“Oh. Wow.” Michele stared at her grandfather. “I didn’t know.” And suddenly, a piece of the puzzle fell into place. Walter had grown up fatherless, just like Michele. He’d watched Lily experience betrayal by the man she trusted. It was no wonder he had been so strict with his own daughter, so suspicious of Henry Irving and his motives. It wasn’t just about his lack of money and social standing, Michele realized. He had been genuinely worried about Marion. And in that moment, Michele felt sure that whatever Walter and Dorothy might still be hiding, they hadn’t paid Henry to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Michele told Walter.
“Don’t be,” he said with a half smile. “My mother always said that no man made her feel the way her music did. I have a feeling she didn’t much miss my birth father—especially with all the beaus who kept calling, even when she was past middle age. She was very … unusual, my mother. But she was happy.”
Michele grinned. “Unusual” sounded about right.
An usher led them to their seats, and as they waited for the show to begin, Michele’s mind raced with the question of whether Lily had ended up performing the songs she and Philip had written. She didn’t dare ask her grandparents, in case it was now information she should readily know, but she couldn’t wait to get home and check online.
But to her surprise, once the curtain opened and the show began, Michele found her thoughts disappearing as she was transfixed by the story of the magical nanny. The catchy songs, incredible Broadway voices, and awe-inspiring special effects and stage design had her captivated. As she glanced at her grandparents, she was glad to see that they looked the same. The show reminded her of watching the movie with her mom when she was little, and she remembered that her mom had watched the movie with her parents as a little girl too. There was something special about that, and on impulse Michele squeezed her grandmother’s hand. Dorothy turned to smile at her.
As the finale song, “Anything Can Happen If You Let It,” began, Michele thought that her travels through time had definitely proven the song’s message. The stage turned dark as Mary Poppins and the Banks family were transported to the stars, and in that instant, something incredible happened. A dark, shadowy pall came over the theater, and then it was suddenly lifted, and Michele jumped out of her seat, crying out in amazement at what she saw.
Her grandparents were gone; all the Mary Poppins audience members had disappeared, replaced by women with bobbed hair and dropped-waist dresses and men with top hats and walking sticks. And on that grand stage above was the young Lily Windsor, standing in an enormous spotlight and wearing a long, slinky white sleeveless dress, a fur stole draped around her shoulders. Her voice was hauntingly beautiful and brimming with soul as she sang.
“Why, I feel numb,
I’m a sky without a sun
Just take away the lack
And bring the colors back.”
“Oh, my God!” Michele shrieked. She spun around to look at the audience, and to her amazement, they were singing along. They knew the song!
She ran up to the front row aisle, tears welling up in her eyes as she mouthed the words, and Lily caught her eye. She did a double take and then beamed at Michele, but didn’t miss a beat in her singing. As soon as the song ended, Michele ran up the staircase leading to the stage and raced backstage, floating invisibly past leggy chorus girls, until she spotted Lily.
“Lily!” Michele cried.
“Follow me,” Lily whispered, and Michele hurried alongside her into a dressing room with a gold star pinned on the door.
Once inside the dressing room, the girls squealed and hugged, jumping up and down.
“You did it, Lily! You convinced your parents; you made it into the Follies! It’s all upward from here.”
“You did it too. ‘Bring the Colors Back’ is a hit. The phonograph record is selling like hotcakes! And I’m introducing ‘Chasing Time’ in the new Follies beginning next month. Ziggy—that’s what we call Ziegfeld—well, he loves both songs, thinks they’re rather new and fresh,” Lily said excitedly.
“Oh—my—God! Thank you!” So this is what success feels like, Michele thought as a warm glow spread throughout every inch of her.
“And that reminds me. A very handsome dapper Dan dropped by the stage door two weeks ago and asked me if I knew a Michele—someone no one could see but me.”
Michele’s heart nearly stopped. Philip.
“I was frightened by that, frightened that he knew our secret, so I asked what he meant. He said he wanted to see you,” Lily continued. “I told him you weren’t here, and then he handed over a package and said to give it to you—and then he just left! I kept it here in my dressing table, just in case. Would you like to see it?”
Michele could barely breathe. “Yes,” she whispered.
Lily opened a drawer in her dressing table and pulled out a small package. As Lily handed it to her, Michele was too overcome to speak.
“Who is he?” Lily asked as Michele stared at the package without opening it.
“He’s …” Michele swallowed hard. “He’s the one I wrote the song about.”
“I wondered that,” Lily said with a smile. “Is he a … spirit, like you?”
Michele shook her head. Lily was surprised into silence, and she sat at her dressing table while Michele studied the package. Her heart pounding furiously, Michele opened the envelope and a letter fluttered to the ground. She picked it up and read it hungrily.
June 16, 1926
My dearest Michele,
How unbearably long it has been since you were last in my arms, since I last heard your sweet voice and kissed those perfect lips. Since you left, each day seemed to run meaninglessly into the next. That is how it’s been for fifteen long years. I left home as planned, but the emptiness followed me to London, even while I played piano for the London Symphony Orchestra.
