A Whisper in Time (24 page)

And there the entry ended. My sister would thrive. I had done my duty.

There were regrets, naturally. Given the harsh words I’d exchanged with Sherri, my relationship with Mark’s parents might suffer. I had left my brother in anger, and I had weakened Mark’s trust.

Yet Phoebe had good options now. I had made the right choice.

After shutting off the computer I rose, walked to the bay window, and watched the night descend.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-T
WO

T
WO
L
AYERS
OF
H
EAVEN

Progress on the birth certificate project faltered Friday. I took my phone with me to the third-floor rec room and spent a couple of hours after school surfing the web and making calls.

The people who answered phones at judges’ offices were more suspicious than I’d expected. In my case, they had a right to be, but they got there way quicker than I wanted.

However, I did get one cool piece of data in the small number of questions I managed before people hung up on me. A court order didn’t have to come from a Wake County judge for the birth certificate to come from Wake County. It could come from anywhere.

My grandparents lived in a different county. Chatham was small, both in area and population. Gran and Granddad had lived there longer than I’d been alive. They went to church and belonged to clubs. Maybe they knew a judge who was dumb or manageable.

It was worth a try. I called the lake house.

Granddad picked up. “What?”

“Do you know any judges?”

There was a pause. “The kind you find in courthouses?”

Not sure what other kinds there were, but no use in pissing him off when I needed something from him. “Yeah, the courthouse kind.”

“I do. What have you done?”

I suppressed a laugh. That sounded like something he should be asking Marissa, not me. “I need one for Susanna.”

“Why?”

“A judge can issue a court order to file a birth certificate.”

There was a long pause. When he spoke, he sounded serious. “Judge Preston Tew. Good guy. Been in office a long time. Gets re-elected because he’s conservative and fair. I know him slightly.” He grunted. “Are we trying to slip something past him?”

“Yeah, Granddad. Susanna doesn’t have any of the documents the government wants, and she has no way to get them. We’ll have to fake everything.”

“Let me do some research on this and see how complicated it gets. Give me a few days.”

“Okay. And Granddad?”

“What?”

“I haven’t said anything to Susanna about this. She won’t like the idea—”

“If everything works out, it’ll be harder for her to refuse.”

“Exactly.”

“Got it.”
Click
.

I blew out a sigh of relief. Now that I had my grandfather helping, this problem might get solved.

“What will I not like?” Susanna spoke from behind me.

Crap. I hadn’t heard her walk up to the rec room. I swung around from the computer, mentally sifting through a few convenient lies. “Going to the mall.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Indeed, I would not. Your grandfather knows this to be true.”

“We thought you might make an exception.” Damn, that sounded lame.

“Why?”

What might get Susanna to a mall? Food, maybe. “They have a seriously good burger place.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Can you not bring it home to me in bags?”

“Sure.” Here I was deceiving her, when just yesterday she’d deceived me. Of course, mine was small in comparison to hers. Crap, I didn’t want to think about this too hard. Time to change the topic. “Why’d you come up here?”

Her expression dimmed. “I need your help to locate information on the web.”

“Sure.” I brought up a browser and my favorite search engine. “What are you looking for?”

“Dorcas Pratt.”

I swallowed hard as I tried my first search string. “You want to find out what happened to her?”

“Yes.” She drew a chair next to me.

There was nothing. Everything I could think of came back with nothing. She wasn’t online, at least not as Dorcas Pratt. “What year was she born?”

“1787.”

No good. I searched from 1800 on, looking for a Dorcas Anything in North Carolina. Shaking my head, I turned to her. “Sorry.”

Her face was white. “Can you find information on Jethro Pratt?”

I stared at her. Hard. “Why him?”

She sat in her chair, straight and stiff, hands clenched in her lap. “When I saw him yesterday, Mr. Pratt was dressed in the garments of a prosperous man. He rode a magnificent stallion. He could afford neither four years ago.”

My fingers flew over the keyboard. It didn’t take long to get a hit on Jethro Pratt. “He bought and sold horses.”

