held her in his steady gaze. “Genevieve Maria Renquest, I have something important that needs saying.” “Stop teasing me,” she protested. But inside, her nerves were churning, and she was getting high on happiness. John frowned at her. “You’re going to ruin the moment, and you’ll regret it later. Now just listen.” He took a deep breath and started again. “At this moment, I don’t have much to offer you except a promise but here goes. If you’ll marry me, Genevieve, I promise to be the best husband I know how to be. I’ll work my fingers to the bone if need be to provide for you and our children, should we be lucky enough to have them. I swear to you that I will love you until the day that I die, which I hope will be a long time from now. So, Genevieve Maria Renquest, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Genevieve’s heart fluttered in her chest as John removed the ring from its white satin bed and placed it on her finger. “This ring belonged to my grandmother, Isabelle. I took it to Catawissa to have it cleaned and sized for you.” He smiled at her. “I wanted you to have a ring that had been in the family for years and years, so you would know that you belonged somewhere and to someone—me namely. So, Genevieve, will you marry me?” She nodded and through tears of pure joy answered, “Yes, yes, I will marry you, and I’ll love you in this world and the next.” She jumped from the stone wall into his arms, and he kissed her with passion and happiness. Everyone joined in with cheers, hugs, kisses, and many words of congratulations. Jimmy took so many pictures that it became annoying. **** Later that evening, at the formal dance of the social and as the sun was setting creating a splash of orange and gold on the lake, Genevieve danced in the arms of her betrothed, feeling as if her feet would never touch the ground again. The memories of her forgotten life began to come back to her. She remembered her parents and the big farmhouse where she and Julia had lived with their paternal grandmother after their parents died. Her dreams about the ghost of Maria seemed laughable now. She had been dreaming—no, remembering—herself and her life there with her sister and grandmother. Granny explained to her why she had kept the door locked on the day of her visit. She and Matilda felt that, if she saw her own room, her memories might have come back too fast and upset her. They had no way of knowing the course of events and the way she would realize who she really was. Granny apologized for keeping the secret from her on the day Genevieve and Matilda had come to visit. Genevieve recalled how she and John had loved each other almost from the time they had met as youngsters. She snuggled into the comforting arms that held her and laid her head on his shoulder as they slowly moved to the music. She breathed him in and felt comforted, remembering every moment up until

now. Her other life seemed like a fantasy and, as each minute passed, the memory of it faded. She lifted her hand and felt the gardenia that John had placed in her hair. This was the gardenia that had been in the violin case. John had kept it, as he would do now. Then Genevieve remembered the other dream, the one in the house with the long windows and billowing curtains. She remembered the child calling out and the man beside her in bed. “John, there is one other thing that I don’t understand. If all my dreams are really memories, what is this one?” She related the dream to him just as she remembered it. She felt the rumble of John’s laughter against her cheek. “Well now, honey, that would be your magic kicking in. That’s not a memory. It’s a vision of the future. I told you, your family has special powers and that one is yours. I guess that means I got that job in Wilmington.” “Did I tell you how much I love you, John? I was so scared I would never see you again, never hear your voice or your laughter, never hear you play the violin again. I don’t want a life without you in it. I couldn’t bare it. I’d rather have no life at all than to have one without you.” She held him tightly as if he would vanish. “Now you know how I felt when I lost you. But you’re here now, and you’re staying.”

