Wishes & Tears (14 page)

Before driving away, she glanced back at the grand Queen Ann Victorian with its turret, ornate trim, and sprawling front porch.

“’Til we meet again,” she whispered, as the reflection of the home grew smaller in the rearview mirror.

• • •

The parking place was reserved for her. The maitre d’ had honored her request and she slipped the Jaguar in her cliffside space. As she peered out the front window, dusk was descending over the city. An eerie shiver ran up and down her spine. The water below seemed so dark, so deep, so ominous. She swallowed hard, assuring herself that tonight was her only hope for a future, a future that lay in the past.

Clarice was already seated at the corner table when Faith strode in. Candlelight flickered from a single taper, casting a golden glow on her caramel skin and a sparkle to her ebony eyes. Faith gazed at her best friend, knowing that this would be their last meeting. She wanted to freeze this moment in her memory. A lump formed in her throat. Clarice had always been there to listen, to encourage, and to hold her hand. Leaving her best friend was the most difficult part of this final plan.

As Faith took her seat, Clarice held up her glass of Chablis as if in a toast.

“You need a drink, my friend. You’re so pale and sullen. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Clarice said.

Faith realized that she had been staring like a spaced-out zombie. She forced a smile and blinked back tears.

Clarice waved down a nearby waiter and when he approached said, “Get this girl a Chardonnay. Pronto.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, rushing off.

“I’m worried about you, Faith.” Clarice set down her glass of wine, clasping her hands on the table.

“No need to. Everything’s taken care of.”

“That’s what I mean. I have a mind to lock you up in a room and throw away the key. I don’t want you going off and doing something irrational.”

“Just because I’ve been a bit frazzled, doesn’t mean … ”

“Faith, we’ve been friends long enough. You can’t fool me. I know that losing Brad has been difficult but it’s not bad enough to give up your life for.” Clarice’s eyes could have burned a hole through her.

“What are you implying?”

“First, you refuse to fight Brad in court, accepting a pittance of a settlement. You spend all of it on a home you donate to charity. You quit your job. You have no savings or income. You give away your belongings. What am I to think?”

Faith smiled. “That I’m going on a long journey.”

The waiter arrived, setting down Faith’s wine. When he left, she lifted the glass.

“Congratulate me, Clarice. I’m going back to begin a new life, to fulfill my destiny.”

“Your destiny is not to kill yourself. I won’t let you do it.”

Faith tossed back her head in laughter.

“You think that I’m going to commit suicide?”

“Sure looks that way. Nothing that life hands out is bad enough to end it all.”

Faith sipped her wine and set down the glass.

“Clarice, after all I’ve confided in you? You still don’t understand?”

“What? You mean all this talk about going back in time to some hunk of a doctor in 1906?” She scoffed.

“You saw the photograph, the headstone, the obituary. I told you about Andrew. How can you doubt me? I’m going back.”

Clarice threw up her hands, her bangle bracelets rattling. “That’s impossible! Time travel is pure science fiction. Fiction is not reality.”

“You saw the proof.” Faith took another sip of wine.

“We see what we want to see. The mind and the eyes can play tricks.” Clarice set her hands, tightened into fists, on the table.

“Clarice, you must understand. I want you to understand.”

She shook her head of jet curls. “I want to understand. I really do. It’s just so … so preposterous.”

“If only I could take you back with me. But you have your destiny here, with Reggie and the children.” She reached out across the table to take Clarice’s hand.

Clarice unclenched her fingers and held on.

“Please, don’t get morbid on me.”

“Clarice, you’re my best friend, the closest to a family that I have left. I’m going to miss you, really miss you.”

Their eyes locked, both choking back tears.

“I just wanted to spend this evening to celebrate our friendship. I want you to know that someday I will be back. I don’t want you to be surprised,” Faith assured.

“After all that’s gone on lately, nothing will surprise me about you.”

“I’m going to be happy, really happy.” Faith let tears escape from her eyes.

“I hope so,” Clarice reached up to dab her eyes that were getting damp and misty. She cleared her throat. “So tell me, how do you plan on accomplishing this feat?”

“I can’t say,” Faith said. “I can’t risk anything going wrong.”

