A Circle of Time (23 page)

“So if he got José and the baby out of the way, he could erase the past and start again with Isa. He'd simply marry her off to some unsuspecting landowner. And no one would ever know. He's crazier than Isa.”

“But Isa spoiled his plans by refusing to keep quiet about José and her baby,” said Joshua, “and then going crazy.” Allison and Joshua grew silent, thinking about the sad fate of Isa and José and their innocent baby.

After a while, Allison said, “Something's still bugging me: If José knows this deep dark secret, why hasn't he confronted Don Carlos with it?”

“You're right,” said Joshua. “If I was him, I'd be fit to be tied. Maybe we should go back to Magda's and find out what she knows. José might be there now.”

 

José was not at Magda's when they arrived. He was out looking for Isa.

Magda ladled out hearty bowls of stew and set them before Allison and Joshua. Between bites they caught each other up on what had happened in the past two days.

“
Pobre
Isa,” said Magda, taking a seat at her rocker when everyone had finished eating. “Don Carlos is frantic, acting as though it is her welfare rather than his own that concerns him. When he reached home this afternoon—after his visit with Sadie, from what you tell me—he learned that Isa had escaped, leaving Socorro drugged and bound. Tere was trying to calm her mother and remained with her while Don Carlos and some of his men have begun to scour the forest.

“He came here, certain to find Isa and José, but found only me. He issued threats and mandates and swore he would finish my brother if he ever again went near Isa. Then he stormed away.”

“Where was José?” asked Allison.

“He has been in and out for the past two days, trying to figure out how to break into the mansion and get to Isa. He was dressed in that horrible disguise so no one from the estate would recognize him.” Magda shuddered. “I barely recognized him myself when I first saw him. I told him Isa would be terrified if she saw him like that—her mind is so fragile, who knows what she might think. He finally agreed and changed back into his own clothes.

“When José came back this afternoon, he was all excited about something Sadie had told him. He was about to tell me, but first, he wanted to know why Don Carlos was here. He had seen his white horse and stayed hidden until Don Carlos left. After I told him that Isa had escaped and that Don Carlos was searching for her, José became frantic and ran out. I called to him, begging him to wait, telling him that Isa sometimes comes here when she gets out. But he said he couldn't take the chance that Don Carlos or his men might find Isa first.”

“I hope he finds her before morning,” said Allison. “Tomorrow is April eighteenth, the day of the most devastating earthquake in the history of the United States. She shouldn't be out in the forest alone.”

 

Allison and Joshua decided the safest thing to do was to spend the night with Magda. That way, neither of them would be near the cliff the morning of the earthquake.

As she had before, Allison curled up in Magda's extra comforter next to the fireplace. At the other side of the fireplace, Joshua set out his bedroll.

Allison's sleep was fitful. She kept having flashback dreams of running through the forest in the dark, of being chased and tripping over Sadie's dead body, of blood smeared and sticky on her hands and feet, of being hurled over the side of the cliff and plummeting down, down, down...

She awoke with a start, her heart beating to the rhythm of hoofbeats in the distance, closer, closer, then fading away. She glanced around. The fire had begun to burn down, but enough light remained to see shapes in the room. She glanced at Joshua's bedroll.

It was empty.

Her heart leaped into her throat, settling back only to begin a thunderous pounding that filled her ears like the rhythmic roar of a waterfall. The fire of panic shot through her limbs. Where was he? What could possibly have made him leave the cottage?

Allison tore away her covers and tiptoed to Magda's curtain. She peeked inside. Magda was sound asleep, her breathing soft and rhythmic.

Her heart still pounding in her ears, Allison cracked open the front door and peered outside. The night was dark: Only pale moonlight etched the shape of trees beyond the cottage. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound, nothing but Allison appeared alive.

“Find him,” a voice whispered in her ear. “Find Joshua.”

