A Whisper in Time (23 page)

It took all of ten minutes to cut up an apple and zap some soup in the microwave. I had the table set for two when she arrived.

She ate in her efficient way, as if she expected to be ordered away from the food at any moment. Only when she’d set her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap did she look at me. “I went to see my brother and his wife.”

“You what?” I understood the thing about Phoebe, but there was more? Totally confused. “Which brother are we talking about?”

“Caleb. He inherited the farm at my mother’s passing.”

She had her calm face on, but her voice was toneless in a scary way. “How’d it go?”

“It was most uncomfortable.” She rose.

“Why did you do that?” I got up too.

“I wanted to see him and his children. I asked for the family Bible.”

“Did he give it to you?” I hadn’t seen her carrying anything that big.

“He did not.” She left the kitchen and wandered into the family room.

Weird. Susanna paced around, her hand drifting restlessly over furniture. Stopping at a bookshelf, she scowled at some books and then crossed to the farthest corner and plopped down on a low, padded bench.

It was dark over there. In her neck-to-ankle brown outfit, she nearly blended into the background. I flicked on the lights.

“No, Mark. Please.”

The lights went out again. I stared at her rigid body across the room, arms on knees, head bowed. I finally got it. She hadn’t just been rescuing Phoebe. She’d been trying to rescue herself—from my world and its crazy-ass rules.

Didn’t she realize that we couldn’t use their Bible here? Nobody would believe it. Maybe I should tell her about my plan to create her identity and set her mind at ease. “It’s okay he didn’t give you the Bible. We’ll work something out.”

When she shook her head, her braid slid off her back and across her shoulder until it hung between her knees. She left it there, either not noticing or not caring.

“What are you leaving out, Susanna?”

“I’m forbidden to return to my brother’s home.” She hunched there, still as a statue.

I crossed the room and sat beside her. “Hey, babe. It’s okay. You’re never going back anyway.”

“Perhaps not,” she said, her voice rasping. “Yet it does pain me to learn of his contempt.”

“Why does he feel that way?”

Her head dropped even lower, denying me an answer.

I got along fine with Marissa, and from what Susanna had said previously I had never detected hostility to her brothers. They hadn’t intervened in how the Pratts treated her, but distance and society probably contributed more to that attitude than lack of sibling emotion.

What had happened to cause her brother to bar her from the place where she was born? “Is he mad that you ran away from Pratt?”

“My brother loathes Mr. Pratt. It enraged Caleb when our stepfather bound me to that family.” She pushed up until she could press herself against the wall, ramrod straight. “I suspect that he has felt a small measure of shame from my decision, but it is certainly eased by the pleasure of seeing the Pratts humiliated.”

So if it wasn’t the fact that she ran away, what else could it be? He didn’t know anything about her life now.

Damn. There was one thing Caleb knew. “He’s pissed because you’re living with me.”

She didn’t answer, but I knew I was right. Of course, I was. Everyone from her past would condemn the choice they thought she’d made. If they only knew. “I’m sick of this conversation too.” I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s sit on the couch and hold hands and stop talking.”

“An excellent idea,” she said, slipping her hand into mine.

* * *

“Mark.”

There was an annoying voice trying to interrupt my dream, and an annoying hand shaking my shoulder hard.

“Mark,” Mom said in a loud whisper.

I didn’t want to wake up. After a night of no sleep, a nap now was highly desirable.

“How is Susanna?”

Since ignoring my mom wasn’t working, I opened my eyes and looked around. I was still in the family room, slumped on one end of the couch with a sleeping Susanna stretched out beside me, her feet in my lap.

I rolled my head until Mom’s face came into view, where she knelt at the couch’s end. “She’s fine,” I whispered back.

“Where was she last night?”

I swallowed words of impatience. After all, my parents had been worried too. “She went to search for her sister.”

“Did she find her?”

The less my mom knew about this situation, the better off everyone would be. “Susanna spent the night with Phoebe.”

“I thought the girl was in a safe place.”

“She is. Susanna needed reassurance.” I wiggled some on the couch cushion. My butt felt a little numb. “She took Bacitracin with her. The people Phoebe lives with are not into modern medicine.” The stolen antibiotics would have to remain a secret that I hoped my mom never uncovered.

“Was Susanna ever in danger?”

“Not really.” I had to defuse this. I wanted my parents to get past Susanna’s absence fast. “She got to speak briefly with her favorite young friend. That went well too.”

“You made it sound like a bigger deal last night than you are now.”

“I guess I overreacted.” Damn. How did I get those words out with a straight face? “I forget sometimes how strong she is.”

“True.” Mom patted my hand and stood. “I’ll make dinner.”

I watched my mother walk away to prepare her favorite cure for any problem. If we were lucky, the cure would include mashed potatoes.

