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Grace looked at Lucy and eased up on the crank.

"What's your question, Lucy?"

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"What's it like to be with a man?"

Grace stopped cranking.

"Lucy!" Edith said. "That is rude and presumptuous."

Grace stifled a laugh and then looked thoughtfully at each of the twins.

"That's all right, Edith. I don't consider the question rude and, given my condition, it's hardly presumptuous," Grace said. She turned to Lucy. "Why do you want to know?"

Lucy, red-faced, let go of the clothesline and dropped a pair of bloomers to the floor. She glanced at Edith, who shook her head, and then at Grace, who patiently awaited an answer.

"I'm just curious, that's all. I've been thinking about it a lot lately."

"Didn't your mother ever talk to you?"

Grace regretted the question the second she asked it. She knew the answer.

"My mother did not live long enough to tell me these things and I've never been comfortable asking others. I do feel comfortable asking you."

Grace resisted the temptation to give Lucy a hug. She felt great empathy for a girl who had not had her mother at a critical age. She could relate. Suddenly, Grace's plight seemed small.

As Grace looked at Lucy, she also considered a poignant irony. She was now in a position to give her mother the same facts-of-life speech that Lucille Vandenberg had given her as a fifteen-year-old in 1935. The time portal, it appeared, wasn't just a taker. It was a giver too.

"You must never be afraid to ask a question, Lucy. There is no shame in the pursuit of knowledge, only in the misuse of it."

Grace wiped her sweaty hands on the towel and then placed them on the washer like it was a laundry room podium. Small puddles of wash water covered the cement floor.

"As for your question, it depends. If you're with a kind and caring man whom you love with all your heart, then time with him can be a beautiful thing."

"What if he is not kind and caring?" Lucy asked.

Grace glanced at Edith and saw her blush. It seemed that she too had more than a passing interest in the answer to the "rude and presumptuous" question.

"If he is not kind and caring, then relations with him can be something else. What matters, Lucy, is what's in your heart and in his heart. You can make anything fulfilling and enjoyable if you approach it with the right attitude."

Grace took a deep breath and went back to cranking. She mentally patted herself on the back for handling a delicate matter with both honesty and tact.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Well, yes, sort of."

"What else would you like to know?"

Lucy, now redder than a beet, first looked to Edith, as if seeking guidance.

Edith stared at her sister, snorted, and then shook her head.

"You might as well ask," Edith said. "If you don't, I'll have to buy you
Sons and Lovers
."

"Lucy?" Grace asked.

Lucy squirmed and returned to Grace with sheepish eyes.

"Does it . . . does it hurt?"

Grace bit her lip to keep from laughing. She could keep this conversation going for hours, and enjoy every minute, but she knew it was time to bring it to an end. She breathed deeply once again and answered the question.

"It can, sometimes, but not usually."

Grace watched Lucy smile, blush, and nod. She could see that she had given her mother the information she had wanted, but she wasn't at all sure she liked what Lucy was going to do with that information.

"Just remember, Lucy, that marital relations are for marriage," Grace said, conveniently forgetting her once not-so-marital relations with Joel Francis Smith. "I can think of no faster way to get into serious trouble than to abandon your virtue to the wrong person or at the wrong time."

"I understand," Lucy said. She nodded more vigorously. "Believe me, I do."

"Good."

Grace then glanced at Edith. Her crimson face had only slightly lightened.

"Don't look at me. I don't like any boys."

Grace smiled and laughed.

"Perhaps you should keep it that way, at least for a while. Your world is complicated enough without them."

CHAPTER 51: GRACE

Tuesday, December 24, 1918

"Thank you for having me over. Will we see you all next week?"

"Count on it, Captain," Alistair said as he stood next to Grace and John by the door. "I know I wouldn't miss New Year's Eve with the one family in Seattle still serving quality Scotch."

John laughed.

"Dad's been stocking up for years. He wants to be prepared for the next wartime shortage."

