Shattered Moments (5 page)

June 1626

Virginia

“Where are you going, Jenny?” Evie whispered, her white nightdress looking ghostly in the moonlight, her face lost in the shadows of the corridor.  “Can you tell me a story?  I can’t sleep.  Millicent would like one too, wouldn’t you, Millie?” she called out to her cousin, who was fast asleep on her trundle, snoring softly, a smile of contentment on her face. 

“Of course, Evie, but a very short one.  I just wanted to step outside for some air.  It’s so very hot tonight.”

Genevieve obediently stepped into the nursery, smiling at the sleeping forms of the children.  There wasn’t enough room to separate the boys and girls, so they all slept in the same room, their trundle beds lined up on opposite ends of the wall.  Robbie, Harry, and Millie were all asleep, but little Tom lay quietly in his bed, his eyes huge in the moonlight.  “I want story too,” he mouthed, holding out his arms to Genevieve.  She allowed the children to climb into her lap as she told them an old French fairy tale that Madame Collot had told her many times when she was a toddler and living with her foster parents.  She had been a kind woman, much kinder than most of the nuns who had the care of her after she was taken away from the Collots.  Genevieve still remembered some of the stories and songs that Madame Collot sang to her as she rocked her to sleep, giving her the love that she would so sorely miss in her later years.

Genevieve’s melodious voice finally lulled the children to sleep
, and she scooted carefully off the bed, leaving Evie asleep with Tom, her arm possessively around his belly and her dark curls intertwined with his blond ones.  Aunt Valerie wouldn’t mind as long as they were quiet.  She wondered when Aunt Valerie and Uncle Alec would return.  They’d been gone for close to a week now, and Lady Sheridan was starting to look worried, her eyes scanning the horizon a dozen times a day as she shielded her eyes from the merciless summer sun.  She said Aunt Valerie took her uncle to a physician in another settlement who had some renown in treating stomach ailments, but Genevieve wasn’t convinced.  She seemed furtive when she said that, her eyes sliding away from Genevieve’s and focusing on the wall behind her as if she weren’t telling the whole truth.  Perhaps they went to visit Finn’s grave again.  They went from time to time and stayed away for several weeks, a strange sense of peace emanating from them when they finally returned.  Although, Uncle Alec had been ill the past few weeks, so maybe Lady Sheridan was telling a partial truth, and concealing the seriousness of his condition from the rest of them. 

Genevieve
couldn’t quite blame Louisa for lying, when she herself hadn’t been truthful with Uncle Alec.  She meant what she said about marrying a Catholic, but she hadn’t been entirely honest when Uncle Alec asked if anyone had caught her eye.  There was someone, but she was too afraid to tell her uncle since she couldn’t imagine that his reaction would be a favorable one. 

She’d met Cameron
a few months back while helping Cook serve meals to the indentured servants who worked the plantation.  Normally, the task fell to Minnie, but with more people in the house, she had a lot more housework and Genevieve would much rather dole out stew than do the laundry or knead dough for bread.  For some reason, Minnie dreaded being among the men, so she happily traded with Genevieve and took on the extra laundry in exchange for not having to go down to the barracks several times a day. 

Most plantation owners treated their indentures and slaves
appallingly, with men lasting no more than a year or two before succumbing to illness or just dying of being overworked and underfed, but Uncle Alec was known for being kind and fair.  The men worked only ten hours a day with several breaks, had three square meals a day, and had Sundays off to spend as they pleased after the church service conducted outside just for them.  They didn’t attend church in town, not being free men.  Still, they were blessed to have a master like Mr. Whitfield, and they knew it.  He’d even freed one of the indentures a few years ago, allowed him to marry one of the maids and gave him some money to start his own carpentry business.  Richard was quite the gentleman now, living in Jamestown with his wife and children. 

It had taken weeks for Cameron to
finally speak to Genevieve, but she often caught him gazing at her with an expression in his sky-blue eyes that made her feel warm all over as she handed out the chunks of bread and poured ale for the men.  He kept to himself and rarely spoke, but when he did, he had a deep, melodious voice and a broad Scottish brogue that she had difficulty understanding at first.  She liked the way he called her “lass,” and smiled his appreciation when she gave him an extra helping of stew.  He was one of the youngest workers at the plantation, and one of the most recent arrivals.  Genevieve had been curious to know his story, but was too shy to ask. 

It was one hot evening
at the end of May when Genevieve had come upon him sitting by the pond.  Uncle Alec allowed the men to take a walk after their evening meal or wash in the pond, as long as it was after dark and no women were there to see them stripped down to nothing.  Most of the men rarely bathed, but Cameron was always clean, his auburn hair brushed and neatly clubbed, more to keep out the lice than to appease his vanity.  On this particular night, he sat on the bench, his hair dripping wet and his shirt next to him, drying.  He washed his clothes regularly, allowing them to dry overnight.  Cameron quickly pulled on his wet shirt, brushed the hair out of his face, and sprang to his feet, ready to flee.