“I was not in danger, Mark. I am fine.”

I looked toward the other end of the couch. Susanna watched me solemnly. “Something bad almost happened.”

“But it did not.”

“The next time, you might get caught.”

“I shall not go back.”

“You might.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I shall commit more deeply to adjusting to your world. I should like to start by learning how to ride a bike.”

“Really?” I frowned. Where had that idea come from? “I thought you were afraid of them.”

“I prefer the word
wary
.”

“So what’s changed?”

“I need to get over myself.”

I smiled. “You’ve been listening to me talk to my sister.”

“Indeed, since those conversations generally occur with me sitting next to you.”

My smile faded as my brain raced through the possible reasons for her sudden interest. The first one that came to mind might piss her off if I asked it, but I had to anyway. “Are you trying to cut how long it takes to get from the waterfall to Old Raleigh?”

“I shall not go back. My request is about this world. I want independence.”

“Okay.” That was a good reason. I should be happy about it, shouldn’t I? Why then did it make me uneasy?

“There is another reason.” She sat up and reached for my hand with a shy smile. “You spend a lot of time on your bike. When I learn how to bike, I could go with you.”

I kissed the back of her hand. “I’m all over that.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-O
NE

U
NNECESSARY
C
AUTION

Mark’s parents barely alluded to my overnight absence during supper, other than to say they were glad to see me safely home. I didn’t expect Mark to share the details of my experience, but the intensity of the silence surprised me.

Mark left in the truck after supper, to seek out friends who could tell him what he’d missed this day.

Bruce retired, as always, to his study to “catch up.”

Sherri and I carried plates to the sink.

“Let me do the dishes,” I said.

“No, dear, I’ll take care of it. You’ve had a hard day.” She opened the dishwasher and added the plates. “Before you go, though, I have a couple of things I’d like to know.”

“Certainly.” I waited by the island.

She finished loading the dishwasher, closed the door, and then leaned against the counter. “How long had you been planning this trip?”

“Two weeks.”

Her brow creased. She dropped her gaze to her feet, as if the tips of her shoes held answers she needed. “Why did you work so hard to hide what you were doing?”

“Mark would’ve fought my decision. I chose to delay this disagreement until my return.”

“Maybe we could have all gone with you.”

“I didn’t want you with me.”

“Wow, Susanna.”

I kept my gaze steady. “I will not satisfy your curiosity further. Please drop this.”

“It’s more than curiosity.” Her face flushed. “Why won’t you tell us where these people are? They should be brought to justice.”

“You have looked for them before. You have pressed me on this issue many times. Yet I have never cooperated.” Tension rose within me. I took a deep breath to calm myself. “There were only two truly bad men, and their authority was diminished when I left. The others in the village are good, ordinary people. I shall do nothing to disrupt or confuse their peace.”

She pushed away from the counter and stepped closer to me, genuine distress in her demeanor. “They must not live all that far away if you got there and back this quickly.”

“Please, Sherri. This subject must remain forever closed.”

“Why do you resist our help?”

“Because I do not require any.” How could I make her understand? We had been warming to each other of late, and I was sorry my absence had altered that. But I wouldn’t apologize for my choice. “My sister leads a life of contentment. The bad men cannot hurt her. You must trust me on the matter.”

“Did you see the man you used to call master?”

I drank in another breath before responding, for the thought of him was never without discomfort. “I did indeed see Mr. Pratt. It was unpleasant, but as you can see, I am here and unharmed. He has no power over me.”

“Fine.” She grabbed a pot from the stove, walked to the sink, and flipped on the faucet.

Taking her actions as dismissal, I returned to the apartment, alone with Toby and the journals, finally ready to discover how history had changed.

If Phoebe had taken my advice, had the treatment worked? Could Mark be correct that the mix of pills might have made her more ill?

I sat in my chair, hands folded, eyes closed. I did not make things worse. I was certain of this. I had no need to sit here nervously.

Enough. It was time. I opened the laptop and went to the folder marked “Archives.” There were three journals present. Not two.

An ember of joy burned in my belly. Phoebe had written an additional journal because she could use her hand. Because she had more to say.

I opened the second journal and went directly to the end—to see how the story had altered—and browsed through the pages until the week of the birthday ball.

Was she saying that I had grown fat? It was true that the supply of food here was endless, even decadent. I could eat my fill, but had I become noticeably rounded?

Perhaps I should ask Mark, although he would be unlikely to agree if he were wise.

Phoebe didn’t mention the medicine. Had she forgotten already?

I went to the next page, eyes hot with the need to know more.

This entry, from the night of the ball, was identical. I couldn’t tell that a single word had changed.

I ignored the flutters of anxiety over her unnecessary caution. There was a new journal. Something
had
changed.