Chapter Forty-One Genevieve woke up on her wedding day in her own room. It was a beautiful room with bright colors of orange and yellow. A huge vase of orange day lilies sat on her dressing table. They were her favorites. Beside the vase of flowers was a picture of a smiling couple. Within the silver frame was the image that she had seen so often in her dreams. It was a picture of her mother and father, whose faces had never left her memory. She stretched out her arms and smiled as she took in her familiar surroundings. Her tester bed had once belonged to her parents. The draperies and bed hangings were yellow silk. The linens were crispy white with tatted lace trim in orange and green. After the fire in the kitchen, when she regained her memory, she returned to her home with Granny and her sister Julia. Granny unlocked the door and showed her into the room that she had known to be Maria’s. Genevieve recognized everything immediately. She came to know her own life fully in the weeks that followed. Her old fears began to dissolve, and the woman she truly was came into being. As she lay in her familiar bed, she thought about how she and John would be sharing this bed tonight before they left for Wilmington on the following morning. Tonight, they would make love for the first time, and as far as she was concerned, tonight couldn’t come too soon. John had tormented her with kisses and secret caresses until she had found herself breathless in anticipation of what would happen next. She saw her wedding gown hanging from the hook on the back of the door. She, Granny, and Matilda had all shared in the making of the beautiful creation. Seed pearls and lace appliqués graced its white satin skirt and bodice. The lace veil was attached to a circle of satin covered in pearls and crystal beads. It was enchanting. There was a knock on the door, but before she could call out an invitation to enter, the door opened and Julia rushed in with Granny trailing right behind her, carrying a breakfast tray in her hands. Julia unceremoniously jumped on the bed, bouncing both the pillows and Genevieve. She giggled as she snuggled up close to her sister. “I’m so glad I don’t have to pretend not to know you any more. These last few weeks have been the best. But I wish you weren’t moving so far away.” They had been wonderful weeks. Genevieve had secretly worried about that fateful day when John was to have drowned. But it had come and gone without incident. In fact, they’d had an engagement party that day. A few days after that, Elva Stoltz and Genevieve’s other friends held a wedding shower for her.Genevieve remembered all of these days fondly. The sorrow that had once held her captive was gone now. She felt free of her old fears as she embarked onto her true life. Granny laid the breakfast tray of pancakes and strawberries, complete with a little crystal vase holding a single but perfect white rose, over Genevieve’s lap. Granny then settled on the side of the bed and smiled as she ran her hand over Genevieve’s cheek. “I wanted the two of us to spend this last time with you alone. I know your mother and father would have loved seeing you marry today.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I’m going to miss you so much, my darling girl, but I know you’re going to be so very happy. There is no man as fine as John, except for your father who loved the both of you dearly.” Genevieve was so filled with emotion that she couldn’t even eat her favorite pancakes. “John and I will come to visit you and Julia every chance we get. I’ll miss you, too, both of you.” She drew them close to her, one in each arm. “I wish Mom and Daddy could have been here, too. They’re somewhere close by. I can feel them.” Tears overtook her as she gathered the two in. “I’ll be back every year, and John and I will bring our children with us when we have some.” She blushed at the thought. “I’ll teach ’em about lizards and stuff,” put in Julia as she pulled out of Genevieve’s grasp. “Say, if you don’t want those strawberries, can I have ’em?” Genevieve and Granny laughed. “I’ll share them with you.” Genevieve reached over and pinched Julia lightly on the cheek. “You mind Granny now while I’m in Wilmington. I don’t want to hear about any

shenanigans, you hear?” “I’ll mind her. I don’t have much choice. Just don’t squeeze me to death.” Genevieve and Granny looked at each other and laughed again. A little while later, Granny got up and motioned for Julia to do the same. “Come on, child, we have to get ready now. Genevieve, you go ahead and get your things together. We’ll go down to the church in the carriage with Harold, and you can change into your gown at the church. We don’t want it to get mussed before you walk down the isle. Matilda would be horrified.” They smiled at one another in a knowing way about their friend and soon-to-be relative and her endearing ways. Viola moved toward the door, but Genevieve wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet. She took Viola’s hand and clasped it in both of hers. “I remember Mama and Papa. Their faces are as clear to me as if I had seen them just moments ago. “My memories are coming back to me so fast now. I remember almost every moment I spent with them. I miss them now, and I wish they could have been with me today. But there’s