“Indeed? Mr. Pratt’s brother gave him a new brood mare and a slave skilled with horses before I left. He must have learned this business quickly.” She stood and turned to go. “Thank you.”

“Susanna?” I popped out of the chair and caught up to her. “I’ll keep looking for Dorcas.”

“I shall too,” she said as she descended the stairs. “I must know.”

* * *

Susanna had been unusually quiet in the two days since she’d returned from the past. It was probably lingering sadness about saying goodbye to her sister. Or worry over Dorcas. Or maybe guilt at what she’d done. I didn’t push it.

However, I would’ve expected
today
to be different. It was October first, her eighteenth birthday, but she hadn’t said a thing about it.

No way had she forgotten. Since the age of ten this day had represented the end of her indenture. The day she would gain her freedom. Why had she said nothing?

I headed out after breakfast to pick up her present.

She wasn’t in her room when I got home, but it didn’t take me long to find her in Mom’s garden on the bench, a vivid splash of red against the green of the bushes. I couldn’t see her face clearly from the house, yet she seemed so sad, hunched over the way she was.

I joined her. “How has your day gone?”

“I have read about the American War Between the States. I would’ve preferred not to know that it ever happened.” She struggled to smile. “Have you trained this morning?”

“Sure did.” I’d gotten it out of the way early, because the rest of the day would be devoted to whatever she wanted. I stood and held out my hand. “I’m going in. Do you want to come?”

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I shall stay here a while longer.”

“It’s almost lunchtime. Don’t be late.”

When I reentered the house, I could hear my parents in the formal dining room, laughing. When I tracked them in there, I saw why.

“Hi,” Mom said, smiling from ear to ear. “What do you think?”

It was a little girl’s wonderland. Pink and silver crepe paper draped in swags from the four corners of the room to the chandelier. There was a pink tablecloth, pink paper products, and a sequined tiara waiting in front of a chair wreathed in silver balloons.

In the middle of the table rested a Chocolate Dream Cake—two layers of heaven iced with creamy fudge—and four greasy bags from Olde Tyme Grill that smelled strongly of beef and fried potatoes.

I didn’t know whether to groan or kiss them. “Wow, Mom, it’s perfect. How did you know?”

“Last week, when I asked Susanna what a birthday was like where she came from, she said it was
just another day
. That wasn’t all right with me.”

I lifted my mom in a bear hug. “Thanks.”

She laughed, her dangling feet thumping against my shins. “Okay, son. Love you too. Now put me down.”

The security system chirped.

We all turned and looked expectantly toward the hallway.

“Susanna?” I called.

There was a hesitation. “Yes?”

“We’re in the dining room.”

Footsteps drew closer. “Am I needed?” She stopped in the arched entrance, her gaze flying about the room. First to the cake and the candles—and then to the decorations.

“Happy birthday, Susanna,” my mother sang out.

We all applauded.

Her face remained neutral as she stared at the heart-shaped balloons floating from the chandelier. “What are those?”

“We call them balloons. They’re painted…bags filled with air, so they’ll float.” I laughed at her expression of bewildered wonder. “The only reason to have them is because they’re pretty.”

“They are indeed.” Her gaze went next to the fast food bags, eyes shining. “Cheeseburgers?”

“And French fries,” Dad said.

The smile she directed at my father was achingly sweet. “Fried food? That is quite a concession.”

“My birthday gift to you.”

“I am most grateful.” She smiled shyly at Mom. “Sherri, it is lovely.”

Mom leaned over the table, busily straightening the paper plates. “Every girl needs a princess party at least once in her life.”

Dad pulled out the seat of honor for her. “Here you are, miss.”

I sat beside her and reached for her hand under the table. She linked our hands tightly, only releasing mine when it became necessary to eat.

The shy smile widened as the meal progressed.

When we were halfway done eating our lunch, my mom patted Susanna’s wrist. “I found a job for you. At the hospice center where I work, they’re holding a fundraiser. I showed the director a sample of your handwriting. He wants you to address the invitations.”

Susanna put down her burger carefully. “How many guests?”

“Two hundred.”

