Somewhere in Time (15 page)

"Should I?" she asked at last.

"No," I said. "I'm not a criminal. I only came to-" love you, my mind completed. "-be with you," I finished.

No further sound. I wondered whether she was still on the opposite side of the door or beginning to change clothes. I stared at the door in anxious silence, wanting to open it and be with her again, already beginning to dread that our meeting was delusion on my part. I almost called her name again, then willed myself to turn away. I had to give her time to think.

I looked around the room that was so obviously a part of 1896 and felt a little better. There was a silver, upright calendar on the writing table. Printed in Old English script in its three small windows were Thursday / November, and 19th. The absence of the year disturbed me even though I understood that such an expensive calendar could hardly be utilized for only one year.

I became aware of the glass in my hand and drank the water in a single swallow, sighing as it bathed my parched mouth and throat although the taste of it was brackish. I'm drinking 1896 water, I thought, the notion somehow thrilling to me because it was my first physical absorption of the period-unless I considered the air I'd breathed.

I was still thirsty but felt reluctant to ask Elise for more. I'd sit and rest instead. Moving to an armchair, I sank down on it with a groan and set the glass on a nearby table.

Immediately, my eyes began to close and I started in dismayed reaction. I mustn't fall asleep or I might lose it all! I shook my head, then reached back to the glass, and picked it up. There were a few drops still remaining on its bottom. I shook them onto my left palm, rubbed them over my face, and set the glass back down again.

I tried to stay alert by concentrating on the details of the room. I stared at a lace doily pinned to the back of a nearby armchair. I looked at a table near the wall, counting the number of flower carvings on its legs. I gazed intently at a clock on the table. It was almost six o'clock; Time 1, I thought. I looked up at the six-bulb chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I counted and recounted all the crystal pendants dangling from it. Just don't sleep, I ordered myself. You mustn't sleep.

I stared at the upright calendar on the writing table. It was part of a desk set, I saw now-a silver tray on which were two cut-glass bottles of ink, a silver pen, and the calendar. It doesn't have to have the year, I thought. I knew where I was.

It was 1896 and I had reached her.

� � �

I jolted awake with a cry, looking around in shocked confusion. Where was I?

Then the bedroom door was opening quickly and Elise was staring at me, an expression of alarm on her face. Without thought, I held out my right hand toward her. I 'was shaking badly.

She hesitated, then walked over and took hold of it; I must have looked pathetic. The feel of her warm hand clasped in mine was like a transfusion. I saw her features tighten and relaxed my grip. "I'm sorry," I said. I could barely talk.

I looked at her hungrily. She'd changed to a wine-colored dress of woolen serge, its high collar trimmed with black silk, its long sleeves not the typical leg-of-mutton type but instead fitting close to the arms. Only the front and sides of her hair were up, held in place by tortoise-shell ornaments.

She returned my look in silence with that same expression of inquiry, searching my face as though for an answer.

Finally, she lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm staring again."

"I'm staring too."

She looked at me again. "I just don't understand," she said, her tone one of calm observation.

She gasped and jerked her hand free suddenly as someone knocked on the door. Both of us looked across the room, then I glanced back at her. Her expression was a combination of uneasiness and-what? The first word that occurs is wariness; as though she were already planning what to say in explanation of my presence. I hoped she had a ready explanation; I had none. "I'm sorry if I'm compromising you," I said.

She looked at me quickly and I saw suspicion on her face. Had I inadvertently made her think again in terms of dire motivation on my part? Compromise, embarrassment, dear God, even blackmail? The notion appalled me.

"Excuse me," she said. I started as she suddenly began to brush my hair; until that moment, I had not noticed the brush in her left hand. I stared at her in bewilderment until I realized that my hair must have become disheveled by the wind or by my sleeping. She was trying to make me more presentable to whoever it was at the door.

As she leaned across me, I could smell the scent she wore. I had to concentrate to keep myself from bending forward and kissing her cheek. She glanced at me. I must have still looked distraught because she whispered, "Are you all right?"

I knew it was a mistake but I didn't have the will to resist. I whispered back, "I love you."

The brush twitched in her hand and I saw the skin draw taut across her cheeks. Before I could apologize, the knocking came again and a voice called out, "Elise?" I shuddered. It was the voice of an older woman. Here we go, I thought.

Elise had straightened up abruptly at my whisper. Now she started toward the door. "I'm sorry," I blurted. She glanced back at me but didn't reply. I swallowed hard-I needed more water-sat up straight, then pushed up, knowing I should be on my feet when Mrs. McKenna entered. I got up too fast and lost my balance, almost falling before I grabbed the back of the chair. I looked at Elise. She'd stopped near the door to watch me anxiously. How terrible a moment it must have been for her. I nodded. "I'm all right."

Her lips parted as she drew in silent breath-or, more likely, sent up silent prayer. Turning to the door, she braced herself visibly, then reached for the knob.

Mrs. McKenna entered, started saying something to her daughter, then broke off immediately, her expression one of astonished displeasure at seeing me across the room. What was she thinking? A rush of memory charged my mind. Up to this very day, her daughter had never been known to have anything to do with men beyond the most cursory of exchanges. Her closest relationship was with Robinson and that was strictly business.

To come upon a total stranger in Elise's hotel room must have been electrifying to Mrs. McKenna. She tried to control her reaction, I saw, but the shock was extreme.