And then, two weeks ago, it all changed. I was at a dinner party held in honor of songwriters George and Ira Gershwin, who are at work here on a new show, when George sat at the piano, as he always does when there’s a party. But the surprise was that he wasn’t playing his own music—he was playing ours. Our very own “Bring the Colors Back”! You can imagine my shock and amazement, and the joy I felt at knowing that you had returned! You had to be back. I found out everything from the Gershwins, that your relation Lily Windsor had made the song a hit with the Follies, and I immediately gave notice to the London Symphony and booked passage to New York. I’m writing you now from the ship.
Is it possible that you might have reconsidered your stance, after all these years? I can’t help hoping, though I am afraid to. A part of me knows that if you had, you would have come to me instead of Lily. But regardless of whether I see you again, I hold as a treasure your return and what you have done for our song. It is the sign I’ve been aching for, the sign that you still love me as I never stopped loving you.
I must confess that I did not pursue my composing in London the way we would have expected. You always believed in me, and now it is time that I believe in me in the same way. The public’s reaction to “Bring the Colors Back” has given me the desire to return to New York for good and try to make it as a composer. Thank you—thank you for returning to me the strong sense of purpose I once felt, when you were in my life. Michele, I promise to find you again—no matter what. And enclosed in this package is a symbol of that promise: my family ring. I’ve also enclosed the address of the hotel where I am living now, the Waldorf-Astoria, in the hopes you might be able to reach me.
I love you.
Philip
Michele’s eyes were streaming with tears by the time she reached the end of Philip’s letter. Every sentence seemed to twist her heart in such a way that she felt both broken and whole. She was vaguely aware of Lily’s hurrying to her side and trying to comfort her, but her mind was miles away, as she thought of what could have been if only she and Philip had lived in the same lifetime. Why had Time made such a mistake with the two of them?
r />
She remembered his mention of the ring, and she reached further into the envelope. Buried inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a gold signet ring, carved with a raised ornamental W.
“Aces!” Lily exclaimed, her eyes as wide as saucers as she stared at the ring. “Are you engaged?”
“In my heart I am,” Michele said with a smile. She gazed at the ring, feeling like her heart was so full it could burst at any moment. She slid the ring onto her finger, loving how it looked. But she knew what she must do.
“Lily, do you have any stationery here that I can use?”
“Of course.” As Lily rifled through her things, Michele held Philip’s letter close. If she closed her eyes and imagined hard enough, she could almost hear his voice whispering the words he had written. Michele was suddenly reminded of the Portuguese word her mom had taught her on their last day together: sodade. A feeling of nostalgia so intense there was no English translation. That was just how Michele felt now.
“Here you go.” Lily handed her a pen, a pad of paper, and an envelope. “You can use my dressing table to write.”
“Thanks, Lily.” Michele sat down and began to write.
Dear Philip,
I love you just the way you love me. I’ll even admit that sometimes I wonder if I love you more. No matter what happens in my future, you will always be the one.
I can’t thank you enough for the beautiful ring. It means so much to me, and I love being able to wear something every day that belonged to you.
I wish I could say that I had found a way for us to be together, but I haven’t. I still don’t fully exist in any time other than my own. But I came back to show you all that you have left to live for. Please—I need for you to move on, have a family, and of course, keep composing. I couldn’t stand the pain of knowing I caused you a lonely life or stopped you from reaching your full potential. But always remember that I still feel the way I did during our days and nights together in 1910. I’ll always consider you my true family. I hope you will too.
I love you forever.
Michele
Her eyes were blurry from tears by the time she finished the letter. She addressed the envelope PW, so as not to arouse any outrage from Lily over her corresponding with a Walker, and then turned to her great-grandmother. “Lily, can you do me a huge favor? Can you please have this delivered to the Waldorf-Astoria tomorrow morning?”
Lily nodded and took the letter. “PW—the composer of your songs,” she said slowly, revelation dawning on her.
Michele nodded but didn’t say more.
“You’re—you’re not just a spirit, are you?” Lily blurted out.
Michele looked at her and found that she couldn’t lie anymore. “No, I’m not,” she confessed. “The truth is … I’m from the future. From the year 2010. And … I’m your great-granddaughter.”
Lily’s jaw dropped, and she stared at Michele in astonishment. That was when Michele felt Time calling her back, as Lily and the dressing room became hazy, and the ground began to shake. But just before 1926 vanished, Michele caught a glimpse of Lily smiling in wonderment as she watched Michele—the girl who Lily now knew as her future great-granddaughter—fading back to her own time.
“Go and chase your dreams, you won’t regret it. Anything can happen if you let it.”
Michele landed jarringly in her seat beside her grandparents at the New Amsterdam in 2010 only to find that everyone was on their feet, clapping to the rhythm and cheering. It’s the curtain call, Michele realized. Was I only gone for one song? How is that possible? She staggered into a standing position.
Dorothy gave her a relieved look. “There you are! Where did you go?”
