“I could use a drink,” Doris said behind her.

  Pam pasted a smile on her face and turned around. “So could I.”

  They went to the drawing room. Doris poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Pam. They clinked glasses and drank. “Doris, I hope I didn’t—when we spoke, I didn’t mean to push you.”

  Doris shook her head. “You gave me the courage to do what I wanted to do.”

  “I thought you might eventually come around, but I wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly.”

  “I don’t know.” Doris’s eyes grew distant. She absently sipped her wine. “Elliot and his father were out at their club, so it was just Mrs. Bradley and me for dinner. She started going on about how Elliot expects his shirts and trousers to be pressed, and his favourite meals, and oh, I felt ill, physically ill. I thought, is this it? Suddenly someone was pushing back her chair and saying, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Bradley, but I can’t marry your son.’ It was me!” Doris’s wide eyes conveyed how surprised she was at her own hubris. “Mrs. Bradley looked like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen. Finally she wheezed out a what? I shouldn’t have brought you into it, but I needed one final burst of courage to take that first step and march from the room. I told her that we’d discussed it and you understood. I suppose I didn’t want her to think me completely mad. I’m sorry.”

  “No. We did discuss it, and I did encourage you to pursue medicine. If you needed me with you in spirit, so be it.” Pam chuckled. “I doubt I’ll ever be invited over to the Bradleys’, though.” Not that it mattered.

  Doris’s eyes danced. “No.” She drained her glass. “I have to find work. I have to find a place to live. Oliver’s right, Mother and Father will be too angry to look at me.” She set her glass on the nearest table and clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, I feel sick, excited, scared, alive! I haven’t felt this alive since before Thomas disappointed me.”

  Pam’s vision blurred. “You know what you’re meant to do with your life, Doris.” And so did Pam. She set her empty glass next to Doris’s. “I’m going to bed now.” She grasped Doris’s shoulders. “It might be difficult, but don’t give up. You can do it.”

  Doris’s eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” With a nod and one final glance around the drawing room, Pam left, eager to start on her letter to Jasper.

  She’d expected to spend at least an hour writing it, but ended up going for short and to the point. She loved him, but she’d made a mistake. This time period wasn’t for her. Pam wondered if Margaret was—or would be—experiencing the same sort of time shock. Ideally Margaret would return to the drawing room in Toronto. But then, how did Margaret end up marrying Jasper in Halifax? Oh, her parents thought she was pregnant. They’d probably rip into her for running home, tell her she wasn’t welcome, and put her on a train back to Halifax. Or maybe Margaret would return here, to Pam’s bedroom at the Pembletons’. Poor Margaret. No matter where she found herself, she’d be so confused at first, but she’d figure it out, and Jasper would be here to rescue her. In her letter, Pam told him to take care of her.

  As Pam sealed the envelope, she pondered where to leave the letter. If she held it while she sat on the bed and read the rhyme, it would probably fall to the carpet. The floor wouldn’t be a good place for her missive. She wrote JASPER across the front of the envelope and propped it up on the desk. Then she went to her trunk, opened it, and lifted out the black book she hadn’t set eyes on since the day she’d arrived. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and stared down at the rhyme book resting on her lap, then opened it with shaking hands.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Margaret slowly descended the stairs, chiding herself for falling behind in her usual morning schedule. She dragged herself into the kitchen, determined to prepare Robin’s breakfast before she came down. A bead of sweat trickled down her brow; she wiped it away. What was the matter with her? She’d gone to bed at her usual hour, yet when the alarm clock had sounded, she’d squinted into the light with tired eyes, surprised that it wasn’t the middle of the night. She could have rolled over and slept for hours.

  She opened one of the lower cupboards and lifted out the frying pan, then clutched her stomach with her free hand when a wave of nausea washed over her. No! I don’t want to go back! I don’t want to go back! The frying pan slipped from her shaking fingers and crashed to the floor. No! Please, no! Her stomach lurched; she squeezed her eyes shut. Banging, sounding far away. Then a weight on her shoulder.