"Well, tell him I intend to put a dent in his stock. Enjoy your evening. I'll let Grace show you out."

Alistair stepped aside so that Grace could pass and then returned to his living room, where Margaret, Edith, and Lucy entertained Penny around a Christmas tree and a table of poinsettias. Each adult had already given the girl one present, much to her delight.

Grace followed John out the door to the front step, where a light flurry and cold air awaited. She shut the door, buttoned her wool coat, and tightened her grip on
The Secret Garden
by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

"Thank you for the book, John. It's perfect."

"Margaret told me that you liked to read, so I figured, 'Why not?'"

"Well, I love it."

Grace stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek."

"I hope you like the scarf. Edith deserves most of the credit. She's the knitter. She fixed my mistakes and added the fringe."

"Then I will thank her when I have the opportunity," he said. "Until then, I'm giving you full credit. It's lovely."

Grace followed John to the end of the walk, where they stopped and stared at a dark, murky sky. Snowflakes fell at a rate she considered both magical and annoying. After more than a minute of silence, Grace turned to face the captain.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I'm thinking about Christmas Eves past and where I was a year ago."

"You were in France?"

"I was in a hole that my maps called France, but it could have been anywhere. I remember a night like this, a night sharing grog and stories and memories with two British officers who had seen far more war than I had and who appreciated the beauty of a peaceful moment."

"It must have been horrible over there."

Grace looked at John as she awaited his reply and could almost see artillery shells explode in his vacant eyes. She did not know what war did for countries, but she knew what it did to men. It changed and damaged them in ways that even love and time could not fix.

"It wasn't bad in the beginning. I spent my first month serving in a regiment of American engineers that had been sent to dig reserve trenches near Cambrai. It was almost pleasant, in fact. Then the Brits decided it was time to test the mettle of their tanks and things got messy very fast. Each side lost about forty-five thousand men. After that, the rest of the war was just a blur."

Grace was no stranger to such laments. She had once spent an entire evening asking Joel's father about his service as a Swift boat commander in Vietnam. Like Captain John Walker, Lieutenant Francis H. Smith had marched into a war filled with high hopes and idealism and had left it filled with cynicism and regrets.

"Well, I, for one, am glad the war is over and that you're back safe and almost sound. I'm confident that your future Christmas Eves will be happier and more fulfilling."

John smiled and gazed at Grace with thoughtful eyes.

"They will if they are spent with you."

Grace blushed and turned away.

"Have you given more thought to my question the other day?" he asked. "Might there ever be room for another man in your heart?"

Grace grabbed the captain's hand and turned to face him.

"I have given the matter more thought."

"And?"

"And I'm still thinking. I care deeply for you, John. You're a good man. You're the kind of man any woman would want and few would deserve. But it's too soon for me to consider anyone but the child I carry. I still have much to sort out. I hope you understand."

"I do."

"Good."

Grace shivered and wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

"It's getting colder. I should go back in," she said.

Grace looked at John once more and again noted his thoughtful expression. She could see that he would never relent until she pushed him away. She could see that she should have pushed him away long ago. He deserved better and she needed to move on.

The problem is that what had once seemed clear now seemed murky. She wasn't at all sure that she wanted him out of her life. She knew only that she needed time.

"Thank you again for the book, John," Grace said. She squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek. "Have a merry Christmas."

When Grace returned to the living room, she returned to two kinds of warmth: warmth from a fire Alistair had started in his soapstone fireplace and warmth from the people who comprised her new family. Both provided immeasurable comfort to someone coming in from the cold.

Grace put her coat on a rack, grabbed a glass of eggnog she had put on the mantle, and joined Edith and Lucy on the sofa. She made herself comfortable and directed her attention to the front of the room, where Penelope Green, wearing a frilly green dress and a red bow in her hair, raced between her mother and a Christmas tree that nearly touched a twelve-foot ceiling.

"Mama, may I open one more present tonight?"

