A Love For All Time Page 2

  Her mind raced, thinking of a way to get back into the museum tonight. Asking Janet was out of the question. She had been traumatized enough just by unlocking the door after work. She could imagine how she'd react to returning late at night to do it. No, there had to be another way. Her eyes scanned the room, lighting on the bathroom window. Of course!

  Moving swiftly to the small window by the sink, she opened it a crack praying the alarm wasn't set. Then she remembered it couldn't be set until they were outside. Good, no problem. As calmly as she could manage, she walked back to the room and stopped short.

  Janet was reaching for the sword!

  "Good thing I noticed the sword wasn't in the exact position as before or we could have been found out."

  Summer held her breath.

  Would Janet disappear before her eyes?

  She watched intently as Janet's hand moved closer to the sword. Held it still as her friend's hand closed around the steel moving it back in place, then sighed deeply when she saw Janet was still there.

  She knew then, whatever magic had sent her back in time was hers alone. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but one look at Janet's scowling face forced her to compose herself. In a lilting voice, she called out, "Why don't you take a look outside, make sure no one sees us leaving."

  Janet was perplexed by Summer's sudden exuberance, but shrugged it off, and walked out the door shaking her head. Summer was getting crazier and crazier.

  Turning off the lights, she opened the door, a deep sense of satisfaction filling her. Soon she would be in the same century, the same room as John Hawke, and in all the excitement it completely slipped her mind that he had a wife named Elizabeth.

  Chapter Two

  Summer couldn't remember driving home. Couldn’t remember climbing the stairs to her apartment, her mind still overwhelmed by what had happened. She was amazed she was functioning at all. The only thing keeping her from breaking down was the knowledge that if she didn't stay calm, if she didn't function rationally, her friends and family would think she was having the breakdown they predicted she would have because of her obsession with the Hawkes’

  Hell! Maybe they were right. Maybe she was having a breakdown. Now that miles separated her from the museum and the sword, she felt as if she had dreamt the whole thing. But she hadn't and that was what caused her body to shake so violently her keys jangled loudly in her hand. She had accomplished something, so amazing, so fantastic, she wanted to shout it to the world, but she couldn't, afraid it would break the spell and prevent her from seeing John again, and she wouldn't let anything or anyone prevent her from doing that. Not even her sister Heather.

  But how could she keep it from her? How could she hide the deep excitement she felt just thinking about tonight?

  Opening the door to the apartment, her heart sank finding Heather home. She would have to tough it out. She would have to be calm so Heather wouldn't suspect anything had happened.

  Curled up on the sofa, Heather looked up from painting her fingernails. "I was beginning to worry, Summer. You're usually home much earlier than this. Anything special going on?"

  Heather had an uncanny way of honing in on exactly the right thing. Summer bit down hard on her tongue to keep from blurting it all out. Taking a deep breath, she answered as nonchalantly as she could manage. "No, nothing, except I do have a late date tonight. So don't worry if I don't get in 'til late, okay?"

  "A date? You're kidding! Who's the lucky guy?" Heather blew on her nails one at a time.

  Thinking fast, Summer answered, "He's a graduate student at, uh, Amherst. Met him at an Archeology seminar. He's working late at the library tonight. On a, uh, paper. I'm going to meet him there later." There. That sounded pretty good.

  "Glad to hear it. It's about time you took your nose out of those musty old books," Heather answered, blowing on her peach colored nails one more time. "I've got a date too. Hope you don't mind eating alone. Wade is taking me to dinner, then to the new Spielberg movie."

  "When have I ever minded? Did you buy a new outfit for the occasion?"

  "How did you know?"

  "Elementary, Dr. Watson. Your fingernails. I know for a fact you don't have a thing to go with that color."

  "You always were a good detective." Heather laughed.

  "Nervously, Summer looked around the airy, feminine living room. She was having a hard time staying calm. Her mind searched for a safe topic of conversation, then spotting the bride's magazine on the old iron grating they used as a coffee table, she asked, "Have you decided on a date for the wedding yet?"