  “Margaret! Are you all right?”

  She cracked open an eye. Robin peered at her. “Robin!” Margaret clung to her. Don’t let the rhyme take me. Don’t let it take me!

  “What’s the matter?” Robin shrieked.

  “I feel nauseous. The rhyme . . .”

  Robin drew back and pressed her hand against Margaret’s forehead. “You feel hot. You’re running a fever. And you’re so pale!” Her forehead puckered. “It’s not the rhyme. You’re sick.”

  That realization gave her a small measure of relief. “No wonder I don’t feel myself this morning.” Robin must think her a hysterical woman.

  “Most people with a fever and tricky tummy figure they’re ill, not that they’re about to be hurtled through time.” The amusement in Robin’s eyes quickly faded. “Come on, let’s get you back into bed.”

  “No. I’ll be—”

  “Margaret, don’t be stubborn. You’re not well.” Robin steered her toward the hallway. “If you want, we’ll get you settled on the sofa. Then you can watch TV.”

  “All right. I’d like to change my nightie.”

  Robin nodded. “While you’re doing that, I’ll bring down a blanket and your pillow.”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Margaret gave her a sidelong glance. Robin was wearing only a long t-shirt. She must have rushed from the bathroom when she heard the frying pan hit the floor. Margaret would change into a clean nightie and sweatpants, and would do away with the latter after Robin left.

  Robin paused on the upstairs landing. “I only have two classes today. I can skip them.”

  “No, no. I’ll be all right. Go to school.”

  “But what if you feel worse?”

  “I have your phone number.”

  Robin grimaced. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s a stomach ailment that will clear up in a day or two.”

  “You are, eh?” Robin lifted an eyebrow. “You know, this does bring vaccinations to mind. I bet you’re not vaccinated against anything. Because of herd immunity, you probably have nothing to worry about, but when you feel better, you’re going to the doctor.”

  The thought of seeing a doctor frightened her, but she didn’t want Robin to worry. “All right.” After shutting the bedroom door, she wanted to lie down and close her eyes, but she wouldn’t sleep all day and would grow bored up here. She’d rather spend the day on the sofa. When nature called, the small ground-floor powder room would do.

  Five minutes later, she climbed into the makeshift bed Robin had prepared on the sofa and laid her head on the pillow with a weary sigh.

  “Do you think you can eat or drink anything?” Robin asked.

  Another wave of nausea assaulted her. “No.”

  “You have to at least drink. Let me go to the corner store to get some ginger ale. It’ll help.”

  “Okay.” She threw her arm across her forehead and listened to Robin bound up the stairs to get dressed. The episode in the kitchen had erased any doubts she may have had about remaining in this time period and utterly committing to Robin. She dearly missed her family and friends; not saying a proper good-bye to them would always haunt her. But the panicked moment in the kitchen, when she’d thought the rhyme was summoning her back, had made her deepest desire crystal clear. She wanted to remain here—with Robin. Perhaps they wouldn’t live a fairy-tale life, but then, she’d never imagined one. She’d simply known that she wanted to be with the woman she loved, and her desire had never wavered.

  “Be back in a minute,” Robin said from the hallway.

  Margaret must have dozed off, because Robin was suddenly there, stirring a glass of ginger ale. “Why are you doing that?” Margaret asked.

  “I’m flattening it. It should help calm your stomach. If it doesn’t, there are a few other things we can try.”

  Margaret opened her mouth to ask how Robin knew so much about easing nausea, then clamped it shut and accepted the glass with a nod. She cautiously sipped it. When her stomach didn’t revolt, she drank a bit more, then lowered the glass. Best to pace herself. “Don’t be late for school.” Oh! “Eat something.”

  “I’ll grab something there.” Robin hovered over her.

  “Go, Robin. I’ll be all right.”

  “Call me if you need me, okay? Don’t hesitate.”