“I’m sorry
, Miss Genevieve; I thought nae one was about.”  It sounded like “aboot” when he said it, but Genevieve liked it.  “I’ll be going now.”  There it was again.  It sounded like “noo” instead of now, but it rolled off his tongue so naturally. 

“No, please, you don’t have to leave because of me.  I was just taking a walk.  It’s too warm in the house, and I enjoy a bit of quiet after the children go to sleep.”

“Aye, the bairns are a handful, they are,” he said, smiling, “but I do love seeing them running about.  They remind me of home.”

“Where is your home?” Genevieve asked, sitting down on the opposite side of the bench and looking at Cameron from under her lashes.  He was in his
mid-twenties, tall and broad, with a strong muscled body that spoke of years of hard work.  Most of the men wore a beard, mostly because they were too tired and lazy to shave, but Cameron was smoothly-shaven, his face lean and tanned to a golden brown from hours of being in the sun.

“My home is
near Glasgow, on the West Coast o’ Scotland.”  He seemed sad as he answered, his eyes full of nostalgia for his homeland.  Genevieve didn’t mean to pry, but she just had to ask.  “How did you come to be here?”

“Oh,
tis a long story, lass, one for another night.  I must find my bed if I’m to do an honest day’s work tomorrow.  Good night to ye, Miss Genevieve.”  He gave her a warm smile before heading toward the barracks, his wet shirt stuck to his back and his damp hair framing his face.  Genevieve sat for a little while longer, curious about this man who seemed so different from all the rest.  Most of the men either sold themselves into servitude or were sent down as punishment for a crime, but Genevieve couldn’t imagine that Cameron fitted into either category, unless he just wanted to come to the New World and start a new life, but had no means of doing it.  He probably hadn’t realized that the men were worked to the bone, their spirit broken, and their health destroyed before they could finally work off their contract and strike out on their own.  She hoped to find out in time, eager to learn anything she could about the reticent man who drew her eye every time he was in the vicinity.

She wasn’t sure if they met by accident or if Cameron timed his baths with her walks, but they ran into each other a few more times before he became more forthcoming.  He told her of his home, of how the sky was so vast and
blue; blending with the sea in the distance, so it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.  He spoke of great mountains rising out of fertile valleys where the land was green as far as the eye could see, except when heather bloomed, and then it was like a carpet of purple, rippling in the wind and beckoning the young girls to abandon their chores and go wading through that endless sea, running their fingers over the little flowers and putting sprigs in their hair.  Cameron never spoke of what happened to make him leave his home and become an indentured servant, and Genevieve didn’t ask.  He’d tell her in time.  For now, he seemed happy just to have someone to talk to. 

It seemed very natural when he cupped her cheek with his work-roughened hand and kissed her softly on the lips, sending shivers up her spine.  His kisses were chaste, but the warmth that pooled between Genevieve’s thighs was anything but, her body craving that which she had denied it for so many years.  He must have sensed it, for he pulled away, rising to his feet
abruptly and bidding her a good night.  He was an honorable man, despite his status, and he would do nothing to cause her any distress or compromise her reputation.

**

Genevieve ran down to the pond, hoping she wasn’t too late.  If only Evie hadn’t heard her coming out of her room, but if Cameron wanted to see her, he would wait.  He was bound to be there after the kiss they shared last night.  He might have bolted, but he must have thought about it during the day, as eager to see her as she was to see him.  She imagined his face, alight with yearning, his eyes smiling in that special way that was reserved only for her, and she blushed in the darkness, ashamed to be so eager for more kisses.

B
ut the bench was empty when she finally got there, and the lane to the barracks deserted.  Genevieve sat for an hour, her ears straining for any change in the nighttime sounds around her in the hope that some of them were human.  Was that the sound of a footstep? A twig breaking under the foot of a large man?  But it wasn’t.  The leaves rustled above her head, the frogs croaked by the pond, and light bugs floated above the ground like fallen stars, but there was no man.  The sky went from indigo blue to an inky black, and even the frogs got tired of croaking, and the owls took up where the birds left off, but no one came. 

Genevieve reluctantly rose from the bench and
went back to the house and her lonely bed.  She suddenly worried that she scared Cameron off by returning the kiss.  What if he never came back?  She fell asleep at last, tired of worrying and hoping that she’d misread the situation and Cameron had been unable to come that evening.  Maybe he was particularly tired after a day in the fields, and wanted that extra hour of rest that he gave up when he came to see her by the pond.  He’d be there tomorrow; she was sure of it.  Kiss or no kiss, she knew that he liked her.  It was there in the way he looked at her, in the way he said her name, and in the way he moved a little closer without even realizing it.  He was as drawn to her as she was to him, of that she was sure. 

