A Whisper in Time (17 page)

He gave a shrug and kept walking.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
HREE

A S
LY
T
HIEF

The decision was made. I would return to the past. Yet I would do more than merely warn my sister against the dangers facing her. I would leave behind a cure.

Mark had not asked me again why I’d been in his bedroom last evening. I was glad, for I would’ve refused to answer, and Mark was wise enough to know that something was not as it should be.

I had one orange bottle in my bathroom with three pills remaining, which was the reason I was on a mission to find more. Although Mark’s dresser had held no pills, there might be more elsewhere in the house.

But first, I needed to know what would be needed. I had taken so many pills during my illness that I’d lost count. How many would Phoebe need to overwhelm her infection?

I crept down the stairs and opened the door to the garage. Mark’s bike was gone. That was good news. I could talk to his mother without fear.

I found her in the living room. “Sherri?”

“Hmmm?” She didn’t look up from a puzzle that spread across an entire coffee table.

“What is the difference between oral and topical antibiotics?”

She pressed a tiny piece into place, gave a small whoop of triumph, and looked up. “Why do you ask? Are you hurt?”

I was prepared. “Norah put ointment on Charlie’s hand yesterday when he punctured himself, but I had to take pills this summer.”

She nodded and then picked up another piece. “If you get the ointment on fast enough, you might not need oral medication. With puncture wounds, it makes sense to be cautious. They can get scary fast.” She smiled. “I’ll take a look at his hand next time I’m out there, just to be on the safe side.”

“How many pills are enough?”

She frowned but didn’t look up. “Depends on the problem and the drug, but two weeks is typical.”

“Thank you.”

As I started to turn away, she asked, “Is medicine something you might be interested in?”

I hesitated. “As a job?”

“Yeah.” She looked up. “I know you didn’t have any exposure to health care in your cult, but there are a wide variety of specialties to pursue. It’s more than nurses and doctors.”

Facing her fully, I considered the idea—not only about medicine specifically, but the entire concept that I could pick a profession because
I
wanted it. My stepfather had determined when I was ten that I would be a kitchen servant. There had never been time to dream of something different. “I shall consider your suggestion.”

“Would you like to try a first-aid class? You might enjoy it, and I’d be happy to drive you in the evenings. It would probably only last two or three days.”

I swallowed against the huskiness in my throat, overwhelmed at the kindness of the offer. “I should like that.”

“Great. Do you want me to find a class for you?”

“Yes, please.”

She gave a quick nod, then returned her attention to her puzzle.

With slow steps, I returned to my apartment, pondering the conversation with Sherri. I wanted to accept her offer, not only because
she
had made it, but also because it sounded intriguing. Would my trip to the past ruin this too?

No, I could not let myself be dissuaded. My sister needed medicine, and I must get it.

Sherri had answered in time instead of pills. How many pills would I need for two weeks? I would have to check on the internet.

My next chore was to convince the waterfall. It had proven helpful in the past, but might it be unwilling to let me take this risk?

I would just have to be persuasive.

Mark had returned and disappeared into the bathroom. I had thirty minutes or more before he would come to look for me. I would go now and make my plea.

The day was glorious, hinting that autumn must be hovering nearby. Sunshine feathered through the trees in thin bands of light. The scent of pine mingled with wood smoke. People jogged along the path without speaking, as if they too understood that words could only detract from the beauty of the morning.

When I reached Rocky Creek, I remained on its bank and tried to gauge the mood of the falls. There was no feeling about the place today. It was ordinary. The water didn’t sparkle. The air didn’t listen.

Disappointment coiled in my gut, but I forced it to be still. I wouldn’t be dissuaded. The falls
would
let me through. They had to.

Standing on Mark’s favorite rock, I stretched my arms until my fingers breached the flow.

“Would you take me back if I asked?”

The waterfall whispered steadily.

“I must rescue my sister. She needs me, and I can’t get there without you. Please.”

The water slid—cool, wet, and utterly normal—around my fingers.

“The date will soon be upon us. If you could take me back to this date in the year 1800, I would be grateful. Will you help?”

A branch snapped behind me.

“Hello? Are you alright?”

I spun around. A tall woman of indeterminate age stood on the rutted trail. She had dark skin, short black hair, and an unfamiliar, yet lovely, accent.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Her gaze searched the shadows around the waterfall and its cave before returning to me. “If you’re sure?”

I nodded.

She continued along the trail, her arms pumping and her steps strong.

I swung back to the falls. “I shall return tomorrow, and I shall be careful next time to speak without an audience. It is my sincere hope that you’ll do your part as well.” I walked away and glanced over my shoulder for one last look.

The water sparkled, twinkling like stars, before returning to its clear flow.

Had that been a warning, or a
yes
?

* * *

I awakened Monday morning with a new sense of confidence. If I were to see my sister this week, I had to be prepared.

How long would the trip on the other side of the falls take? As I mentally mapped the route from the waterfall to the house where Phoebe lived, I thought through every detail. How would I remain undetected in the area around Worthville and along the Raleigh Road and still move swiftly? How much food should I take? If I carried a sack, how much weight could I tolerate for the hours I would walk? How much medicine could I take without raising suspicions in both centuries?

The last question had an easy answer. Suspicions didn’t matter. I would take as much as I could find.

It was a horrible breach of trust to even contemplate what I was about to do. Mark’s family had been only generous toward me, but my sister’s future was at stake. I could make no other choice.

Once all three had left for the morning, I sprang into action. I searched Mark’s bathroom and bedchamber again. Then the guest bathroom. In all of those places, I found a single pill.

The action I’d been dreading needed to be taken. I had to enter his parents’ suite.