Allison wondered whether she had heard a voice at all. Perhaps it was her thoughts, loud enough in the stillness of the night to be heard in her ears rather than in her head. That was after all the strongest impulse she was feeling: the desire to find Joshua. It pulsed through the blood that her heart was pumping so strongly in her veins and through the nerves that were creaking inside her limbs like Magda's old rocker. It was only natural that the impulse be translated into a thought so strong it would sound like a voice in her ears.

She stepped into the yard to have a better look around. Still nothing moved.

“Where could he be?” she muttered under her breath. “Joshua, you fool, how could you go off on your own, tonight of all nights?”

It occurred to her that he might have decided to visit the waterfall cave. Maybe he couldn't sleep. She could go as far as the cave and check it out. It couldn't hurt just to go that far. She'd feel better knowing where he was.

When she arrived at the site of the crashing waters, she shivered at the similarity between this night and the other time she had lived through the night of April 17, 1906. Even the moon was identical: a silver sliver hanging among a sprinkling of stars. But of course it was identical—it had to be. In the continuum of time and space, this was the very same night.

That Joshua! If he hadn't wandered off, she wouldn't be reliving any of this. In a huff, she picked up her skirts and hurried along the rocky path behind the waterfall to the tiny cave. As with the other time, the cave was deserted, and the bed appeared untouched.

“Oh, Joshua, where could you be?” she wailed aloud. “Well, that does it. I'm going back to Magda's. If he's not there by now, maybe Magda will know where he is.”

Allison returned to the forest path and began to wind her way back to the cottage. Halfway there she heard a twig crack and leaves crumble. Her heart jumped. She stood still, listening.

Another twig cracked. Then another.

Her first instinct was to hide behind a bush. It could be just a night prowler—a possum, a raccoon, even Bubba. But at that instant, a voice in her head screamed: “Run! Save me!”

Before she could think, her legs came alive. As if she were a mechanical toy manipulated by remote control, she found herself running deeper and deeper into the forest. All she could do was hold her arms in front of her face to protect it from the ripping claws of outstretched branches.

All the while, the voice screamed: “Hurry, hurry! He's coming.
Run!
”

The panic that raced through her veins, and the voice that screamed in her ears and filled her brain, kept her mind a jumble. Somewhere inside her, Allison knew she was doing the wrong thing. She shouldn't run—she should think. But she couldn't make her brain listen, and she couldn't stop Becky's body from panicking. She felt as though she were reliving her last conscious moments, just after the red Mercedes sent her flying over the ravine. She was locked in a body she couldn't control, seeing herself flying down, down, down when things had turned around and the rocks below her began to rush up, up, up.

“No!” she screamed. “Nooooo! Sto-oop!”

But Becky's body continued to run, shrieking back, “Save me! Save me!”

Listen to me, Becky,
she spoke to the girl in her head.
Stop screaming and listen to me!

“Help me! Run!” Becky screamed.

SHUT UP, BECKY!

The screaming stopped, but Becky's body kept running.

Listen to me. I am trying to save you, but you've got to let me. Now, slow down.

Allison could feel her legs begin to slow.

“Please don't let me die,” Becky whimpered.

Becky, you've got to trust me. Let me think. Let me get us through this. Go back to the hospital. I need you there, Becky. And you need me here. Go back, and let me think.

With a tiny whimper, Becky released control of her body. Becky seemed to be gaining strength in the past—she must be, to have been able to take control of her body like that. Did that also mean she was weakening in the future? Would she be strong enough to keep Allison's body alive through surgery? Allison realized she needed to resolve Becky's problem in the past and get back to her own body as soon as possible.

She slowed to a trot, then stopped completely, listening to the sounds of the forest. Her breath was coming in such loud, rough pants she could barely hear the
thump-thump
of heavy footsteps in the distance. Someone was coming closer, either on his own or following her.

She decided to stay out of sight but not to panic. For all she knew, it might be Joshua. But it also might be Sadie, or someone equally dangerous. She needed to find a good place to hide. Tucking her head to avoid branches, she continued to run down the path, but this time, listening and looking.

