Home in Time for Christmas (19 page)

“World War II?” Serena interrupted.

Of course, Melody thought. Serena hadn't gotten barraged with a series of CDs. The history Jake had gotten might have been a bit fractured, but it was a decent synopsis of the years gone by.

“World War II, yes,” Melody said.

“The entire world went to war—and then did it again?” Serena asked.

Melody nodded. “Most of the world, let's say. We pray now that there will never be a World War III—with the weapons we can now produce, we could blow up the globe.”

Serena shivered. They both sat in silence for a few minutes.

“So, now, women work, and men stay home?” Serena asked.

“Sometimes. But most frequently now, both partners work, and both partners share responsibility for raising the children and tending the house. Choice is what we hope for—I have friends who want to stay home, and I believe that keeping a house and raising children can certainly be hard work. My mom was a nurse, though, and between her and my dad, we did very well. I adore them both. My mom usually cooks, but when she wants to go out, my dad assures her that he is capable of opening a can and using a microwave.”

“A microwave?”

“It cooks things very quickly,” Melody explained briefly.

“But I'm sorry, I'm still confused. Mark loves you, wanted to marry you, and take care of you and provide for you—and that was a bad thing?” Serena asked.

“No. But I'm an artist. A good one, I believe. I love to sketch, but I also love to paint—I want to see what I can create. I want children and I want a home. But I want a husband who wants to share all those responsibilities. Do you understand? And then, too…I don't
know. I cared about Mark. I do care about Mark. I was horrified by what I had done to him. Well, I didn't do it, but his association with my family made him determined to…prove that you couldn't go through time.”

Serena laughed softly. “He's a very handsome man.”

Melody leaned toward Serena, a slow smile curving into her features. “You and Mark must have had a very interesting day.”

“He was quite wonderful,” Serena told her.

“I'm glad. I'm sure that you've touched him in a way he'll never forget.”

“I didn't touch him at all, not really,” Serena said indignantly. “We just met.”

“Of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by that,” Melody said hastily. “Touch…well, I meant that knowing you probably touched his soul.”

“I believe you touched much more than my brother's soul,” Serena said primly.

Melody wasn't about to explain. And so she said simply, “I love your brother.”

“I see,” Serena said. “No, no, actually, I don't.”

“You don't see how I can love him?” Melody asked.

“Well, of course. He's proud and he's strong, he's very smart and giving. He can be passionate and firm and quite charming and…”

“Yes,” Melody said.

“But…he's from a different time,” she reminded Melody.

“I wish that meant something. Well, it does mean something. He loves you. He's been worried sick about
you. He was afraid the British would take revenge on you. He's worried about you being on your own. He meant to come back here through hell or high water, and he intended to find a way, with or without your help. Actually, without your help, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere. My mother read the journals you have in the house.”

“Really?” Serena said, pleased. She sighed. “Jake has actually spent too much of his life worrying about me. My parents were killed, you know. He meant to make sure that I grew up well, that I had everything I could possibly need. His father became my father, and Jake continued with the responsibility. I've worried that he doesn't get out, that he doesn't worry about his own life, because of me. Well, of course, battle came to Gloucester, the Declaration of Independence was written, and we've been at war ever since. That, of course, changes everything. But I have worried about Jake.”

“I have a brother,” Melody said. “And he is very precious to me, so I understand.”

“He's probably going quite mad with worry for you right now. Thank God Mark has been here. Hopefully, he'll make them all understand that you are doing well.”

“He is a very good man,” Melody said.

“Just not the man you love,” Serena said.

“Right.”

“And really—no matter what, he's not the man you love?” Serena asked. “I mean, if my brother hadn't happened along, would you be with Mark?”

Melody shook her head. “I didn't know how to tell him that we could never be.”

“And you really love my brother?”

“Honestly,” Melody told her.

“What a strange world it is we live in!” Serena said.

“Much stranger since I met your brother,” Melody told her.

Serena laughed. “I'm going to stoke up the fire. We have a long cold night before it becomes morning.”

“Christmas,” Melody said.

“And I had just wished that Jake would be home for Christmas,” Serena said. “Tomorrow morning, we must…well, we must just rectify this entire event.”