I stood at its entrance and gazed about me in wonder. A black four-poster bed, wider than I was tall, waited regally in the room’s center. Encircling the bed and against the walls were a black chest, an armoire, and a table with a large TV. Opposite the bed waited a small fireplace and two wing chairs within easy reach of a fire’s heat.

Sherri had decorated the room with linens in dark green and dull gold. It was truly the most beautiful space I had ever seen, like a small home in its own right.

I gave myself a shake to remember my purpose. I lurked here as a sly thief. Admiration was profane.

Bypassing the furniture of the bedchamber, I made straight for the bathroom, as if searching there were somehow less despicable than searching in the room where my hosts slept. I found a cache of small orange bottles in a shoebox at the top of the towel closet. Most had one or two pills left.

I placed the shoebox on the counter and carefully copied the name of each drug. Then back the box went on the top shelf.

It took me over an hour on the internet, but I discovered information for the different pills. The purposes of these drugs, at times, made me uncomfortable. I would do my best to put them from my mind.

Five of the bottles held antibiotics. I returned to the master bathroom and retrieved my treasure of white, red, and yellow pills.

The guilt over my activities left me feeling oddly powerful. Why should this be so? Should I not be cowed by shame rather than excited and bold?

It was time to press the waterfall more urgently.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

A
FTERNOON
S
HADOW

I coasted into the garage after school and then left my bike leaning against the wall. There would have to be a harder ride before it got too late. My training recently had been subpar.

Above me, I heard the sounds of water running. Susanna must be taking a shower. I’d check on her after getting started on my work.

My life felt a little crazy and out of control. I’d been too distracted with Susanna and schoolwork. And decisions. There were too many decisions to make. What to major in. Whether to go after any scholarships. Apply now or in January.

Was there some kind of conspiracy of silence out there about the final year of high school? Everyone was always saying how wonderful it was.
The best time of your life
.

Wrong. It royally sucked.

With Dad going with me to check out Newman, Mom might want to come, which meant I had to plan for her too. Launching their last kid from the nest was a team sport. By letting me make the arrangements, they were showing their trust in my maturity. Crap. I’d rather not be trusted.

I hadn’t found much available for lodging when I checked this weekend, so I’d dropped by Mr. Rainey’s office this morning—hoping he might have insider information.

He’d told me about a special website. That was my first project this afternoon, even before training and homework. I logged into the internet and went to the Blue Ridge section of the VisitVirginia site. Every Mom-quality hotel room between Blacksburg and the park was booked solid for that weekend.

Of course they were.

I tried mom-and-pop type places. A few vacancies popped up, but they looked funky.

I tried the “Vacation Rentals” section.

Someone had converted an old country church into a rental property. The photos of the inside looked cool. The sanctuary became a great room, complete with a fireplace and kitchenette. The balcony had a loft bedroom, and the narthex held the bathroom.

One of the photos showed a glass case displaying old church things. A hymnal. A baptismal certificate. A Bible opened to the Marriages page.

As I flipped through the images of the outside of the rental-church, I wondered how much business the place got. Probably not much. It had no access to the internet or TV, and then there was a serious weirdness factor of hanging out in a church.

I was about to leave the website when a thought tickled at my brain. Something about the glass case…

Returning to the image of the glass case, I hit the magnifier a couple of times, focusing on the Bible with its marriage ceremonies.

Damn, I still hadn’t checked about original marriage certificates. What would it take to get one? If that opened up the possibility for Susanna to get a legal identity, would I take it?

I loved her. Completely. But marriage?

Where Susanna was raised, life meant husband and kids as a teen. For me, marriage was in the same relative category as death. I knew it was coming, but
way
in the future.

A marriage certificate would have to be a last resort. We weren’t there yet.

I turned my attention to the baptismal certificate instead. Someone had written in the child’s name, place and date of birth, and names of parents. A pastor and lay leader had signed and dated it.

As long as the church was still active, it would be difficult to fake. But what if the church had closed? There would be no one to call.

If I had an old Bible and a defunct church, I might be able to produce some decent evidence. I brought up a rare books website and searched for
Bible
. I had to refine the search a bit, but eventually I found one. Circa 1930. Forty bucks.

Sold.

Maybe Susanna was about to get a fake family.

High-voltage energy coursed through my veins. I had to keep this quiet until it worked out, but it was going to. I was psyched. A quick check of the time showed that I could fit in a short training ride before dinner, homework, and Susanna.

I’d finished putting on my gear and was about to leave my room when the laptop chimed an incoming video call. Charging to the bed, I checked the ID. Gabrielle?

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked as I adjusted the screen.

She scowled. “Are you about to train?”

I nodded. “We’ll finish the lab report at eight, right?”

“I was hoping to do it now.”

“Sorry. What’s wrong with eight?”

“Korry just texted me.” She smiled shyly. “He’s going to call me around seven. I don’t know if we’ll be done by eight.”

“Anytime after that is fine.” Okay, I hated to ask but I would anyway. “I thought he was in Africa. Isn’t it kind of late over there?”

“It’ll be midnight his time.” Her smile faltered. “They’ve wrapped up in Botswana. He’s shooting in England now.”

“You hadn’t mentioned that. When did he get there?”

“Friday.” She shrugged. “He’s been busy.”

He’d moved to England and told her through a text two days after he arrived? Korry Sim might be a great actor, but he could be a real jerk to his girlfriend. “He’s a lot closer to you now. Could he fly over for Homecoming?”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered the idea. “Maybe,” she said, nodding slowly. “Would you mind?”

“No.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. I’d been leaning toward saying yes. Being her escort had sounded like it would be fun—especially when I considered that, six years ago, I’d been the fat kid that the cool kids kicked around. But having Korry Sim on our homecoming court would be awesome in every way possible. “Hey, enjoy your talk, and catch up with me when you can.”