A Cry at Midnight (42 page)

"Where's Suzette?"

"Probably working on the dining room. I saw her running in and out there before I came upstairs."

"Go ahead. Get what you can from the library. You know which papers to get out."

"I know. I'll take care of it. Go on, find her."

Jackson ran to the dining room, Rose squirming in his arms. She began to cry, but he didn't see Suzette. The smell of the fire was so much less here. He ran down the hall and outside to front lawn. Pieces of furniture and the muddy ground were covered with dishes, books, and papers. The house staff and even field workers ran past him, carrying out his belongings.

"Suzette!" he yelled, but he couldn't find the baby's nurse so she could take Rose. She continued to cry as Jackson ran farther away from the house. He turned back and looked, shocked by the sight of yellow flames streaking from the upper floor, out the windows of the nursery, engulfing the cypress shingles of the roof.

Everything he'd worked for was going up in flames. His beloved plantation, flooded; his beautiful house, gutted by fire. On top of losing Randi . . . He staggered, feeling so desolate and alone that he could go on.

But then Rose wiggled in his arms, her tears stopped now that she was fully awake and away from the noise and confusion of the house. She looked at the fire, her luminous eyes glowing from the dancing flames.

As long as his baby was safe, he knew he could go on. The house had been beautiful, but he could rebuild. The fields would be replanted as soon as the water receded. He could go survive this disaster, but he didn't know if he would ever feel the same passion for living since he'd lost Randi. She was his life, far more than this plantation or the beautiful belongings in the house.

Suddenly, the words of the old crone, years before, came back to haunt him. "Fire will destroy, but if you're honest and true, you'll escape to a new life." She'd been right, he realized with wonder, except he couldn't imagine a new life without Randi.

He heard the sound of crying, but when he looked at Rose, she was still staring in fascination at the house. Who else was around? He turned a full circle, looking for someone sitting or lying on the ground, but found no one. The sound increased. A strange feeling came over him as he remembered standing outside, very near this spot, with Randi. She'd said she heard Rose crying, even though she'd been upstairs with the window shut.

The sound increased. Jackson listened carefully, finally realizing that he was hearing Randi's tears. He recognized the sobs from when she'd cried so hard at the levee after telling him about the baby she'd lost. Wherever she was, whatever was happening to her right now, she needed the same comfort.

"Randi, where are you?" he yelled into the glowing night sky. Sparks and embers drifted high overhead, blocking out the stars. "Randi!"

"Oh, Jackson," he thought he heard her sob.

He could stand to watch his house burn, his lands flood, but knowing Randi was some place where he couldn't hold her close and dry her tears caused such gut-wrenching pain that he screamed his frustration aloud.

Rose became upset, and as he tried to calm her, he realized he held Randi's dearest possessions in his hand. The wallet . . .

He torn into the fanny pack, opening the wallet and tilting it so the fire illuminated the words and pictures. Carefully, he pulled out the document called a driver's license and stared at the portrait. Randi wasn't smiling any longer. He gently touched the shiny surface and felt a sheen of moisture. Confused, he brought his finger to his lips and tasted the salt of tears.

"Randi, where are you?" he whispered. "I need to find you, my love. We need each other far more than we need any of our possessions."

He watched the portrait seem to change before his eyes. No longer crying, she simply looked incredibly sad, and her mouth opened, as though she wanted to speak to him.

"Randi," he whispered once more.

A strange feeling of warmth crept over him. Holding Rose tight in his other arm, he looked up from the wallet. The flames, dancing so rapidly just moments ago, seemed to have slowed. Even the servants, who had been dashing about to save his belongings, appeared to be moving through deep mud or water. He saw Lebeau exit the door, then wave slowly at him. Jackson tipped his head to the side, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but then the world blazed in a white light so bright he blinked. He spun around, holding tight to Rose and to Randi's possessions, frightened for both their safety. Then, with a jolt, his backside landed against a hard object.

Rose stopped crying, probably frightened as much as he. Gradually he began to see again, noticing not the glow of a fire, but the darkness of night. Even the air smelled different, not filled with smoke and embers, but the cool crispness of a spring night.

As his eyes focused, he began to see objects. In front of him stood an unfamiliar building. His eyes scanned downward, taking in the arched pediment about the door, the narrow columns on either side leading to a small porch.

And standing on the porch, her mouth gaping open, her fists rubbing her eyes, stood the woman he loved.

"Randi," he whispered, before the world began to spin and turn once more. He reached out his hand, he heard her answering cry, and then he felt himself sinking into darkness once more.

#

Randi had never run so fast in her life. She went from staring in disbelief at the man and baby leaning against her car to running toward them in the matter of a heartbeat. "Jackson," she yelled as she saw him begin to faint.

She reached him in time to take Rose from his powerful grasp and sink to the pavement with him. Her body kept him from leaning sideways and hitting his head, but she was still worried.

"Darn time travel aftershocks," she mumbled as she checked Rose for any problems. She looked as though she was sleeping, but then, so did Jackson at the moment. He leaned at an awkward angle against the front tire, his head kept fairly upright by the metal wheel well. She only hoped he didn't stay passed out too long, because she was going to have some explaining to do if Mrs. Williams drove up in a few house to find this in her parking lot.

"You're worried about Mrs. Williams when you got the man you love right here?" she asked herself incredulously. The realization he was really her finally hit. "You're here," she whispered, holding Rose tight with one hand, reaching out and touching Jackson's face with the other. Warm and alive, he'd found a way to come to her. She leaned close, placing a kiss on his relaxed and unresponsive lips.