“We all want to be home—whatever or wherever home may be—for Christmas,” Melody said.

Serena nodded. She rose, saying, “I'll get the fire going and brew some tea. And I have some shortbread cookies. We'll celebrate Christmas Eve and light a candle, as well.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you,” Melody said.

Serena was a beautiful woman, Melody thought. Moving fluidly about in a house she loved with competence, despite the work that went with keeping such a house. And though she worked, everything about her seemed young, fresh and innocent.

“Does Jake have paper in the house? Pencils?” Melody asked.

“There's a brand-new box of Faber-Castell pencils in his desk drawer. He loved pencils. Loves pencils,” Serena said.

“May I do a sketch of you?” she asked.

Serena flushed. “Of course. Yes, thank you. I would like that.”

Serena brewed tea over the fire and Melody sketched,
and they talked about the old days and the new, and they waited for the time when the sun would rise on Christmas morning.

“R
ose petals!” Mona said, the words explosive as she jumped to her feet.

“What?” George said, looking up anxiously.

“We have to get some rose petals,” Mona said firmly. She looked at Jake. “I read about it in one of the references…or maybe you told me, I'm getting so confused in all this now. Rose petals, in the middle of winter. That's what your sister used when she cursed the British commander.
We
haven't had rose petals. Oh, I had rose hip in the tea in the potion, but…rose petals. I think we must have rose petals. Rose petals in the snow.”

They had spent most of the evening together, in the family room. They weren't talking much. Every once in a while, Mark would make a comment to Jake about his sister, and Jake would smile and agree—Serena was an amazing woman.

And then Keith would mention how much he missed his sister, how much he feared for her, and then he would shut up because he didn't want to upset his parents.

Mark was the calmest. He was the most reassuring to the Tarletons. He had, after all, made the journey through time and back.

But now, Jake stood up and walked over to Mona,
taking her hands. “Mona, you did everything right. None of us, including Melody, knew that she might wind up being the one going through the hole or door to the past. I don't think we need anything else.”

“Rose petals,” she said firmly. “Please. I think we need rose petals.”

“Mona, it's the dead of winter,” George said.

“Good heavens, George, why on earth do you think God invented florists?” Mona asked.

“If you want rose petals, Mona, we will get them for you,” Jake said. He frowned. “I'm delighted to get the rose petals, but I will need help. I still don't know how to drive one of those vehicles yet.”

“Gotta learn to drive,” Keith said. “Unless you live in New York City. Never mind—I guess you ride well enough.”

“Well, of course I ride,” Jake said.

“I'll drive now,” Keith told him. “Come on—we'll get the rose petals. We'll be back soon, Mom, Dad. Unless you want to come for the ride?”

“Oh, all the shops might be closed. It's night already, and on Christmas Eve,” Mona said worriedly.

“We'll find a shop that's open,” Keith promised.

“And red. We must have red roses.”

“I'll know the roses we need,” Jake promised her, before following Keith outside.

“I hope she's not right,” Keith said worriedly as they got closer to town. “This is New England. Most places are closed by now.”

“I see lights in some establishments,” Jake said.

“Maybe a gas station,” Keith suggested.

The large stores were closed. They found a conve
nience store open, but it was out of flowers of any kind. They tried another, and another. No luck.

Finally, giving up, they drove home. As they passed a church—the same church Mona had mentioned she attended, where a Father Dawson had made such a positive impression on her—Jake reached out and grabbed Keith by the arm.

“Stop!”

“At church? Jake, we're far too late for the service. I mean, there's another one at midnight—”

“Roses, Keith. There may just be roses in there. And saying a prayer isn't going to hurt anything at all, will it?”

“No, it will not hurt anything at all,” Keith agreed.

Folks were leaving the church as they entered. Father Dawson hadn't been giving the service; a sign noted that he would be there for the midnight service.

A young priest was kneeling before the main altar.

And there were flowers. There were flowers everywhere. Stands of flowers surrounded the giant nativity scene at the side of the main altar.

Flowers adorned the pews.

Flowers were set near the ever green on the other side of the main altar.

“Do you see roses?” Keith whispered.

And suddenly, Jake smiled. There was a stand of red roses right next to the kneeling priest.

