Timeless (32 page)

“Why me?” Stella pressed her.

“Well, because—because we’re supposed to know each other,” Michele said, improvising.

Stella stared at her, taking this in. She squeezed her eyes shut as a thought occurred to her. “Are you here because of Jack? Did something happen to him?”

“Who?”

“Jack Rosen—my fiancé,” she answered, nervously biting her nail. “He’s fighting overseas, and I haven’t heard from him in weeks. It’s not like him.…”

“Your fiancé? How old are you?” Michele asked in surprise.

“Seventeen.”

“Wow. That’s so young to get married,” Michele remarked.

“Everyone’s marrying young now. We don’t know how long our boys have,” Stella said quietly. “But he gets to go on leave next month, so we’re planning to marry then. It won’t be the type of grand affair typical of Windsor weddings, as we don’t have the rations for a reception, or even for a nice wedding dress. But I don’t care. It will be a fairy-tale wedding to me just to be married and have him home safe.”

Michele smiled at her. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Suddenly the terrible, loud whine of a siren sounded. Michele jumped, but Stella didn’t seem surprised.

“What’s that?” Michele gasped.

“Air raid blackout drill,” Stella answered briskly, hurrying out of the room. Michele followed her downstairs to the Grand Hall. Clara, Sam, Lily, and Walter soon joined them, along with
two household staff members, all carrying candles. Michele watched in amazement as Sam pressed a button and the entire house was blanketed in darkness—all the lights were switched off, and heavy black curtains fell over the windows, covering every bit of light. Then they hurried out the front door, Michele running after them. Behind the house was a small shed, which Michele had never seen before. Once inside, she realized that it was an air raid shelter. The walls were protected with sandbags, and there were two bunk beds in the small space, along with a shelf holding food and first aid supplies. Michele shuddered and sat against the sandbags with her knees hugged to her chest. She knew it was only a drill, but it was still frightening. Little Walter curled up on the lower bunk, Lily cradling him in her arms, while Stella climbed up to the top bunk. Clara and Sam huddled together against the sandbags next to the invisible Michele, the staff members across from them. There was a few minutes’ silence as they waited for the all-clear signal, and then Lily cleared her throat.

“Stella and I spent a couple hours at the Red Cross this morning, making care packages for the soldiers. We included your letter and gift in the package for Charles.”

“Our son will soon be home safe,” Sam said confidently. He looked up at Stella. “And Jack too.”

The siren blared again, and Michele covered her ears. It was the most awful noise. As the others gathered their candles and prepared to leave the shelter, Michele closed her eyes, picturing 2010, and silently begged Time to send her home.

And then there she was—standing on the back lawn of the Windsor Mansion, where the air raid shelter had once stood.
Shivering in the cold evening air, Michele hurried to the front door. But as she turned the knob, she saw to her horror that her hand was bare—the ring from Philip was gone! It must have fallen off while they were running into the shelter. Michele looked desperately at her naked hand, crushed. How could she have lost something so important?

The next morning, an anguished scream jolted Michele awake. She jumped out of bed, terrified. That was when she saw that she wasn’t in her bedroom—she was in Stella’s. Michele raced to the desktop calendar and saw that it was June 7, 1944. For a moment she stood frozen in surprise. She had never gone back in time in her sleep before. What was
happening
?

The scream turned into a howl. Michele raced out of the room and down the stairs, praying all the way that nothing was seriously wrong, that everyone was okay. But she found Stella in a heap on the floor, screaming Jack’s name over and over. An army officer stood in the doorway, his face ashen. Clara, Sam, and Lily were huddled around Stella, their faces scrunched up with grief as they tried to comfort her. Little Walter stood behind them in his pajamas, his face frozen, his tiny body shaking.

Michele watched the scene in horror, her heart in her throat. Stella dropped the telegram and Michele read the devastating opening sentence:
We regret to inform you that Private Rosen has been killed in action
.

Suddenly, Michele had never felt angrier in her life. What
was the
point
of loving when the people you loved were taken from you? When Death or Time were always looming and poised to strike, why did love even exist? She squeezed her eyes shut and Marion’s and Philip’s faces filled her vision.
Why must we spend so much of our lives missing people instead of being with them?
Michele wondered. Her eyes were filled with tears as she approached Stella and wrapped her in a hug.

Throughout the rest of the day, the Windsor family holed up in the drawing room, rallying around Stella. Michele sat beside her on the couch, holding her hand protectively. Clara sat on Stella’s other side, stroking her daughter’s hair. Lily was in the rocking chair beside the couch, holding Walter on her lap. Stella couldn’t speak, but the others all talked proudly of Jack. There was much emotion when a telegram arrived from President Roosevelt himself, reporting that Jack had died in combat while fighting the Nazis in Normandy the previous day. The president would be awarding Jack a posthumous medal of honor.