  “I won’t.” She shied away when Robin leaned in to hug her. “You don’t want to get sick.”

  Robin kissed her cheek. “It might be fun, cuddling up under that blanket with you.” She quickly looked away, perhaps regretting the lapse in her defences that thrilled Margaret and gave her hope. Oh, how she wanted to get better and be on her feet again! Robin still wanted to be with her, she knew it!

  “I’ll see you later,” Robin mumbled.

  From the sofa, Margaret watched her throw on her jacket and grab her knapsack. Then she was gone.

  After another sip of ginger ale, Margaret lay back and closed her eyes. As long as she didn’t move, the nausea remained at bay. She started to drift. The sound of the cars driving outside blended in with—her eyes snapped open; she sat up, her heart pounding. Someone was in the house!

  Robin dropped her knapsack to the floor and pulled off her jacket. “There’s no point. I’ll just worry about you,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Margaret slowly exhaled and lay back again. “I seem to be falling asleep at the drop of a hat.”

  “Shit, and I woke you up. Sorry. I know you wanted me to go to school, but I can’t.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “What can I say? I’m a worrywart.”

  Margaret loved her worrywart. Her eyes slid shut. “Go eat something,” she murmured.

  “Okay. Then maybe I’ll, uh . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to wake you up again.”

  “Since I’m not in the bedroom, maybe you can play that game on your computer.”

  “Maybe I will—when you’re asleep and I’m convinced you’ll be okay.”

  Margaret inwardly smiled. She dozed off, knowing she was in good hands.

  *****

  Pam folded her arms to guard against the chill, hoping an even frostier cold wouldn’t soon wrap itself around her heart. When she spotted the pond through the trees, she quickened her pace, trusting Jasper to keep up. “This is it,” she murmured, sweeping her arm toward the thin layer of ice floating atop her oasis. Maybe bringing him here hadn’t been such a good idea; their conversation might ruin her favourite spot. “I almost read the rhyme last night,” she blurted, then watched her misty breath float away. The words hung between them.

  “Why?” Jasper finally said.

  She winced at the tremor in his voice. “Because you didn’t defend me,” she said, her own voice shaking as her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back and gazed at the pond. “Oliver spoke up. Hortense spoke up. You sat there while Elliot ripped into me.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to come to your defence, but I’m always afraid that I’ll give us away, that they’ll find out you’re not Margaret and take you away from me.”

  She turned to him.

  “It’s bad enough with Doris knowing,” he said. “I can hardly sleep. I’m not cut out for this.”

  “Not cut out for what?” Pam asked sharply.

  “Lying. Calling you Margaret, when I want to call you Pam.”

  His distressed face eased her anger and disappointment—a little. “It sounds like neither one of us thought things through.”

  “You want to go back,” Jasper stated.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Yes. No. When we’re together, I feel as if we can conquer everything. When we’re not, I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. When you didn’t stand by me . . .” She shook her head. “I’m not one to run away from problems, especially when I’ve already touched lives here in a way I wasn’t expecting. I realized that when I opened the book.” And she didn’t want to spoil things for Margaret and Robin. How would she explain to Robin that she’d given her and Margaret a chance, only to cruelly snatch it away because she’d awakened from her fairy-tale dream? “I also realized I’ve been naive, thinking I could just leave my own time and adopt this one, without blinking.” She slapped her chest. “Do you know what it feels like, finding out you’re a not a person?”

  “Of course you’re a person.”

  “Not according to the law! I can’t even vote.” But since she usually voted for whoever looked the cutest on TV, and there was no TV here, did it matter? She smiled.

  “What?” Jasper asked indignantly.

  “I was just thinking about Robin’s reaction when I told her how I decide who to vote for.” She hadn’t realized Robin’s mouth could open so wide. “I can adapt, Jasper, but I need to know you’ll support me one hundred percent. I’m probably going to ruffle feathers. I’m not good at keeping my mouth shut. If you want a demure wife who drinks her tea with her pinkie up and applauds when her rights are trampled, I’m a bad choice for a fiancée.”

