Now and Forever (22 page)

Instead he found her sitting beneath the shade of an enormous maple tree, smiling at that damn McVie as if they shared a secret.

He placed the parcel of muslin on the porch railing then headed over to where Emilie and Andrew sat.

"Zane!" Her eyes widened as he approached. "We've been wondering where you were." She motioned for him to join them beneath the tree.

"I had some business to take care of." He looked from Emilie to Andrew and didn't like what he saw. Not one damn bit.

"Business?" Her eyes widened some more. "What business could you possibly have?"

"I'll tell you later." No way was he going to let McVie know he had a king's ransom stuffed in his pockets. He didn't trust the guy as far as he could throw him.

"Where did you go?" asked McVie.

"Princeton."

McVie looked surprised. "How was it you were able to find the town without a guide?"

Zane started to say something both profane and right on target, but Emilie leaped into the fray.

"Zane has the most amazing memory," she said brightly. "People, places, conversations--" She laughed. "It's almost scary."

No, thought Zane, what was scary was the way she looked. Edgy with excitement. Soft and beautiful and female.

"So what's going on here?" he asked. "You two looked thick as thieves."

Emilie's face reddened and she looked down at the sewing in her lap.

McVie, however, met his eyes. "Mistress Emilie has provided a way to transport messages that will greatly aid our cause."

Great, thought Zane. Next thing he knew she'd be leading a protest march at Independence Hall.

"Yeah," he said instead, "she's another Betsy Ross."

"I'll explain it to you later," Emilie said to Andrew who'd been about to ask.

"So what's the big idea or is it a state secret?"

She looked toward Andrew, who nodded. "I'm going to embroider the messages right on the messengers' clothing."

"That's it?" he asked. "Why don't you have them carry billboards while you're at it?"

"We're not stupid," she snapped. She handed him a shirt. "Take a look at this and tell me what you see."

He glanced at the garment. "Other than a hole on the elbow, nothing."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I rest my case."

"Take careful note of the underside of the collar," McVie said. "Mistress Emilie has embroidered her name."

"I'll be damned," said Zane as he held the garment up for closer examination. "That's microscopic."

"Mi-kro-scoppik?" McVie repeated.

"Tiny," said Emilie. "And that's the point, Zane. If I use the right shade of floss, you'd only know it was there if you were looking for it."

"Great idea," he said, "but what happens once they figure it out?"

"Then we'll come up with something else," she said.

McVie was watching them both with avid interest.

"Built-in obsolescence," Zane drawled. "It's what made America great. Why not throw a few roadblocks in their way from the outset?"

"I suppose you have a brilliant suggestion."

"Damn right I do. Use a secret code."

Both Emilie and McVie burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

They told him that secret codes were far from a new idea.

"Sorry," said Emilie. "It just proves there's nothing new under the sun."

"Depends on the code," he said, not cracking a smile.

McVie leaned forward. "Explain."

Zane grinned. McVie was a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them. "What if the key to the code was unbreakable?"

"Such a thing does not exist," said McVie.

"It does if the key comes from 1992."

Emilie's sharp intake of breath was audible. McVie's attentions were directed solely on Zane.

"It doesn't matter what you use," Zane continued. "The Gettysburg Address, an old Beach Boys song. There's an endless supply and, unless I miss my bet, Emilie and I are the only people around who could break it."

"My God," said Emilie, heart pounding. "It's perfect!"

"I know," said Zane. "I thought the same thing when I first came up with the idea back in grade school."

"What song did you use?" she asked.

He grinned. "
Twist and Shout
. The Beatles' version."

Emilie launched into a rousing version of the old rock-and-roll hit that had McVie staring at her as if she'd grown a second head.

"Sorry," said Emilie after two verses. "I always loved that song."

"Are there many such songs?" McVie asked.

Emilie and Zane looked at each other and laughed. "Don't worry," said Emilie. "Enough to last until the end of the war."

"You have told me the resolution will be favorable to our cause," said McVie, "but will that resolution be a long time in coming?"

How did you tell a man that another five bloody years would pass before Lord Cornwallis and the British troops surrendered at Yorktown?

Emilie finally broke the awkward silence. "It will be a long time coming," was all she said.

#

Emilie was too excited to eat supper. Her stomach felt shaky, as if she'd taken one ride too many on an amusement park roller coaster. She excused herself and sat down by the window in the front room, embroidering a message into the underside of McVie's collar.

It was a simple message and a simple code. She and Zane had decided
Jingle Bells
was a good way to start. Zane wrote out the words for Andrew on a piece of foolscap, muttering loudly about the quill pen.

As it turned out he needn't have bothered for Andrew quickly memorized the song and they determined that each of the next three nights would key into a different stanza of the old Christmas song.

