Once Upon a Remembrance

  "So you are to go back," Belva said softly in her own voice.

  Isabeau nodded. "I just don't know when."

  When Pierce came to find her, it was almost nightfall. Someone must have told him where she was, for he came immediately to the study. Isabeau looked up to see him standing in the doorway, a grin splitting his face.

  It was almost her undoing, the joy on his face. His cloak was dappled with raindrops.

  "It's beginning to rain."

  "Yes, another storm moving in, my darling Isabeau," he greeted her softly, mouth quirked. "Miss me?"

  "Always," she replied softly.

  Concerned about the pallor of her face he came to her. "Are you still feeling ill?"

  "I feel strange," she admitted, "not really ill, but weak."

  "Come to my room. I'll prepare you a bath."

  "At any other time that would be wonderful." But now she gripped his hands. "We need to talk before it's too late."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There's something you need to know." She closed her eyes, trying to push back the tiredness. "Belva conjured the spirits again while I was there in her room."

  "What? What happened?" he asked, deeply concerned.

  "Just that we are to go back. They -- she -- said it's like stepping through a door."

  The rain began to beat at the windows. She could hear it lash the wood of the house.

  "We hoped for this," he said. Pierce left her side, going down on one knee to stoke the fire. Although the embers licked greedily at an oak log, Isabeau could not shake a deep chill that felt more than physical.

  They could suddenly hear voices from outside.

  "Maybe that's Malry," Pierce said, turning his head to listen. "He and Hawk have been tying up loose ends."

  Isabeau stood up, shaking her head. She moved closer to him. Her fingers caressed the wetness of his wool cloak.

  He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. "I have to get the doctor in, you're burning up."

  She gripped his arm. "It's happening. I feel it."

  "What --"

  "I have no choice, I never did. I love you."

  Discarding his damp cloak, Pierce pulled her close. "You're as hot as blazes -- you need to rest. When you're feeling well again --" He grasped at straws in growing desperation.

  She held the ring out to him. "You need to take this. Maize said it could be the way back."

  Pierce stared at it but didn't take it.

  "What if we don't remember?" she said, her gaze clinging to his.

  "I won't let that happen," he said fiercely.

  A loud banging began at the front door. Footsteps hurried through the foyer to answer the summons.

  Isabeau moved away from him, toward the door.

  "No!" Pierce yelled, "don't answer the door!" He moved toward her, eyes dark with pain.

  She'd never forget that look.

  "I won't let you go!" he said, but his voice sounded far distant from her.

  Pierce lunged forward, trying to grab her hands but she had faded into the room.

  Isabeau slipped down a tunnel, floating through a nothingness.

  "Power from light, power from heaven, power from thine own self, power of thine own worth. Depart the one called, depart the one who will stay the turmoil. It is done. It is done, it is done."

  The chanting faded to nothing.

  #

  "I'll find you!" Pierce shouted, even as he knew she was gone.

  Something bounced on the wooden floor and hit his boot. Slowly, Pierce bent to pick up the black and silver ring.

  Numbly, he dropped into a chair. Reaching inside his breast pocket he pulled out the journal. With tense fingers, he clutched the book, thinking for a moment about throwing it into the fire.

  Belva came to stand in the doorway. "Good news! There are two coaches outside and it appears Malry has also arrived."

  Easing his grip on the journal, Pierce opened it and began to write.

  Voices came closer, laughing. Footsteps approached the study. Pierce paused his pen, looked up, met eyes so like his own.

  Chapter Twenty

  Isabeau jerked upright as a deep breath inflated her lungs.

  "What's happening? Is she having convulsions?" The voices were faint, then gradually louder.

  "Where the hell is 911?" Leif.

  Isabeau opened weighted lids, her eyes huge dark pools in an otherwise ashen face.

  She looked up into the concerned faces of Leif and Mrs. Cummin's.

  "I'm okay," she croaked reassuringly. Realizing she was back in the present time, she began to cry. "I'm okay."

  "Pierce is on his way. I've called him," Mrs. Cummins said, her voice growing faint again.

  "Isabeau? Isabeau?" Leif's voice faded also.

  #

  "Pierce . . .." Isabeau murmured, snuggling into the bed covers. She woke abruptly, blinking several times at the bright sunlight weaving a path into her room. Her room at Hawk's Den.

  Lying perfectly still, she gazed around the room.

  The digital alarm clock read 11:45. She was back in her own time.

  After a soft knock, her bedroom door opened slowly.

  Leif put his head around the door. Seeing she was awake he walked slowly into the room. "Still in bed, well that's good. After that scare last night, you'd better continue to take it easy. I agree with the doctor, you're exhausted -- too many long hours, run down. You've slept since yesterday. I guess you really needed it."