you. You took Julia and me in and gave us a wonderful life. You taught us everything you knew, and you loved us. I feel that now. It surrounds me like a pink cloud.” She squeezed Viola’s hand and drew her close so that she could wrap her arms around the old woman. “And you gave me a second chance at life. My memory of that future time is fading now. It was a lonely, painful existence there.” Tears gathered in her eyes. For a moment, they choked off her words, but she was determined to tell her grandmother the rest. “If I hadn’t bought John’s violin, if I hadn’t tried to find out about him, would I be standing here today?” Genevieve felt her grandmother’s arms pull her tightly to her bosom. “No. You would not be here. None of this would have happened. We took an awful chance, my dear, but we would have lost you forever if we had done nothing.” Viola pushed Genevieve away slightly, just at arm’s length, and gazed at her through watery eyes. “John had faith in your love for him. He believed that you would return even when Julia and I felt uncertain. He said the violin was like a written invitation.” She reached out and brushed a tear away from Genevieve’s cheek. “Now, my dear, the time for weeping has ended unless they are tears of joy. Your future husband is waiting at the church, and you must grasp the life that was intended for you.” Her happy smile wobbled a bit as she grappled with her emotions. “We mustn’t mess up our faces any more. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.” Genevieve smiled back at her beloved grandmother. “I love you. It sounds so trite, but it’s everything. I love you with my whole heart.” Viola hugged her once again. “Thank you, my darling girl. It goes without saying that you and Julia are the two halves of my heart. I will love you always.” **** The wedding was splendid, and it was all that she could have hoped for. White roses and lilies tied with white satin bows and greenery graced each row of pews. The church radiated with the scent of Granny and Matilda’s roses. Everyone was there and dressed in their Sunday best. Even Ruby was there wearing a sleek, green satin dress that matched the green envy that was—much to Genevieve’s delight—written on her face. Genevieve had to forgive the woman for trying to take John. He was so very worth it. She might have tried to do the same thing, had their places been reversed. Her heart was too filled with happiness now to hold a grudge. Genevieve could only express forgiveness and love on this wonderful day. So, she looked at Ruby and gave her a peace smile. Genevieve followed behind her bridesmaids, Julia and Elva, holding onto her bouquet of white and yellow roses and daisies. Will gave her away, and Jimmy served as best man. John’s little band played the

wedding march. And John stood at the altar waiting for her to come to him. He looked beautiful in his suit, with a look of undeniable love in his dark green eyes. Sunlight blazed through his hair, setting it on fire. For the rest of her life, Genevieve would remember their vows and the way that John’s hand trembled as he held hers. She became Mrs. John Douglas on this day. Nothing could have been better than that. When the ceremony ended and Genevieve threw her bouquet, Ruby caught it. Genevieve was happy for her now. She hoped Ruby would find someone to love her, too. On this auspicious day, Genevieve could afford to be generous with her thoughts and wishes. She wanted everyone in the world to be as happy as she was. John and Genevieve danced the first dance, a graceful waltz, with their eyes intently on each other as they twirled on the wooden planks laid out for the occasion. The music was splendid and was provided by John’s little band, their joy for the happy couple so evident on their cheerful faces. The cake was a combined effort of Matilda and Viola. The white icing graced the curves of the three–tiered cake. Tasty, pink roses and green leaves climbed its delicate layers and were as beautiful as the real flowers held in pressed glass vases placed along the linen covered table. It couldn’t have been more splendid had they planned for it for months. The best thing of all was when Jimmy stepped out with Sky Chief on his arm and announced that this was the proper and fitting time to let the hawk go. With great ceremony and aplomb, Jimmy detached the leather tether from Sky Chief’s foot and removed the hood from his eyes. “You go on, boy, and have a good life,” Jimmy choked back boyish tears as he spoke softly to the bird and he lifted his arm where Sky Chief was perched. and the boy dropped his arm suddenly to signal his release to the bird. Sky Chief swooped low across the lawn, came back to circle around Jimmy twice, and then lifted into the twilight sky and disappeared over the treetops. Everyone cheered and congratulated Jimmy, who stood speechless staring at the empty sky where the hawk had flown. Will threw his arm affectionately around the boy’s shoulder in obvious pride. Genevieve saw the look of control on Jimmy’s face and realized that he was working hard not to cry. Genevieve knew from that moment that all of the events of the future would be altered, and most of them for the better. There wouldn’t be the sad boy who missed his brother so much that he couldn’t let go of a wild bird.

