Timeless (23 page)

Mr. Lewis led the class through the arched French doors into the house, where they were instructed to wait in the
entrance vestibule for the next tour, which was starting in five minutes. Michele was oblivious to the light chatter of her classmates as she eagerly looked around, imagining Philip bursting in through the front doors on a summer day or climbing the winding staircase up to his room.

The guide soon arrived, a Newport native in her sixties named Judy. As she led them through the social rooms on the main floor, she explained the Walker family history.

“This home originally belonged to Mr. Warren H. Walker of New York, who shared it with his wife, Paulette, and their son, Philip,” she began.

At the mention of Philip’s name, Michele stopped in her tracks, her heart about to burst. She realized that it was the first time anyone in her modern life had ever acknowledged Philip’s existence, and it gave her an incredible feeling. Even when she had his jacket around her shoulders and his music in her head, it was sometimes hard to fully believe that he was real when she was firmly entrenched in 2010 soil. And now here was a tour guide telling them the story of the boy she loved and his family. Smiling to herself, Michele caught up to Caissie as they followed Judy and the class into the next room.

“Warren Walker’s grandfather had established the family as a real estate giant back in the seventeen hundreds. After Warren’s father died, he inherited the business and it grew even more successful under his leadership. Meanwhile, Paulette was an aristocrat of French origin, and since American high society worshipped the traditions, styles, and manners of the French, Paulette was one of the most popular hostesses of her day. And
of course the son, Philip, attracted considerable attention, with his fine pedigree and even finer looks.”

Caissie raised an eyebrow at Michele, who couldn’t help grinning proudly.

Judy led the group upstairs to view the family and guest bedrooms on the second floor. Olivia and her friends oohed and aahed loudly over the period decor in Philip’s parents’ room, with the delicate antique furniture from the era of Louis XV and framed black-and-white family photographs above a striking gilded fireplace.

“Sadly, Warren Walker died of a stroke in 1908, at the early age of forty-seven. Upon his death, his younger brother, Harold, was appointed head of the Walker family and business, and he soon moved in with Paulette and Philip,” Judy said. Michele thought of Philip’s brutish uncle and shuddered.

At last, they arrived at Philip’s bedroom door. Michele’s heart lifted when she saw the engraved
P.J.W
. on his door. It was the strangest feeling to be this close to his life and yet a hundred years removed.

Philip’s room at Palais de la Mer, decorated in the Empire style, had a similar feel to his New York bedroom. The room was painted a deep blue, with dark wood furniture and a frescoed ceiling. The sight of black-and-white photographs of him with friends and family, framed throughout the room, brought a lump to Michele’s throat. If only he was really here with her in 2010, rather than a figure of the past.

“The Walker family had more than its share of losses,” Judy said somberly, “and the greatest tragedy in the family centered on the occupant of this room, Philip Walker.”

Michele’s head snapped up in shock. Caissie looked at her anxiously as Judy continued.

“In the year 1927, at the age of thirty-five, Philip Walker was declared dead.”

Michele choked back a scream. The room swayed around her, and she felt like she was going to be sick. Caissie grabbed her hand to steady her.

“His body was never found, and the location of his remains is still a mystery to this day,” Judy said. “However, a cryptic journal entry written the night before his disappearance caused the police to rule his death a suicide.”

Michele slowly backed away toward the wall and leaned against the cold wood as she tried to fight the nausea enveloping her. This couldn’t be happening. It was just a nightmare she was going to wake up from. Her vibrant, beautiful, determined, and brilliant Philip could never have killed himself. Never.

“What did the journal entry say?” Amy Van Alen called out curiously.

“It was widely copied in newspapers at the time, and I actually have a section of it here to read to you.” Judy looked down at her clipboard and began to read. “ ‘Sixteen long years of unbearable waiting. I can’t do it anymore. She was supposed to return—she always did—and now I see the cruelty in this helpless waiting, living at the mercy of Time. Dragging through the days, I ask myself why I bother when I know that the one place I can find her isn’t here on earth. That’s it—that’s enough of this—I’m done.’ ”

For a moment a hush came over the class. Michele felt herself sliding against the wall, her vision momentarily failing her,
as she grappled with the sickening discovery.
Something happened and I couldn’t get back to him, I couldn’t get back for sixteen whole years! He thought I abandoned him and he died because of me—it’s all my fault. He was supposed to be a great musician, live a long life. What happened, what have I
done
?

“Philip’s adult life was a sad one,” Judy remarked. “Society columns from the Gilded Age described him as the popular life of the party in his youth, with everything going for him. But as he grew up, he became more and more withdrawn, and despite the countless eligible women vying for his attentions, he always said he was already spoken for. But no one ever saw the girl, and whoever she was—if she was even real—it seems she led to the end of his life. Now then, on to happier topics …”

As Judy led the class out of Philip’s room, Michele and Caissie hung back, looking at each other in horror.

“I killed him … didn’t I?” Michele whispered to Caissie. “How could a love so perfect, so right, turn out like this?”

Caissie just stared at her. “I … I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand what happened. Why couldn’t I get back to him?” Michele covered her face with her hands, her throat thick with sobs. “He was supposed to do so much. He was going to change the world with his music.”

