A Whisper in Time (37 page)

I needed Caleb to state when she was born except there was one big problem. I couldn’t allow him to say the year. How could we talk around it? “How old was Susanna when she ran away from the village?”

“Did she not tell you?”

Out of range of the camera, I shook my head.

“She ran away just before her eighteenth birthday.”

“Her birthday was last week.”

“Indeed. October first.”

“How much older are you than Susanna?”

“Ten years.”

“You probably don’t remember her birth.”

“Indeed, I do. I remember it clearly. Papa made us work in the barn that day, but Joshua and I kept slipping out, each wanting to be the first to hear the baby scream.” He pointed at the front porch which would be out of focus on my camera. “Joshua and I waited right there until the midwife brought Susanna out to us.” His brows beetled together. “She had a round pink face. She did not cry, but she seemed most angry to be bothered.” The memory left a hint of a smile on his face.

The front door slammed. His wife ran toward us and stopped an arm’s length away. When she opened her hand, I saw an oval object with tarnished silver on one side and bristles on the other. “This hairbrush belonged to Susanna’s mother. She should have it.”

“Frances,” her husband growled.

“Caleb Marsh, it is time to put this behind us.” She dropped it into my hand. “She is your sister.”

He coughed. “So she is.” He nodded at the two boys standing on the porch and then made straight for the barn.

Good idea. I was ready to go too. As I turned, I glanced at the phone and flicked off the video capture. The clock time set my pulse racing. I needed to get home before my folks noticed anything.

“Thank you, Mrs. Marsh,” I said, stuffing the brush and the phone in the canvas bag.

She nodded tensely as her eyes tracked her husband to the barn.

I had been dismissed.

It didn’t take long to retrieve my bike and pedal the last mile to Whisper Falls. A hundred yards out, I hopped off the bike and maneuvered through the forest. Emerging from its shelter at the flattest part of the bank, I wheeled the bike carefully along the creek bed.

“Hello. You, sir.”

I stopped and looked around. A young man stood on the bluff above the waterfall. I had no idea who he was, but his stance made me tense. He could easily climb down and block my path.

“Yes?”

The guy cocked his head, listening intently. “I believe you are Mr. Mark Lewis.”

Really? I got this close to escaping and somebody recognized me? “I am. Who are you?”

A smug smile spread across his face. “Jedidiah Pratt.”

With a ferocious burst of energy, I spun and raced for the forest, dragging my bike beside me, but it slowed me down hideously. Behind me, feet pounded on the trail, gaining with every second.

Just inside the forest, I dropped the bike and dodged at a sharp ninety-degree angle into some bushes, then halted.

His shout of victory quickly changed to a cry of surprise, a metallic twang, a grunt of pain, and a soft thud.

Shit. Shit. Triple shit. He’d stumbled over my bike. How much damage had it sustained?

He roared with outrage. I shifted in the bushes, careful not to rustle anything. My view was only slightly obstructed. He lay prone on the ground, eyes skyward and blinking. With a violent thrust, he went from flat-out prone to standing tall. It took a lot of strength and agility to move like that. I had to adjust my lingering impression that he was a worthless wimp.

A clanging started. Boots connected with metal. The asshole was stomping on my bike.

It was all I could do to stay still. Each bang rattled through me like a hammer’s blow to the head. I knew each gear and bolt on that bike. I knew its capabilities, how it responded, its unique balance. A new bike would cost me thousands of dollars to buy and months of training to understand.

I had to lock my jaw against screaming with rage. If I’d had a reasonable chance at winning, I would’ve stormed out there and beaten him senseless. But even though I’d thrown a few punches at his father before, fist-fights weren’t exactly on the list of skills I had confidence in—and Jedidiah looked like he’d grown into the kind of guy who might be able to take me.

So I had to sit here listening to and watching the destruction of my most prized possession, and I had to keep reminding myself that the alternative was an indefinite stint in a nineteenth-century jail.

Finally, footsteps receded back in the direction of the falls. I watched him go as long as I could, forced myself to wait a few more minutes, and then crept from my hiding place, inching ever closer to my bike.