  "Actually, you must be reading my mind again. As a matter of fact, we decided on New Year's Eve, at the stroke of midnight. Isn't that the most romantic thing you ever heard? I've got it all worked out. The wedding will be done in gold and white. You and the bridesmaids will be in gold lame, and..."

  "Gold lame? That's an original idea."

  "Isn't it? Wait 'til you see the wedding gown I picked out. It's an antique gown of Ivory satin. You're gonna love it."

  "Sounds great, Heather." Summer breathed a sigh of relief. Heather was too wrapped up in her marriage plans to notice anything.

  "Can't you just picture the chapel lit with hundreds of candles, all picking up the highlights from the gold and satin dresses? Mom loves the idea too. She called earlier. You'll never guess where they are now - Mexico!"

  Summer plopped down on a chair, laughing. "So, Mom finally got Dad to go off hunting in the jungle for the lost city of gold, huh?"

  "And she says Dad has really taken to it. She's even got him wearing a pith helmet, and Banana Republic shorts. Can you picture that?"

  "No! Never!" Summer laughed harder. "Poor Dad, when Mom gets an idea into her head, he doesn't stand a chance."

  "Yeah, like you and your pursuit of the Hawkes‘. Sure isn't hard to figure out who you take after. You and Mom are exactly alike, chasing after ancient people in musty old places."

  "I guess you're right. So stop worrying about me. One year older hardly qualifies you to act as my guardian."

  "Oh? Tell me about it. Just wait 'til you hit the big three oh, then tell me it doesn't make a difference. If I hadn't met Wade, I'd probably never get married. Single guys over thirty are hard to come by, you know. There's an acute shortage of men out there. But you wouldn't know that with your head stuck in those old books all the time." A curious expression suddenly flashed on Heather's face. "I'm surprised you're actually going out with a flesh and blood man, unless, of course, he looks like John Hawke." An awareness lit Heather's eyes. "Is that it? Does this friend of yours resemble John Hawke?"

  Summer blanched. This was getting too close for comfort. In another minute Heather would know the truth. "No, he looks nothing like him. Now, tell me, how did you decide on New Year's Eve?" While Heather talked, Summer studied her sister, taking in her short, curly hair, much blonder than her own, and her long, slim, artistic fingers that wrought such exquisite pieces of jewelry.

  Heather hadn't dated seriously before she met Wade, content at establishing herself as a highly sought after jewelry designer. When Wade entered her life she had fallen hard, and now the two of them were inseparable. Summer felt a twinge of jealousy. She and Heather had always been so close, much closer than most sisters she had known, and now, Wade was the most important person in Heather's life.

  She made her way to the sofa, and embraced her sister. "I'm happy for you and Wade, you know that, but darn it all, I'm going to miss having you around." An unforeseen thought suddenly came to her, a very disturbing thought, and she headed for the bathroom before Heather could see the tears that welled her eyes. She would be facing the unknown tonight. Something terrible could happen to her.

  What if, when she went back in time, John's sword happened to be in a room filled with people? That thought sent shivers up her spine. It was certainly in the realm of possibilities. Undoubtedly, they would think her a witch and hang her on the spot. As frightening as that thought was, sh
e still had every intention of going through with her plan. How could she, or anyone, for that matter, turn down the chance to travel through time? She was too curious about the l8th century not to go, and then too, there was John Hawke.

  As she showered, her mind worked out the details. She would dress in black to lessen her chances of being seen. Once inside the house, she would stay in the shadows, and if conditions warranted it, would be gazing at his sleeping form in just a few hours. Her heart fluttered, thinking about the naked man in the river. It would all work out.. It had to.

  Stepping from the shower, she toweled herself dry, and then wrapped herself in her pink terry robe. She heard Wade's voice in the living room and knew he and Heather would be going out in a few minutes. The uneasy feeling returned even stronger, and suddenly, she couldn't bear the thought of her sister leaving. Running to the door, she flung it open. "Heather," she cried, then stopped, unable to continue. She wanted to ask Heather to stay home with her tonight, to be with her so nothing could separate them, but when she saw the contented look on her sister's face, she knew she couldn't say anything.