“You really love him, don’t you, Michele?” Caissie asked.

“Of course I do!” Michele cried.

“Then … you know what you have to do.”

Michele nodded, but she couldn’t speak.

“You have to let him go,” Caissie said quietly. “That’s the only way. You have to … to somehow explain all this and end it with him, early enough so he still has a chance to move on. If
you do that … well, maybe then you can change the past, maybe you can save him.”

“Do you mind leaving me here for a little bit?” Michele asked numbly. “I just need to be alone.”

“Okay.” Caissie gave Michele a hug before leaving the room.

Michele felt herself sink to the floor. She knew that Caissie was right, but the reality of it was cripplingly painful. How could she give up the only person in her life that she truly cared about, the one person alive who really loved her? Now there would be no more happy distractions, no one to make things better when her grief for her mom became too much to bear.
If I do this, I’ll be more alone than ever
, Michele thought. And how could she ever stand to break his heart, to leave him when she knew how much he loved her?

“I can’t do it,” Michele whispered. She wanted to get up, to leave this room, but something kept her stuck in place. She kept turning over and around in her mind what Judy had revealed—the terrible fate that had befallen Philip, all because of Michele.

I can’t let that happen to him
, Michele thought urgently.
Love means putting the other person first, and that’s what I have to do. I can’t let him torture himself waiting for me for years on end. I can’t let him give up his dreams and his life. I have to get him to move on. I
have
to save him. No matter how much I’ll miss him, as long as I know he survived, then I’ll be okay
.

She clutched her key necklace and closed her eyes. “Please take me back to Philip. I need to say goodbye.”

“Phil! The boat arrived!” a young, exuberant voice called out.

Michele’s eyes snapped open, and she sprang up. A little boy of about ten, dressed in a sailor suit, dashed into the room and frowned in disappointment when he saw that Philip wasn’t there. And of course, he didn’t see Michele steadying herself and catching her breath.

Michele followed the boy out of Philip’s room and was once again transplanted into a tableau of Gilded Age life. The Walkers’ Newport home was glitteringly new, with costumed footmen marching importantly throughout, following their master’s orders and seeing to the perfection of the house.

A man in his forties reached the top of the staircase, his arm around a teenage boy with thick dark hair and the most beautiful blue eyes—

Oh, God. It was Philip. Only—had she come to the right time? This Philip definitely looked younger.…

“Phil, the new boat is here, it’s here!” the little boy cried, jumping up and down.

The man with Philip ruffled the little boy’s hair and chuckled. “See that, Philip? Your cousin just might be more anxious than I am to show you the new Walker vessel. Didn’t I tell you it was the finest?”

Philip grinned. “You sure did, Father.”

Father?
Michele was stunned. What year had she gone to? She raced back into Philip’s room and rifled through the contents on his desk until she found a calendar, which was opened to the month of July … 1907.

Michele stared at the calendar in shock. How could she have ended up in 1907, a time when Philip’s father was still alive and Philip didn’t even know her? He
couldn’t
know her. It would alter their whole relationship if he saw her now, too soon. What if it ruined everything? She had to get out of there and get back to her own time.

As Michele was hurrying out the door, she smacked right into someone. “Ouch!” she yelped, rubbing her bruised forehead.

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and she looked up. That was when she saw that she was in Philip’s arms. He was holding her upright, staring at her in astonishment.

“Who are you?”
he breathed. “Where did you come from?”

“I—I can’t tell you now,” Michele stammered. “I have to go.”

“Please, don’t go,” Philip protested. “Just tell me your name.”

But Michele turned around and broke into a run down the stairs. They weren’t supposed to meet for another three years!

She heard footsteps behind her as she ran, and a hand closed on her wrist—but then it suddenly lost its grasp on her, and Michele let out a startled cry as she saw that she was literally running through time. The stairs above her and the landing were those of 1907, with fifteen-year-old Philip looking desperately at her, while the stairs below her and the ground floor were from 2010. Caissie was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, watching her worriedly.

“What happened?” she asked, when Michele reached the last step.

“I’ll tell you later. I need to get out of here,” Michele replied
breathlessly. “Can you tell Mr. Lewis I got sick and needed to go back to the hotel?”

Caissie nodded anxiously. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay alone?”

“Yeah, I just need to get out of here.”

Michele ran out of the Walker house as the memory of her first meeting with Philip flooded back to her:
“It was
you—
you were the girl I saw at my summer cottage three years ago.…”

So Philip had been right. He really
had
seen her years before the ball.

On the way back to New York the following night, Michele sat rigidly in her seat, her body cold. It was unthinkable how much circumstances had changed since her last train trip two days earlier. Then she had been consumed with the excitement of being in love; now she was practically numb with pain over the task that she knew awaited her back in New York.

She had done everything she could to put the impending breakup with Philip out of her mind during the rest of the school trip, knowing that the only way she could get through the weekend was to give herself a major dose of denial. But now that they were heading home, Caissie asleep in the seat next to her, Michele allowed herself to drop the act. She thought of Clara’s mother, Alanna. Was this how Alanna had felt when she’d had to leave George Windsor? Michele felt a fresh wave of longing for her mom. How could she not
be
there when Michele needed her most?