“Oh … I had to go to the bathroom,” Michele improvised. “I snuck out during the song.”
As the curtain fell, Michele glanced down at her ring finger and sucked in her breath. There it was—the signet ring from Philip!
On the way home after dinner, Michele suggested to her grandparents that they listen to one of Lily Windsor’s records together before bed. “Seeing her poster up in the theater just made me want to hear her again.”
“That’s a great idea, Michele,” Walter said, looking pleased. Once they reached Windsor Mansion, he led the way to the drawing room, where the vintage record player was kept. He rummaged through the stack of records until he chose Lily Windsor at Carnegie Hall, May 1935. After setting the dial on the record player, Walter plopped into his easy chair by the window, and Dorothy and Michele shared the couch.
The first song on the album was the one from Lily’s composition book, “Born for It.” Michele closed her eyes and listened to the vintage sound of old-time jazz filling the room.
“Make them feel, make them fly
Send their stories to the sky
I’m singin’ it
Ooh, I was born for it
“When that trumpet starts to play
All the world’s cares fade away
I’m livin’ it
I was born for it.”
“This was actually the first song she ever wrote,” Walter remarked. “She was just your age.”
Michele smiled, overcome with emotion. “I thought so.”
As the second song began, Michele froze; it sounded just like Philip’s piano intro to their song “Chasing Time.” Sure enough, Lily’s bluesy voice began to sing the chorus.
“I can’t live in the normal world,
I’m just chasing time …”
The orchestra joined in, and it was too much. This all went beyond Michele’s wildest dreams. Mom would never believe this—Lily Windsor singing one of my songs at Carnegie Hall! she thought with an incredulous laugh.
“Michele! Why are you crying?” Dorothy asked in alarm.
“Oh, it’s just … I love this song,” she said, now half crying and half laughing. “Sorry, I’m a little … sensitive.”
It seemed unfathomable that her travels back in time could have affected history so much—others’ histories as well as her own—but they had. In fact, it was beginning to feel like all time periods were happening at once, in layers, like the layers of a cake. Below her were previous time periods, playing and replaying themselves, and above her was the future. And somehow, for some inexplicable reason, she had been chosen to live between the layers.
She wiped her eyes, listening alertly to the piano. “Who is that playing, do you know?”
“Of course. That’s Phoenix Warren. This was quite a star-studded show,” Walter said proudly.
“Phoenix Warren! You know my mom named me after his composition, ‘Michele,’ right?”
“No. No, we didn’t know that,” Walter said, looking down. Dorothy’s face was pained.
“You miss her … like I do,” Michele realized, after a beat.
“Of course we do,” Walter said, his voice quietly intense.
“I’m sorry for—for always assuming …” Michele’s voice trailed off. She was unsure how to phrase what she meant. But her grandparents seemed to understand.
“Thank you, dear,” Dorothy said kindly.
Walter glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. We’d better head up to bed. You have school in the morning.”
Michele nodded. “Okay. Thanks again for tonight. I had a really great time.”
Her grandparents smiled at her, and Michele was glad to see that their smiles reached their eyes.
That night brought a series of dreams, vignettes unfolding one after another.…
Michele was alone in a cold, silent graveyard. She didn’t know how she had gotten there and she was desperate to get away, but she felt herself being pushed forward, toward something she didn’t want to see. She moved, trancelike, until her shoe touched a hard surface. She jumped back and saw that she was standing before a simple white headstone. IRVING HENRY, it read. 1869–1944.
Suddenly, the scene changed, followed by far calmer dreams of turn-of-the-century cotillion dances, jazz clubs, and the sea in Newport. And the
n she saw Philip.
He was standing by the fire in an elegant hotel room—and he was reading her letter. Now in his thirties, Philip was even more handsome than before. He had grown taller and stronger; his face was more defined; his intense eyes were somehow even deeper and bluer than before. He reminded Michele of those movie stars from the golden age of Hollywood—Clark Gable and Errol Flynn.
“I’ll do what you ask, Michele,” he said to himself. “I will move on, for you. But no matter what, I will find a way back to you. I promise.”
Michele woke with a lump in her throat. She had never longed to reach out and touch Philip, hold him, more than she did now. She was tempted to take back her words, to try to go back to him for just one more night. But she knew that she couldn’t. Before meeting Philip, Michele had never really understood when people talked of being so in love that they would put the other person ahead of themselves. But now Michele understood. She would give up all her own chances at happiness for him, to protect him.
The frightening dream about the graveyard flooded back to Michele, and she shuddered. It was clear that Irving Henry was trying to tell her something. But was she ready to hear it?
“Oh, my God!” Caissie grabbed Michele’s hand and stared at the ring the next morning in front of her locker. Michele had just finished filling Caissie in on her latest adventures in time. “And you’re wearing it on your wedding finger, I see!”
Michele pulled her hand away, blushing. “Yeah, well …”
“How in the world are your future boyfriends going to measure up to this whole affair?” Caissie wondered as they started walking to class. “Like, say, Ben Archer, for example?”