  "I... I just wanted to see you in your new dress. You look spectacular. Have a nice time, and Wade... take good care of my sister, hear? She's the only one I've got."

  Heather gave her sister a funny look, as a sudden sense of foreboding crept over her, an irrational fear she couldn't put her finger on. But, because it was irrational, and because Wade was steering her out the door, she shrugged it off. It had to be her imagination.

  Alone, Summer stared at the closed door a long time. Then, pushing away her feeling of dread, made her way to the closet. She mustn't think of anything but John Hawke and the thrill of seeing him. Rummaging through her closet, she pulled out a pair of black leather pants and a black silk shirt, then remembered the cape she had made for her part in the play, The Crucible.

  Ironically, the play was about the Salem witch trials of l692. She had played the part of a women accused of being a witch. Déjà vu? She certainly hoped not. Reaching back in her closet, she pulled out the long hooded black velour cape. Perfect. She could hide her bright hair under the hood, and the dark clothing would help hide her in the shadows.

  She started feeling foolish at all the skullduggery. It reminded her too much of when she and Heather were little. They would get up early in the morning and don their mother's clothes, pretending to be glamorous lady detectives. She always dressed in red, with a big picture hat to match, and Heather would dress in black.

  Now here she was, once again dressed in costume, stalking a man and woman dead two hundred years. September 21st, 2011 would be a night to remember.

  The excitement began to build as the minutes ticked away, and she became more and more restless. She hadn't wanted to leave for the museum before eleven, but by ten she was pacing the floor, too nervous to sit around waiting.

  Pulling on her leather pants, she struggled with the zipper, cursing at the tight fit, then slipped into the silk shirt. Brian Jameson had bought her the outfit as a Christmas present, but she had never worn it. There just weren't too many opportunities to wear leather in her circumspect life.

  Glancing into the full-length mirror that hung on her closet door, she was surprised to see the sexy woman staring back. When had that happened? For good luck, she clasped the silver heart shaped pendant Heather had made for her around her neck.

  Heather had carved tiny, ivy branches to form the heart, then dotted it with tiny silver rosebuds. It was a one of a kind piece, designed especially for her, and she treasured it above everything she possessed.

  She pulled on her black leather boots to complete the outfit, then draped the velour cape over her shoulders. "There," she said to the mirror. "You look like a cross between Cat Woman and Darth Vador."

  Laughing to relieve the tension building inside, she pulled the hood over her red gold hair, grabbed her shoulder bag, and headed for the door.

  The highway was deserted this time of night, and it gave her an eerie feeling knowing that after she touched the sword, the road would disappear and in its place would be virgin forest.

  Deep in thought, she almost drove by Memorial Street. Backing up, she turned down the shadowy street and parked by the side of the road. Peering out the window, a lump came to her throat. The ancient brick building looked so dark and forbidding, or was it her guilty conscience that made it seem that way?

  Was she actually going to go through with this? This wasn't a childish game played with her sister. She could go to jail for this. What was it called, breaking and entering? But she was so near, so close to the sword with the power to send her to John Hawke's world. How could she stop now?

  Clenching her teeth, she turned off the ignition and slid out of the car, locking it behind her. Ready or not, here I come.

  She walked across the lawn, fearfully, guiltily, her shoulders tight with anxiety, shivering when a sudden breeze kicked up, rustling the leaves on the trees violently as if disturbed by her presence. She wanted to turn, run back to the safety of her car, but she couldn't. There was the open window just inches away. A window that would bring her closer to John.

  Pushing it up as far as she could reach, she grabbed hold of the sill and tried boosting herself up. A task made infinitely more difficult by the tight confines of her pants. After a few tries, she hooked her leg over the sill and pulled herself over the top. Sliding through the window, she landed on the bathroom floor, listening.