That will change real soon
, she vowed.

He smelled smoky, as though he'd been to a cookout. What had he been doing in the past? And how had he gotten here?

She eased Rose to a more comfortable position, then decided the baby could rest against her daddy for just a minute while Randi checked them both out. She arranged the baby into the crook of Jackson's arm.

Running her hands over both of them, she found no problems. Like her, they'd just become faint and disoriented. She'd gone through this twice, and remembered distinctly the awful feeling of weakness passing through time caused. In Jackson's hand, however, she was surprised to find her fanny pack and wallet. He still had a tight grip on the objects, as though he was afraid to lose them. How sweet. He'd been holding her stuff, looking through her photographs.

"That's what drew you here, isn't it?" she said in wonder. Her driver's license, especially, peeked above the plastic. With a smile, she realized that because of the object that had brought him through time, he'd come not only to her, but to her car.

She was still smiling when he opened his eyes and blinked up at her. "You're really here?" he asked.

"No," she said, smoothing her palm over he cheek.
You're
really here."

"This is your time?"

"No, Jackson," she said, leaning down, her eyes filling with tears of joy, "This is our time."

Randi
closed the text book she'd been reading for the past half hour while Rose napped. College was great, but Randi wished she could study only the courses she wanted. Math was okay. She'd taken a real interest in history, she thought with a smile, but economics. Uck! She saw no reason why an architect needed to know about supply and demand curves.

With a sigh, she pushed herself out of the big wing chair that Jackson usually sat in each evening. He still enjoyed sitting by a fire, and she'd been hard-pressed to explain to him how furnaces worked. His first reaction any cool weather was to build a nice roaring fire, she recalled with a smile. Then, of course, he'd wanted to snuggle in front of it. He'd become very attached to a certain quilt that Randi kept draped over the back of the chair, just in case he wanted to "snuggle" right there on the floor.

A familiar spot of pink caught her eye as she stood by the hearth. The little pink baby doll, never returned to the museum, rested in a special tableau Darla had created from miniature furniture and tiny print fabric. Some day, Randi thought, she'd have a whole dollhouse. Rose would enjoy rearranging the furniture and using her imagination to create a family who lived inside--as long as she didn't go traveling through time!

Randi walked to one of the windows that looked out over their small front yard, the split rail fence, and gravel road that led across the property to their house on her Uncle Aaron's horse farm. Jackson should be home soon. She had a class that evening, but they always had enough time for a meal together before she drove to Memphis.

He'd insisted she quit work, not at all comfortable with a wife who made money when he was still struggling to learn the customs and technology of the time. She'd given in after compromising; she'd go to school, he'd work, and they'd both care for Rose.

For a bona fide Nineteenth Century male chauvinist, Jackson was straightening up just fine, Randi thought affectionately. He retained the traditions most important to him, but had proved very flexible about learning new things. He had yet to take his driver's test, but he would, in time. He considered horses the best old-fashioned mode of transportation, just like he wanted a real fire instead of a modern furnace.

She sure didn't mind watching Jackson split logs he dragged in from her uncle's wooded acreage. He'd put on a little weight since arriving six months ago--all muscle. Working hard all day would have upset most wealthy landowners who arrived penniless in another century, but not her husband. He'd taken to manual labor as if he'd been born to exercise and train horses, fix up their cozy house, and care for the small garden he insisted every family should have.

Oh, and making love. He was quite good at that too, she thought with a widening smile as he walked up the fieldstone path to the front door.

"Hi," she said softly as she opened the door for him. He smelled of sunshine and horses, with a tang of autumn. "Rose is napping."

Jackson Bondurant smiled suggestively, bringing Randi close for a hug. "In that case, would you like to lie down yourself?"

"I have class tonight."

"Not for another," he paused and checked the modern wristwatch her parents had given him for Father's Day, "three hours."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Just for you," he said, lowering his head and kissing her so thoroughly that her knees went weak.

She molded her arms around his back, pulling him closer, reveling in the solid feel of bone and muscle and warm flesh. At times like this, she still got misty-eyed. What a wonder that of all the people who had ever lived, she and Jackson had found each other. Time had been no barrier to their love.

He pulled back, his finger gently touching the corner of her eye and coming away damp. "Remembering again?" he whispered.

"Only good memories."

"The very best," he agreed.

She kissed him, lingering long enough to savor the taste and feel of him once more. When she pulled back, she looked into his dark eyes and asked, "Do you ever regret losing the plantation?"

"If I had to give up a hundred Black Willow Groves to have you and Rose, the answer would still be no. What I lost was only wood and dirt. What I gained was the world."

"Oh, Jackson, that is so sweet," she whispered, throwing her arms around him and hugging his close once more. She pushed away from his shoulders, although he held her tight at the waist. "But you don't mind my sketches survived, and they built the museum?"

"Of course not. Although I do find it amusing that you never thought those sketches were yours when you saw them in the history book." The lines around his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"How could I? I hadn't drawn them yet when I went back in time."

Jackson laughed. "I know, but allow me the irony of knowing my wife helped create the replica of the house she traveled back in time to see."

"Oh, no. I traveled in time for you and Rose, not for some old house."

He swatted her on the bottom. "You still have to get in the last word, don't you?"

"Absolutely!"

They walked into the house. Jackson picked up the mail which had been delivered earlier that day. "What's this?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. It's a letter from Barbara Lebeau. I tracked her down on the Internet in computer lab at school. She's Samson Lebeau's great-great-granddaughter."