Jake strode down the aisle and knelt beside him. He looked up at the cross high above the altar.

A prayer.

Dear God, please, I have been granted life in this
precious season. Grant, too, that come tomorrow, all will right itself with this world, and in my own.

Just then, the young priest crossed himself, looked over at Jake and smiled.

“Such an earnest prayer, sir. I think I felt it,” he said.

“Indeed, an earnest prayer,” Jake said, and he rose to shake the priest's hand.

“Welcome to the church.”

Great. He had come to steal roses, and he was being welcomed.

“Thank you.”

To Jake's surprise, the man reached to the stand and handed Jake a rose. “For a loved one. God's true gift, the beauty of the world we live in. And, remember, son, sometimes prayers are answered, and it takes a minute to realize that we have gotten just what we've asked for.”

“Be careful what you wish for? You may get what you ask?” Jake suggested.

The priest laughed. “No. We just need to realize that what we want isn't always best for someone else, and what they want may not please us. Part of Christmas is giving, and that means giving when we have to sacrifice, or when we may not particularly agree. I have a feeling though, you're going to be all right.”

Jake smiled and had to say, “A psychic priest?”

The priest was still grinning—either Christmas cheer, or he had a pleasant sense of humor. “Does God speak to me in dreams? No, I am just his humble servant, but I usually have a sense for those around me, and you're a good man, and you're going to come out all right.”

“Thank you, Father. Merry Christmas,” Jake said.

“And also to you, my son. God's blessing,” the priest said, and he turned to walk away down the aisle.

“Amen, Father,” Jake called after him. Keith was waiting at the rear of the church. Jake hurried down the aisle.

“We have rose petals!” Jake said.

Keith nodded gravely. “And God's blessing, so it seems. Let's get back to my mother!”

 

Melody felt as if she had entered a museum, and yet, it wasn't a museum at all—it was a room that still seemed alive with the spirit of the man who had used it as his office.

Jake's bedroom was actually next door, what would one day be her parents' room. His office, though, held his writing desk, his beloved collection of pencils and quills, ink pots and paper. There were a number of books and papers upon his desk, and she saw articles he had written in a number of those papers. He had written little notes to himself, one on top of a copy of Thomas Paine's
Common Sense.
There was wrapping on the side of the book, and Melody imagined that Jake had acquired it while with the army and found a courier or friend to bring it to his sister. There was a paper in his handwriting repeating words to be found in the book.

Jake had believed, she knew. Did believe, in this cause. He had been willing to die for it. Of course, she was certain, he hadn't wanted to die. But he'd been ready to give up his own life.

She felt like a sniveling child. She didn't want to give up Jake. And yet, she did love him, and it was far better to think that he was alive and well in his own
time, caring for his sister, fighting for the freedom she had so taken for granted, than not at all.

She walked next door to his room, and she touched his things, and she thought of him.

At last, she took paper and pencils, and went back downstairs. She could, at least, leave him a Christmas present.

 

Mona was delighted with her rose. “A priest gave them to you?” she marveled.

“Yes, ma'am,” Jake said. “A very pleasant young fellow.”

“Well, then, let's get going,” Mona demanded.

George, Keith, Mark and Jake all stared at her.

“It's midnight mass for the lot of us!” she determined.

“But, Mona, there's so much to…to…” George's tone was sadly hopeless.

“So much for us to sit here and worry about?” Mona said. “Come along, the caroling is absolutely beautiful. And we have so much to pray for!”

They all trooped back out and returned to the church. It wasn't quite time for the mass, but the church was already crowded.

The choir came in, singing “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel!”

Mona elbowed Jake on the one side and her husband on the other. “Sing!”

And so they sang. The members of the clergy entered in their robes, and it seemed that the church was alive with the beauty of lights, the sound of the singing and the ringing words of the priest. His sermon was on hope and love—that this was the season when weakness could
become strength, and the greatest gift of the season was man's kindness to his fellow man. Would that it could go on all year! But Father Dawson spoke a sermon that was filled nonetheless with laughter and good cheer, and a reminder that God did help those who helped themselves—and others, as well!

They all knelt for the final prayer. Jake assumed the family was praying for Melody's safe return.

He knew that she would return.

He prayed that he would live a constructive and decent life without her.