“Like me stopping you?”

“You’ll find out, Clarice. I’ll leave a sign. You’ll know.”

The waiter came to take their orders.

“I don’t know about you, Clarice, but I’m starving. I’ll need all my strength for the journey ahead.”

• • •

After seeing a reluctant Clarice off, Faith retrieved her duffle bag from the car and went into the ladies’ restroom. She withdrew her finds from a vintage clothing store and began her transformation. The white starched shirtwaist with the high stiff collar edged in lace was adorned with a cameo she found in a display case. The black taffeta skirt reached the ankles of her new retro black leather lace-up boots. She looked very much the proper Victorian lady. She chuckled, though, for she refused to purchase a stayed corset and black wool stockings, preferring Victoria’s Secret and Lycra tights.

Satisfied with the chignon she pinned atop her head accented with a tortoiseshell comb, she sashayed out of the restroom and through the restaurant to stares and whispers.

Outside, she threw her bag of modern clothes in the dumpster.

Entering her car, she removed an oversized, overstuffed backpack from the back seat and struggled into it. She knew it had to have been the silliest idea yet. She just wanted to take back some of the contrivances of the modern world. She had selected carefully and yet the bag still bulged. She just hoped that the backpack wouldn’t hamper her return or drag her down into the depths of the bay. As it was, even with the seat pushed back as far as possible, sitting was cramped.

She wasn’t as nervous as she thought she’d be. Thoughts of turning back and changing her mind were not a possibility. She had planned too long and too carefully to give up. The whole idea of going back in time may have seemed an impossible gamble but she determined that it was all or nothing. Either she would end up back in 1906 or dead. Either way she would be removed from a life and a world she no longer knew or fit.

Faith awakened shivering so violently that her teeth chattered. She opened her eyes, squinting as she adjusted to the darkness enveloping her. Misty fog blanketed her in thick, cold foreboding. She drew a breath tasting salt and a musty dank. For a moment she wondered if she was dead or alive.

Moving ever so gingerly, she rolled over on her side. Her arms brushed against something slick and slippery, dew kissed grass. Propping herself up on stiff arms, she lifted her head. As she looked up, a patch of fog cleared revealing a black velvet sky littered with stars sparkling like faceted diamonds. Their beauty and the tranquil silence made her wonder if this could be heaven.

A horse’s neighing and distant voices startled her from her thoughts. She sat up, her heart beginning to palpitate. Did she survive the trip back in time? Was it 1906? 1907? She tried to rise to her feet but felt burdened and held back. She than realized that she was still carrying the backpack. The backpack!

With newfound strength she crawled up to her feet and began to stagger toward the voices that grew louder at every step. Through the fog, men, women, children, the old, the young, rich, and poor swarmed the park like refugees just off a boat at Ellis Island. Some sat on the ground while others stood huddled amidst a hodgepodge of belongings, barking dogs, squawking caged birds, screaming babies, and raging bonfires. Some were bruised, others bandaged, a few shell-shocked. None seemed to notice her. All seemed lost in distant thoughts or distracted by the moment. She walked among them, another displaced and confused person.

She had to get answers. She had to know. Had she returned?

Approaching an elderly man who sat hunched, fanning a fire, she asked, “What day is this?”

He looked up, his beard as grizzled as his face. “April 21, me thinks.”

“What year?”

“1906.”

She smiled, wanting to scream out. Yes! Yes! She did it! She made it back!

“Thank you,” she said to the man who returned to his fire, unfazed by her strange questions.

She moved on with a spring in her step. She wanted to laugh but for the grim reality around her. Misery surrounded her in hollow eyes, pursed lips, cries of anguish, and tears. People in various states of dress and undress, dirty, holding on to all their worldly possessions, reduced to what they could wear or carry. Acrid smoke lingered in the air. So, this was the aftermath of the earthquake and fire. These were the citizens of San Francisco who were routed from their homes, escaping with their lives. As she approached the top of the hill in the park, she could see the smoldering ruins of the city. Gutted buildings were silhouetted against a backdrop of crimson flames that still raged out of control. The sound of crackling wood, the pops of ignited dynamite blended with voices. She felt like Scarlet O’Hara in Gone With The Wind who stood watching Atlanta burn. Faith watched San Francisco burn. It was no wonder that everyone called it the Great Fire of 1906 instead of the Great Earthquake. The earth may have shaken but the fire is what consumed the city. Like a phoenix, she knew it would rise from the ashes, triumphant. She knew, but the lost souls surrounding her would have to find out.