Chapter Forty-Two When, at last, John and Genevieve were alone in her room, John approached her as she sat before the mirror on her dressing table, brushing her hair. He laid his palm against her cheek and cupped her face tenderly in his hand. She could see the golden flecks in his deep green eyes as he peered at her through the mirror. Her heart surged with love for him. Their destinies were forever entwined. Genevieve stood and turned toward him. He was the most beautiful man on earth. Her heart leaped against her ribs and a knot of joy formed in her throat. Electricity followed the path of his caress as he grazed his long fingers down her cheek and neck. “You remember the night on the carousel when I kissed your knee and later when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other? Remember when I said I would have you one day and, if you didn’t want the same thing, to tell me then?” He nipped her neck sending a thrill blazing heat to her core. “I wanted you so badly that night that it hurt. I had to force myself to go to Ned’s radio party and try to act decently, when all through my mind was the image of you naked in my arms.” He took a ragged breath as he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her through the mirror. “That day I came through the window while you were taking your bath, I thought I would have to have you right then or make a complete fool of myself. I may have made of fool of myself anyway. What man could have resisted you or blamed me? You were like a goddess rising from that water. I could have dove into it and drown a happy man.” He began slowly undressing her as he spoke of these past events. Each memory served to heighten her desire for him to touch her again and to allow him the caresses of which he spoke. “When I lifted you up from that water and had sight of your glistening body, all steamy from the heat of your bath and slick with soap and water, I had to taste you—even just a small taste sufficed.” He pushed her wedding gown from her shoulders and exposed her breasts to his view. “Just as I must taste you now.” Kneeling beside her, he touched his lips to one breast and then the other with reverence, as if taking the sacrament. With one hand at her waist to keep her from falling, he gently explored her breasts with his free hand, caressing them, molding them, teasing her nipples until they hardened and throbbed with want. He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, tasting and suckling it until Genevieve moaned with the pleasure of his touch. Gently, he explored the other nipple, tasting it with his tongue and grazing it with his teeth. Genevieve reached for his shirt and began to unbutton it, exposing his chest and arms that had been crafted muscularly by hard, physical work. Smoothing her hand over the muscles, she kissed the hollow at the base of his throat and was delighted to hear him groan under her touch. He pulled her to him and took her with him as he stood up. Claiming her mouth with his, he darted his tongue into her mouth. Genevieve closed her eyes and felt the pleasure of his touch as he kissed her, continuing his explorations with his hands. He moved lower, removing her clothes as he went until she stood with nothing between them but her bloomers that were made of sheer silk. He sat her slightly from him and gazed into her eyes, his own eyes warm and golden with desire. “I ask you for the last time, Genevieve, my wife, will you have me now? May I do all the things to you that will make you want me as a man and give me release from the pain of yearning for you that I have suffered all this time? May I, finally and at last, make love to you?” “My God, will you just shut up and get on with it, John, before something inside of me just snaps?” John laughed as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her wedding gown slipped off her onto the floor as he did so. “Now, don’t you get all shrewish and ruin this for me, Genevieve. You’re going to remember this night for all the years to come, so don’t mess it up.” Genevieve giggled as she settled into the pillows and pulled his auburn head down to greet him with a ravishing kiss. “A little less talk and a little more action, mister. I’ve got some babies to make, and you’re holding up progress.” She snatched his suspenders off of his shoulders impatiently and, between the two