She wondered if the day would come when she and Zane taught a group of colonial spies the lyrics to
Doo Wah Diddy
. Apparently there were a lot of things that didn't make it into the history books.

#

Two hours later she said goodbye to McVie in the doorway. She had worked diligently to embroider the message into the underside of his collar with stitches as fine as the web of a spider and she was pleased with her accomplishment.

"I wish I could come with you," she said, admiring her handiwork as she smoothed down his collar. "This is incredibly exciting."

The look in his eyes made her step back, flustered. He'd made his feelings clear this afternoon beneath the maple tree. Apparently he had spoken the truth. Be kind to him, Rebekah had warned, for he'd known his own brand of heartbreak.

"Wish me Godspeed," he said, his voice both rough and caressing.

"Godspeed," she said. "And be careful."

He turned and left the farmhouse.

She stood in the doorway for a long while, staring out into the darkness. Her thoughts were scattered, as if she were caught in one of those crazy dreams where people changed shape and nothing was quite the way it seemed.

"You're tired," she told herself, turning away from the door. That's all it was. After a good night's sleep, everything would seem normal once more--or whatever passed for normal these days.

As she climbed the stairs to the bedroom, it occurred to her that this was why television had been invented: for nights like these when being alone with your thoughts was too awful to contemplate. What she wouldn't give for ten minutes of Letterman right now.

Zane was standing by the window when she entered the room. He was naked from the waist up, his torso illuminated only by the starlight twinkling above. His hair had grown longer. She'd come to love that ponytail but Zane swore he never would.

"Private joke?" he asked, noting the smile on her face.

"Not really," she said, sidestepping the enormous tub set up in the middle of the room. "Actually I was thinking about David Letterman."

"Stupid pet tricks?"

"Top ten reasons why late-night TV was invented."

"Did McVie leave?"

She nodded, averting her gaze. "I'll come back after you've taken your bath."

"Finished," he said.

She sniffed the air. "Roses?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "This tub's for you."

She chuckled softly at the reference as her heart slid into her rib cage. "Thank you, Zane."

He nodded then turned away from the window. "I'll sit on the porch until you're done."

"Zane." She touched his arm. "You look exhausted. Haven't you been sleeping?"

He shrugged. "It's too damn quiet around here. I miss noise."

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to take a
very
long bath," she said, gesturing toward the bed. "Why don't you sleep?"

He didn't need to be convinced. "Thanks," he said, stretching out on the narrow bed. "Kick me out when you're done."

"I will."

He closed his eyes and conversation ended. She stood there watching him, wondering if she should admonish him to
keep
his eyes closed while she bathed but he didn't show the slightest degree of interest in her activities.

She considered foregoing the pleasure of a warm bath but the temptation was more than she could stand. A candle flickered on the highboy and she quietly crossed the room to blow it out. The room abruptly plunged into darkness. She wondered if she'd ever grow accustomed to this total and complete absence of light, so different from the nights she'd known in that other, faraway world.

Zane's breathing was the only sound in the room. She fumbled with the laces on her bodice, acutely aware of the enforced intimacy of the situation. She took off the pale green dress, the petticoats, and her cotton hose, then laid them over the back of the rocking chair.

The scent of roses enveloped her senses as she slipped into the tub. Sighing, she leaned back and closed her eyes, willing herself to clear her mind of everything but the blissful sensation of warm, silky water caressing her body.

If only her mind would cooperate. Not even the seductive pleasures of the warm tub could compete with the tangled thoughts vying for her attention. Why couldn't life be easy, she wondered. You met someone, you fell in love. You married and built a life together. Case closed. Maybe there was something to be said for the days when you expected nothing more from marriage than a united front to present to the world and children to move that world into the future.

Sex only confused things. Andrew McVie seemed to be everything she'd ever wanted in a husband, yet she didn't feel that inexplicable jolt of electricity that she experienced every time she looked at Zane. Her heart ached for Andrew and the family he'd lost. How empty his world must seem without his wife and son. You could see the yearning in his eyes each time he looked at baby Aaron or little Stephen and she could only imagine how he must long for a home and family of his own.

Isn't that what marriage should be, a union of like minds with a single goal? Wouldn't that be enough for one lifetime....

#

"You can do it," he said, supporting her shoulders. "Just a little longer...."

"No!" She bit her lip as another wave of pain tore through her mid-section. "I can't...I just can't do it anymore."

"Push, Emilie!" urged the midwife positioned at the foot of the bed. "The head's crowning."

"C'mon, Em," he urged. "We're almost there."

Her scream ricocheted off the walls then lodged itself between her legs. Pain...more pain than she'd imagined existed in the world...then the overwhelming, irresistible urge to push and then that sound...that incredible sound of life beginning right there before their very eyes.

"Oh God!" she cried out. "We did it. We have a son!"