The Hour of Dreams

  “You okay?”

  I snapped my head around much too fast, thinking it was William, but then caught sight of Wes standing in the bathroom doorway. But I wasn’t disappointed. The sparks I felt in my dream couldn’t compare to the real ones I still felt when seeing Wes. Especially when his hair was wet.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Ten.”

  “Ten! I slept that long?”

  “Yup. Dreaming again?”

  “Yeah.”

  He raised his brows and made his way over to the bed. “Really?”

  “Yeah. And a lot.” I focused, trying to remember it all. Once I recounted as much as I could, he shook his head. “What?”

  “Nothing. I just cannot believe you keep saving me. Really, it’s like I cannot fend for myself.”

  I smiled and nudged him. “Yeah, you probably could. But if you did, then I don’t suppose we’d keep meeting like this.”

  “I guess not,” he said rolling his eyes slightly. “Hungry?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Actually, I am.”

  He released that signature half-smile of his. “Meet me downstairs.”

  “What do you have planned. Eggs? Potatoes? Toast? Pancakes?”

  He laughed and stood up. “Nope. Cereal.”

  My jaw dropped and my face contorted into a pout.

  “Hey. You’re the one who said not to spoil you all the time.” Winking, he turned and left me still pouting, but unable to contain a smile.

  I hopped up and brushed my teeth, quickly threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, and made my way downstairs.

  He was already at the table with two bowls, milk, and four kinds of cereal. “Your choice,” he said, waving his hand.

  We ate and talked about my dream and what it meant. He was still happy and confident in his belief that our past meant a good future for us. I still wasn’t convinced it had any better outcome, since I wasn’t any older in the dream. Plus his memory about a fire wasn’t sitting well with me. I couldn’t feel good about the past until I knew it wasn’t confirmation of repeated disasters for us.

  About halfway through our hearty breakfast, the doorbell rang. Odd. Not that we never had visitors, but people usually called first. Unless it was a delivery.

  “Expecting someone?” I asked.

  “No. I’ll get it.”

  He hopped up and made his way to the foyer. After a minute I heard voices, followed by, “Yeah, she’s in here. Come on.”

  Wes returned, followed by a nervous, uncomfortable-looking Dawn. Her eyes were bouncing around the room, her hands fumbling with her pockets.

  “Hey, Dawn. What’s up?”

  “Um,” she said, standing awkwardly next to a chair. Wes sensed her discomfort and picked up his almost-empty bowl.

  “I’ll just leave you two to—”

  “No!” Dawn said, sharply enough to freeze him in his tracks. “Please stay. I need to talk to you guys. Both.”

  I dropped hold of my spoon and pushed away my half-soggy cereal.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Sort of.”

  Wes’ apprehensive gaze traveled back and forth between us, and then he pulled out a chair. “Here. Why don’t you sit,” he offered.

  Dawn sucked in a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly before flopping heavily into the chair. With her seated diagonally from me, Wes cautiously returned to his seat directly across from me and turned his chair toward her. We exchanged another quick, confused glance before giving all our attention to Dawn.

  She sat completely still with her hands in her lap, eyes red and puffy. I began to get worried. What had she done?

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  After another deep breath, her shoulders swelled and she secured her long bangs behind her ears. “Nothing. Anymore. Listen, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

  “And?” I leaned forward.

  “And I don’t want to keep the baby.”

  “What?!” I said, nearly coming out of my seat.

  She threw her hands out, stopping me. “Wait. Not like that. I mean, I’m going to have it. But I just don’t think I can do it. Be a mom, I mean. At least not yet.”

  “Okay?”

  “So, I was thinking. I want someone who can take better care of it. Someone who is responsible.”

  “You mean like adoption?”

  She smiled slightly, with a glint of relief in her eyes. “Yes.”

  I exchanged another glance with Wes, who gave a subtle shrug. I guess that sounded okay. My gaze found hers again.

  “I think you’ll be a good mom, but if you think that’s best, then okay.”

  She nodded. “And I want you guys to adopt it.”

  “What?” I asked a little too loudly. She looked at me, frozen. Panicked, I looked at Wes, whose eyes were complete circles. He shook his head in a fast, rapid no and looked like someone was squeezing the life out of him.

  Dawn pressed on, pleading her case. “You guys are perfect. You’re married. You love each other. You have money. You can do it. A whole lot better than me.”

  My head was shaking involuntarily. Was she kidding? “Dawn. Look. We can’t take care of a baby. We—”

  “But I can? Please, Sophie. Be real!”

  I was at a loss for words. “Um.” I looked at Wes with desperate eyes. He shrugged. “Wes, tell her. We can’t take on a baby. We’re completely the wrong people.” I nearly growled the last word.

  He cleared his throat and blinked a few times before looking her way. “Dawn. Listen. We would do anything to help you. We really would. But you don’t understand. We’ve got a lot of problems that you don’t see. And we cannot adopt a baby. We just can’t.”

  “Nice,” she said, getting teary. “I love how you think I can do it with no problem, but the two of you won’t.”