of them, managed to get him naked. Genevieve gazed at him like a drunken woman, her head whirling with the sight of his magnificent body. He was gorgeous. But it wasn’t just his body that she considered beautiful. His heart astounded her. He wore it in his eyes, which shone with love for her. She set aside all doubt and fear, allowing him to sweep her away with him. He ran his hands down her body, feeling, caressing, and exploring every inch of her exposed skin. His big hands moved down her body until he reached the apex between her legs, where his fingers opened her feminine cleft and delved inside of her. Genevieve gasped as she came to the ragged edge of lust and wanting that ran rampant throughout her core. Her heart raced and her skin scorched from the fire of his touch. His long fingers messaged the button hidden under her womanly folds and set a rhythm that she followed as she began her own explorations of her husband. He was everything she knew he would be. She felt him hard and heavy under her hands and was delighted when he shuddered as she took him in her hand and smoothed over his velvety hardness with her thumb. Her breath quickened as he rocked back and forth in her hand, eager to be inside her. That was where she wanted him. She wanted to feel him deep within her. She didn’t know if she could wait for him to decide when the time should come for him to enter her and take her from maiden to wife. But before she could voice her desire, she felt herself transported to a place of pleasure where nothing but fire and ecstasy existed. Something began to wind tighter and tighter in her solar plexus. It grew so tight that she wasn’t sure she could breathe, and she panted in attempt to catch her breath when suddenly the tension sprung into release and a warm glow spread over her body. John pulled her into his arms and held her as she drifted back to the bed where they lay. He moved the damp hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears. After kissing her ever so sweetly, he grinned and announced, “I’m just getting started, my wife, my darling Genevieve. We have babies to make and pleasures yet to be had. I know we have the rest of our lives and all, but I’d like to get a sampling of what it’s going to be like. So before you get all quiet and dreamy, I suggest we take a real sample of how it is to be.” He was suckling her nipples as he spoke, eliciting squeals of delight from her as the heat began to build inside her all over again. “For God’s sake, John, I don’t think I could get any more ready. But, before we do, I just want to tell you how much I love you. I just wanted you to know that.” John chuckled. “Honey, I do know. And, just in case you’re wondering, I love you right back times ten.” He played with a tendril of her hair as he lay on his side with his head resting in his hand gazing at her. He nibbled a path along the column of her neck and spoke just under her left ear, his breath causing ripples of excitement along Genevieve’s skin. “You’re here in my arms, annoying me with all this talk when we should be making love.” He burst out laughing when she dug her elbow into his side. “I want to look into your marvelous green eyes for a moment and see the way you look at me when we’re like this. I just can’t believe that I could ever be this happy. I feel a little scared, like it’s all going to be taken away from me.” She turned away so that he couldn’t see her face. She didn’t want to seem like a sentimental slob and go bawling about mushy stuff. John would have just teased her about it. How could he know how frightened she was that the fates might sweep her away from him? He placed his hand under her chin and gently brought her face around. “I understand. Believe me, darlin’, nothing is going away, especially me. This is the life we were supposed to have. This is our second chance, and I’m hanging on to you no matter what. I promise, I won’t let you go.” “And there’s one more thing I should tell you, husband. I’m not sure I can really tell you about it. It’s kind of embarrassing.” “I know,” he interrupted her, “Don’t concern yourself, honey. I know you’ve never been with a man before.” He chuckled softly. “So, I guess that means I can teach you all about sex from the ground floor up so to speak.” He laughed again as he pulled her closer. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going to maim or kill you. Believe me, if women died having sex, there wouldn’t be a living soul on the planet right now.”