  He grasped her shoulders. “I love you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I hope you love me.”

  “I do,” she said softly.

  “I have to adapt, too. Everything happened so quickly! I don’t have to adjust to the time period, but my life was tipped on its head. You gave me the courage to go after the life I want, which includes you as my wife. If I were to say something that cast suspicion on you, I’d never forgive myself. But you’re right. Last night, I behaved cowardly. I’m sorry.”

  See? Now she believed they’d live happily ever after—until the next time 1910 slapped her across the face or Jasper disappointed her. But seriously, they would occasionally disappoint each other. “I want to be more than a wife and mother.” There, she’d said it. She met his eyes.

  “You want to work?”

  She wouldn’t go that far. “Not necessarily. But I want to contribute to society beyond raising children.”

  “Do charity work. Join the temperance movement. Lots of women do.”

  “The temperance movement? You mean, no booze? I don’t think so. I’m not a lush, but a tipple now and then doesn’t hurt.”

  “Help me with my—our investments.”

  “Really?”

  Jasper nodded. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy working with Bill. I could do without worrying about the money. I can teach you.”

  “I know a little about investments, so sure. And I’d already thought about getting involved with some type of movement. To help women.” Not to prohibit liquor. “I promise I won’t be a pain by taking all sorts of unpopular public stands. I figure there are quieter ways to help improve women’s lives.” She suspected Doris might be able to point her in the right direction.

  A smile spread across Jasper’s face. “It sounds like we’re still getting married.”

  Of course they were. He’d married someone on December 15th, and it hadn’t been the real Margaret. When Pam had lifted the rhyme book’s cover, she’d known right away that she couldn’t do it. She loved Jasper. Margaret and Robin loved each other. Given time, they’d all muddle through. In her hands, in that book, had sat the power to take that time away, but to what end? They’d always wonder, what if? “I’ve never doubted that I love you and want to marry you. I’ve only doubted that I can be happy here.”

  “I won’t fail you again,” Jasper said firmly.

  She caressed his cheek. “Yes, you will. I’m sure I’ll have my moments, too. But we’ll get through them.” Pam sighed, leaned into him, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever forget 2010 and think it was all a dream. But then I think, no, I’ll never forget the people, especially Robin and Margaret. I wish I could have said a proper good-bye.”

  “I’m sure they’ll feel the same.”

  Don’t, girls. Don’t let the past hold you back. I know you would have said good-bye, if you’d had the chance. I know.

  Jasper rubbed her back. “Can we talk about our honeymoon now? Bill was telling me about a picturesque little town in New Brunswick.”

  “Let’s go there,” Pam said, not caring where they went as long as they were together. Okay, so they’d discussed another event she’d already known about—their honeymoon in New Brunswick. She felt as if she were cheating, and worried that the universe would be angered and come back to bite her. But how could it, when the universe had obviously wanted Margaret in 2010 and Pam here? Thank god she and Robin hadn’t looked at cemetery records. Knowing when she and Jasper would die . . . just no. They had their whole lives ahead of them. When Robin did do a cemetery record and obituary search—and Pam was positive that she would—she’d find that Margaret and Jasper Bainbridge had died married after a happy life together.

  *****

  Margaret grimaced and rubbed her arm. Her new doctor, who was female, much to Margaret’s delight, hadn’t been joking when she’d said that the vaccination might cause some tenderness. And this was only the first one. She’d have a flu shot in a couple of weeks and wouldn’t be as nervous about that appointment. Nobody had batted an eye when Margaret had presented herself as “Pam Holden” and handed over her health card. Fortunately Robin’s doctor, who’d never met Pam, had accepted her as a new patient. Best of all, after a thorough examination and blood tests, Margaret had been given a clean bill of health. No, she was more worried about the January dental appointment Robin had insisted she make. Despite Robin’s assurances, Margaret was sure she’d be tortured.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20