  “Dawn,” I interrupted. “Why don’t you let someone else adopt? There are a lot of people who would love to have a baby.”

  She shook her head. “No, I won’t give it away to just anyone. I want it to know I care about it. I still want to see it grow up and—”

  “There’s open adoption,” Wes said.

  “No. Come on, guys. I’m looking for help. Not that.”

  I wasn’t sure what else to say, and I could tell she was getting upset, which took me aback. She was making me feel guilty. Like we were failing her. That wasn’t the case, and I certainly didn’t want her thinking that taking care of a baby was the issue. It kinda was, but the real issue was the fact that our future was so vague. Taking on a baby just wasn’t an option. I had to make her understand.

  “Dawn, have you forgotten what I told you about my medical condition? We don’t even know how much time I have left. Seriously. I’m sorry.”

  Her shoulders sank and she looked in her lap. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I just don’t know how I’m going to do it. I can’t afford it and just thought about you two and—”

  Wes touched her shoulder. “I’ll help you financially. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  She looked at him, shaking her head. “No, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” he argued. “We’re not going to let you worry about money. Just call us godparents and we’ll make sure you have what you need to be a good mom. Okay?”

  Still looking down, her tears finally spilled over. “I can’t do this.”

  “Sure, you can,” he said.

  Sliding my chair back, I made my way over to her and whispered in her ear. “We’ll help you. We promise.”

  ***

  Between trying to help Dawn accept her future and help myself hang on to mine, it was nearly impossible to think about a dream. Every night I tried to fall asleep with a clear head, hoping to return to Phoebe, but I kept thinking about Dawn, a baby, dying, my mom, Wes, and the holidays.

  Life felt so jumbled, the holidays came quickly and passed just as quickly. If I wasn’t working, my mom found something for me to help her with, and when
that was done, she was always over at my house, decorating and keeping us in the spirit of family and giving, instead of worrying about the future. All of the cheer kept it hard to focus on what I wanted. Instead, every night I dreamed about weird things like elves and turkeys. Maybe my mind was just too cluttered. Nothing seemed to fall like I wanted, but then Wes had an idea.

  He knew I was struggling to get back down memory lane. Somehow, hearing gunshots while Phoebe’s father was in the process of kicking him out didn’t rattle him. He insisted there was a future there, and to help me see it too, he bought me a snow globe for Christmas.

  At first glance I thought it was a joke, because I was always griping about missing the white Christmases in Virginia. However, the look of sincerity on his face told me he had put a lot of thought into the gift, so I gave it a more appreciative glance. That’s when I saw the little log house with a porch and tiny rocking chairs. The snow falling around the little scene made it look like a dream, and that thought brought back the warm feeling in my chest.

  “What is this?”

  He moistened his lips while gathering his thoughts and then moved in closer, pointing to the little house.

  “That’s the house I’ve seen in my dreams. And we were sitting on that porch, together…old. I had it made especially for you.”

  Taking a closer look, the little house captured my gaze, hypnotizing me, and I was unable to pull away. Starring at it, I felt it too. Or maybe I wanted to feel it. Wes and me, old. My eyes started to glass over. Wes kissed my forehead softly and pulled me to him.

  “Whenever you doubt, just look at this. It’s real. I know it.”

  “But what if it’s not what happens in my dream?”

  “Then you believe mine. Whatever happens, it doesn’t change this memory for me. You just have to trust me.”

  And that night, I set the gift on the nightstand next to my bed and stared at it in the glow of the alarm clock. When the snow settled, the stillness around the house calmed me, until my lids felt heavy and I drifted into a deep, dark sleep.

  Chapter 13

  FIGHTING FOR A LIFETIME

  Sharp spasms struck inside my chest as the shots continued to ring out.

  William and my father hurried over to the window.

  “What is it?” my mother murmured, taking hold of my elbow.

  “I don’t know,” my father said, peering hard.

  Without a word, William began to gather his clothes. “Where are you going?” I found myself asking, unsure whether he was leaving on account of my father or something else. Regardless, I didn’t like the idea.

  He finally turned and spoke. “The shots are coming from the north. That means there is some sort of confrontation. I think it may be my regiment.”

  “What makes you say that?” my father asked, turning from the window for the first time.

  William wiped his forehead nervously.“Our journey there was only supposed to take a couple days. Then we were to double back, meet a second company, and head east.” He looked toward the window. “Something’s gone wrong.”

  “You think so?” my father asked incredulously. “What did you think would happen, trekking through towns, bullying people?”

  “It wasn’t meant to…it’s not what we were supposed to be doing.”

  More gunshots sounded. Closer this time, followed by shouting and high-pitched screaming. Possibly women. The hairs on my neck stood alert, and my mother held me tighter, complete fright apparent in her ghostly cheeks.

  “Oh, right,” my father barked uncharacteristically.

  “It’s true,” William said absently as he finished putting on his boots. “We were supposed to destroy weapons. Canons, guns, gunpowder. Things like that. It was to keep the peace.”

