A Whisper in Time (7 page)

I had been forgotten.

Should I be annoyed at this fact or should I be relieved? I was unsure.

Perhaps both, for it allowed me to indulge more time with my sister’s journal while still permitting me the righteous side in a later sparring match with Mark.

It was nine in the evening. I had hours left to read what came next.

August 5th, 1796

Mrs. Eton believes that Psalm 23 will bring me comfort. I wrote it yesterday on a slate, and today I shall write it with quill and paper
.

Mrs. Eton found my first attempt to be competent while lacking inspiration. She is confident my second attempt will improve and encourages me to permit the loveliness of my embroidery to command my writing. I shall try harder this time
.

Yea, though I walk through the valley…

A month followed in which Phoebe only wrote from the Psalms and complained of the brutally hot weather.

I had to admit that A/C was a lovely invention.

One page in the journal was so heavily stained that, truly, there could be no point in investing time in deciphering it.

The next pages contained a dull listing of her chores. How surprising that I should find anything she had to say as dull. But indeed, I did. I had no wish to recall the beating of rugs or the sweeping of floors.

Odd to think of all the ways I had already accepted this century and its conveniences. With machines replacing people at performing chores, people had time to do other things. There were different chores to complete, movies to watch, fast-moving vehicles to sit in. Were those other things better? I was still unsure.

September 2nd, 1796

We have settled into a routine for our lessons. Each Tuesday and Friday afternoon, Mrs. Eton instructs us in the classroom on the top floor of the main house. She uses a primer to teach Patty how to read
.
I worry that Patty will never succeed.

Mrs. Eton says that my letters show improvement. However, she insists that elegant handwriting must always include flourishes. I do not care a bit for flourishes. Adding them is impossible without blots on the page and ink stains on the fingers
.

This entry proved that Phoebe was wise to be wary of flourishes because blots and smudges blighted the page. Row after row of letters followed.

The next date in the journal caught my eye. September 9th. Yesterday in my century.

September 9th, 1796

I should quite like to be Patty’s friend, but she still will have no part of me
.

Mrs. Eton has assigned The Lord’s Prayer to me. I shall do my best to please her
.

My sweet Phoebe was such an innocent. Of course Patty resented her. Phoebe had been given the job that Patty had originally had and doubtless wanted back. A housemaid had far more prestige than a scullery maid. Cleaning chamber pots, scrubbing pans and dishes in hot soapy water—could there be a worse position anywhere in a household?

Patty certainly had known that Phoebe’s duties were less miserable. House chores had more variety and less smell. Not to mention that the gossip would be better among the housemaids. I could only hope that, with time, Patty had grown to love my sister the way Phoebe deserved.

September 19th, 1796

The Eton family left this week for a visit to their properties in New Bern. Mrs. Parham is to carry on our lessons, but I do not think she will. She complains that our mistress takes her responsibilities to us too seriously
.

Patty does not like to read. She stumbles and stammers. Mrs. Parham asks her to read the same verse each day. I think Patty speaks it from memory so that she can scurry back to the kitchen
.

Mrs. Parham gives me no assignment. She says to write a brief passage and date it. She says to do my best work, so that Mrs. Eton will not be angered when she returns
.

* * *

September 26th, 1796

I am to polish the silver in the dining room today. If my mistress were here, I should not have to do this task. She cautioned me when I first came to save the sensitivity of my fingers for stitching
.

Mrs. Parham, however, does not believe in coddling the staff and mutters egregiously about our mistress behind her back. How I will find the time to finish Mrs. Eton’s instructions about the linens? I am to mend all sheets in the cupboard and strengthen their hems. There are a dozen plain new napkins without adornment which I am to embroider with sprigs of lavender, which is Mrs. Eton’s favorite flower
.

* * *

October 3rd, 1796

I have peeked at Mrs. Parham’s ledger. She writes in a large hand and squints as she forms each letter. I am greatly relieved. I do not believe she can read small print. I shall keep my quill well-sharpened and make tiny letters, as tiny as my stitches. The housekeeper will not be able to decipher what I write. My journal will be as secret as if it were hidden
.