Genevieve had to giggle at that thought. “All right, just take it slow and easy. It looks like you’ve got a mighty big weapon in your possession.” John looked down at his hardened member and glanced back up at Genevieve. “Why, thank you, love. I don’t think I’ve ever had that nice a compliment before.” Genevieve furrowed her brows at the thought that he had been with other women. “From now on, I’m the only one who gets to compliment you in that way, John. I believe being a wife gives me some exclusive rights. Do you get my drift?” She pouted her lips. John grinned as he ran his hand up her leg to the inside of her thigh. “Yes ma’am.” He lightly applied his lips to her neck. “Now let’s see, where were we?” “I think we were at the part where you were going to insert yourself inside me.” Genevieve blushed at her own words. He chortled gleefully. “Not quite so fast, honey, I have a few more things I’d like to do to you first. God, you’re priceless.” “Okay, let’s get on with it then.” She kissed his neck the way he had kissed hers and was happy to hear him groan with pleasure. “If you insist, madam.” His fingers migrated from her inner thigh into her cleft where he circled her hardened nubbin, sending waves of pleasure to her core. There, he moved his fingers back and forth in an ever increasing rhythm Genevieve was gasping and writhing beneath him. “Mmmmm, now that’s what I like to hear, Mrs. Douglas.” Removing his fingers, he kissed and caressed his way down the length of her body, his mouth exploring her most private places. Heat rose in the very core of her being as he took her woman’s pearl in his mouth and suckled it. She became electric—filled with fire that spread its heated pulse throughout her body. The tension kept building until she wondered if she would just explode. She rocked with the intense pleasure that he was bringing to her. He teased her nipples with his thumbs as he sucked her hard nubbin, his mouth playing its magic tune as if she were his violin. Her breath grew fast and hard until the tethers of her strings snapped, releasing her like a stone from a slingshot into the stars. John held her in his arms as she drifted back to earth for the second time. “Wow, I never knew it could be that wonderful, John. Can we do that again?” John chuckled. “You bet we can. In fact, we’re not really finished with the first time yet.” “There’s more?” “Oh yes, quite a bit more. Do you think you’re ready for that?” “Yes, I do.” He kissed her slowly and tenderly. When he lifted his head again, he peered into her eyes. “You can’t imagine how much I love you, my darling wife.” Genevieve flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “Yes, I can, my dear husband, because I would go to the ends of earth and time for you. I love you so much that it scares me.” Tears welled in her eyes when she thought about the possibility of losing him. She had come close to doing just that. “Now, don’t go getting all gushy on me. It’ll kind of spoil the moment, darlin’.” She ran her hands down his muscular back and lifted up her head to kiss him on the mouth. He gathered her up and ran his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened to him and he slipped his tongue past the barrier of her lips, searching the depths of her mouth. His kiss was slow, growing in intensity until she felt him move over her and place himself between her legs. He pressed his erection against her opening. She spread her legs apart and lifted her hips to welcome him. John entered her with one stroke, penetrating her maidenhead, and then stilled for a moment. When she cried out, he consoled and comforted her, kissing her neck, eyes, cheeks and lips murmuring sweet words of encouragement and reassurance with every caress. Genevieve experienced the pain of his entrance for only a second before pleasure replaced it and began to spread waves of heat into her core. She reached down to touch him where he entered her, where their

bodies joined, and stroked him eliciting a groan of delight from him. Impatient now to feel him deeper inside her, Genevieve arched her hips to take him in. Encouraged by his moan of pleasure at her movement, she ran her palms along his muscular back until she reached his buttocks. After exploring his firm contours, she pressed his hips against hers. Slowly, he began to rock his pelvis against hers, creating an ever increasing amount of friction. His breath quickened and his muscles bunched and flexed as he increased the tempo, driving deeper and deeper. Genevieve grew accustomed to the strange and wonderful feeling of being filled with him. Her entrance tightened around his stiffened member, and she exalted in her power to please him when she heard him take in a ragged breath. A film of perspiration made their bodies slip against one another easily. He held her in his arms, kissing her and caressing her neck, her breasts, and her engorged nipples until they both were sky rocketing into the universe on a journey of pleasure and love, bound for a destination that Genevieve wasn’t exactly sure of. But she trusted him as she had trusted no one else. Wherever they were going, she was going with him. The pleasure he brought her increased until it was almost unbearable. Her breathing hitched as she worked beneath him. More—she wanted more. She moaned as they moved with fever pitch. Heat spread from her cortex to her fingertips as John’s strokes reached a maddening pace. Catching her breath in quick pants, her body tensed as John stiffened and groaned. Stars dove across the heavens in hot streaks of light as Genevieve and John reached pure nirvana and shouted with triumph as they came to their simultaneous release. Stars exploded like volcanoes while the fire of passion burned their skin with pleasure. As they drifted back to earth, they clung to each other settling into the curves and planes of each other’s body finding peace as their hearts slowed and their limbs grew heavy where they lay entwined among the tangled sheets and disheveled pillows of their bed.