The walk to Sacramento Street was exhausting and fraught with danger. From the crumbling buildings and smoldering debris to gun-toting police with a curfew and orders to shoot to kill, Faith somehow made it.

The house at 92 Sacramento Street stood just as she remembered it, stately and unblemished. She opened the picket gate and ambled up the brick path. A queasy, dizzy feeling overcame her as she stumbled up the front steps. The porch’s floorboards creaked at her every step. Lugging the heavy backpack up and down the hilly streets, the nauseating scent of burnt wood and flesh, the dank and heat was taking its toll. She felt clammy, shaky, and yet happy. She knew that this was where she was meant to be.

She reached for the brass lion’s head doorknocker and rapped. When there was no answer, she rapped again.

The heavy door creaked open and Bridget stood filling the doorway. Her eyes popped open and her mouth gaped as she screamed out in startled awe.

“Miss Donahue!”

“Bridget,” Faith managed to say before collapsing in a heap on the parquet foyer floor.

• • •

The scene seemed oddly familiar. Faith awakened nestled in the cushy featherbed. Rubbing her eyes open, she saw the white enamel iron footboard, the tall rosewood wardrobe, dresser, chiffonier and the commode set for her toilette. The gilt-framed mirror hung above the mantel while a fire glowed in the hearth. Tapestry draperies covered the windows and a wicker chair was set in the corner.

Faith gasped as she gazed at the chair. Slouched in it was a dozing Doctor Forrester. His head lay back against the backrest, his arms folded on his lap, and his long legs stretched out in front.

At the sound of her voice, his eyes darted open and he jumped up, startled, from the seat. He met her gaze with eyes wide open. He brushed at the wrinkles in his dark trousers and the cotton shirt, unfastened at the neck. Unshaven with tousled hair, he looked so different from the impeccable, poised man she remembered. He appeared younger, more approachable, more vulnerable. He stepped toward the bed with hesitation.

She stared at him, perplexed over his manner and behavior. He was handsome in a brooding, almost wild, way. She drew the quilt up to her neck as she scooted up in the bed.

“So we meet again, Doctor Forrester,” Faith said in a near whisper. As she peered into his dark eyes, she couldn’t help but think about the photograph and their destiny. She trembled, gripping at the quilt until her fingers felt numb.

“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes boring down at her as he stood beside the bed.

“Faith Donahue.”

“Who are you, really?”

“I told you.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps, I’m asking the wrong question. What are you?” he asked, his eyes with the flickering gold intensity of the hearth’s fire.

“I don’t understand.”

“What kind of being are you?”

“The human kind, I can assure you.” Her lips trembled as she tried to smile.

“I do not know of any human who can predict earthquakes and fires, who can vanish into thin air, who possesses strange objects … need I go on?” He smoothed back his hair with splayed fingers.

“A human, who through some quirk of nature and fate, has traveled back and forth through time,” she explained in an even, steady tone. She had to make him believe her.

He sighed. “So you have said before. It just isn’t possible.”

“But yet I’m here. I returned here.”

He pounded his fist on the iron footboard. “Why? Why here? Why now? Why in my life?”

He knelt down at her bedside, his eyes level with hers. “I was a reasonable man before you came. Now I don’t know what I am.”

“Destiny.”

“Destiny?”

She shrugged. “I have no other explanation.”

“Destiny?”

“Believe me, no one was more surprised than me, to end up here in 1906. Yet, as I’ve discovered, it’s where I belong. It’s my destiny.”

He stood. “I don’t understand. I shall never understand.”

“You’re a learned man but no one has the answers to all the mysteries in life. Leave them to God.”

He stared at her, puzzled.

“You forewarned us about the earthquake and fire. That much is certain. Our belongings were spared and we’ve had enough food and water stored up to be comfortable. Others are not so fortunate.”