Chapter 26
After another bath, eating blueberries off each other’s bodies, and who knows how many more times of making love—all right, suffice it to say, Will had counted that they’d made love six more times—he and Erva had fallen asleep in a cocoon of entwined limbs and smiles.
He’d been asleep for a few hours, when the thought of how amazing his life was woke him. In the night’s romantic glow he watched Erva slumbering, the way her chest rose and fell under the velvety white cotton sheet. Her blonde hair fanned around her, and in the soft moonlight she looked more goddess than human.
He should have been exhausted, especially since he’d gotten little sleep the night before, and had fought during the day in a decisive victory, retired from the military, and, oh, God, the way they’d made love for hours. Yes, he should have been fatigued, but he just stared at Erva, fascinated at his new partner in life. She had been in an army’s intelligence. (He couldn’t quite bring himself to think of it as America’s Army. Lord, it would take a while to get used to America being an independent nation.) She could play the pianoforte like no one else he’d ever heard, sang so beautifully it broke his heart, and was so well learned that she almost had a doctorate. He thought of the vicious Dr. Peabody Erva had spoken of and was glad again for such a wide space of time betwixt himself and the people who had done her wrong. He wasn’t too sure what he would do to the woman who held Erva back, but this Dr. Peabody deserved a reprimanding letter at the least.
Here, though, he could protect her. But then again, from what Erva had done earlier when almost abducted, he knew she could protect herself. He hoped in the coming years he could help her learn to stand up for herself against women who seemed to hold a power over her. Then it struck him that she was leaving her mother behind. Erva, with her pure heart, probably still loved her mother, no matter what the woman had done.
Will glanced again at his bride-to-be, wondering if there was any way to make it up to her, her sacrifice. She had said she was relieved, but she was giving up so much. Yes, he would teach her to defend herself against all attackers, even women like her mother and Dr. Peabody. That might be a good start to compensate for her staying with him.
He sighed and caressed a strand of Erva’s blonde hair from her face. She smiled in her sleep. His heart at once contracted and grew. Lord, he loved her. Briefly, he thought about waking her, nudging her closer. His body was already reacting to her nearness. But he didn’t want to be bothersome.
Carefully he extracted himself from Erva’s arms. She quietly whimpered, but slept through the interruption. Will couldn’t help himself but gaze down at the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, feeling his heart now turn golden. No matter how she had arrived in his life, whether through some odd muses or whatever it was, he wondered if Julia had some kind of leverage in their meeting. It seemed that her spirit surrounded him now, blessing him and Erva. For that he gave a peaceful sigh.
Now, why couldn’t he sleep? He bent his head in one direction then the other, loosening the muscles in his neck. Actually, he did feel relaxed. Well, a few hours of lovemaking could do that to a man. Glancing down at his naked body, he was surprised to see his almost constant state of semi-arousal. He was actually a bit sore, but still part of him was ready for more. Good Lord.
Erva shifted in her sleep, letting the sheet slip off one perfectly round breast. Her nipple contracted slightly, and he was about to launch himself on it, when he turned away. Would he ever stop feeling insatiable regarding her? Mayhap that was why he couldn’t sleep, this ravenous need to touch Erva. Perhaps he should...look at anything else other than her.
With his eyes almost completely shut, he covered Erva’s body again. He knew it was ridiculous to close his eyes, but he feared he would come unhinged if he saw her breast again. He strolled toward their torn clothes and smiled. When Erva had ripped his clothes off as soon as they’d landed in her chamber, that had been especially rewarding. All right, he shook his head, it was best to stop thinking of making love to her. Spying around the room, he looked for books, but couldn’t see any. Why they’d slept in her apartment again Will wasn’t too sure, but if they’d made love in his then at least he’d have something to read.
Wait! Erva had books in her iPhone. He hoped it wasn’t an intrusion to read one on her gadget, and glanced one more time at Erva to ascertain if it was or not. What a mistake. She was simply delicious as she slept, so he forced himself to look away and find a book in her glass device. He lit a candle that was close to the Greek-looking wooden box of her things, then opened the container. There were bottles of tinctures that declared that Erva’s skin would be left radiant and hydrated if used, and a tiny glass bottle of something that smelled exquisite and quite like Erva. However, he’d come to find that her night jasmine scent was all her own. She was earthy yet delicately floral, dark yet profound. He smiled at the thought.
Sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, he felt rather free, especially being naked. He quite liked being nude and near her, as well as flicking on her iPhone and finding the little picture with all her books. Hmm, well, it appeared she had quite a few records about the American Revolution. He realized that must be the war he was fighting against. Lord, he was on the losing side. He rather didn’t like that, even if he secretly championed the Americans. Still, his English pride pricked at the loss. Erva had said something about Howe retiring in the next year or so, and Will wondered if his stepping down was the reason why the British lost America.
Picking one of the books that looked most promising because he saw it was about the British leaders during the war, he read through the copyright page. Lord, that was amazing. Authors in the future insisted on not plagiarizing, and he inferred, they also insisted on getting paid by their publishers. Well, things looked bright for authors then. He tried to pick his way through the beginning of the book, finding more information about King George III than he’d liked to have known. Apparently, the king went mad in 1811. Heavens. Then he read about Lord George Germain, Secretary to North America, and most especially about Lord Frederick North, the Prime Minister. He almost felt sorry for the men, for the author spared no compliments to them. Poor North was made to look like a fool who was constantly in over his head, whining about wanting to retire, but his cousin, the king, refused.
Propping himself against a nearby couch, Will finally read to the first commander in chief of the British in North America, General Thomas Gage. But the author skimmed over much that could have been pertinent, like the fact that he was known as a good military man, but overly cautious. Finally, Will found the chapters pertaining to his commander in chief, William Howe. It was interesting to note that the author spent more time on Howe having an affair, which Will was never sure he believed or not, than on Howe’s tactics. It was glossed over that Howe invaded New York like the power horse that he was. Soon enough, Will read of the landing of Kip’s Bay, and, yes, the tactics were credited to Howe, which Will knew would happen anyway. Ultimately, as the commander in chief, it had been Howe’s decision to approve of Will’s plan or not, so in a way it was Howe’s design, even though Will was the designer. He read on about the next day, tomorrow, and how the Americans made a stand at the Battle of Harlem Heights.
It was difficult to read the small screen and all the while his heart twisted at the odd feelings he had. Pride for the Americans for making a stand, because an arrogant general, Alexander Leslie, had ridiculed them. Yet, it still made him feel at a loss that his British boys wouldn’t outright win the battle. What a dichotomy, his sentiments! He was relieved he wouldn’t fight in the battle.
He scrolled down the tiny screen to a footnote of the Battle of Harlem Heights, surprised to see his name in the text. He stopped and read the rather long note slowly:
Although General Leslie stirred the hornet’s nest and seemed to make his troops less cautious than they should have been, it was thanks to the daring antics of Major General Earl William Hill that the
British regrouped and defended themselves against the angry Continental soldiers. Hill had not only been a favorite of General Charles Cornwallis’s but of General William Howe’s as well, and his death during the battle made both men furious. Although the Continentals escaped through New Jersey in the following months, Howe set Cornwallis free to chase after the routing American soldiers, whittling them down to less than a couple thousand dirty, starved, and exhausted men.
Will read the footnote over and over while his stomach hollowed. Afterward, he figured out how to find the index, located his name, then found how he was mentioned as voting against the war, as Howe had, but still came to fight.
He tried to combat an overwhelming feeling that something was weighing heavily on his chest, for he knew it was his imagination, but he couldn’t help but seem to gasp for air. Well, no wonder. If he fought tomorrow, he would die.
He decided to look in Erva’s other books for information about him and...his death. Book after book credited his demise as what had changed Howe and Cornwallis into cold soldiers. One book had a brief footnote about Paul, how extraordinary that a man of business inherited an earl’s estate and money, but that he put it all to good use. Keeping Misses Emma and Lydia at one of Will’s houses, Paul gave them enough money for Miss Lydia to become a famous painter and Miss Emma’s poetry to become published throughout the world. Paul himself went on to marry a poor but titled lady, finally gaining a peerage for himself where he voted, as Paul apparently would say, as Will would have, to end slavery and other oppression. Paul had made money off a coffee plantation, but when he learned of children slaves and other deplorable working conditions he tore down his factory and plant. At the end of his life, when the world rejoiced his efforts for more peace and equality, he said he owed it to Will, who the author thought was merely a womanizer and a drunk.