Epilogue Genevieve awoke to the scent of Jasmine drifting in on the summer breeze from the garden below. The curtains billowed as the light wind lifted them like sails on a great ship. It was still dark. She heard her daughter, Sophronia, calling out for her. John snaked his arm around her and spoke softly in her ear. “I’ll take care of her, and check on Sam and Lily while I’m at it. You just stay here until I get back. I think I may have some plans for you before the day begins.” Genevieve sighed contently and returned his kiss. “I’ll come if she needs me.” John ran a hand down the length of her thinly clad body. “No need to get up. Just keep my place warm until I get back.” She felt the mattress shift as John got up and left the room to check on their children. It was hard to believe that they had been married for twelve years. It seemed like just yesterday when they said their vows at St. Paul’s Church. But, even better than the memories of their wedding and their first weeks in Wilmington, were the memories of the births of their children. Lily had been their first, born eighteen months after they arrived in Wilmington. She was a beautiful baby with John’s auburn hair and Genevieve’s blue eyes. She had been a good baby, never a moment’s trouble. She loved school and wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up. She had moved rapidly from stuffed animals to real ones. John often laughed when he compared her to his younger brother. Like her Uncle Jimmy, she had bird feeders and aquariums everywhere. Sam was very different from Lily. He had spent the first two months awake and colicky. There were many long nights of rocking him to sleep. She and John had taken turns tending him. John insisted that he shared in that responsibility. Genevieve had worried that John wasn’t getting enough sleep to go to work, but John had said that he was used to hard work, and he had waived aside her concerns. The boy loved to hear his father play the violin and sing to him. It was apparently more soothing to him than riding in the Model-T because he would close his eyes and drift off to sleep within minutes of hearing the music. Although he was a rough-and-tumble boy, it was evident that music was in his blood. He started learning to play the violin when he was only four years old, much to his father’s delight. Sophronia was a Mama’s girl. She would grow quiet just hearing Genevieve’s voice. At the age of two, she was already quite a handful. There was nothing slow about their youngest child, and it took both parents with watchful eyes to keep her out of trouble. She and John didn’t know yet what their youngest might be some day. They had plenty of time for that to unfold. Genevieve felt in her heart that Sophronia would have some magic in her, some ability yet to be seen that would come through the generations from her side of the family. There was something in Sophronia’s eyes that made Genevieve realize that something special lay inside the child. It would reveal itself some day. Perhaps she was a dreamer like her mother. Yes, Genevieve treasured her children. The fact that they were John’s children made them even dearer to her. She remembered their life together up until now, as she waited dreamily for her husband to return. She remembered how John had held her every night of every year until the present moment. She listened as he sang “Slumber, My Darling” to their baby until her crying quieted. John came back to bed and settled in beside her. “They’re all asleep now. Sophronia just had a bad dream, but everyone is tucked in their little beds all snug and happy.” He slipped his arms around her as she turned toward him. “You know,” he said as he slipped the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders and gently messaged her nipples, which hardened under his touch, “it’s not a good idea to have an odd number of kids. I read somewhere that it’s a good idea to have kids in even numbers. So, my darling wife, I think we

better start working on that fourth.” Genevieve laughed as she welcomed him into her arms. Just before she turned to pay him her undivided attention, she glanced at the violin lying in its open case on the chair across the room. Inside the case was the gardenia she had worn in her hair at the ice cream social when she had almost left him, a picture of John proposing to her, and their marriage certificate. The violin and a little family magic had brought her to this man. No matter what the future held for them now, she would love him forever and always. THE END

TuÉâà à{x Tâà{ÉÜ Writing brings Sarah McNeal joy and fulfillment as nothing else can. Inspired by the story of her uncle, The Violin is the first in a series of books by her revolving around musical instruments. Future installments are to include The Piano and Harmonica Joe’s Reluctant Bride. Drawn to writing fantasy and time-travel fiction particularly, she has created a magical place called Valmora, where winged people with various magical abilities are in constant struggle with the evil forces of the Dark Isle. Readers can lose themselves in this word in The Dark Isle and Lake of Sorrows. A one-time nonfiction writer who has written for The Charlotte Observer and for the CMC Mercy Hospital, Sarah loves creating magical worlds and characters who strive to make a difference and invites readers to love them as she does. Visit Sarah on the web at www.sarahmcneal.com.