  Leif handed her a robe and she wandered over to the window, staring pensively at the familiar yard below. How many times had she looked out this window in 1894?

  The gardens were neat and well manicured, the flowers abundant, drooping after the heavy rains. She shook her head, running a hand over her forehead. Memories from the past and the present had merged, leaving her confused.

  "You really threw me for a loop, Isabeau," Leif admitted, "passing out like that."

  "H-how long was I out?" She pulled at the collar of her robe. "Everything is still kind of hazy."

  "Not long, I guess, ten minutes or so --"

  Ten minutes! She had lived a month in the other time. Enough time to fall deeply in love with Pierce.

  "-- so I suggest you take it easy."

  She nodded.

  "Pierce called again while you were upstairs. He had a problem with his flight, but he's expected in a few hours."

  Isabeau jerked her head around. "He's coming?"

  Leif laughed, as if she'd said something funny. "Of course."

  She twisted her fingers around the robe's belt. What if he didn't remember her or the time they'd spent together? She clenched her jaw. She'd make him remember. But what if she couldn't?

  Running her fingers along her scalp, Isabeau was astonished to discover her hair was still long, down over her shoulders. She had been so distraught the night before, she hadn't thought about it until this moment.

  She ran to the bureau mirror and stared at her reflection, at the uncut, blonde swathe of hair. How odd -- the haircut Lila had given her had not transferred to this time.

  "What's the matter?" Leif appeared at her shoulder.

  "My hair --" Isabeau touched the light strands disbelievingly.

  "All it needs is a good brushing," he reassured her. "You've got some serious bed head going on."

  "Thanks," she said dryly, still staring at her reflection. Leif was looking at her strangely. "Maybe I should cut it," she mumbled lamely.

  "Well, don't go and do anything rash," he said.

  After he left, Isabeau rehashed all the events of 1894.

  Was it all just a wonderful, wonderful dream? She couldn't shake the feeling of being out of sync, as if she was somehow displaced in her own world.

  Where did she fit in?

  Isabeau pulled the neckline of her robe closer, her fingers encountering something hard and warm at her breastbone.

  Heart in her throat, she pulled the chain free. In fascination she turn
ed over the gold locket, then closed her fingers tightly around it as hope surged in her.

  Hands shaking with excitement and her cheeks flushed and hot, Isabeau quickly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and ran downstairs to the library. Almost in a panic she searched for the Bible, then finally saw it high on a shelf.

  She pulled the step ladder from the corner of the room and climbed the steps so she could reach the top shelf. Carefully, she lifted the volume down to place it flat on the desk surface. Slowly she turned page after page until she found what she was looking for.

  'Deaths.' Hawk Morgan. September 21, 1934. Excited, she flipped back a page to 'Marriages.' The writing was a faded brown, as if it had been there a hundred years.

  Hawk Morgan and Amelia Rymes, married June 30, 1894, issue of marriage, four children…

  Isabeau closed the volume. Her trembling subsided, and peace stole over her. They had managed to change history. Hawk had survived, and there were others to carry on the Morgan name. She felt as if a lifetime of tension had fallen from her shoulders. Whatever happened from here on in, she could deal with it. Rubber soles squeaked on the hallway's marble floor. She went to the door and met Mrs. Cummins.

  "Do you know where the family records are, Mrs. Cummins?"

  "Most of the records are right here in these cabinets." Mrs. Cummins opened a small closet. When she stepped back Isabeau saw the metal file cabinets lined up side by side.

  "Leif said Pierce is on his way home," Isabeau said carefully, hardly able to contain her excitement.

  "Yes, and I'm thankful. Imagine if he had missed his own engagement party."

  Mrs. Cummins could have no idea of the crushing nature of her words. Isabeau watched numbly as the older woman laid out several folders.

  "If you like you can rummage in here. I'll let you know when they arrive home."

  "They?" Isabeau asked numbly.

  "Pierce and his parents."

  "His parents?" Isabeau couldn't help repeating what she heard. She felt panic welling inside. Everything was changing. Nothing was familiar. As far as she knew his father had died years before.

  "Well, not just his mother and father -- but his brothers and sisters also." Mrs. Cummins hesitated, then added, "If you recall, they're all coming for the party."

  Isabeau didn't know what to say. Her heart felt squeezed tight. Pierce was getting engaged. "For some reason I thought there was only his mother."

  "Good heavens, no. Mr. Pierce's parents have been married some thirty-five years and there's six others besides Mr. Pierce."

  "Oh," Isabeau said faintly. "Thank you, Mrs. Cummins."