Sam read aloud newspaper articles praising the success of D-day and stating that it signaled the beginning of the end for Nazi Germany. “Your fiancé died for his country, Stella, and his mission was a success,” Sam said earnestly. “There’s no more noble way to go.”

Stella nodded slightly, her face still looking glazed and shocked.

Suddenly, the sounds of a distant parade were heard: trumpets blaring, people shouting and whistling, feet stomping. Michele looked anxiously at Stella. As the parade came closer
on its route down Fifth Avenue, the music became loud and clear:

Over there, over there
,
Send the word, send the word, over there
,
That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming
,
The drums drum-drumming everywhere …

Stella slowly got up and moved toward the front balcony, the others following closely. She stood at the railing, watching silently. As the parade approached Windsor Mansion, with its blue and gold stars hanging in the windows, it stopped and directed the rest of the song to the family on the balcony.

So prepare, say a prayer
,
Send the word, send the word, to beware
We’ll be over, we’re coming over
,
And we won’t came back till it’s over, over there!

Michele watched as Stella, her eyes spilling over with tears, began to mouth the words, mustering a brave smile for the parade crowd. Stella gazed at the people, seeing the
HOORAY FOR D-DAY!
signs, and posters bearing blue and gold stars.

“I’m—I’m so proud of him,” Stella gasped, and fell sobbing into Clara’s arms.

As Michele watched the patriotic scene both inside and outside the Windsor Mansion, she realized her pride at being an American. It was the American drive for a better world, and its spirit of survival in the face of crisis, that had propelled Jack and
thousands of other young men to risk their lives every day for their country and the Allies. It was that same spirit that led Stella to suddenly say, “I want to finish out Jack’s mission.”

“What do you mean, sweetie?” Clara asked, helping her back inside.

“I mean … I want to do something major to help,” she said, pacing the drawing room. “We
have
to win this war. It’s the only way Jack won’t have died in vain.”

After a few minutes, Lily spoke up. “What about a fundraiser, or a drive? There’s always a need to sell more war bonds and collect rubber and metals for the army.”

Stella stared at Lily. “That’s it! A fund-raiser concert—with you as the star attraction! Instead of tickets, people will have to buy war bonds and donate materials for the military.”

As they discussed the idea, Michele stared at Stella in amazement.
I wasn’t sent here to help her
, she realized.
I’m here to learn from her. I’ve lost my mom and Philip, but I need to be brave like Stella, like all the men and women who lose loved ones but keep going with life
.

Michele was suddenly overcome with pride at being a Windsor. The Windsor women had all been through tragedy and heartache, but they always held their heads high, moved forward, and never lost hope. They were the strongest, most inspiring women Michele knew, and she was stirred by them, motivated to follow their example.

Michele pulled Stella aside. “I know Jack is so proud of you right now,” she said. “I’m proud just to know you.”

“Thank you,” Stella whispered.

The doorbell rang, and a moment later, a group of Stella’s
classmates hurried inside, their faces stricken as they rushed forward to hug their friend. Michele made her way to the staircase, sensing that it was time for her to return. But before she had made it to the third floor, she felt Time pushing her forward, and she held on to the railing as she was sent flying.…

She landed on the mezzanine, still clinging to the staircase railing for dear life. Through the glass door she saw Walter in his office, writing behind his desk. His head was bent low and he didn’t see Michele. As she watched her gray-haired grandfather, all she could see was the little boy he had been, his small body shaking, his face terrified, at the horrors of war. She felt a sudden rush of affection for him—and sadness. She was beginning to realize what a tragedy it was that Marion and her parents had never repaired their relationship.

Michele remembered Irving Henry’s funeral service and shivered. So Walter had seen him buried in the ground nearly fifty years before his relationship with Marion began. How was that even
possible
? She wondered what her grandparents knew about him, how
much
they knew. But as she glanced back at Walter’s office, she knew she wasn’t ready to ask just yet.

The next afternoon, Michele slowly walked into the library, seeking out the old photo album. She needed to see the photo of Irving Henry again.
My dad
, she reminded herself. It still didn’t feel real.

Opening the photo album, she saw an inscription in the
front cover:
Merry Christmas, Mother & Father! I hope you enjoy the photos as much as I do. With love from Stella, 1940
.

Just as it dawned on Michele that Stella was the one who had put together the fateful photo album, she felt Time’s choreography take hold, sending her back.…