Will’s chest felt even tighter, but after reading about Paul, he kept swallowing, trying to rid himself of the rock in his throat. His eyes actually stung. If he weren’t careful he would cry, which would be utterly ridiculous. He wasn’t really going to die. Or was he?
No, if he stayed with Erva, in his rented house, in the bed beside her, he would remain alive. But suddenly he wondered, if he hadn’t read the footnotes, would he have given enough money to Lydia and Emma for them to prosper? Was their success contingent on his death?
He tried to tell himself it couldn’t be. He would give Lydia and Emma everything. Already, he’d planned as much, because he’d put it in his will. He’d give more.
Stretching his legs out, he accidentally knocked Erva’s box over. Glancing up, he noticed that she hadn’t moved. So he went about to pick up her things. A folded golden parchment he somehow hadn’t seen before drifted farther away from her concoctions. Reaching out, he fetched the paper. That was when he caught his name on it.
Without truly thinking through his actions, for he was in a panic by then, he ripped it open. From lovely and nearly perfect handwriting he read,
Dear Will,
We hope you don’t mind the informality of calling you Will, but we already feel as if we know you and like you very much. Hopefully, we won’t sound too criminal or perverse in admitting we’ve been watching you and Erva. But that’s what we were supposed to do. You see, we were the ones who sent her to you. She is such an accomplished researcher, and after this time with you, she will return to Cambridge, Massachusetts and begin writing a book about you and the American Revolution, as she, the little American, calls it, but you Brits call the War for America’s Independence.
The book will be published as soon as she polishes it a little, for her forte is actually in her writing. She’s a grounded woman, whose easygoing prose makes people feel intrigued with whatever she writes. As we’re sure you could have guessed. She will write a well-researched historical book that many will actually love to read, as well as she’s a wee bit sympathetic to you Brits. So it becomes an International Best Seller. In other words, she will sell quite well all over the globe. She will make more money than she dreamed and decides to quit Harvard, because she never really liked teaching, but she loved researching and writing, which she continues to do until her death when she’s an old woman. Dr. Peabody will get her just dues too! She will be humiliated soon, because the academia world will soon prove that she plagiarized Erva’s work. In other words, with help Erva finally stands up for herself. She also begins to have a healthier relationship with her mother.
We hate informing you of this, but after her time with you, after you die tomorrow, she will become a better person. We’re sorry. So sorry about that.
But history has already been written. Please abide accordingly.
Sincerely,
The Muses, Clio and Erato
He glanced up at Erva again as a tear fell. God, he loved her. Loved her so much that he ached inside, his bones crushed from the thought of not holding her for decades to come. He loved her so much that he wondered if he truly deserved her.
Apparently, he didn’t.
Slowly he stood, his legs stiff from sitting so long, yet weak from...ah, hell. Shite. Everything in his body hurt. He climbed in the bed beside her and wrapped his arms tightly around her warmth. She never woke, but adjusted to holding him firmly then smiled.
Another tear crept out of the corner of his eye. He could just ignore the letter from the muses. Selfishly, he could stay in bed with the love of his life, make her stay in his time, make her less than who she could be.
His heart broke into tiny pieces then, for he knew the way he loved her he’d never do that to her. She would become wildly successful, if he just died. But more than that, as the muses wrote, she would become a better person. When she went back to her time, she’d face her demons, and like the strong woman he knew her to be, she’d fight back finally. She’d win her own revolution.
He held her even tighter then. God, this life was such a cold bitch. He’d finally stopped thinking of suicide, then was told he had to sacrifice his life. No, he didn’t have to. At least that was the impression he got from the letter. It was up to him to abide by history.
If he let himself be killed tomorrow then his sister and her lover would prosper. Paul would become amazingly efficacious as well, and best of all, Erva would become strong and more perfectly aligned to what she loved—researching and writing.
Not wanting to crush Erva, but needing her close was essential, for, Will realized, these would be the last hours he’d hold her. His last hours alive.