  The housekeeper turned to leave, but stopped by the door and turned back. "By the way, miss, you never did tell me if you're leaving right after the engagement party or not."

  "Yes, yes, I'm leaving." God! She couldn't stay around and watch Pierce become engaged to another woman.

  Feverishly, Isabeau looked through the record books. There were various articles on Virginia, Hawk's Den, and the surrounding county. But one article in particular drew her attention. It was a newspaper account of a fire that destroyed a cottage on the Sanderly estate in the year 1894. Inside the cottage they found the charred remains of Treat Sanderly, said to have been the illegitimate half-brother to Hawk Morgan. There was no mention of Mrs. Sanderly. In with that article was a notice of the marriage of Hawk and Amelia. She caught her breath in amazement at the grainy but rather well done photograph of the time. Hawk looked so much like Pierce with his lovely bride Amelia next to him! Malry stood with the couple, the bride and groom suitably serious. Malry wore a half grin and Isabeau again saw the seaman she had first met aboard The Lady.

  #

  Isabeau wanted to leave right away, but she couldn't find Leif. She grabbed her camera from her room and walked around the back of the house.

  Pierce was engaged. It hurt her like hell to think about it, but perversely, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd found him against all odds and lost him not once but now twice. Anguished, she wondered why she had she been allowed to remember. She stopped suddenly, hope leaping inside. Could Pierce be engaged to her? Could this be another time warp? No, she had just arrived a day ago. They technically had not even met in this time.

  She needed to see Pierce one more time, then she must leave.

  Isabeau stood in the back gardens, raising her camera as a dark bird flew into the sky, straight up into the sun. She lowered the camera and turned, catching her breath as pain shafted across her breastbone.

  Pierce stood behind her.

  He wore black jeans, white shirt and a light grey jacket; and she couldn't take her eyes from him. He didn't say anything, just gave her a welcoming smile.

  Isabeau closed her eyes, clutching the camera to her breast. The shutter clicked once again. Dazed, she relaxed her grip, then slowly, slowly, she brought the camera up and took his picture.

  The thoughts in her head were crazy, she knew it. She wanted to run before he spoke a word and said something that told her he no longer remembered they loved each other.

  She drank in the sight of him, the wide shoulders, warm blue eyes, rakish dark hair falling over his brow. His hair was shorter. He was the man she loved with all her heart.

  "Sweetheart, I've been looking for you."

  Isabeau sagged in relief.

  "Sorry I'm late, but I finally made it."

  Shaking the hair back from her eyes, she said softly, "I'm glad you're back."

  "Did you finish the job?"

  "Job?" she repeated, perplexed.

  "The commission for the Virginia Wildlife Society."

  She was losing it; she didn't know what he was talking about.

  "I saw the pictures you spread out in the salon. You must be just about finished. They're flawless. I know Mrs. Forrester will be very pleased."

  Mrs. Forrester? Isabeau backed away from him, afraid she would break down. She couldn't take any more. "I-I have to go."

  "Wait, Isabeau -- go where?" He came after her.

  "Home."

  "This is your home," he said, suddenly strained.

  That stopped her in her tracks. Slowly, she spun on her heel to face him. Dear God, she prayed, don't let this be a sick cosmic joke.

  "We discussed this. We're going to live here after we're married."

  "Married?" she squeaked.

  "What's the matter, sweetheart? Don't you remember?"

  She saw a sudden comprehension on his face.

  "Isabeau." The gravelly whisper tore at her with its familiarity. He took the final step and his arms enfolded her slowly, as if he wasn't sure how she would react.

  "Sweetheart -- I understand, I understand now. I hope you're going to tell me you remember everything. You looked so shocked, as if you didn't know me." He leaned back. "Mrs. Cummins told me you passed out while I was gone. My God, I wanted to be here when this happened -- and I was away. You've been to 1894, haven't you?"

  She frowned in confusion. "You didn't know?"

  "Isabeau, think about it. When you disappeared in 1894, I never knew what date you reentered this life. How could either of us know since this hadn't happened yet?"

  "You're right!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were engaged to someone else when Mrs. Cummins talked about your engagement party."

  "There's only you." He paused."I don't want to overwhelm you, but our family history has changed. I know you may not recall what's happened since we met in this time, but I'm hoping you'll want to pick up where we left off. Because of the way history was rewritten, we actually met six months ago."

  Incredibly, from an inner jacket pocket Pierce withdrew a small book, its edges worn and bent. "I've carried this every day since I came back and found it again."

  Eyes wide, Isabeau looked at the gold strap, then up into his face.

  "But Mrs. Cummins asked me if I was leaving right after the party --" Isabeau said in confusion.

  "I