"I suppose," Margaret said. "Have you opened the one from Grace?"

"No," the girl said as her eyes lit up.

"Well, if it's all right with Grace, then it's all right with me."

"It's more than all right. I've been waiting for this moment."

Grace walked to the tree and pulled a small box from a pile of gifts that had become larger each day that week. As she stepped away from the tree and approached the girl, she thought about the gift. She thought about what was inside the box, what she had wanted to put inside the box, and what she still wanted to write on the attached card.

In a world where people could pass seamlessly from one time to the next, and back, Grace would have given Penny the doll from the
Titanic
. She could not imagine a more fitting way to please the girl, impress her father, and ingratiate herself into a family that had shown her nothing but kindness, compassion, and tolerance. But the doll was sitting atop a bedroom dresser in a house at 2321 Wenatchee Avenue in the decidedly inaccessible year of 2002.

In a world without secrets, Grace would have attached a thank you card to the gift. She would have thanked Penelope Green Price for giving her a job and a place to live in 2000 and for being a friend and mentor at a time she needed both. But that, too, was a problem. Penny would have to settle for a thank you that Grace hoped to offer at a more appropriate age.

"Here you go, Penny. This is for you," Grace said.

She handed the girl the package and returned to the sofa.

"Oh, look, Penny, there's a card. Why don't you read it?" Margaret asked. "Go ahead."

Penny opened the card and read the message with the care and cadence of a girl three years into her public education.

"To Penelope," she said. "This has always been dear to my heart. Let it always remind you that you can go anywhere in life if only you spread your wings. Merry Christmas! Love, Grace."

Penny tore away the striped red paper and opened the package, which contained a colorful butterfly brooch. She smiled, gasped, and held the gift high.

"It's a butterfly, Mama. It's a butterfly! Thank you, Grace."

The girl ran across the room into Grace's arms.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"Well, let's not waste time with hugs. Let's see how it looks. May I pin it on you?"

"Yes, you may," Penny said.

Grace took the brooch and looked for a place to pin it on a dress that had almost as much frill as the Christmas tree. When she found a suitable spot, she affixed the brooch, gave the girl another look, and beamed.

"Now, turn around so that everyone can see you."

Penny did as instructed, spinning not once but twice. When Edith and Lucy clapped and expressed their approval, the girl bowed and curtsied.

"That is a beautiful brooch, Grace. Wherever did you get it?" Margaret asked.

"It was a graduation gift from a beloved aunt."

Grace looked at Edith, who returned a puzzled expression, and then at Margaret and Alistair. Both smiled in a way that suggested that they understood that the beloved aunt was in the room.

"It has always meant a lot to me, but I believe it will mean even more to Penny," Grace said. She looked at the girl. "I hope you will cherish it as I have."

"Oh, I will. I will!"

"I know you will."

Grace leaned forward and gazed at the child more intently.

"Penny?"

"Yes."

"I have one more gift for you," Grace said.

"Oh, what is it? What is it? Please tell."

"I'll do better than that. If you come here, I'll give it to you now."

When the girl returned to the sofa, Grace stuck a hand in her dress pocket and pulled out a ring. It was the plastic butterfly ring she had brought into the past.

"This is a little something extra from me. Butterflies seem to be the theme of the evening."

Penny rushed toward Grace again for Hug Number Two.

"Thank you. Thank you!"

"You're more than welcome."

Penny ran across the room to a large chair, where Alistair had watched the festivities from a distance. She showed her father her gifts, gave him a hug, and jumped on his lap.

Grace loved watching Penelope in action. She loved the innocence and energy she radiated. Penny's unbridled joy reminded Grace of beautiful Christmases gone by. But it also reminded her of the Christmas she was missing eighty-four years into the future.

Suddenly, other images filled her mind. She pictured chaos at the Palladium, desperate runs through the lobby, and men having heart attacks. Grace steeled herself for more unpleasant thoughts. This was the other side of Christmas, the moment she had dreaded for weeks.