Elise's voice was well controlled as she spoke; the voice of a skilled actress delivering a line of dialogue. If I hadn't known otherwise, I would have sworn that she was perfectly calm. "Mother, this is Mr. Collier," she said. Etiquette. Sobriety. Madness.

I will never know from what source I tapped the strength to cross the room, take Mrs. McKenna's hand in mine, shake it lightly, bow, and smile. "How do you do?" I said.

"How d'you do," she answered distantly. It was at once a curt acknowledgment of my existence and a questioning of its validity. Oddly enough, the stiffness of her tone helped me make the first step toward adjustment. In spite of my uneasiness, her rigid bearing and undisguised disapproval enabled me to see, behind this autocratic pose, the longtime actress not entirely skilled in such a presentation.

It was not that she consciously played a scene for my benefit but that the effect was similar. I have no doubt she took genuine offense at my being there. Her behavior seemed in excess of what she conveyed to me as a person, though; in brief, she sought to act beyond her nature. Seams were showing. She had come from the rough-and-tumble of nineteenth-century rural theater and was no grande dame no matter how hard she tried to make me think so. Next, she would turn to her daughter, eyebrows rising, waiting for an explanation. Next, she did exactly that and, despite continued nervousness, I felt a tremor of amusement.

"Mr. Collier is staying at the hotel," Elise provided the expected explanation. "He is here to see the play."

"Oh?" Mrs. McKenna regarded me coldly. I knew she wanted to ask: Who is he, though, and what is he doing here in your room? But it was not acceptable to be so blunt. For the first time, I felt grateful for the social reticences of 1896. Silence told me that I had to help Elise; I was leaving her adrift, expecting her to clarify my presence unassisted. There was no way she could do that if I failed to act in concert. "Your daughter and I met in New York City," I lied; how successfully I have no idea. A sudden inspiration hit me. "After a performance of Christopher, Junior," I added. "I was coming down from Los Angeles on business and decided to stop at the hotel to see the play tomorrow night." Good story, Collier, I thought; superior hypocrisy.

"I see," said Mrs. McKenna frigidly; she didn't see it at all. No matter what my story was, I had no reason to be found in her daughter's hotel room. "What business are you in?" she asked.

I hadn't expected that particular question and could only gape at her in obvious dismay. By the time it came to me that truth was simpler than pretense, I'm sure she thought my answer was a lie. "I'm a writer," I said. I felt my insides shrivel. God help me if she asked what kind.

She didn't. I'm sure she didn't care who or what I was, only wanting me to get the hell out of her daughters room. This was implicit in her voice as she turned to Elise and muttered, "Well, my dear?" (Isn't it time you dismissed this ruffian?)

I loved Elise all the more for not turning on me even though she certainly had every justification to do so. Lifting her chin in a regal manner which told me more, in an instant, of her inherent ability as an actress than all the books I'd read, she said, "I have invited Mr. Collier to have dinner with us, Mother."

The lapse of time before her mother responded made her answer redundant. "Oh?" she said. I tried to return her chilling look but found it difficult. I tried to utter something but produced only a minor gurgle; my throat was still very dry. I cleared it strainingly. "I hope I'm not intruding," I said. Mistake! yelped my mind. I should never have given her the opening.

She jammed herself inside it quickly. "Well," she said. She didn't have to add another word. Her attitude could not have been more clear. She expected me to pounce on her hint as any gentleman worth his salt would do, apologize, back off, and resolve into a dew.

I did none of them, I smiled, albeit wanly. Her expression instantly congealed to that of genteel, high-born lady forced into untenable plight; another scene from the same play.

Elise didn't help by saying, "I'll be ready in a moment," and starting back toward the bedroom. I threw a startled look after her. Was she deserting me? Then I saw the straggling hair behind her neck and felt even worse. Not only had she been discovered in her hotel room in the presence of a strange male, she'd been discovered in a state of deshabille.

I'm not making light of the moment. I sincerely felt her embarrassment. Was that because I had begun to blend in with the moods and mores of this time? I hoped so. It was the only possible cheering aspect to that most uncheerful circumstance.

The bedroom door thumped shut and I was standing there alone with Mrs. Anna Stuart Callenby McKenna, forty-nine, who hated me.

We stood like actors who'd forgotten their lines, both stiff, both 'wordless. The scene about to be performed would be a flinty one, I knew.

It soon became apparent that Mrs. McKenna had no intention of initiating anything, so I cleared my throat and asked how her rehearsals were coming.

"Very well," she answered curtly. Conversation terminated.

I forced a smile, then analyzed the rug. I looked back up. She averted her eyes; she'd been observing me with something less than amity. I had an urge to tell her something prescient but knew I must resist the urge. I had to learn immediately to quell any impulse to comment from an unfair eminence of foreknowledge. I had to behave as though I were exactly what I'd said; had to start believing it myself as well. Being a part of this time was of principal importance now. The more I made myself a part of it, the less I'd have to fear losing hold.

I'm looking forward, my mind began. No contractions, please, I told it. "I am looking forward to the performance," I said. It felt artificial not to join the I and am but I'd get used to it; I would get used to it. "Elise-"

She stilled me with an arctic look. Mistake! I thought again. This was 1896, a bastion of formality. I should have called her Miss McKenna. Dear God, I thought, anticipating agonies to come. How was it going to be to deal with Mrs. McKenna and Robinson simultaneously? The vision withered me and I had a mad compulsion to go sprinting into the bedroom, lock the door, and beg Elise to stay with me so we could talk.