“How much time will I have?”

“I get the invitations Monday. You’ll need to turn them in by Friday.”

“I would be happy to accept this job.” Her body seemed to hum with joy.

Mom smiled. “I told him yes already.”

Susanna smiled back. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say much for the rest of the meal, but she did laugh and send me glances that made me wish we didn’t have an audience.

Finally, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Susanna, while Mom lit the candles on the cake and pushed it toward Susanna.

She looked at me, confused. “What kind of candles are these? They are tiny.”

“We call them birthday candles. There are eighteen of them, one for each year of your life.”

“Candles that only decorate a cake?” At our nods, she stared at the dancing flames with awe. “What am I to do?”

“Make a wish and blow them out,” Mom said.

“A wish?”

“Yes, ask for anything you want, but don’t tell us or it won’t come true.”

Susanna shook her head. “There is no need to make a wish. I could never imagine anything better than this party you’ve given me today.” She blew out the candles and stared at the cake as if memorizing the sight of it.

After dessert, my mother handed her a box wrapped in pink paper. “Here’s your present.”

Susanna tore into it like a little kid, lifted the tissue paper, and drew out a T-shirt. It had blue and white stripes and sleeves that would hardly reach her elbows. Beneath it lay a second T-shirt in a solid peachy color with longer sleeves.

I watched her reaction. So far, Susanna had resisted all attempts to expose much skin. Had my mom found a good compromise? Would Susanna ever wear the one that showed her bare forearms, especially when her burn scar would be visible?

Susanna laid the first T-shirt back in the box and caressed it. “It’s as soft as silk. It will feel wondrous.”

My mother smiled hard. She was totally proud of herself. “Then you like them?”

“Sherri, I shall treasure them always.”

Time for my surprise. “I have your gift in the garage. Come on.” I led her to the garage door, opened it, and then stepped aside.

Susanna’s gaze zeroed in on the present. Of course, how could she have missed it? It was waiting in an empty car stall, tied with a big shiny bow.

“You bought me a bike?”

“Yeah.” I felt a sudden nervousness. It had taken more of my savings than I’d planned for. Would she like it? Was it too much? “Take a closer look.”

Mom and Dad watched over my shoulder as she approached the bike and wrapped her fingers around a handlebar.

She cleared her throat. “Such a happy color, Mark. Red as cherries.”

I hated her ability to hide behind that smooth mask. “What do you think?”

She stared at me, eyes begging for something. Why couldn’t I understand? My smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s the most beautiful gift I have ever received.” Her voice quivered, not at all calm like her expression. “I
adore
it.”

My parents backed out of the garage. The door clicked shut.

“Hey.” I pulled her into my arms. “Why are you upset?”

“You give me so much. I have nothing to give back.”

No point in shrugging that off. I’d probably feel the same way. “This is your birthday. My turn comes in December.”

“I cannot give you a bike.”

“Already have one.” I kissed her. “Mom got you a job. If they like your work, who knows? Maybe you’ll get more. Life isn’t going to be boring forever.”

“I hope you are correct.”

“Always.” When she laughed, I reached behind her and punched the button to open the garage. “Let’s take it out for a ride.”

“Now?”

“Sure.” I picked up her new helmet. “Here you go.”

I made her roll the bike to the street. When we were on a flat surface, I said, “Bike safety, first and foremost.”

“Yes.” She watched with intensity.

“No gear, no riding.”

“I shall always wear my helmet.”

“Okay, here are the brakes. They stop the bike. Go ahead and squeeze.”

Her hands gripped like she was trying to bend steel.

“Not that hard. Squeeze gently. They’ll respond.”

She practiced, and with each try she got better.

“Good. It’s time to try. I’ll hold onto the bike while you ride.”

Her breathing sped up, although her face remained calm. I could feel the fear rolling off of her. It made me proud. She wasn’t going to give up even though she was scared to death. “Climb on the seat.”

“Like a saddle.”

“Right, and the pedals are like stirrups.”

She did everything I asked, her brow scrunched in concentration. Both feet found their pedals after several tries.