  My father shook his head. “Or to disable anyone who opposed your king.”

  William opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, taking a long glance at each of us. After a long moment, he slid into his red coat and returned his gaze to my father. “Please keep them here.”

  My father’s jaw clenched. “You have a lot of nerve wearing that thing in here.”

  William fastened the last button and looked up at all of us. In a quiet, steady voice, he murmured, “This coat just may save you now.” My mother sucked in a breath so hard, it nearly stole my own. “Now please stay here. Except you,” he said, pointing to my father.

  “What of me?”

  “Just follow me. Please.”

  Together they went downstairs as the gunshots became louder. My mother and I could barely stand still, but thankfully she pulled me into the next room and busied herself with comforting my brother.

  With the door cracked, I listened as hard as I could to my father and William below. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it sounded like arguing, and then a hard knock pounded at the door, settling them into silence. After a short pause, I heard a loud voice.

  “Open this door!”

  We froze in fear as the sounds of the latch being released, and the door opening, echoed up the stairs. Never had we been so close to gunfire. Now our home was open to it.

  Surprisingly, there was a brief silence, followed by a less angry voice. “William?”

  “Yes. I’m a wounded officer of the king.”

  His words shocked both me and my mother. The unfamiliar voice spoke again. “And you’ve been here since your wounding?”

  “I have,” William answered. “These kind people have taken me in and cared for me. They wish no harm to us. Their loyalty lies with the king.”

  “Very well, then. We will use this home for other wounded.”

  “Very well.”

  With William’s last words, the door closed and the latch fastened. “What has he done?” my mother hissed.

  Shock continued to weave through me. My gaze settled on an empty portion of the wall, and then I knew.

  “He helped us, Mother.” And with that knowledge, I hurried downstairs, not caring about staying put.

  My father was sitting at the dining room table with his face in his hands. William was standing with his back against the closed door, staring at the floor. Upon my entrance, he looked up to me.

  “You just saved us, didn’t you?” I asked, coming to a stop in front of him.

  His gaze traveled to mine, sending so many signals through me I couldn’t keep track. Worry, sorrow, defeat. And as I was trying to decipher the hard lines of his face, he nodded.

  “Phoebe, get away from him,” my mother ordered.

  I turned around to find her at the bottom of the stairs with my brother. There I was, in my home, standing between my family and someone who should’ve felt like a stranger. A stranger wearing the enemy’s uniform. And yet I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—comply.

  “I will not,” I said, taking a step backward until I was nearly touching William’s chest.

  My mother’s eyes grew wide, and my father’s head snapped up. “He’s helping us. He’s not like them,” I reasoned.

  She was about to take a few angry strides my way, when my father spoke. “She’s right. Phoebe is right.”

  My mother’s lips formed an O and then she turned her teary gaze toward my father. “John, you can’t—”

  “Look outside. They’re burning the town.”

  My mother gasped and ran to the window. “Oh, my God.”

  “And they would’ve burned our house too. If William hadn’t been here.”

  My mother covered her mouth, but her sobs escaped.

  After a moment, we realized she was going to sink toward the floor, and my father leaped toward her, taking her in his arms. The sight of their fear and sorrow terrified me. I found myself unable to rationalize my feelings, and felt frozen, empty, and alone.

  As if sensing my mental turmoil, William leaned his chest forward. The additional contact against my back was enough to cause me to give into him. He caught my weight and put his hands softly on my shoulders.

  Despite all of the chaos su
rrounding us, in that little moment of time, I felt alive and safe, and because I knew how rare such a moment might be in our future, I turned myself around and let the tears fall into his chest. As if he’d done it many times before, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close enough to where I felt no amount of gunfire could ever find us.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  “William?” my father spoke, still holding my mother.

  We both turned in his direction.

  “I will not stay here and attend to your wounded while my friends suffer the wrath of your comrades. We must go.”

  Realizing the true severity of our situation, I instinctively took a step away and awaited William’s response, again trying to determine whether he was on our side or not. He looked tired and defeated as we stood there, literally cornering him into responding.

  After a few slow, deep breaths, he nodded. “I understand.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, the panic resurfacing.

  “Fetch your bags,” my father ordered. “Pack only the things you need and only what can be carried quickly. We must leave now.”

  My mother’s eyes widened with fear. “What? Where will we go?”

  “I don’t know. But we cannot stay here.”

  Everything was happening quickly. Too quickly. I looked at William for some sort of explanation.

  “He’s right,” William said. “I’m sorry. They’ll be back soon.”

  “But where will you go?” I pressed.

  “Now, Phoebe. Your bag,” my father urged.

  “Wait,” I pleaded, looking back to William. “I don’t want you to go.”

  The lines in William’s face deepened with worry, and he looked at my father. “I can still help, if you wish. You may need me again.”

  My father stood still for a moment and then settled his gaze on me.

  “Please,” I said, only knowing that I didn’t want him to leave.

  After a moment of silence, he turned to William. “Why would you help us?”