Within a few minutes, she broke through the trees into a clearing. It looked familiar. It seemed to be the same clearing she had encountered when she noticed the blood on her hands and dress.

Resisting the panic that bubbled inside her stomach, she held out her hands, allowing the moonlight to illuminate them. They appeared clean. She let out a deep breath. Of course, they were. She hadn't tripped over a dead body and slipped in its blood. Not this time. She looked down. Her dress was the emerald-green gown, not the faded calico. And it was still clean.

Time was not repeating itself. She had broken the chain.

An explosion of twigs cracking and branches being bent to breaking and snapping back reminded Allison she still had a job to do. She ducked beneath a thick cluster of bushes, peering out in time to see a figure crash through the branches and halt a few feet away, stooping forward and wheezing.

It was all happening again. Maybe she hadn't broken the chain after all.

In the dim moonlight, she saw the figure of a man whose head oscillated back and forth, scanning the clearing. But this man was not barefoot and shabbily clad. Nor was his head covered with a grubby black mane of hair. This man looked like he had stepped from the cover of a modern romance novel: long black hair, clean and gleaming like raven feathers in the moonlight and tied at the nape of his neck. His face was strong, handsome, and clean shaven. He wore a white shirt with long, billowy sleeves, black vest and pants, and tall black boots.

The man placed his hands on his knees, apparently trying to catch his breath. His wheezing continued, grating like fingernails over sandpaper.

Allison stretched her neck, trying to get a better look. If only she could find a sign that it was José—maybe the crescent-shaped scar on his forehead or the burn on his right arm. But his arms were covered by the long sleeves, and she could only see the side of his face.

As she rose onto her knees to get a better look, she stepped on a twig.

The man's head snapped toward her, and their eyes met. A look of recognition, then one of disbelief crossed his face. “Isa?” he whispered.

Allison opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. She shook her head.

The man rose to his full height. “Rebecca?” He spoke the name in a strong Spanish accent.

Allison could only stare.

He held out his hand. “Come. Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”

Allison stood but couldn't seem to move her legs. The man stepped toward her, reached out, and took her hand. “Please, come. I promise, I will not harm you.”

Despite its strong muscles and tendons, his hand held hers as delicately as if he were holding a thin eggshell. In the light of the moon, she could see the faint shape of a crescent in the middle of his forehead.

“José?” she was finally able to whisper.

A slow smile began to pull the edges of his mouth. But his eyes remained solemn and his gaze fixed on her face. He gave a slight bow from the waist.

“How—how do you know me?” Allison whispered.

José's eyes, glistening like polished onyx, at last softened. “I'd know Isa's child anywhere.”

Allison, where have you been?” Magda was awake and making breakfast—although the sky was still dark, it was already early morning. The look on her face when Allison and José entered the cottage was one of great relief. “Joshua has been frantic.”

Allison rushed to Magda's side. “Joshua came back?”

“He couldn't sleep and went out for a walk. When he returned, you were gone. He went back to search the forest for you. I told him José would be looking for you, too, but he insisted on going himself. ”

“And I must return to search for Isa,” José said, pacing the small room. “I must find her before that father of hers—”

“But first you must eat something,” Magda insisted. “You need your strength. You do not know when you will be able to eat again.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he said, finally taking a seat at the table.

Allison, still in awe of Magda's handsome brother
(Becky's father!),
sat across from him and tried to digest all that had happened since José had found her. She could kick herself for not having guessed earlier. Of course, Becky was Isa's daughter. All the clues had been there, if she'd only paid attention. Doña Ana, when she first saw her, had believed her to be Isa. She and Tere had dismissed the mistake, blaming it on the woman's drugged and confused state. Then there was the way Don Carlos acted around her—hostile and almost frightened. He must have begun to suspect who she was and feared his secret would somehow be revealed. No wonder he didn't want her caring for Isa. If Don Carlos had begun to suspect who Becky was, eventually, Isa might, too. And that was why Becky's face had looked so familiar to her: Becky resembled the seventeen-year-old Isa in the painting.