Part 24 (1/2)
She painted word pictures for them until they could see and hear the people she spoke of as clearly as she could a” Auld Nana, her broad face wreathed in a smile; sweet Jenny with her elfin nose and cropped curls; Arjon with his dry wit and fondness for a pretty face; the lovely Lyssandra, who'd finally won his fickle heart. She told them about everything except the shattering pleasure she and Colin had discovered in each other's arms and that last awful moment she couldn't bear to relive. Maybe if she never said the words aloud, they wouldn't be true.
When she was done, they sat in silence for a long time before Tabitha turned to her mother. ”Please, Mama, you have to help me get back. I know he'll wait for me. If I can just find a way backa”
Arian shook her head sadly. ”I'm sorry, darling, but traveling through time without the amulet is completely beyond my capabilities. And yours,” she added gently.
Tabitha s.h.i.+fted her frantic gaze to her father. ”You can make it work, can't you, Daddy? You're the one who designed the amulet all those years ago. All you have to do is make another one. I know you have a photographic mind. Even if you've destroyed the specs, you must remember how to re-create it.”
Tristan shot Arian a helpless look before covering Tabitha's hands with his own. ”And risk it falling into the hands of another monster like this Brisbane? Is that what your Colin would want?”
Tabitha bowed her head. ”No,” she finally said softly. ”He wouldn't want that at all.”
She withdrew her hands from her father's and stood. ”Thank you for coming by,” she said, her voice so lifeless her parents exchanged another anguished glance. ”I think I'll take the day off if you don't mind.”
As Tabitha shuffled off to the bedroom, the blanket dragging the floor behind her, Arian cast her husband a beseeching look, tears sparkling in her eyes. ”Oh, honey, what are we going to do? She was always such a self-sufficient little thing. I never thought she needed us.”
Tristan drew her close, brus.h.i.+ng her hair with a kiss so she wouldn't see the calculating glint in his eyes. ”Well, she needs us now. And I have every intention of being there for her.”
Tabitha called in sick for five weeks.
She spent most of her time lying on the sofa in her pajamas, watching soap operas and game shows, barely moving, barely thinking, and never crying. She also spent hours sitting cross-legged at the window with Lucy in her lap, gazing dry-eyed at a world full of strangers. The days and nights began to blend into one formless mist, broken only by the daily visits from her parents, who came bearing crock pots of chicken soup and gourmet meals from her favorite restaurants. Soon her refrigerator was crammed with their untouched offerings.
After four and a half weeks, they could no longer hide their concern behind brave smiles and false cheer. Fearing that she'd picked up smallpox or the plague or some other obscure disease from her trip to the Middle Ages, her father insisted that she see a doctor.
Tabitha informed him that she didn't need a doctor.
She wasn't sick.
She was dying.
Although her body had been transported neatly back to where the amulet must have figured it belonged, it was nothing but an empty sh.e.l.l. She'd left her heart in that sunlit meadow with Colin.
Her father had finally gotten angry and shouted that it was time for her to stop mooning over a man she could never have, but she'd seen the fear in his eyes and was sorry to have caused it. But not sorry enough to eat the Big Mac in the crumpled sack he carried.
Later that afternoon she was lying on the couch staring sightlessly at the television when her mother stormed off the elevator, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the remote, and thumbed off the power.
Before Tabitha could murmur a protest, Arian stamped her small foot, reminding her eerily of Lyssandra, and shouted, ”Your father went to McDonald's for you! Do you understand how hard that was for him? He's never set foot in any restaurant that boasts less than a four-star rating.” Her mother paced the length of the coffee table, then whirled around to point a finger at her. ”He could have sent your Uncle Sven or one of his other security men, but no! He had to go himself. He had to make sure his baby girl got the freshest sesame seed bun and the crispest pickles in the entire franchise. Why, he practically made the poor manager cry!”
Tabitha couldn't have explained why, but her own eyes were beginning to fill with tears. When Arian hurled a crumpled sack at her, she was so surprised she caught it.
”I told Daddy I wasn't hungry,” she whispered weakly.
”Open it,” Arian commanded.
Tabitha obeyed, staring with shock at the contents. It was a home pregnancy test, the kind you could purchase over the counter at any drugstore. She'd never even suspected her sheltered mother of knowing about such things. After all, Arian had been born in 1669 when such things didn't exist.
”You may have given your father the PG version of your little adventures, but I know that look in your eyes. I've seen it often enough in my own.” Arian nodded toward the bathroom. ”Go.”
Refusing to even let herself hope, Tabitha obeyed. As she pa.s.sed the bathroom mirror, her reflection caught her eye for the first time since returning from the past. She could not help but stare. The woman gazing back at her was a painfully thin stranger with gaunt hollows beneath her cheekbones and dark circles around her eyes. Tabitha felt a bleak flare of shame. The woman in the mirror didn't look like someone Colin would have fallen in love with.