B
ut Cameron didn’t come the next night or the night after that.  Genevieve had seen him during the day, tried to catch his eye as she doled out the food to the men, but he wouldn’t look at her, and made sure to get his portion from Cook.  When their eyes finally met, he gave her an imperceptible bow and turned away, leaving her confused and embarrassed.  What had she done?  Had it been so wrong to return his kiss?  Had he been testing her and found her wanting?  She didn’t understand, and he didn’t seem willing to explain himself.  She knew he wouldn’t come, but still she sat by herself in the dark, staring at the still, black waters of the pond.  She longed to hear him coming, but all she heard were the usual sounds of nature as the day gave way to night, and creatures large and small settled in their nests and burrows, needing their rest for the day to come. 

It took a week for Cameron to
finally come back, and when he did, he kept his distance, sitting at the other end of the bench and keeping the conversation neutral.  Genevieve could sense the need in him, the desire for intimacy, but his back was rigid and his eyes never strayed past her face despite the relatively low-cut bodice she was wearing, handed down to her from Lady Sheridan.  He didn’t offer any explanation, but he had taken her hand after a while, and held it in his big, warm one until he rose to his feet and kissed her palm before disappearing into the darkness.

June 2010

Williamsburg, Virginia

“It won’t work,” Valerie said for the tenth time, pacing the small room of a B&B located on the outskirts of Williamsburg.  She’d been grateful to find it, since most accommodations were booked for months ahead in anticipation of hordes of tourists descending on Williamsburg in the summer months, eager for a bit of history.  The house was old and smelled a little musty, but at least the room was clean, the sheets fresh, and they had their own bathroom.  The innkeeper provided a hearty breakfast and didn’t ask too many questions, which was just as well since they had no answers.

Alec had been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health
and told to return in a week to remove the stitches.  They had no plan beyond that.  An invoice for thousands of dollars lay folded neatly in Valerie’s purse, but that was the least of her problems.  They’d gone over their predicament over and over again, but were no closer to a solution than the day Valerie had lost the watch.  Alec’s idea might have worked very well, had they not had to deal with modern laws and security measures.

“I think it can,” Alec replied
stubbornly, gazing at her from the bed.  “Technically, Mr. Taylor is still in Newton Ferrers, running his antiques shop and watching football.  He has the clock, and we just have to get to him.  It’s not as wild of a plan as you think,” he said defensively.

“Alec, you don’t understand
,” Valerie began to explain yet again, “people don’t just go from place to place the way they did in the seventeenth century.  You can’t just buy passage on a ship and sail to another country.  There are border patrols, and we need to have a passport in order to leave this country and enter another one.  Even if we manage to get out of the United States, we would not be permitted to enter the United Kingdom.  Besides, my name would probably set off all kinds of alarms since by now I’m missing, presumed dead, and you just don’t exist, period.  It simply won’t work.”

“You are right
; I don’t understand,” grumbled Alec.  “Why should anyone care if we leave this country, or enter another one, for that matter?  We are not criminals, and we are not hurting anyone.  Why does the government need to know my every move, especially if I don’t exist?”  Valerie softened as she saw the confusion in his eyes.  They were running out of ideas.  If they couldn’t get to Mr. Taylor, how would they go back?

Alec suddenly brightened.  “What if we call him?  We can just explain
the situation and ask him to come here with the clock.  He has a passport and can travel, can he not?”

Valerie thought about that for a moment.  Technically, they could call Fred Taylor, but would he even beli
eve them?  He hadn’t met any of them yet at this point so their story would sound completely insane, ridiculous even.  Why would he get on a plane and come to Williamsburg to help some people he’d never heard of?  And even if he were willing, he had to remain in England at present because that was the week that Valerie came into his shop and vanished, and the investigation into her disappearance began.  Valerie shook her head in response to Alec’s idea, and his face fell in disappointment.

“I just thought of something,” said Valerie miserably,
sitting down on the bed next to Alec, her shoulders drooping in defeat.

“What?

“If we had come to Mr. Taylor for help in 2010, he would have told us that when he came to the seventeenth century because it would have happened before, but he never mentioned it, so, we never came.”

“I’m very confused,” Alec said, taking Valerie’s
hand in his.  “If he came to us after this happened and we were there, then we somehow got back, right?”

“Wrong.  Very wrong,” answered Valerie and burst into tears.  She’d been crying non-stop for the past few days.  This was all her fault
, and now they would never see Louisa, Kit, or Finn ever again and have to somehow make a life for themselves in the twenty-first century.  She supposed it could be easier for her since she could just go back to her old life and somehow explain away her disappearance, but then, oh dear God, Louisa was still there in New York and her whole life would be undone because she would never go back to look for Valerie and meet Kit.  And what to do about Alec?  All she could think of to make Alec legitimate was identity theft, and she nearly laughed out loud at the ludicrous thought.  The giggle turned into a sob, and Valerie allowed Alec to pull her into his arms and stroke her hair, as she finally quieted down and just allowed herself to listen to the beating of his heart, strong and rhythmic, full of love and devotion.  At least they were together; the rest would somehow take care of itself.