  The eerie silence was broken by the faint steady drip of a leaky faucet. Taking a few timid steps in the dark room, she bumped into the sink.

  Her adrenaline was pumping now.

  Adjusting to the gloominess, she made her way to the door, and crept down the hall to the curator's office. Janet had let it slip that an extra key ring to the exhibits was kept in a drawer of the desk and she prayed that was true. Sliding the drawer open, a rush of blood entered her head at the welcome sight of the keys.

  Grasping them tight in her hand, she made her way to the room where the Hawke sword lay waiting for her touch. Scant light penetrated the small room, but it didn't matter, she could find the glass case blindfolded if she had to. Feeling her way to the case, she unlocked the door, dropping the museum's keys along with her own car keys on a shelf, jumping at the loud clanging noise they made in the silent room.

  She reached for the sword, then hesitated, her hand hovering over it while she gathered her courage. She could stop now, turn back to the world she knew and be safe. She could stop now, forget about John Hawke and the ancient world he belonged to and get on with her life. Through the darkness that hugged her, she knew John was smiling down at her from his portrait on the wall, urging her on.

  She couldn't stop now.

  She had come too far.

  Bracing herself, she touched the sword.

  Immediately, powerful smells assaulted her nostrils. She was no longer in the museum. The aroma of burnt wood and melted wax could be easily detected, along with another familiar smell. What was it? Beer? No. Something else alcoholic. A small point of light caught her eye. A candle, burning low on the mantle of a fireplace. The flame danced wildly, as a strong breeze from an open window somewhere behind her played with it, causing eerie images to flash on the wall, enlarged to monstrous size. She shuddered, and sought the means of her escape.

  John's sword.

  It was sheathed in its scabbard, hanging over the arm of a roundabout chair, a blue wool jacket thrown carelessly over the chair as well. Good, she was safe as long as the sword was nearby.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim room, she made out more shapes, seeing the outline of a tall canopied bed against the far wall. She drew in her breath. Were John and Elizabeth asleep there? She listened for the sound of steady breathing that would give her the answer, but heard nothing but the plaintive cry of a night bird calling to its mate.

  Her eyes strained to see, but the bed was veiled in darkness.

  She would have to move closer.

/>   Gathering all her courage, she inched forward; afraid with each step she took the creaking of a floorboard would give her away. But there was no sound, and growing more confident, she moved boldly- until-in horror- her foot struck something hard. An empty bottle clattered across the bare wood floor, making a loud racket in the too silent room. She stopped dead, sucking in her breath, as she waited...

  …to be discovered.

  Her heart was in her throat, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands, the silence of the room bearing down heavily on her, as if it were a tangible, living thing. Her skin crawled with fright. Why didn't John and Elizabeth stir? Why didn't they call out, demanding to know who she was?

  She had to know.

  Forcing herself to lift one foot and then the other, she walked the rest of the way to the bed.

  It was empty, but crumpled bedding showed it had been recently occupied. Damn! Where were they? She couldn't afford to stick around to find out. It was much too dangerous. With a heavy heart, she turned...

  ...And walked right into the arms of John Hawke.

  Chapter Three

  For a few frozen seconds Summer stared into John Hawke's eyes, her mind trying to grasp the reality of his presence just a heartbeat away. Then, acknowledging he was truly there, her knees buckled, and she began to fall.

  John's arms tightened around her. "Whoa there! Steady now, Will o wisp. It seems I'm not the only one who’s drunk too much rum this night."

  The smell of liquor was strong on his breath, and his eyes were drowsy with drunkenness, yet he still held her with a steady grip. She tried to call out, but her throat was tight with fear.

  "Methinks you're no wispy Will o wisp after all," he said, pulling her tighter against his chest. "For you have substance, and what tantalizing substance it be."

  Summer felt as if her ribs were about to cave in, but she was too stunned to do anything about it. This was John Hawke who held her so tightly. John Hawke!