When Tabitha emerged from the bathroom, Arian was sitting on the sofa, stroking the kitten in her lap. She watched her daughter warily, but neither said a word.
Tabitha simply went to the refrigerator, fished out the crumpled McDonald's sack, and began to cram bites of Big Mac into her mouth as fast as she could. She ate as if she were starving, as if she hadn't eaten for years and would never get the chance to eat again. When she finished the sandwich, even licking her fingers clean of dripping sauce, Arian handed her a banana cream pie and a tablespoon, grinning through her tears.
Tabitha went to the doctor the very next day.
To her father's pretended chagrin, twenty-first century medical technology determined that she hadn't picked up the plague or the pox, but a baby boy. Although Tristan bl.u.s.tered and fussed because some Scottish ne'er-do-well had gotten his little girl pregnant, he went to F.A.O. Schwarz that very afternoon and bought a stuffed giraffe so big they had to fold it to get it on the elevator.
Tabitha still wasn't sleeping well, but now at night when she lay in the darkness aching with emptiness, she would fold her hands over her stomach and whisper to the baby. She told him stories about his father a” a bold and true knight who always fought on the side of right and had once slain a dragon to win the heart of his lady fair.
She returned to her job the following week. She was surprised by how easy it was to throw herself back into her daily routine, to let the soothing rhythms of work dull the loneliness gnawing at her soul. She only had one bad moment on her first day back, when she was delivering a late report to the Accounting Department.
A dark-haired man was sauntering down the carpeted corridor ahead of her, his rolling gait betraying just a hint of a swagger. As she teetered after him on her high heels, Tabitha's heart began to skip more beats than it hit.
”Sir,” she cried, unable to keep the pleading note from her voice. ”Wait, please wait.”
But when he turned around, his eyes weren't the color of sunlight, but a dull muddy brown. He looked blankly at her. ”Yes? Can I help you?”
She recoiled a few steps, swallowing a bitter lump of disappointment. ”I thought you were someone else. I'm sorry, Mra.?”
He extended his hand. ”Ruggles. George Ruggles.”
At one time Tabitha might have thought his bland face, neatly trimmed hair, and friendly smile were handsome, but now she preferred men with at least a day's growth of razor stubble and hair that looked as if it hadn't been combed in a week, even if it had.
Weekends were the hardest for her and one Sat.u.r.day morning in early spring she found herself standing on the steps of the New York Public Library without knowing how she'd gotten there. The stone lions flanking the entrance were rumored to be the guardians of the truth, but she was afraid their n.o.ble and uncompromising visages might reveal more than she could bear.
But as she touched a hand to her belly, she knew she owed the child she carried more than fairy tales.
She could have probably found the information she was looking for on-line, but she'd always loved the vast Main Reading Room with its diffuse sunlight and bronze reading lamps. After she'd made her request, she sat at one of the tables and patiently waited, hoping the staff wouldn't be as efficient as she remembered. But a smiling blond woman quickly appeared with her selection.
As Tabitha thumbed through the thick sheaf of photocopies, her hands began to shake. She didn't even know why it should matter if Colin died that sunny morning in the meadow. After all, whether he lived or died in that moment, he'd still been dead for over seven hundred years. Even his bones would be nothing but dust by now.
But she pored over the genealogical charts anyway, learning that the name Ravenshaw had eventually become Renshaw, slowly tracing its evolution backward through the centuries until she found the notation she was looking for.
A tear splashed on the page as she traced his name with her finger. It seemed that Laird Colin of Ravenshaw, the seventh son to bear the family t.i.tle, had lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven. Despite the exceptional length of his life, he had married only once. His wife was not named, but she had borne him three sons and two daughters, all remarkably healthy and long-lived for children of their era. Their love had sp.a.w.ned a family dynasty that continued over several pages, stretching all the way to the present day.
Tabitha's tears were flowing freely now. She cupped a trembling hand over her mouth, the joy she felt at learning Colin had survived Brisbane's attack marred by bittersweet envy of the nameless, faceless woman who had shared his life, his love, and his bed for over fifty years.
The blond attendant who had brought her the photocopies appeared at her shoulder. ”Miss, are you all right?”
”I don't think so,” she whispered before s.n.a.t.c.hing up her purse and fleeing the woman's puzzled gaze.
Chapter 30.
Michael Copperfield pushed open the swinging door to Lennox Labs and poked his head inside. The lab was deserted. Most of the employees had taken off early, eager to rush home and prepare for the c.o.c.ktail party their boss was hosting later that evening. A c.o.c.ktail party where the new Vice President of Operations of Lennox Enterprises was to be named and honored by a fawning throng of New York luminaries and the media.
”Tristan?” he called out.