* * *

October 7th, 1796

I broke a porcelain vase yesterday. Mrs. Parham beat my palms with a rod until they bled. I can scarce close them. Indeed, I lose my grip on the quill
.

The entries ended at that point.

I closed the computer and snapped off the lamp. Wiggling under the covers, I rolled to my side on this comfortable mattress and became one with the dark.

It was late. The Lewises had been asleep for a long time. We would all rise early in the morning to attend the worship service. It was time for me to rest.

I plumped a pillow.

The journal gave me a measure of comfort. Phoebe had the ordinary life of a housemaid in the home of a family who didn’t treat her badly. They had kept their commitment to increase her education. She had a safe place to sleep and no complaints about the food. It had been a wise decision to take her there.

Yet my sister had thought I was dead, a lie that grieved me. I’d mourned the loss of Phoebe since the day I left my old world behind. Only now could I see that grief reaching her. I knew it would be fierce and bewildering—a misery that had no cure.

Perhaps it was best this way. Was it not better to think me dead than to wonder why I lived and yet never contacted her again?

I had indeed passed away—to here instead of heaven.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

S
PARE
X
C
HROMOSOME

Our physics class met in the lab on Monday, but the experiment was straightforward and we finished early. While Gabrielle cleaned up our station, I stared out the window. Rain had fallen all day. Flash flood warnings had ended, but the Piedmont portion of North Carolina was a mud pit. A slippery
wet clay
pit, if I wanted to be specific.

No way would it be safe to train in this mess, even if the nearby trails had been open. I’d have to ride on my stationary bike, which was fine. Endurance was important.

Gabrielle poked me in the back with a sturdy fingernail. “Jesse, Benita, and I are heading over to the Olde Tyme Grill after school to study. Want to join us?”

I did, actually. I had my truck today—so if I stayed only a few minutes, I could still be with Susanna close to normal time. “Sure. See you there.”

I arrived first at the grill and grabbed a booth in the back corner. A steady stream of kids I didn’t recognize wandered in, filling the booths and tables. I hadn’t realized this was such a popular place, although there was another private academy and a public high school within easy distance of here.

All this popularity made Olde Tyme Grill a strange choice for us. Gabrielle would stick out like a beacon. Why hadn’t they picked somewhere more secluded?

The three of them walked in together. Gabrielle went to the order line with Garrett right behind her in his regular uniform of khakis, polo shirt, and shades. His clothes might have looked casual, but he didn’t.

Jesse and Benita headed over to my booth, flopped onto the bench across from me, smiled “hi,” and then turned to each other.

I would’ve cracked up laughing if I stared that hard at a girl, but he seemed serious about studying every pore on her face.

It didn’t take long for Gabrielle to show up with four smoothies and a huge basket of fries. She set them in the middle of the table and then slid in next to me.

The bodyguard took over the table nearest us. She didn’t offer him anything or even acknowledge his presence.

Jesse picked up a fry that looked nearly as big as a breadstick. “Thanks for the food, Gabi.”

She grimaced at the nickname. “No problem.”

Benita twined both of her arms around her boyfriend. “Jesse thinks we’ll have a pop quiz tomorrow.”

He grunted. “I
know
we will.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “How can you?”

“Research,” he said as he frowned at another fry. “I interviewed some seniors from last year. Ms. Milford gives her first pop quiz the week after Labor Day. Based on the way she was emphasizing points today, I’m guessing we’ll have one tomorrow.”

Benita nuzzled his scruffy cheek. “You’re amazing.”

“You are too.” This time, the solemn stare changed into an embarrassingly noisy kiss.

I watched them in surprise and then looked around to see if the grill’s owner was around. He’d kick us out if he noticed.

There was a sucking sound as they separated. “We need ketchup. Excuse us just a second,” Benita said as she slid from their side of the booth. Jesse slid after her, their hands joined. They headed toward the food counter.

Gabrielle smiled at me. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t get what she sees in him.”

“She doesn’t
see
him. She’s a musician. The sense she trusts most is hearing. The last thing she uses to judge people is her eyes.”