I got as near as I dared and assessed the damage. Equal parts angry and relieved. It was bad. It could’ve been worse. I wouldn’t be racing on this bike over the weekend. I’d have to take it to a bike shop and spend a couple of hundred dollars on repairs, but it was fixable. Good thing that Jedidiah had been too ignorant of the technology to ruin the most critical parts.

I edged forward and peered up the trail. He stood on the bluff, arms crossed, gazing intently into the forest.

Damn. He was smart enough to know that I wanted to exit through those falls, and he was willing to wait.

How long would he stay?

How long could I remain where I was before I took the risk of challenging him?

And how would I get my bike back to the future—where it belonged?

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY
-O
NE

U
NWANTED
I
NTRUDERS

When I reached Mark’s rock, I paused to watch the flow. The falls shimmered but barely.

What message did the falls send? Would I be able to pass?

Tentatively, I stepped through, two hundred years tingling against my skin. Yet the sensations lacked intensity. Was the waterfall losing strength, or had I been given a warning?

I stood on my favorite rock and listened, reconciling myself to my old world. It was warm in Worthville—warmer than modern Raleigh on the same day, and less overcast.

The rhythms of the forest sounds were not correct. The creatures had been disturbed. There must be people nearby.

I hoped that Mark was near. Yet if he was, he was waiting for the opportunity to leave, and there could be no good reason for that. Who else was here?

With careful movements, I slipped into the cave behind the falls. The insects kept their wary chirps. The birds chattered indignantly at the unwanted intruders.

Horses’ hooves thundered down the path, drawing sharply to a stop overhead.

“Jedidiah, we need help with the horses. Why have you taken so long with your errands? Why are you simply standing here?” The enraged voice belonged to Mr. Pratt.

Tension coiled in the pit of my stomach. His voice sickened me.

“You were right, Papa. Mr. Lewis has finally come.”

I wavered on my feet. Was Mark close by? Was he all right?

“He has come? Oh, indeed.” The saddle creaked. “Where did you see him?”

“In the forest behind us. He has not emerged since I posted myself here.”

“At last, I shall extract justice.” Mr. Pratt’s merciless laughter chilled me. “Remain here. I shall round up the slaves and the hounds. We’ll run him to the ground like the animal he is.” Hooves pounded down the trail toward the Pratt property.

Mark was out there, no doubt listening, as I was. Being hunted by dogs would terrify him, even as it frightened me in my position of relative safety. Once captured, he would be punished fiercely—flogged and imprisoned—for rescuing me from Mr. Pratt.

I must save Mark
now
.

What could I do to create a diversion? Offer myself in trade?

Merciful heavens, I trembled to think about what would become of me if the next few minutes went wrong.

Before I had time to decide how to proceed, Mark burst from the depths of the forest and raced down the creek’s bank.

“You cannot escape me,” Jedidiah shouted. There came the gritty crunch of boots against granite and a deep grunt. Not five feet away from where I stood, he crouched on a flat rock, facing away from me, fists clenched in a boxer’s stance.

In the five years that had elapsed in my old century, Jedidiah had grown tall and muscular from hard work. Mark would never slip past this strong and intimidating young man. I had to distract him. Since I didn’t have the strength of body to stop him, I would have to use the strength of my mind.

Stepping from the cave, I emerged onto the ledge behind him. Mark skidded to a stop, eyes wide with horror.

“Jedidiah, I am the one you want, not Mark. Let him pass.”

The young man whipped around, surprise striking him mute.

“You and I were well-acquainted once, Jedidiah.” I inched closer. “We should talk.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“I have much I wish to know. How is Deborah?”

Remarkably, the tension eased in his body. It was as if our relationship of old had returned. Wary and respectful. “She is well.”

“Mark,” I said, my eyes remaining fixed on Jedidiah’s face, “fetch your machine and leave.”

“Susanna, are you insane?” Mark bit out through clenched teeth.

I shot him a quick glance, begging him to obey me for once, and then looked back again at Jedidiah, whose eyes were scouring me from toe to head.

“You look well, Susanna, and prosperous. Are you Mrs. Lewis now?”

“She is,” Mark said before I could respond.

Jedidiah flinched at the response. “Why have you returned here?”