Turning, he saw Mark's head rising; he had finished his own prayer.

“She will come back,” he said.

Mark grinned. “I know that. Actually, I was praying that sometime in life, I would find a woman as fine and as beautiful as your sister!”

Jake grinned. “Thank you.”

The carolers started singing again. They filed out of the church.

 

“I could never begin to tell you all the changes that have taken place,” Melody told Serena, watching the other girl as she sat in her chair by the fire and they talked. Her sketch was coming along beautifully. “But I think that what astounded Jake so much were the lights—electric lights. We take them for granted, but they are everywhere. And my parents love Christmas, so every Christmas, there are probably hundreds and hundreds of the little suckers, in all kinds of colors, all over the house. I'll never forget Jake's expression when he first saw them,” she finished, smiling.

“I remember, there was quite a thing over Ben
Franklin's experiments with lightning,” Serena said. “But in the end, I guess he wasn't so crazy.”

“Imagine, throughout the years, many brilliant men and women, working hard in all the sciences and in technology and machinery. The inventions are amazing. But being here, now, I can see why Jake was so amazed just by the lights. To me, other inventions and events have been more extraordinary—like tiny phones that are completely computerized, robotic surgery, laser surgery…men on the moon,” Melody said.

“Does he love your world?” Serena asked.

“I…I think so. It's fascinating to him, at the very least. But he loves you. And he must love the cause of freedom very much,” Melody said.

“He does. And his writing is passionate and wonderful. He has a talent for explaining what he feels, and bringing that passion and enthusiasm to someone else.”

“It's so funny, growing up, I thought my own little brother was the biggest horse's ass in history.”

“Oh!” Serena exclaimed.

“Sorry, language has become much cruder—in the casually slash socially acceptable way,” Melody said. “Anyways, we grew up—and I adore him. He's a great guy. He…he has a wonderfully open mind. I know that I have a tendency just to think that something isn't right, and then I get depressed about it instead of looking for whatever magic might be out there, and I use that term loosely, as in the magic of people or a snowflake and…well, you know. I never knew what he meant to me until I saw how Jake cared about you.”

“Poor Jake,” Serena said.

“Right now, I promise you, Jake is fine. Jake will be
sitting with my folks, trying to assure them that they will have me back. Keith, of course, will be helping Jake, and Mark…”

“Mark is the odd man out, isn't he?” Serena asked.

“No, no, I told you—he is a friend. Someone we care deeply about,” Melody told her.

“So, at least, despite the fact that my ‘magic' dropped my brother onto a snow-covered road a few centuries off, he is in good stead,” Serena said, smiling. “Yes.”

Melody stood, bringing the sketch she'd been doing along with her to show Serena. She was extremely proud of herself. The sketch captured Serena's beauty, and it captured something timeless about her, as well. Her lips were curled in something of a wise and secret smile while her eyes were wide and guileless.

“It's beautiful. Thank you. Have you done one of my brother?” Serena asked.

“It's at—home. I mean, this house is home, but…I did it this afternoon,” she said lamely. “It exists, but in the twenty-first century.”

“The twenty-first century!” Serena said, marveling. She paused. “How interesting. Your mother read my journals? And that's how she knew about the doorway…or the black hole, as you called it?”

“Yes. When this all started, she tore apart the attic, certain that she'd find something. And she did,” Melody said.

Serena stood. “We should try to get some sleep,” she said. She walked to the mantel and set the sketch that Melody had done reverently down upon it.

“I'm afraid to sleep. You all don't have alarm clocks,” she said.

“Trust me,” Serena told her. “I wake up before the dawn. I promise. I wouldn't let your parents spend the rest of their lives mourning for you.”

Melody walked over to her and hugged her. “I know why Jake is so desperate to come back and take care of you,” she said.

Serena drew back, smiling. “See, there's the mistake in your world. Jake is my brother. One day, I will push him into the world. Then I will seek out my own love, as well. The secret here is that I don't need anyone to take care of me. Men often need the illusion that they are taking care of you. What happens, in my world and even in yours, I suspect, in the very best unions, we're all really taking care of one another. I do love to cook, I love my own…I long for children. Pray for me in my world, as I will pray for you in yours.”