I shrugged. Whatever. Still didn’t get it.

“Describe Jesse.”

It felt awkward to describe another guy, but Gabrielle had this laser-beam stare that I couldn’t deny. “He’s short. Probably works out with weights a lot. Shouldn’t try to grow a beard yet.”

“Describe Jesse without mentioning how he looks.”

I hated it when girls got this way. Was it something bred into their spare X chromosome? “He’s smart. Nice.”

“And fun.”

“Okay.”

“That is what Benita
sees
.” Gabrielle cocked her head to the side, as if studying me for the first time. “What sense do you trust most?”

That was easy. “Touch.” As soon as I said it, I felt my face grow hot. I hadn’t meant as in skin-on-skin—although I trusted that too. What I’d meant was the feel of the road through the bike. I trusted it way more than the way the road looked.

“Why do you—”

“Gabi?” Jesse interrupted. He dropped onto the other bench, one hand clutching a bottle of ketchup, the other clutching Benita’s arm. “I’ve been reading
Teen Trash
.”

Gabrielle answered without looking away from me. “That’s a mistake.”

Benita dropped her head on Jesse’s shoulder and smiled. “It says you’re secretly dating Korry Sim.”

“Then I guess it’s not a secret anymore.”

Benita’s head popped up, her mouth dropping open into a big O.

I looked at Gabrielle. “You’re dating Korry Sim?”

She nodded and sipped her smoothie.

That was hard to take in. Korry Sim was in huge demand as an actor. He had a black belt and was willing to do his own stunts. He had to be older than her, four years or more, which seemed like a lot to me, but maybe it wasn’t with actors. “Where’d you meet Korry?”

“On the set of
Flight Risk
.”

Wow. There was major buzz on that film. “I didn’t know you were in that.”

Benita let go of Jesse’s bicep and leaned on the table. “
Teen Trash
says it’s rumored that Korry picked you specifically to play Princess Aziza.”

Gabrielle wrinkled her nose. “Why do you read that magazine?”

Benita laughed. “So I can keep up with gossip.”

“I wish you’d stop. You can ask me anything.” She took another swig of her smoothie. “They’re right for once. Korry asked the producers to cast me as Princess Aziza. I wrapped my scenes over the summer.”

“I know something they don’t?” Benita slumped in her seat, eyes focused heavenward in abject joy. Jesse looked irritated at losing his spot at the center of her universe.

I was too interested in this news to pay attention to them. “How did you swing that?”

“Korry loved my performance in my last film and told the producers I’d be perfect opposite him. So they scheduled my scenes around my senior year.”

Gabrielle and Korry Sim? I hadn’t known this a minute ago, but now that I did it changed how I viewed her. A lot of the time, she did a good job of acting like a regular teen, but it was hard to hold that thought knowing that she was dating one of the best-known guys on the planet. “Where is
Flight Risk
being filmed?”

“Botswana.”

Damn. “What’s Botswana like?”

She gave the first real smile on this topic. “It’s gorgeous. The land is varied and the animals…” Her voice trailed away on a sigh. “It’s my favorite country in Africa.”

Okay. Gabrielle had been to enough countries in Africa to have a favorite.

“Um, guys,” Jesse said, “can we get back to physics? I want to pass the pop quiz.”

“In a minute,” Benita said, clamping her hand over his mouth. “How long has it been since you’ve seen Korry?”

“Four weeks.”

Benita winced. “How long before you see him again?”

“Thanksgiving, probably.”

“I wouldn’t like that at all.” Benita moved her hand from Jesse’s mouth to kiss him, then stared into his eyes. “I want you around where I can get my hands on you.”

If they thought four months was bad, what about two centuries? Until Susanna moved here, that’s what I’d lived with. “Long-distance relationships suck.”

The other three stared at me.

“Are you in a long-distance relationship?” Benita asked.

“Not anymore.” Wait. That was misleading. “Actually—”

Jesse waved me to silence. “Better change the topic. Alexis McChord is heading this way.”

Damn. “Is she alone?”