“My sister is to marry soon. Had you heard?” I looked at Mark, whose eyes flickered with sympathy. Phoebe had not chosen as I’d hoped. The knowledge stabbed through me with a pain that shook me to the core. I dragged my gaze back to Jedidiah. “She will wed Jacob Worth.”

His brow creased. “I had not heard, but surely you do not expect to attend their wedding.”

“Of course not.” I didn’t have to feign sorrow, for it clawed at my heart. I had to resist its pull until we were safe.

Mark must have discerned my ploy, for he’d begun to back away toward the forest. I smiled at Jedidiah calmly, praying that he hadn’t noticed. “I should like to know about Dorcas. I have missed her.”

“Of course you have missed her. She was always your favorite.”

There was no use denying it, but the faint petulance in his tone surprised me. “How does she fare?” I awaited his response anxiously.

“Dorcas is lame now. She will never be right.”

I winced in genuine distress. “I am most grieved to hear it.”

“She does not need
your
pity.” The muscles bunched beneath his jacket. He raised fists to his chest, yet he moved no closer. “It was your fault.”

“It was not.” I shook my head slowly. “Who made that outlandish claim? You did not hear it from Dorcas.”

“Papa told me.”

“I thought so.” I sighed with exaggerated heaviness. “Did he also tell you that I had already eluded his capture that day? Did he tell you that he pushed Dorcas
after
I was safe?”

“I do not believe you.”

“You do not have to believe me. Ask Dorcas. Share my story with her, and see what she says.” Mark had appeared in the creek again, carrying his bike. He moved quickly and not silently.

When Jedidiah looked over his shoulder and saw the source of the noise, his attention shifted to Mark.

“Let him go, Jedidiah. I am the better prey.” I took another step forward, dislodging a rock to draw his gaze. “Do you worry about your sister’s prospects?”

Jedidiah swung back to me. “Of course I do. Who will want her now?”

“She is a beautiful girl.” I nodded with confidence. “She will make someone a witty and charming wife.”

“Who?” His voice throbbed with anguish. “Who will want her?”

Mark had passed me now, his boots thumping on my favorite flat rock. He grunted, and the bike clattered against a boulder on the other side of the falls.

“I promise you, Jedidiah. Someone will want Dorcas. Truly. She is too lovely and vibrant to spend her life alone.” I strained to hear behind me. What was Mark doing? What was he planning?

Jedidiah’s expression was grim. “You have not seen her, have you? You cannot know the extent of her injury’s effects. She limps badly and tires easily. No man wants a wife who cannot keep his home or who brings ridicule and pity with her.”

A shiver of dismay passed through me. Perhaps I had not realized the depth of the damage, or perhaps Mark’s century had altered my perceptions of those with disabilities. But Jedidiah was right. A visible flaw could not be forgiven in the upper classes—not even for someone as wondrous as Dorcas.

I frowned at him. “I did not know how bad—”

Hounds bayed in the distance.

In an instant, Jedidiah transformed from pained brother to snarling man. Before I could think what to do next, he’d lunged across the distance separating us, locked his fingers around my wrists, and yanked me to him. “Enough of this talk. I’ve got her now, Mr. Lewis,” he sneered. “Better leave and save your own hide while you can.”

The taunt didn’t go unanswered. Mark hurled himself forward but missed us, for Jedidiah, moving with remarkable speed, had slammed me into the granite cliff, knocking the breath from my lungs. While I gasped for air, he gripped both of my wrists with one hand while he reached for his neckcloth with the other.

Mark rose with a roar and kicked back with his leg, his heel connecting with Jedidiah’s knee.

There was a loud popping sound, and then I was free.

A screaming Jedidiah fell to the rocky ledge, his face contorted in agony.

Mark caught my elbow. “Go. Now.” Swiftly, we leapt through the waterfall and landed on the other side, fumbling to avoid his battered bike that lay half in the creek, half on the land.

When Mark would have turned to look back, I stopped him. “There is nothing you can do for Jedidiah. Let us go.”

“But I hurt him.” The knowledge didn’t sit easy with Mark.

“I know.” I touched his cheek lightly. “That injury will save him from the wrath of his father.”

He gave an understanding nod and lifted his bike. Together we walked silently up the greenway to the gate at their house, detouring to the small barn to hide his damaged bike.